THE GAMEMAKER’S FATHER
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© 2011 John Jonelis – All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER 27
Roya Fetova
A Crowd Sourced Novel
Read it here – Say what comes next.
At the sound of the door, Desi Grasso glanced from his computer and then looked again in earnest. A well-tailored businessman stood in the open doorway. Bald. Glasses. Old, yet he looked fit. How did this guy get past the guards? How did he get inside and reach the second floor of the shop without tripping the alarm? The thought of how that might happen sent an instant chill up Desi’s spine but he determined not to show fear. “Who the hell are you?”
The man strode into the office and placed a business card on the desk. He took a seat. Leaned back. Crossed his legs. Didn’t say a word.
Desi grabbed the card. Anthony Dmitri, Investment Counselor. Aon Building. Desi always wanted to move his operation there but Uncle Uomo was too cheap. The man in the suit exuded a nonchalant attitude except that he watched with an intensity that made the younger man squirm. Desi picked up the phone, glanced at the number written on his blotter and dialed Aldo’s cell phone. It rang six times. Then came the recording. Where were Aldo and the other guard? He cleared his throat. “How’d you get in here?”
The man’s eyes didn’t break contact when he answered in a mild voice. “Aldo Gionelli used to be a friend of mine.”
“He had orders to guard the place.“
“I didn’t meet much resistance.”
At that flat tone, Desi felt beads of sweat on his upper lip. He fought to keep control of his thoughts, of his voice. “What’re you tellin’ me here?”
“You’ll find Gionelli and his nephew outside. I’m an investment counselor, Mr. Grasso. My partners and I want to offer you a business proposition—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. My team believes you’re ready to be your own boss.”
Desi turned the card over and over until he noticed the nervous tell and placed it flat on the desk like a playing card.
Dmitri went on: “Uomo Grasso is a powerful man but we think he’s old-school. We feel you have the intelligence and business acumen to step into his role.” He smiled. “Certainly you’ve thought about that from time to time, Mr. Grasso?” Dmitri got to his feet. He seemed to do it effortlessly for an old man.
“What connections you got, Grandpa?”
“It’s a rather large office. 9 a.m. Mr. Grasso. Don’t be late.” He walked out and closed the door behind him.
Desi stared at the door for a full minute before he regained control of his thought processes. First thing was to find out why those goons didn’t alert him. He lifted a snub-nosed revolver from his desk drawer and moved slowly down the metal spiral stairs, scanning the shop for this Dmitri guy.
Nobody there.
Outside, all was quiet. No traffic, no guards. He paced around the building.
Nothing.
The night air chilled him and he zipped his leather jacket, then pulled out a flashlight and moved more slowly through the alley, scanning corners, windows, doorways. When he reached the dumpster, he lifted the lid.
Aldo’s eyes stared upward, a look of surprise frozen on his blue lips. The other body lay folded beside him. Desi almost lost his greasy pizza supper. He went back into his office. Locked the door. Sat at his keyboard. Googled Anthony Dimitri, Investment Counselor. The search lit the screen with the name.
He selected the first website. Professional. Complicated. It looked legit.
Ten minutes later, Desi’s hands shook. He poured whiskey in the bottom of a paper cup. Moved to the water cooler. Topped it off to the brim, then downed it in three gulps and poured another. He needed to think this out.
* * *
When he made three blocks from Desi Grasso’s electronics shop, Tony Ferragamo, alias Anthony Dmitri pulled out his phone and called Roya. In a minute, her car glided to the curb and he climbed in.
“Any trouble?”
Tony just smiled. Easy—so easy. This businessman cover worked fine. Watching his words proved the only challenge. He’d done some acting before he got kicked out of high school and it finally paid off. Just like the teacher told him—nothing learned ever got wasted.
.
What happens next? TAKE YOUR TURN
HOW TO PLAY–This is an interactive novel. Tell me what comes next. I’ll try to write it in.
1.) IT’S EASY – Just enter an idea, such as: “their jeep drives off a cliff.”
2.) KEEP IT CLEAN – In general, if it wouldn’t fly in a 60′s Bond flick, then it’s out.
3.) SHARE – If I publish, I’ll list contributors prominently. I take you at your word that all ideas are your original thoughts.
CHAPTER 26
Roya Fetova
A Crowd Sourced Novel
Read it here – Say what comes next.
Frank’s body heat filled the box. The few holes drilled in the metal sides didn’t bring enough oxygen. Sweat dripped off his nose. With head crammed low between his knees, unable to move, his anger grew and his breathing quickened. Pulse beat in his ears and he tried to hold his bodily fluids.
Before they crammed him in this thing, it looked like an ordinary steel footlocker. Not as small as the box used in pilot survival training—an experience he never expected to repeat. How many hours? With a curse, he realized he’d lost track of time.
Without warning, the lid opened and he squinted against the instant glare of fluorescent light.
“Sam, Bruno, get him to his feet.” The voice of Mahoney.
Two sets of hands lifted him out of the box. “Please stretch your muscles, Mr. Smith. It’s time we talked. Bruno, bring him to 109 when he’s fit to walk.”
Frank looked at him from under his brows.
Mahoney turned and strode out the room while Frank tried to straighten his back, his legs. He glanced at the front of his shirt and pants—heavy and dark with sweat.
* * *
The door to the interrogation room slammed closed. Solid steel-on-steel. Frank arched his back then paced. Why didn’t they cuff him to the chair? He pressed his face to the mirror and tried to see to the other side of the glass. Impossible.
The door opened and Mahoney breezed in. “How are we doing, Mr. Smith?”
A stupid question—ambivalent, sarcastic, calculated to bait him. Frank’s military training included interrogation techniques but now his anger burned. He didn’t bother to answer and decided to show no fear or discomfort.
“Not talking?” Mahoney grinned. “Perhaps you resent that box? Convenient thing to keep lying about. Who would guess I’d use it that way? Yes—strictly against regulations, I know.”
“I want a lawyer.”
“You actually have quite good legal counsel.” Mahoney grinned and glanced at a clipboard. “It’s all here in black and white. According to these documents, you’ve been released on bail. Why are such things allowed? The laws of this country are certainly lax.” He lifted the page and peered at the next. “At this moment, you’re walking free on the street, perhaps stopping at a store or restaurant. A criminal–a killer like you. It says you like golf.”
“I said I want a lawyer.”
Mahoney slouched in the steel chair and examined Frank. “Don’t act so naive, Mr. Smith. Technically, you have ceased to exist, but on the books… Let me put it this way: You have been replaced by a paper trail. Don’t act so surprised–it doesn’t convince me.” He sighed. “We are building quite a dossier on you. Frank Smith will check into hotels, travel from city to city.” He clucked his tongue. “Already violating your parole A suitcase will be open and clothing will hang on the rack, soap and towels will be used. We can be very thorough, you know. Of course, in reality, you aren’t hearing me say this.”
Frank’s face burned with anger at this dirty Fed. He felt he could strangle the guy. It wouldn’t be hard to snap that pencil neck. How many others did Mahoney torture? “How do you get away with this? It’s against the law.”
Mahoney sighed. “Don’t be a bore. I’ve scheduled you for training. That box is part of it as I’m sure you are quite aware from your military school. We don’t do that to our pilots in my home country, but it does seem to prepare a man.” He looked Frank up and down. “You look fit enough, but you lack certain skills. We have only a few days to train you. It will be intense. Think you’re up to it, old boy?”
So that was the game. When Mahoney crossed to his side of the steel table, Frank grabbed his throat with one hand and with the other, lifted him from his feet by the belt and slammed his body against the huge mirror. He squeezed until he felt the man’s larynx through the pasty flesh. Mahoney’s face turned red as his hair and seemed to swell.
The door burst open. Sam and Bruno rushed in. They took hold of Frank and pinned his arms to the concrete floor. Mahoney drove the heel of his shoe into Frank’s solar plexus.
The breath driven from him, Frank gasped for air.
“Put him back in the box.”
.
What happens next? TAKE YOUR TURN
HOW TO PLAY–This is an interactive novel. Tell me what comes next. I’ll try to fit it in.
1.) IT’S EASY – Just enter an idea, such as: “their jeep drives off a cliff.”
2.) KEEP IT CLEAN – In general, if it wouldn’t fly in a 60′s Bond flick, then it’s out.
3.) SHARE – If I publish, I’ll list contributors prominently. I take you at your word that all ideas are your original thoughts.
IS FICTION MORE THAN ENTERTAINMENT?
This response from J KIRSCH strikes me as so profound that I am reproducing it here:
This post brings up an interesting conundrum: why does fiction sometimes equal or transcend the ability of nonfiction to touch someone? People see a headline or a paragraph and are able to distance themselves from a real tragedy. On the other hand have that person read their favorite novel in which they lose a major character and they feel real sadness.
The way one looks at the question depends on several assumptions. I’m not sure that it’s fair to say that fiction is entertainment. For example, a certain fiction book depicts imaginary civilizations in expressing a powerful theme of racial tolerance. Is this in some way less meaningful than a book about Apartheid in teaching the same lesson of racial tolerance? Jesus’ parables in the Bible are essentially short stories. Their power is in creating understanding and is in no way restricted by whether events did or did not actually “happen”.
MURDER
Life is precious. That’s my best response to the unanswerable question, “What place does murder have in fiction?” A few thoughts—
If a human life is threatened, the stakes are high. When a fictional character that we’ve come to know dies, something important has happened. It hits us at a primal level. We find ourselves caught up in an experience outside our norm. Nobody seems to say it, but we’re talking about the struggle between good and evil.
Often the event leaves behind a problem that must be solved, either by unlocking a puzzle or by direct action. We become personally involved in the story. Along the way we meet captivating characters. Hurdles are cleared—more threats encountered—we have a sense of danger survived.
At the resolution, our fear changes to relief or even triumph. Perhaps justice is done or shattered lives renewed.
