Olivetti: Illumination

by Tamilore Odimayo

  “Look! Whatever or whoever hid Tom away from us for seven years knew what they were doing. In all our lunch dates, I tried to convince him to reveal himself, but he insisted that his secret must be kept. I couldn’t…I couldn’t…I was afraid he’d leave again…for another seven years,” Catherine said.

  “I know! It makes sense,” Walter replied uninterested in the conversation. At that very moment, he was only interested in seeing Tom. There was no time for an argument.

  He called out for his guard. “Get the Limo ready. We’re heading back to New York,”

  It was a bright sunny afternoon. Tom walked out of the airplane, dressed in the same clothes he was wearing at Nina’s apartment. He took a deep breath of the American air. Two agents escorted him to the dock where his Uncle, Don Daniel Olivetti was. His uncle stood by the Limo, dressed in a blue suit and Beige overcoat. He gazed at Tom like he was seeing a ghost.

  At first, he was expecting some kind of mistake—a flaw—an illusionary trick— someone who looked like his nephew—an imposter in need of money or attention. But no, whoever this imposter was had the exact aura of Tom; his charismatic walking step, his cold unpredictable facial expression—everything.

  Don Olivetti moved closer to Tom. The Agents were reluctant to let him go. “By the way, you’ll be hearing from my lawyers, you fucking punks!” Don Olivetti blurted out to the Agents who walked away, trying to avoid confrontation. Don Olivetti shifted his attention back to Tom.

  “Tommy. It’s you. I can’t believe it!” Don Olivetti said. He gave Tom a big hug and a kiss on both cheeks. He felt his face, still in disbelief. He was flustered with happiness. The guilt of causing the death of his best nephew had just been lifted. Tom didn’t remember him, but he read Don Olivetti’s thoughts long enough to pretend he did.

  “Uncle Danny!” Tom said with a plastered smile on his face.

  “Gosh I can’t believe this! It’s like I’m in a fucking dream!”

  Tom’s face changed. “Oh I’m sorry! I cuss a lot when I’m anxious!” Don Olivetti added.

  “Come quick! Let’s get outta here before they change their mind,” Don Olivetti joked as he led Tom to the black Limo.

  “So what happened? You never got on that plane? You jumped off the plane? Someone saved you? I’m confused. How?” Don Olivetti asked, impatient, like a dog awaiting a snack treat.

  “Uncle Danny! I’m a little tired. Long flight, bad interrogations….”

  “Oh! I’m sorry! You must have been through a lot!” Don Olivetti said half excited and half disappointed. He grabbed a bottle of champagne.

  “You’re old enough to drink now. Look at you! All grown up! Here! Have a glass with me,” He said as he poured Tom a glass.

  “To rising from the dead!” Don Olivetti said, lifting his wine glass in the air. He was so excited, he could barely breathe. He couldn’t wait to hear it all.

  “Thank you!” Tom said.

  “For what?” Don Olivetti replied.

  “You kept our family safe while I was gone,” Tom replied. Don Olivetti was amused. Of all the things Tom could have thanked him for.

  “Well that’s my job, son. A lot has changed since you left,”

  Tom’s smile slowly dissolved into a frown. “But you do know that now that I’m here, things would go back to the way they were. I mean, Don Sanchez will be more vengeful. He hates being tricked…” Tom said.

  Don Olivetti nodded. “I know! Don’t worry, we will think of something,”

  21

  December 26, 1964

  Cold rainy day.In the back room of one of Frederick Olivetti’s many Brooklyn restaurants, a young Caucasian male walked into the back room, humbly, with his hat in his hand. He had on a dirty brown jacket, black slacks and brown faded shoes. He gazed at Don Frederick Olivetti as he moved closer to his desk. He had a look of defeat and it was obvious he was looking for justice. Don Frederick’s men ignored him. He didn’t seem like a threat. He walked closer.

  “What can I do for you?” Don Frederick Olivetti asked in a hoax voice. He was seated behind a dark shiny mahogany desk. He was wearing casual clothes, but his powerful demeanor stood out.

  “Don Olivetti,” the man said as he bowed slightly. Frederick nodded in response.

  “I- I was told you might be able to help. I - I was fired by my boss,” the man started. Fear prevented him from making sufficient eye contact with Don Frederick Olivetti. Don Olivetti leaned forward.

  “Why were you fired?” Frederick Olivetti asked. The young man hesitated. “I-I…my…my wife. He…“

  Frederick dug into the young man’s thoughts. Pictures of the head of the union making a pass at the young man’s wife flooded his mind. He was instantly upset. No one else in the room knew why. The young man continued.

  “I have a wife and five children to feed and bills to pay. The unions have made sure I can’t get a job anywhere else in New York,”

  Frederick stood up and moved closer to the young man. “You protected your wife’s honor. That’s all that matters,”

  The young man looked up, confused. How did he know? “Peter Russo, Head of the labor union made a pass on your wife, you punched him in the face and he fires you out of contempt and pride,” Frederick said.

  “How did you know?” His face was full of surprise. He knew his life was too redundant for a man that powerful to keep up with.

  “New York is a small place,” Frederick lied.

  There was more to controlling New York than being a criminal mastermind. Money was redundant without knowledge and respect. Frederick had sworn to help the helpless no matter what. This distinguished him from the other crime bosses.

  The young man fought back angry tears. “Go home, son! You’ll hear from me soon. You won’t have to leave New York to find a new job”

  The young man was elated. He sighed with half joyous contempt. He nodded one more time then turned towards the door.

  “And Whitman…” Frederick said. The young man turned towards Frederick Olivetti. How did he know my name? He tried not to think about it.

  “What sir?”

  “Don’t ever apologize for defending your family!” Frederick said.

  “I-I didn’t,”

  “Yes you did. It must never happen again. Okay son?” Frederick replied.

  Whitman nodded. “Now, go to your wife and family. Make yourselves a nice dinner,”

  “Ye-Yes sir!” Whitman replied as he walked out. Frederick scoffed. He had an adamant disgust for people who didn’t respect other men’s properties.

  “Get a hold of Peter Russo. Tell him I need him in my office by the end of the day,”

  “Yes sir!” Chris replied.

  “I’ll be back. There’s something I need to do,” He stood up from his seat, grabbed his hat then walked out of the office.

  “You need an escort?”

  “No,” he replied as he stormed out of the restaurant.

  Cecilia William was standing by the glass windows next to her favorite store. The rain didn’t stop her from admiring the beauties New York had to offer. She stood like a statue, under the rain, with her bright red umbrella. She was wearing a red coat over her dress and red rain boots. Her hair was simple and plush. Her lips, red. Her eyes, blue. She was perfect art.

  “How do you manage to stay beautiful every time I see you?” Frederick said, appearing from a corner.

  He had tried everything he could to get her attention, but she wouldn’t budge. He had sent her flowers, gifts, and even called in personal favors to help her with whatever she needed, but all was to no avail. He was desperate. Not only was she a vital plan to the agenda of the illuminati, her personality was also growing on him. He was beginning to crave her attention, her presence and her voice. A war was brewing in Vietnam and all he could think about was her. He was aware of the cold war: KGB agents and FBI agents were pawns the illuminati used to further their cause.

  The illuminati’s war agenda was already in play. All he had to do
was wait or rather, try to woo the woman of his dreams while he waited.

  She smiled without looking back at him. “You know stalking is illegal right?”

  He laughed. “It’s not called stalking when you randomly bump into someone,”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” she said, still looking through the store’s windows. “You know I could buy you the store right?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I can afford anything in there,” She replied.

  “Then why do you stare like you long for the items in the store,”

  She smiled then sighed. “Far from it. I stand here every day to admire how things change. It’s fascinating,”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean. The clothes, the jewelry, the cars….everything. It never lasts. It always changes. In a couple of months, something else will be the trending want. That’s how unreliable life is. Nothing remains constant.”

  He stood, dumbfounded by her insight. He never saw life that way. He gathered his thoughts.

  “Well, I think you’ll forever remain beautiful to me,” Frederick said. “Oh please. Humans are cursed by time. We never remain beautiful.”

  Frederick was quiet. He looked through the windows with her as they basked in silence.

  “Will you have lunch with me, Cecilia?” Frederick asked. It was the hundredth time he had asked the question. He knew she was going to say no, but he was too addicted to the thrill of asking over and over again. She sighed.

  “You’re never going to give up huh? I told you. I don’t date criminals,” she replied. He was so used to her words; it didn’t hurt as much as it did the first time. He was still however desperate to win her attention.

  “I’m not just any criminal, Cecilia,”

  “I know. You’re a mob boss. You control New York on the sideline by oppressing others. If I could guess, you probably killed my father, Senator William. Why else did you attend his funeral?” she replied bluntly.

  Her statement didn’t surprise him. She was the fierce and fearless kind. Her boldness only attracted him more. However, he was running out of time. Every future possibility he had seen had a time limit. He knew he had little time to prove to Cecilia that their union had a higher purpose. However, he didn’t know how to tell the daughter of a former United States Senator that she was the only woman on earth that could birth children that could carry his advanced genes.

  “I- I,” Frederick stammered. He couldn’t read her thoughts. It was becoming foggier. His love for her blinded his advanced senses. Love was the only real thing that could interrupt telepathy.

  “It’s okay. I didn’t like my father.” She said, easing his nerves. He didn’t respond.

  “He cheated on my mom and never tried to hide it. He spent more time with his mistresses overseas than he did at home or at the Capitol Hill. He was disgusting and had no regard for anything he couldn’t gain from and sometimes, based on what I hear, I think he was more criminal than you,” she said. Frederick nodded. He was surprised by the disdain she had for her father.

  “I didn’t know you hated your father that much,”

  “He was a pig!” She said with disgust. “The only joy I ever had was seeing him in the coffin. Finally! He couldn’t…” then she paused. Frederick gazed into her eyes, trying his best to get a glimpse of her thoughts. Nothing. Reading her was like hearing white noise. He was very curious. Why would she hate her father so much?

  “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that. I- I should go,” she said as she turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Frederick said. He grabbed her hands. There was a sudden rush of information. Skin to skin contact helped. He could see her past and why she hated her father so much. Frederick tried not to let his emotions cloud his judgment but this time, he couldn’t help it. He was panting furiously at the vivid images of father-daughter molestation came to his mind.

  “He abused you while your mother was away,” he said as he let go of her hand.

  He could see her past and could feel the pain she had held inside for years. She was shocked. “W-what? H-how…”

  Anger brewed within his chest. He wanted to deny killing her father, but now, more than ever, he wished he had known about Senator William’s dark past before he killed him. “He abused you every day. You told your mother and she never believed you. All for political gain. She wanted to be relevant. She wanted to be the wife of a powerful man so she shut you up by sending you to boarding school,” Frederick said.

  She was terrified. How the hell did he know that? Could he read minds? Could he see the past? Is he just playing a mind trick to gain her sympathy?

  “How do you know all this? Did he confess to you before he died?” she finally asked. She was curious. She wasn’t bothered by her past anymore. She had learned to let go, by herself. She had heard of Frederick Olivetti—the rich and powerful Italian. He might have gotten his sources from someone. But whom? Her mother was a raging alcoholic, waiting to die. She had no siblings. No one knew except her dead father and her brain dead alcoholic mother.

  Frederick was lost for words. He had just broken the rule of the illuminati by exposing his powers, by revealing something she hadn’t told anyone and something she hadn’t written anywhere. There was no possible explanation he could have for knowing so much.

  He ran.

  “Who the hell does he think he is?” Peter Russo, head of the New York labor Union said. Chris, Frederick’s right hand man, was appalled and disgusted by Russo’s rudeness, but managed to be calm. Russo’s narcissism was uncalled for. He was radical. Unapologetic. Most importantly, he was stupid to think Don Frederick Olivetti had tolerance for his insolence.

  “Well, so you want me to tell my boss that you refused to heed to his call?” Chris asked calmly. The atmosphere in the cold office wasn’t helping. Irrational thoughts were floating in the air. Chris thought about several different ways to make Peter Russo a scapegoat.

  “Tell him to go fuck himself for all I care. He has no influence with the Unions and he shouldn’t dare try to control the unions,” Peter Russo replied. Chris scoffed. His arms were folded in front of his chest. His dark shiny hair was firm. His moustache made him look tyrannical.

  “You should have chosen your words wisely,” Chris scorned.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. The Olivetti family is of no threat to me. I have the backing of the entire state of New York. That’s real power right there! Now, get out!”

  Chris nodded continuously, in disgust, as he walked out of the office.

  Cecilia stood by her bedroom dresser. She gazed at herself in the mirror. She was absolutely consumed with thoughts of Frederick Olivetti. She couldn’t understand why he knew so much about her. It had to be a trick—the same kind of trick fortune tellers used on naïve customers. She was frantic and eager to know more about Frederick. The rush of information was too specific to be a trick.

  She sat down by her table dresser as she wiped makeup off her face. She was consumed curiosity. There was something about Frederick Olivetti. He wasn’t just a powerful crime boss. He wasn’t just the man that may have killed her father. He was more and her womanly instincts could tell.

  Maybe it was time to say yes. There was something about his desperate need for her attention. He wasn’t like the other men who tried to woo her into marriage. He was a straight to the point fellow—authoritative, overwhelmingly confident and distinctively charismatic.

  She stood up briskly. She shoved her hands into her purse in search of Frederick’s business card. She rushed to the telephone, dialed his number then waited for a response. It rang continuously, but no response. She hung up. What was she thinking? Calling a man at 11pm was highly inappropriate for a woman in her status. He was probably not even in his office. She sighed heavily then stood up. The bell to her apartment rang. Who could it be at an hour that late?

  James Whitman, the man who had come to seek Don Frederick’s Olivetti’s help earlier on, was seated on his living room c
ouch. His wife was seated on the couch beside him. The living room light was dim and the children were asleep. She cozied up to him as they watched late night TV. He thought about telling his wife who he had gone to see earlier in the day. However, he knew she would make a fuss. No wife loved the idea of involvement with the mob family. He had protected his wife’s dignity by punching the man who made inappropriate sexual advances towards her. Now, he was paying the price by being jobless.

  “Honey. You seem tense tonight. What’s going on?” she asked. Her ability to sense her husband’s discomfort was undeniable.

  “Nothing,” He replied. His eyes remained fixated on the TV show he cared nothing about. His muscles were tense and it felt like he had a constant adrenaline high.

  She sighed. “I know the job search is stressful. You know we can move somewhere else if you want. There are other States without the influence of the Unions,”

  “Moving is stressful darling. Besides, other States won’t pay as much. I would have to have two extra jobs,”

  “I could pick up an extra shift at the hospital,” she said, trying to help the situation. They were both quiet. “You know I feel guilty. If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have had to hit Peter Russo,”

  James Whitman stood up. He was upset. “No! No! Don’t apologize. He should apologize to you and to me. The asshole grabbed your ass in public. He disrespected your womanhood. Bottom line is job or no job, Peter Russo got what he deserved,”

  She stood up to calm her husband down. He was breathing heavily. He was sweating. His pupils were dilated. She hugged him till his heavy breathing ceased.

  “Don’t worry honey. I’m handling the situation,” he finally said. She backed away from him. “What does that mean?”