The Marinelli Family: Rise of an Underboss

Prologue

It’s hard to say when things spiraled out of control, but one thing’s for sure; they were way past an apology and a floral arrangement. The leader of the Los Angeles S.W.A.T. team approached the door to the Commercial Bank of California with extreme caution. As the tension continued to build, it looked as though he was traveling in slow motion. He armed his weapon and turned to the man in charge. We’re ready when you are, sir.

The man in charge was Detective Roderick James. He was a highly decorated officer and the first black man to make lead in the West Bureau. Over the first five years of his career, he set high marks in drug busts and civil arrests. He eHwas well on his way to a hefty retirement and the key to the city, and then his luck ran out. There was a gang that worked hard to ruin his good name, and they were too efficient to catch. As the gang grew smarter, Rod’s thinking became erratic. His motives were thought out, but his actions were ever-changing. He was out of options and sick to his stomach. There was never room for crime on the streets, but how much more could he sacrifice to make things right? He had no leads, and his optimism was gone. Needless to say, it had killed his confidence and he was stuck in contemplation. The criminals responsible had to be put away, that he was sure of, but these weren’t your average criminals. They were kids under expert tutelage. They received expert training from an expert teacher, and if crime was part of the school-based curriculum, these kids were on the dean’s list.

Rod’s views on cops and criminals were parallel. They may not have shared the same principles, but their motives were identical. Each side felt justified, and both would stop at nothing to prove a point. Amidst all his uncertainties he was sure of one thing, once he opened those doors things would escalate quickly. Blood was going to be shed and people were going to die. The mess on the streets would seem minimal compared to the damage seen that day. Regardless of what you think you know there isn’t a man out there ready to make that call. When you’re sworn onto the force you have to understand that each day you drive to the station could be your last. When you apprehend a suspect it could be the last time you place handcuffs on the wrists of an offender. You also have to be okay with telling someone’s wife that one of your own won’t be coming home for dinner. Rod learned a long time ago that every scenario was a possibility. What he hadn’t considered was having all three happen at once.

Standing by his side as always was his fellow detective and partner of ten years, Joseph Markum. He was second in command, and understood that every situation required a sense of urgency. Rod could’ve instructed the entire precinct to dance the jig and then shoot each other in the leg, and Markum would back his every move without hesitation. The other officers formed a circle around the two detectives with guns drawn. Their barricade resembled a moat protecting a sandcastle from oncoming waves. They wore Kevlar shields and serious faces. Rod had all the backing in the world, but the decision to take the bank rested on his shoulders alone. In the end, the consequences of their actions that day would plague his mind forever. Detective James was on the brink of a potentially bad decision that could change his life, or forever end it. As he stood before an unfamiliar reflection in the glass doors he drew in his breath ready to announce his decision.

Chapter 1

The front door of Holcomb’s Bikes creaked as it gave way to four unfamiliar figures. They moved about the store with little to no effort. Each move was rehearsed like they had done it a million times before. If it wasn’t for the creak of old wood or the battle of dry hinges, John would’ve failed to realize he even had company. He had been face deep in his receipt book all morning, tallying his earnings for the week so far. This seemed a little excessive due to the fact that it was only Monday, but if John wasn’t counting money he wasn’t happy. Two silhouettes covered the front perimeter, at the ready, but lurked in the shadows to remain unseen. Their sole purpose was to announce any unsuspected visitors. Their faces were undetectable, but John could tell that one was female by the way she walked. The other two moved like cyclones, quick and fluent, with ease down the runway of the store. Due to the inability to see their faces John looked back down at his book.

Damn kids. Why don’t they just leave me the hell alone?

He had no use for them. If he couldn’t get along with his own kids then he wasn’t going to be respectful to someone else’s. He was brow beaten for years and missed out on childhood, so naturally he wasn’t in line for Father of the Year. His children took a distant second to the brown bottle and a comfortable chair. After his boys took off for the service he decided that Jack Daniels was the only friend he would ever need again. He was devoted to his job, and never drank at work, never mixing business with pleasure. In addition to his hatred for the younger generation, he was coming off a two day drunk. With the combination of his own dysfunction, and the love he never allowed himself to feel from his own children, the sight of kid’s made him nauseous. The undesirable feeling of regret will do that to you every time. Unfortunately, kids are what contributed to eighty percent of his profit, so until he sought retirement there was no sense in being in business without them.

‘Retirement. Like that’ll happen.’ John welcomed retirement about as much as he welcomed his new guests. He tried that gig before and failed miserably at it. He retired years ago from the service and quickly got bored quick at home. Long days alone with the wife nagging were no way to spend the rest of his life. He opened the shop to continue his reign as overachiever after she left him. John wasn’t too good with relationships of any kind. He was bitter, callous and cold, three traits he had inherited from his dad. He wasn’t too good with silence either. He had the trenches of the war to thank for that one. He looked up and tried hard to appear business like. Help you with something?

Are you Holcomb? The non-faced man to the right finally spoke. His voice was soothing to the ear, but commanding at the same time.

Holcomb never had time for games, but he had to admit that there was something about this group that interested him. John’s uncertainty was obvious as he took a quick second to think. His head was pounding. If you’re customers, I am?

And if we’re not, do you magically disappear? This time the other guy spoke. His voice was harsh, lacked emotion, and his tone was powerful.

John ignored the comment and continued to write in his book. The two indescribable figures were halfway to the counter by now. Though his eyes continued to follow the pen in his book, his ears remained fixed on his surroundings. John never let his guard down. Above all, he was a soldier first. He filtered out the radio chatter coming from the backroom, and focused on the targets coming his way. He heard the striking of a Zippo followed by a forced exhalation, then finally the spring as the lighter closed to extinguish the flame. He looked up once more for some sort of clarity, only to face confusion through a cloud of ascending smoke.

There’s no smoking in here. John stared at the figures once more. They looked like a two-headed ship as it passed through a new day mist.

That’s a good rule. You should enforce that. The voices were closer now. As the figure edged nearer, he took another pull from his cigarette.

Believe it or not, that was an attempt.

The smoker was obviously in charge. He walked around very comfortably, like he owned the place. The one that lacked emotion was some kind of hired help. For what, Holcomb hadn’t a clue. As the strangers approached the counter John was almost blinded by the uncertainty of their faces. Their previous victims had said that these travelers were ghosts that didn’t want to be seen, but if you had seen them, it was because they allowed it. The bad news for John was that there were no reports of these traveling storms ever being identified, which led most to believe that once you saw their faces it was the last thing you would ever see.

So you own this joint, huh? It was obvious who owned the place, but small talk seemed to be a good way to break the ice.

Nothing gets past you, does it? There was sarcasm in his voice. John knew who they were. He was finally in the presence of the famous Four Storms. The local papers named this foursome shortly after the crime in L.A. began to increase. Their name went viral and soon they were a national nuisance. They were called the Four Storms for three reasons: they came unannounced, they wreaked havoc, and they left people dazed.

You’re just full of great answers today. The apparition let out a snicker; he was obviously amused.

He took one more puff from his cigarette and stepped to the counter. John looked up in shock. The strangers were now visible and right in front of his face.

Tommy Marinelli. Nice to meet you. He had a young-looking appearance of no more than twenty. His hair was black, in perfect order, and he smiled when he spoke. His partner, on the other hand, had no reason to smile. He stood next to the counter with a huge chip on his shoulder. Tommy shook his head in disbelief. Nice bikes. I like the store.

Yeah, well, it took a lot of work, but it’s all mine. His answers were hasty and lacked understanding. Now what can I do for you gentleman? He was sickened by their appearance.

Tommy walked over to the motorcycles to get a better look. His partner stayed near the counter with his arms folded. He looked as if he was daring John to move.

I have to hand it to you, John. You’re a very smart guy. Tommy paused and sat down on the nearest bike. You’re a man who knows how to sell things. He surveyed the store and then looked at John. The amount of work you put into this place is obvious.

John promptly went into sell mode. You have good taste. He was a crafty old bastard. If he had to deal with kids then they were leaving on bikes. He walked over to the bike Tommy was sitting on. This bike is the newest model. It’s got twice the horsepower of any bike in here. It’s also twice the price. Let’s face it though, if you want performance you’ve got to pay a little extra. John looked over to the hired muscle at the counter and smiled awkwardly. Besides, who wants a bike you can’t get a little careless on?

See Nicky, I told you he was a hell of a salesman. Tommy gripped the handlebars, stretched out his arms and leaned back in the seat. How much?

John eye’s widened at the thought of dollar signs. It’s twenty-thousand, but if you upgrade it, I’ll cut you a deal.

Nick finally broke his intense look and attempted to be social. Hey Tommy, remember when we used to come here after little league for ice cream? I knew I recognized this storefront. What was the name of this place then?

Tommy searched for an answer but kept his eyes on the bike. Brain Freeze.

Nick broke his cold stare and finally showed some emotion. Our dad’s used to bring us here every Saturday.

Yeah, this place looked different then. Tommy was in perfect agreement.

John’s business smile faded slowly. It was suddenly clear to him that he was being made fun of. It looked different then because it was across the street. If you two aren’t going to buy something then quit wasting my time.

Tommy snickered and got off the bike. I told you he was smart, Nicky. You got me, John. He threw his arms up in defeat, and walked over to where John was standing. The truth is my dad died when I was a kid."

Tommy spoke the truth. His father was shot and killed in his presence when he was only three, but thanks to a mental block, he had no memory of that horrible day. Kids had the ability to wipe the slate clean. It helped keep them carefree throughout their childhood. Tommy shoved it so deep inside his gut that he never felt the need to ask what happened. Michael Marinelli died in the arms of his wife outside a grocery store. It was a hired hit, and the assassin was never found. Unfortunately, that was a very common thing in crime families. When you decided to be a gangster, you never made plans for more than two weeks ahead of time. That’s why wise guys always carried so much cash. They lived in the moment, because they knew any one of those moments could be their last.

John stood in silence and surveyed his attackers. Tommy wasn’t good with silence either. It made him angry. He took one last drag from his cigarette, pulled it from his lips, and pressed the lit cherry into John’s cheek.

Oh my God! Holcomb grabbed the right side of his face and squirmed in pain, but his situation got worse by the second. Every time he clutched his face he felt a new layer of skin come off.

Sorry John. God isn’t coming to save you Tommy had regained the momentum and the control. He hardly ever lost control, but when he did, he was very good at reclaiming it. John continued to moan in agony. Tommy ignored his pain and kept his focus. I search my mind every day for recollection of my dad, but I always come up empty. He pulled out a nine-millimeter and pointed it at John’s chest. Would you please tell my father I said hi?

John held his cheek and responded as if his ass was on fire. Holy shit! You’re kidding, right?

No, John. I’m not kidding. His face was as plain as dry white toast. I’m a business man, not a fucking comedian.

Though he was sinking fast, John felt optimistic. He was great at business. It was his people skills that sucked, that much was obvious. Okay, talk business then. Just put that thing away.

Tommy stared into John’s eyes and saw genuine fear. It only pumped him up more. You know what, Nick? I like John’s tone a lot better when he’s kissing my ass.

What do you want? John had lost control, but he tried to remain calm. Something else he failed miserably at.

Nick finally spoke out. We’re going to talk and you’re going to cooperate. He pointed at John. That means we talk and you shut your fucking mouth.

What’s this all about? John felt more outnumbered when they both spoke. He backed up to the counter looking for refuge.

Tommy I thought you said this guy was smart. He’s already fucked up the cooperation part. Because Nick lacked patience, Tommy thought it would be best if he took the lead back. He had