Olivetti: Illumination

by Tamilore Odimayo

“I’m glad you decided to meet me in person,” Don Olivetti said with his hands outward to shake Don Sanchez. Don Sanchez nodded, ignoring Don Olivetti’s hands. He felt disrespected, but tried to humble himself by hiding his emotional reaction. He withdrew his hands then placed it in his pocket.

  “So what’s the agreement?” Don Sanchez said in a thick Mexican accent. The scar on his right cheek and his nicely trimmed moustache gave him a jagged look that could scare the toughest dogs away.

  “No war…an eye for an eye. Your son Billy is dead. Tom is dead. Don Cruccifixo is dead. You have exerted your vendetta, anything beyond this point will be pointless war that will give unnecessary attention to the Feds. Think about the offer.” Don Olivetti replied. Don Sanchez, an older Mexican man, removed his shades and then his hat. His grey hair was exposed and the wrinkles around his eyes became more obvious. He looked like a man who barely slept. The wrinkles on his forehead showed how much time he spent frowning. He was a man who spent most of his life in a constant state of stress.

  “So what you’re saying is that I should stop a war your family started?” Don Sanchez asked.

  “Yes because you already won this war,” Don Olivetti said to appease Don Sanchez.

  “No. See, I don’t think I won, yet because you are still standing here,” Don Sanchez replied. Don Olivetti smiled. The thought of domestic cats behaving like lions pissed him off.

  “Make no mistake. Do not confuse my kindness for weakness. You need me more than I need you,” Don Olivetti said in a more stiff tone.

  “This is pathetic. I’m leaving,” Don Sanchez said, about to walk away.

  “If you walk away, you and your entire family will be dead by the end of the week!” Don Daniel Olivetti yelled. Don Sanchez turned towards Don Olivetti, surprised by his blunt threat.

  “Me? Dead? You’re the one loosing this damn game!” Don Sanchez yelled back. This time, everyone from both sides got their guns out, leaving both Dons staring angrily at each other.

  “What’s it going to be? We all die here and my family will still win this war! Trust me, Walter is waiting for the greenlight! I die and he gets the signal. The world can’t save the Cartels from all that anger brewing inside him right now. He is very creative with torture. Or you can suck up your pride and let’s work together!” Don Olivetti yelled in anger. Shock filled the junkyard. His blunt words were excruciating. Don Sanchez paused to weigh his options. There was no way he could walk out of the yard alive if he turned his back, without agreeing with Don Olivetti.

  “There’s nothing you and your family can do against us. You’ve lost your power. You don’t run the streets anymore. There are plenty of amigos who will die for me just so I can blink one more time,” Don Sanchez said in a tone of confidence. Don Olivetti moved closer to Don Sanchez. The height difference was quite obvious – he was five inches taller than Don Sanchez.

  “Listen and listen to me carefully. The only reason I came here is to reason with you and to avoid unnecessary bloodshed and media attention. Now, if you think my family has lost their power, then you’re a fool!” Olivetti said. He couldn’t hide his shock. He boiled inside as rage slowly erupted within his chest.

  “I’m a corporate thug! The drugs and money you control, is pennies compared to what I do! You think drug dealers are big shot criminals? Wait till you see people on Wall Street! Wait till you see the politicians I have under my thumb. That’s real power - power that will take you forever to get,” Olivetti added. Don Sanchez scoffed.

  “And I don’t need to tell you that my family controls a fourth of Wall Street’s revenue! Now, next time you mention power, I suggest you do your little calculations and think right!” Don Olivetti added, in rage. He was face to face with Don Sanchez. They could feel each other’s heavy breathing. Don Olivetti eased up then chuckled in mischief.

  “Really?” Don Sanchez asked.

  Don Olivetti patted Don Sanchez on his shoulder like a father giving advice to his son. “Power isn’t measured by how many low life thugs you have doing your work. It is measured by CEO’s of big corporations who will do anything to make sure the Olivetti name isn’t tainted in any way. So next time you threaten my family, do yourself a favor and put a bullet in your head afterwards because when I see you next time, I will crush you like the tiny spider you are!!!” Don Olivetti added again, this time, he whispered it in Don Sanchez’s ears. Don Sanchez tried to remain calm. He felt so belittled, but the truth was farfetched.

  Don Sanchez signaled to his men to lower their weapons.

  “Smart thinking!” Don Olivetti said, patting Don Sanchez on his shoulder in a more condescending manner.

  “Don’t think you’ve won. I’ll live to fight another day,” Don Sanchez replied, walking back to his car in a dysphoric state. Don Daniel Olivetti smiled a victorious smile thenwalked away.

  5

  September 15, 1956

  “Why did you disobey my orders!? I told you to stay put till I got back to New York. Why do you manage to screw up everything?” Don Patricelli yelled at his brother, Johnny.

  “Look, I do not appreciate the yelling. I got your pills, now you can sell it for a fortune and make us rich,” Johnny replied in a naïve tone. They were in Don Patricelli’s office and were seeing each other for the first time since Johnny decided to get the pills from Frederick Olivetti, the hard way. Don Patricelli stared at the envelope containing the pills. He shook his head.

  “You fucked up! You know that right?” Don Patricelli said. He slapped Johnny’s head, frustrated by his brother’s naivety.

  “You never listen, Johnny! Your small minded coke addict head never listens!” Don Patricelli yelled in anger. All the guards in the room left to give both brothers privacy. Johnny felt like a little boy again. All he wanted to do was please his brother. Don Patricelli gazed at his brother in anger. He didn’t know what to do.

  “So I’m in Chicago minding my own business and someone walks up to me and asks me why I killed Jimmy the Pitcher and put Freddy in a fucking hospital! Are you kidding me? Did I give you the right to do that in our family name?” Don Patricelli asked, more frustrated than he initially was.

  “Relax; I got the pills. That’s all that matters. I did a good job, didn’t I?” Johnny said timidly.

  “You fool! If you want to kill someone’s family and get away with it, you have to make sure that someone is dead,”

  “Freddy is as good as dead. Even if gets treatment, he will be too weak to avenge his cousin. He will be in the hospital for months, at least,” Johnny replied. Don Patricelli shook his head.

  “Well where’s Freddy now huh? Last time I checked, an almost dead man walked out of the hospital, fully recovered, days ago,” Don Patricelli replied in a tone of disgust.

  “That’s impossible, I – I promise, you should have seen him, he was as good as dead!” Johnny said as he began to shiver in fear. The thought of seeing Freddy the chemist scared the pants out of him.

  “You’re just too stupid to get it!” Don Patricelli said then paused as he walked to the window. He stared out as if watching out for someone.

  “Don’t get what?”

  “He must have taken the pill. The Doctors and Nurses I spoke to said he walked out of the hospital like nothing ever happened. He didn’t even have a bruise on him. He was as good as new,” Don Patricelli replied. Johnny’s mouth was opened. “The pill does that?”

  “Yes! But it doesn’t matter that he is healed, what matters is what he is. The pill only works for those who belong to the illuminati blood line,”

  “The Illuminati? What are you talking about?”

  “Y-yes. That’s why there’s frenzy for these pills. If it can be replicated, they can trigger the genes of so many people like them…this – this…if…urgh…I can’t believe your stupid ass…urgh,” he paused, glaring at his brother like a bull dog whose bone had been stolen. “He is one of them! I don’t know how! But that lucky bastard is coming back to get us with help from the most pow
erful people in the world,” Don Patricelli replied. This time, Johnny was more shaken than ever. He realized his folly. He would have never guessed that Freddy, an ordinary Italian immigrant, had a blood link with the illuminati.

  “What do we do?” Johnny asked in fear.

  Just then, they heard gun shots in the hallway. They both looked at each other. Their hearts pounded like the club speakers on a Saturday night. The gun shots lasted for about a minute and thirty seconds then stopped. They could hear the sound of bullet shells falling to the ground. Sweat rolled down their face like waterfalls.

  Don Patricelli reached for his gun. Johnny did likewise. They heard footsteps moving closer and closer to the door. Both pointed their guns at the door, ready to kill whoever walked through.

  “Die! Die!” Johnny said as he wasted his bullets shooting at the door, hoping to kill whoever was behind the door before the person walked through.

  “Very predictable Johnny,” Frederick said as he opened the door and revealed himself. None of the wasted bullets touched him. He walked in dressed in a nice grey suit, a white shirt, a black tie, a grey hat and an overcoat. He had a smoking silver nine millimeter gun on his right hand. They could see a trail of dead men who used to work for them behind him. Johnny was surprised one man could do all that.

  “Drop your gun, Patricelli!” Frederick Olivetti commanded in a calm subtle tone.

  Don Patricelli was trembling like a tree on a stormy night. He managed to compose himself. His gun remained pointed at Frederick Olivetti.

  “I said, drop your gun or I’ll kill you right here!” Frederick Olivetti replied in a commanding tone, again.

  “Please! Please! Please! It was my stupid brother’s idea to kill your cousin and torture you.” Don Patricelli said timidly as he dropped his gun in surrender.

  “I know. But your inability to control your people has cost me my cousin’s life. There is nothing I can do about it and I know I have to give mercy to those who will show mercy in a similar situation – and we both know that if what happened to me happened to you, you will kill everyone involved,” Frederick Olivetti replied in his unusual European accent.

  Johnny was on his knees. He begged like a coward as anxious sweat began to roll down his cheeks. His heart rate raced more than hundred miles an hour. The cocaine he had snuffed earlier in the day wasn’t helping either.

  “Please! I was ordered! I had to do what I had to do to survive. Please let me go and I promise I’ll do everything you want me to do,”

  Frederick was remarkably calm and composed – his demeanor at that moment scared Don Patricelli.

  “Please let us go! I’ll give you whatever you want. The pills? We can work together. We’ll be partners. You’ll have your own territory, your own workers, a mansion – anything you want,” Don Patricelli said in a state of anxiety.

  “I never liked guns because I hate blood,” Frederick began as he sat down on the black sofa next to the door. Johnny examined all escape routes, but nothing looked good. Frederick observed both brothers – both were overwhelmed with fear despite the fact that they outnumbered him. Frederick was amazed by how well he could control the moods in the environment. His new gifts were paying off.

  “I’ll give you an offer,” Frederick added.

  “Yes! Yes! Anything!” they both replied simultaneously. Frederick nodded.

  “Okay! Don Patricelli, with all due respect, I’d like you to give a punishment befitting Johnny’s mistake,” Frederick said sadistically. Don Patricelli looked at Johnny then gazed at Freddy.

  “Are you asking me to kill my brother?” Don Patricelli asked.

  “If you think it’s a befitting punishment for Johnny’s mistake then absolutely,” Frederick replied bluntly. Don Patricelli gazed at his brother again.

  “If you don’t do it, I’ll have to make a decision that might not benefit you both,” Frederick added. Don Patricelli shook nervously as he contemplated Frederick’s offer. Don Patricelli slowly shifted his gun towards Johnny.

  “What are you doing? You’re going to kill your own brother?” Johnny asked in a state of tremendous anxiety.

  “Shut up, Johnny!” Don Patricelli replied. Just then, Don Patricelli gathered the courage to pull the trigger, but pointed it at Frederick instead. There was a loud bang. The bullet discharged. They gazed at Frederick. Johnny was confused. Frederick did not flinch. Don Patricelli pulled the trigger the second time, then the third time, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth…he paused then looked at his gun, wondering what was going on, why Frederick didn’t move a muscle and why Frederick seemed untouched.

  “What the fuck are you!?” Don Patricelli yelled in fear. Johnny trembled in awe. They could hear the sound of sirens moving closer and for the first time in their lives, they were relieved to know that the police might save them.

  Frederick scoffed. “I am Frederick Olivetti and you have just failed your test,” Frederick said as he picked up his gun and shot both Patricelli and Johnny in the head within a second. Two loud thuds were heard as he walked up to the desk and picked up the envelope of pills just like he had foreseen. Frederick walked out of the office towards the front of the main entrance where all the dead bodies were, he dropped his gun, knelt down on both knees and put his hand behind is head. He had already seen what was about to happen and was ready.

  “Police! Police! Drop your weapons!” the police officers said, pointing their weapons in a state of fear as they barged into the office.

  “Relax Officers! I’m the only one alive and breathing,” Frederick replied with a smile.

  “Why did you let him go?” New York State Senator William said to Francois Gustave, in dismay. Senator William was a sixty year old man who was serving his last term as state Senator before his retirement. He was blonde with very dark roots and several strands of grey hair. He was wearing blue trousers, a white shirt and black suspenders. His sleeves were folded half way and the first three buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned. He was in his office at the capitol building, seated on his black office chair behind his mahogany desk.

  Behind him were the flag of America and the state flag of New York. He had pictures of his family on his desk and several pictures of himself and other politicians hanging on the walls. Right behind him was a portrait of four American presidents; Franklin Roosevelt, Theodore Roosevelt, Grover Cleveland and Millard Fillmore. Across his desk were green sofas on a green carpet nicely arranged in sixties fashion.

  “I had to sir,” Francois Gustave replied in a nonchalant fashion. Senator William grunted in frustration.

  “I have to pull strings to get Frederick out of police custody,” Senator Williams said in a whiny tone.

  “I’ll pick him up from the station,” Francois replied, about to leave the office.

  “Wait! Remember we need him to fulfill our cause,” Senator William replied as he picked up his phone to dial the police station. Francois nodded and walked out of the office.

  Frederick had been at the New York Police department for nearly half a day. He was in a semi dark interrogation room that had one light bulb, two metal chairs, one table and a one way mirror. The room smelled of rusty dust. “You killed fifteen men today and you’re still so calm,” a frustrated police detective said. Frederick remained seated with both of his arms on the table. He barely moved. He remained catatonic as the police detective blurted out grievous remarks, spitting saliva, like a barking dog chained to its kernel.

  “Detective Jack Robinson,” Frederick finally said. The detective paused. “Finally he can talk,” Detective Robinson replied.

  “I thought you weren’t going to say anything,” Detective Robinson added.

  “Detective Jack Robinson. Born July 26, 1939. Grew up in Brooklyn New York. Three sisters and no brother. Father was a former disgraced cop. He beat your mother anytime he came home drunk. Woke up one morning when you were old enough and almost beat your father to death. Your father left both you and your mother after that. With that guilt, you’
re trying to be a better man by joining law enforcement. Married with three kids – two boys and one girl…”

  He couldn’t hide the shock from his face. “Shall I continue?” Frederick asked, finally looking into Detective Robinson’s terrified eyes.

  Just then, his partner walked into the room alarmed by Frederick’s knowledge. Detective Robinson was embarrassed. Frederick smiled.

  “See I know a lot about you Detective, but you know nothing about me,” Frederick added calmly. Frederick’s knowledge terrified him.

  “Don’t let him get to you,” His partner said.

  “How do you know about my family?” Detective Robinson asked curiously.

  “We can help each other. We can clean the streets. Build a new New York…” Frederick added.

  “By killing people? No thank you, there’s a justice system,” Detective Robinson replied.

  “You really think so? Just last week, Don Nicholas Lorenzo walked away from fifty charges of murder. Don Moretti has been in ten court trials in the past ten years and has never spent a night in Jail,” Frederick replied.

  “You are aware that Don Moretti is dead right?” Detective Robinson asked.

  “I am very aware,” Frederick said with a smile. Detective Robinson froze. The pieces fit together. He realized Frederick’s tone of certainty meant that he was guilty of killing Don Moretti.

  “Like I said, we can help each other!” Frederick added. Just then, the chief of police walked into the interrogation room.

  “Frederick Olivetti, you’re free to go,” the chief of Police said without acknowledging the presence of Detective Robinson or his partner, Detective Smith. Detective Robinson gazed at his partner then gazed at the chief of police.

  “He just murdered fifteen men, there’s a gun for evidence, and he is a prime suspect in the mass killings at Don Moretti’s club,” Detective Robinson yelled in frustration.

  “Watch your tone young man,” the chief of Police said in a stern face. Frederick smiled and stretched his hands out for the Detectives to un-cuff him. Detective Robinson reluctantly removed the handcuffs from Frederick’s wrist.