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.
SECRET
When a violent crime takes place, should the police always be involved? The quick answer is yes, but ponder a moment. I mean this as a human question, not an ethical one. We are emotional creatures and we make decisions through the filter of past experience.
Early in my novel, Zachary blunders into an armed robbery in progress at Big Jim McCullough’s service station. It’s not the first time it’s happened yet McCullough won’t call the police. His response is emotional, rooted in past memory. Logical or not, he will protect himself against a repeat of previous events. These things are hidden in his heart and Zachary can make no sense of the decision.
During a previous robbery, McCullough chases off a couple of hold-up men with a shotgun loaded with slugs—just fires over their heads. The police respond to the scene and arrest McCullough. You get that? The police arrest him right in his own place of business—they don’t pursue the real criminals. They charge McCullough for firing without imminent danger. That’s against the law in most places. To state it baldly, he’s not in the process of being murdered when he fires his weapon.
Fiercely independent, McCullough creates his own system for dealing with such incidents—a method that doesn’t involve the police. His system works. It keeps him clean with the law and the insurance company.
Later in the story, Zachary faces a similar decision. After a layoff, a disgruntled worker shoves a shotgun against his back. As foreman, it’s not the first time he’s been threatened but on this occasion, his friend, Ocono, knocks the man to the ground and beats him senseless. Should Zachary call the police?
If he does, a good machinist will not only be out of work but will face jail time. If he does, Ocono may be charged with assault. If he does, Zachary’s wife will worry about dangers that are a part of his job. What should he do?
TERRIFIED
Why does a kid ride a rollercoaster? Why does an outdoorsman shoot a rapids, climb a peak, hunt shark with a spear gun? Is it just the adrenaline rush? It can’t be. I can get that from a couple pots of sweet coffee. So why do we get such a kick out of being terrified?
As a pilot, when training for my instrument rating, I asked my instructor what he liked most about that kind of flying. “The shock and delight of making it back alive,” he said.
One day we flew through a series of imbedded thunderstorms. If I hadn’t cinched in my belt the turbulence would have thrust my head through the canopy of my Cessna 172. More lightning than I’d ever seen. The cloud to ground discharges looked to be eight inches in diameter and close. I longed to pop the window of my little plane and measure one. My instructor told me what to do. “Just keep the wings level and make slow, gentle corrections—don’t worry about your altitude. I’ve known a plane to get spit out at 28,000 feet and another driven to the ground.” With those words of encouragement, my eyes widened and I set to the challenge.
With our destination closed due to zero visibility, we headed to our alternate, Chicago’s Midway Airport. The rain drove down so hard it raised a fog high into the sky and we busted minimums tracking our instruments to the runway, only to dimly see the “rabbit” as we flew just a few feet over the thing. (The rabbit is that blinking chevron of lights at the end of major runways.) My instructor called for the controls and flared for landing, then lost sight of the runway in the pounding rain. I popped the window and stuck my head out, caught sight of the center stripe, and shouted for him to plant it on the ground.
I was shocked and delighted to make it back alive.
We taxied to the FBO and after a quick inspection for hail damage, he handed me a cigar and we just sat there, stunned. Then a strange thing happened. A strong urge built up within me to fly back into those clouds. Does that make any sense? No. Is it human? Yes. Also human was a three-day headache from the severe turbulence.
Life and death is the issue here. When you push the limits so far that your life is at risk, you experience something wonderful that I have no name for. What good is a rollercoaster that doesn’t make you doubt—even for a moment—that you’ll survive the ride? What use is a rapids that provides no life-and-death challenge? It’s true, you know. One of my family drown in a kayak.
We can experience something akin to that thrill vicariously if we identify closely with the person in danger. At a circus, watching a daring trapeze act. During a spectacular crash at the Indy 500. When reading an exciting scene from a really good suspense novel.
Do you care about the character, maybe identify with the character? Are you seeing events unfold through that character’s point of view? Then you are experiencing the danger as if you were there. At a film or reading a good book, I become so involved in the story that I feel as if I were there, but find myself helpless to influence events.
In the end, we appreciate everything in light of its contrast. Life and death. The human struggle. The shock and delight of making it back alive.
WHO READS?
I just completed a video interview with the 13-year-old daughter of a friend. She reads. She enjoys it. She knows what she likes. She knows why she likes it. This girl read my entire novel—a story intended for adults—and told me it was, “awesome.” Incidentally, she gave a terrific interview.
Conventional wisdom inbreeds conventional wisdom. Trends change. The result? Marketing mavens can be wrong. Contrary to popular wisdom, not all men confine themselves exclusively to sports and action movies. Women read suspense, not just romance as some would have it. Our readers may be more widely dispersed than commonly believed. They are not necessarily the people one might expect.
Let me give some personal examples. One of my female readers expressed an intense interest in the father/son interaction going on in my book. She told me, “I’m fascinated with this concept of learning to be a man and just what that means.” That was my first indication that women liked my novel. It was unexpected. I certainly didn’t purposely set out to capture that audience. Another of my female readers loved the action scenes and became angry and frustrated with an important character that used Scripture as a club. She said about a hostage scene, “I wanted him to shoot her.” I took her advice and cut back on that character’s habit of hurling quotes.
Is it really true that women make up 80% of the reading audience? Is it true that kids aren’t learning to read in school? Is it true that men like action exclusively? Or are people simply bored with what publishers offer? There seems to be a disconnect between our broad assumptions and what actually goes on. Every so often a book comes out that goes counter to conventional wisdom. “A fluke,” one might say. “An aberration.” How can that be? If the successful is an aberration, what does that say about the reading public?
I no longer believe that traditional demographics can be trusted. I don’t think genre is the most important criteria. People enjoy reading all kinds of books and like the stock markets, trends are ever-changing, changing ever faster and difficult to predict.
My best guess is that today, one trend dominates and will continue to do so. I believe that a successful novel must include the following elements:
1.) Easy to read.
2.) Well written (by which I mean easy to read).
3.) Fast paced (by which I mean easy to read).
4.) Interesting characters (by which I mean easy to read).
5.) Linear plot structure (by which I mean easy to read).
6.) Emotionally engaging (by which I mean easy to read).
I could continue, but you get the idea. We’re all in a hurry. We’re impatient. We’re restless. We’re conditioned to fast-paced entertainment. We want our needs met right now.
TOM CLANCY REVISITED
I am continuing my slow read through the Clancy Series, in the chronology of Jack Ryan’s career. So far, this is a pure joy.
Just finished the “Cardinal of the Kremlin”. Even though “Red October” is my personal favorite, (see my comment under the previous Clancy post), I have to admit—this one is even better written. The novel moves at a brisk pace. The details of espionage, political intrigue and technical warfare are amazing in their detail and scope and as convincing today as they were in 1988 when the book came out. He uses the advantages of omniscient voice fully.
To me, the amazing part is his development of the characters. In this novel, Clancy has overcome the limitations of omniscient voice and a plot-driven structure. The characters are fully fleshed out. The reader is placed deeply into the minds of these people. I really felt the emotions behind every action, every decision.
This novel reads even better for me today than it did 22 years ago. It has stood the test of time. It forces me to re-think my own assumptions. I realize that all the books in the series can’t be expected to equal this, but “The Cardinal of the Kremlin” is a story I am particularly glad to have taken up a second time.
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.
TOM CLANCY
I enjoy Tom Clancy’s novels. I broke out my old paperbacks and now find myself in the middle of the second book.
In a previous post, I compared plot-driven to character-driven novels. To me, the character-driven novel is the best place to interject suspense. You care about the character—maybe remember that character for life—and the slightest threat of danger raises the suspense level immediately. So few books are written in this hybrid style. It’s what I try to do.
Clancy’s work is primarily plot-driven. But I still read the books. Who doesn’t get a charge out of a terrific story? I may forget most of the characters, but there’s so much material to enjoy. My favorite is Red October.
