THE RUNNER/SCREENPLAY - BRIAN R. LUNDIN (read an ebook week .txt) 📗

Hispanic prostitutes that were waiting in three adjoining suites; Jimmy called the meeting to order.

VITO
Like you, I am tired of the big shots taking all the money, treating us like a second-hand crew, and giving us the leftovers. We deserve better since we contribute so much money to the family. That faggot, pimp Vinnie Acosta and his boss Pauli is getting all the money from those Nigra policy people and giving us shit. I had enough, youse guys deserve more and I intend to give you more, even if it means taking out the boss.

The room erupted in claps and hoots as Vito fantasized about hitting Pauli.

I know that you are concerned about having a war with Pauli, and I know you know we cannot win an all out war with him, but I’ve got some ideas. Pauli is in a lot of trouble; the feds are all over his ass. Castro has taken over his interests in Cuba and he and the big boys in New York have lost a bundle. The feds are investigating his Vegas connections, he supposedly was involved in that Bullshit Bay of Pigs fiasco, and the government is looking for a fall guy for that shit. I also hear the feds think he might be involved in the murder of some big tit whore in Hollywood.

JIMMY
What should we do boss, what should we do? You know you need the permission of the Commission to take out Pauli.

PAULI
Pauli probably got a hit out for all of us, so for now we’re going to take it easy. We’re safe here and I have arranged rooms for all of you, so for now I want all youse guys to relax, eat and drink good and I got a little surprise for you.

Vito smiled as he nodded at Jimmy. Jimmy opened the door to where the prostitutes were waiting. They all were nude.

JIMMY
Time for some black pus sy!
All of Vito’s crew rushed into the suite.
 
Pauli Gaza knew that Vito was responsible for his underboss, Vinnie Acosta’s murder and Vinnie’s two Capo Bastones, but he also knew that Vito was extremely dangerous who used violence as a tool and was not above even coming after him if he felt threatened. Pauli sat down with his Consigliore VINCENTE RAMONA.

In the Chicago mob there were levels of insulation or buffer for the boss who dictated policy, and the operational level that actually carried out the orders from the boss, that way nothing could be directly traced to him. Each link in the chain including the Consigliore would have to turn traitor, and that had never happened in the history of Organized Crime, although it was possible. The cure for that possibility was simply makes one of the links disappear. The Consigliore is not a part of the family’s hierarchy, but serves as a counselor to the boss, his right hand man, his auxiliary brain. The consigliore is usually an aged, respected Outfit veteran who offers advice to the boss of the family in a variety of matters. He is devoid of ambition and thus base his advice on what is right for the family rather than what is in his or his boss’s best interest. He is not directly involved with the family businesses or a threat to anyone. In addition to being Pauli’s Consigliore, Vincente was his closest friend and companion. He and Pauli were childhood friends and he had Sicilian blood, one of the requirements for being a Consigliore. On important trips he accompanied the boss, at conferences he sat next to him and offered advice. He knew everything the boss knew or nearly everything. Every Consigliore knew that he remained loyal to his boss he would become very rich, have power and respect and his family would be protected and cared for as if he was alive or free. The Consigliore helped his boss make impartial decisions based on fairness and necessity rather than personal feelings or vendettas.

PAULI
We’ve got to take Vito out; he is a threat to your leadership, running wild and not showing respect. I want you to contact Don Marinee in Palermo and have him send over two specialists for the job. I don’t want any of our people involved, plus put the word out one big one for the head of Vito Paligreno.

VINCENTI
Done, but I suggest you go to the mattresses for your safety.

PAULI
Ok, notify the all of the capos to have their men move into the white house until things settle down.

Shortly after being assuming the role of the Capi di tutti Capi-Boss of all bosses, Pauli memorialized and proclaimed his high status by building a splendid mansion surrounded by a park and on a high hill overlooking Lake Michigan, in Waukegan, Illinois, a suburb on the far north side of Chicago.

EXT. LITTLE WHITE HOUSE

The white stone mansion had a curved entrance portico, supported by two tall, slender fluted white columns, was suggestive of the White House. The “Little White House was comprised of thirty acres and secluded from the road by majestic stands of evergreen, pines and oak trees. With a frontage over 150 feet long it was surrounding by a ten-foot high wrought-iron electric fence topped with barbed wire and electronic sensors to keep out intruders and prevented the pack of attack trained Doberman that roamed the grounds from leaping over its spikes. The fence also was equipped with a buzzer, a microphone and loudspeaker. Twenty two story cottages sat in the rear of the house for trusted retainers or bruglione, or capo regimes and ten guest houses that sat at angles to the main house and all were equipped with floodlights which lit up the entire compound making it impossible for anyone to lurk on the grounds and it had bullet-proof windows with gun ports for the solders. Two men armed with a lupara stood guard in front of an electric gate and two other armed men stood guard at the rear electrified gate. A long twisting paved drive led to the front door. Anyone who approached the solid oak door with its ornate gold doorknocker and a carved impression of the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus was dwarfed by it. Wild flowers painted the landscape in livid colors. Two concrete real sized lion heads flanked the white columns. The lion’s heads had a heavy curly mane and a broad and noble nose. Their mouths were wide opened as if in a terrible roar, its concrete teeth threatening. In Sicilian mythology the lion was a symbol of strength. Underneath of the heads was an old saying. “Miglio vivere un giorno de leone he cent anni pecora” Better to live on day as a lion than a hundred as a lamb. A garage of red brick and neatly trimmed with white aluminum siding contained a collection of antique vehicles. Steel shutters secured the windows and the garage door with was steel enforced and alarmed.

INT. LITTLE WHITE HOUSE-EVENING

Mattresses were placed in the guess houses for the more than 500 soldiers, the refrigerator and freezers were stocked with food and each house contained weapons and ammunition. There was a grand hallway, the walls decorated with Italian art, assorted colorful flowers and expensive grandfather clocks. The hallway was bathed in subdued lighting that gave it a soft amber glow and a highly polished white marble floor. An abstract painting was on one wall. The other wall contained a life size colored picture of Pauli Gaza. The walls over fifteen feet high were off-white edged with light-brown wood. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The bright light filtering through the crystal gave the room a warm and homey feel as the gentle sound of the rain finally stopped. Along the walls were life-sized photos of Gaza mother and younger sister in Sicily. Floor to ceiling windows were covered by dark blue drapes.

Vincente Ramona and Pauli Gaza sat around a large dark mahogany conference table in a large den with no windows and heavy furniture. MARCO BEFONTE a fierce-looking man was twenty-five over six feet with dark eyes, immense eyebrows and a heavy mustache expertly balanced a silver serving tray with his left hand that contained thick sliced Genoa salami, chucks of fresh hot buttered Italian bread and assorted fruits. The man gently placed the tray on an ivory covered table decorated with wild flowers imported from Sicily and poured a cup of green tea from a stainless steel tea pot and handed it to Vincente and handed Pauli a glass of Strega in a crystal glass. Vincente Ramona, Gaza consigliore stood a little over five feet and weighed maybe one hundred fifty pound but he graduated from Harvard at seventeen and had a photographic memory. Pauli was sitting behind a large maghony and light-hued wooden desk. A green-eyed fluffy black alley cat sat comfortably on his desk. Vincente Ramona sat on one of the five blue and white-strip sofas that formed a square around Pauli’s massive desk.
PAULI
Thanks Marco.

The big man who moved behind his chair.

VINCENTI
Glad you took my advice boss and moved in here.

PAULI
Can’t be too careful with that crazy-ass Vito.

VINCENTI
Vito is a fool and a consummately evil man he was a good earner, but he’s greedy and hardheaded. I think he wants a war with you and Jerome but I’ve got my people out watching him, any move he makes we’ll know about.

PAULI
Well if that’s what he wants we’ll give it to him, but he’s foolish to want a war on two fronts, look at what happened to that ass-hole Hitler, he would have been alright if he didn’t fuck with them Russians, but you know sometimes a war can be good gets rid of bad blood.

Both men laughed as Gaza gently picked up the cat, rubber him behind his ears and scratched his chin; the cat purred a sound of contentment and love. Gaza casually strolled over to the large windows and pulled on a braided gold cord, the heavy drapes opened effortlessly. Pauli Gaza glanced out of the fifteen-foot windows at the well-kept and manicured lawn and three of his hoods armed with shotguns taking a smoke break. Sparkling clean garbage cans stood in neat rows and giant evergreen and crab apple trees filled his view. Little birds flitted from tree to tree as grey squirrels scampered around the yard, nibbling on the fallen pines and crab apples. At the base of a marble fountain was a life size statute on a man holding a shotgun continuously bathed by a stream of multicolored water. Marco kept a watchful eye on his boss and the garden. Pauli slowly turned from the window.

PAULI
When I found Vito he was just like Callie, my cat. I found the cat hiding beneath one of the bushes in the yard he was skinny and starving. When I first approached, he looked at me with his wide green frightened eyes, barred his fangs, and hissed at me. “Come here,” I whispered softly but he didn’t move. I went to the house, put a can of tuna in a bowl, and brought it out. I half expected the cat to be gone, but I think he was too weak to move. I slid the bowl under the bush and backed off to watch. Cautiously I watched as the cat crept on all fours to the food. He gulped that food down in an instant and looked at me as if to say, “Go get some more motherfucker.” Before it was over that little motherfucker had