Why I Hated The Guy From The FBI Ch. 12byProlonged_Debut10©
Note: All names and associations used in this story are not real, and any similarity is strictly accidental in nature. This is a work of fiction, and please read it with that in mind.
Dear Reader, This is an Edited Version of Chapter 12. I did this for two reasons. First, to clean up some English problems. Second, and MOST IMPORTANT, to advise you that my computer, containing Chapters 13, 14, and 15 died, taking with it all my work. It is with my I.T. people now and they are trying to retrieve it from the hard drive. If they are successful, I will start posting these chapters one week apart, through the end of the story, which I am working on now. I am truly sorry for the delay. When I opened the computer and saw the Blue Screen, I cried. Prolonged_Debut10
42. A Tale of Two Sundays
Bern, Switzerland -Three private jet aircraft were loading on the tarmac ready for their trip to Milan. Attendants carefully loaded "Don" Antonio Castronova into the largest aircraft, which had been turned into a flying hospital. With him would be: his cardiologist, two nurses, two attendants, and his two oldest sons.
The two other aircraft would contain several other family members, who had stayed with him, in Bern, plus other medical staff personnel, and his bodyguards. Although these two aircraft would take off after "The Don's aircraft, they would arrive first; and prepare the way for him, when his aircraft landed. Everything was choreographed to the last step of the dance. "The Don" was even wearing makeup, which made him look like he was on death's door.
Upon arrival at the Lineata airport, the occupants of the first two aircraft set up a rope line to keep visitors, away from "The Don." It would allow the ambulance to get very close to the aircraft, without hurting anyone.
As the attendants walked gingerly down the stairs, carrying "The Don," a cheer arose in the crowd, welcoming him home. To show his gratitude, the Don raised his hand at the wrist, and waved it at the crowd as best he could. His hand then flopped back down onto the stretcher, seemingly exhausted.
Agents from every Italian law enforcement division were taking pictures and looking at the frail old man, as he was taken to the ambulance. They interviewed the doctor, the nurses, the attendants, and even the flight crews to see if anything was being done to fool them. They had no idea that each of these people were very well bought and paid for; and also threatened to within an inch of their entire family's existence. Everyone happily complied with their instructions. They also knew that more money was still to come their way.
After Don Castronova was put into the ambulance, cars lined the way in front, and behind him, leading the caravan to his home. In his life he had lived lavishly, and he would die that way, also. He felt it was befitting his station in life.
At home, his bedroom was now a hospital room; with every hospital monitor, and diagnostic machine available. His doctors would only need to look at a wall to see what was happening in "The Don's" body. Men and women from all walks of life went to the Don's home to pay their respects and brought gifts for him. All were received happily, but very few were allowed to see "The Don," because he was so frail. Every so often, a member of the judicial branch of the Italian government was allowed into the room with "The Don," to speak with his doctor, about his condition. However they were not allowed to disturb the patient himself. They were able to read the monitors for themselves and make notes of the doctors reports and they knew the old man's time was about up. 10 days later, they were right.
Don Antonio Guido Castronovo passed away on the morning of December 19. He is survived by his wife of fifty-five years Elizabeta, their seven sons, four daughters, twenty-six grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren.
A cry of mourning went out throughout the city of Malan, when the old man passed away. For the people living there, he was a benefactor. He gave to charities, helped people start businesses, gave generously to keep the churches and cathedrals looking beautiful, and no one had a bad word to say about him.
However, to the police and the other law enforcement agencies, he was a criminal. He made money off the weaknesses of others. He smuggled in drugs in huge quantities, which he redistributed throughout the world. What he kept he sold locally and around Italy. He was involved in gambling; and he ran the sex clubs in Milan, and the surrounding area. He was exceedingly wealthy, and he guarded that money well, by distributing it to the men and women within the family that did his bidding.
Philip Castronova was not one of them. He was very happy with his vineyards, his winery, and his wines. He inherited this from his mother's side of the family, and never fell in to the schemes and troubles of his father's illegal activities, and happily, the police knew it.
The "Don's" palatial home was draped in black. Family members could be seen walking through the gardens weeping and holding on to one another for support. To everyone on the outside it looked like a great loss had occurred and the family was trying to find a way to cope with it. It did not look like they were doing very well.
When the morticians arrived, they removed the body on a gurney in a black bag, and brought it to their mortuary, with two family members. Naturally, the police were there also. The Don was put on the cold stainless steel table and stripped of his clothing. Doctors had already signed the death certificate, and no autopsy was required. As the morticians began dressing the Don the police left to take care of other duties.
As soon as, the eldest son, Anthony was sure they were far enough away, he took the syringe out of his pocket and injected its contents into his father's arm. Within seconds, the Don began to show signs of life. He opened his eyes, saw his son smiling at him, and said, "It worked!"
"Papa, it was your plan, it had to work."
The Don finished dressing and watched as another body was placed into his coffin which was then sealed for the last time.
"Papa, it is a shame you going to miss your funeral; it is going to be beautiful."
"Anthony, my son, send me some photographs, I am sure I will love them. I will love it more sitting on the beach by the Atlantic Ocean."
"Here are the keys to your safety deposit boxes and the names of each bank they are in. Here your checkbooks and the keys to your car at the airport you will recognize it, because it is just like your car here at home. Remember, Morocco does not have extradition a treaty with Italy, so do not fall for anyone's line saying that they do. We will do everything by courier as you have asked. This way you will not break any Moroccan laws and they will have no reason to bother you. The police will have no reason to track Mama or any of the girls, so you will have company from time to time. We will come to you Papa, do not come to us, you could lose everything including your freedom."
"It could be a case of mistaken identity, couldn't it?"
"Papa, there is too much of your DNA running around Milan. You and Mama were too successful having children. Your children were too successful having children. Now, your children's children are having children. Stay in Morocco, please, we will come to you."
"Anthony, you are too much like me; you worry too much."
"Papa that is the most wonderful thing you have ever said to me."
A mail truck pulled up to the side entrance to the mortar mortuary and stopped. The driver got out to deliver the day's mail. During that transaction the Don slipped into the back of the mail truck and sat on a few of the mailbags. The driver got back into the truck checked the back, nodded his head and drove off. After making a few more regular stops, the driver got out and went into a grocery store. An 18-wheel truck pulled up behind the mail truck. The Don slipped out of the back of one and into the front of the other truck. Seven hours later the truck was passing the Swiss border into France, and the Don felt many years younger. They stopped at a small private airport, where he got into a private jet which flew him to Rabat, Morocco. As he passed through customs the officer asked him was he here on pleasure or business. The Don answered that he was here on pleasure, and may seek to stay here on a permanent basis because he loved the country so much.
The customs officer smiled and thanked the new guest for his words and told him where he could get information for his permanent visa, if he truly wanted one.
Don Anthony Castronova said to the man, "Before I turn in my application, if I need a reference, may I come back and ask you to sign for me?"
The customs officer said, "Positively." They shook hands and parted company.
On Monday, a crowd of over 3000 people was at the church and cemetery for the final sendoff for Don Castronova. Traffic was snarled for miles and there was not a flower to be bought in the city of Milan for days afterwards. As Anthony had told his father, it was a spectacular funeral, and he sent him both video and digital pictures.
Milan, Italy -- The hotel's large ballroom was set up for a brunch, so everyone who had attended Antonia's wedding the evening before, and had stayed at the hotel overnight, would be able to join together eat, and reminisce about the evenings events. It was a very lively affair, with jokes being thrown around from table to table. As Antonia looked around she saw some people were missing. She excused herself and told everyone she would be right back.
Moments later, with eight FBI agents trailing her, she ordered them to pick up plates, choose whatever food they wanted, sit down, eat, and watch her father.
The lead agent remembering her warnings from the previous day replied, "Yes ma'am."
Antonio walked over to the table, sat down next to Frank, looked over at her father, and said, "Dad, I have absolutely no problem controlling the FBI agents, how come you do?"
The table erupted into laughter, but the one that laughed the most was Tony Caruso. He replied to his daughter, "Maybe I do not have your female touch. I am not sure if the touch you gave Ed Cross the other day was better than today's or not, but they both seemed very effective."
Frank said, "Tony, we will not mention Antonia's former attitude. I like her the way she is now. I want her to stay this way. I have not received a bruise, a cut, or internal injury, for one whole day, and that is a record for our relationship. So please change the subject."
Celeste jumped in and said, "I miss her. She was so much fun. If I wanted to brighten up my day all I had to do was say, "Hi shrimp, how is your little day doing? Are you having trouble seeing over the table today? By the time I finished saying it, she would be so mad she could not see straight. However, look at her now. Calm, relaxed, at ease with herself; she is a whole new person. I hate that little, itty, bitty, micro-organism."
Antonia was ready to kill. It was everything she could do not to jump on the table and go after her best friend; with steak knives pointing towards her heart. Frank held her by the waist, whispering into her ear to stay calm and remember; Celeste was just joking with her.
Antonia whispered, "I'm going to be juggling her eyeballs, in a moment."
"Remember your promise to the Bishop, and remember you are going to be a mommy."
"I know it, dammit, but I do want to hurt her so."
"No you do not, because you love her, and she is only teasing you."
"Can I throw a beehive at her?"
"Do you think the bishop would allow it?"
"Do you have to be so condescending, when I need your help?"
"If you had said, Frank would you throw a beehive at her for me, we would've had something to discuss. The other way, it was a dead-end, and I had nothing I could do for you."
"I cannot even threaten to beat the shit out of you anymore."
"Antonia, I love you all the more, because of it. If I have our son in my arms, I do not have to tremble for fear that you are going to hit me and drop him, because I am a helpless male, being attacked by a ferocious female killing machine. You have asked for my help, and I will help you every day of the week. You will help me every night of the week."
"Are you ready for your finals this week?"
"Yes, they all should be relatively easy, except for the five classes that I take. Those I may have problems with, because I did not study the last few days."
"You say that all the time Frank, and every test you bring home is in "A." Would you care to explain that to us?"
"That is very easy to explain Antonia; especially to you. All my professors are women, and I have a big dick. I keep them satisfied, and they give me an "A" for my efforts."
Everyone at the table could see the fight going on inside Antonia's head. They knew she wanted to kill him for that last statement, but somehow she held her ground and her temper under control. She looked at her new husband and said, "That is excellent news Frank, because you are not getting laid until after the baby is born; if then."
Donna yelled, "Way to go Antonia! You took that big dick of his and shoved it straight down his throat. You go girl; you rock!"
Antonia had never received such praise from her sister-in-law, and she blushed a little because of it. The remainder of the people at the table applauded, and laughed at Frank, because he had been doubled, redoubled, and trumped.
Antonia took the opportunity to smack Frank, lightly, on the back of his head.
He said, "Okay, okay, I get the message. You are smarter than I am, even though I am the one with the scholarship."
Since everyone was in a good mood, Tony took this opportunity to advise Vincent and Donna about the happenings of the previous week. He told Donna that it was her father's wish that she not be told about her mother's heart attack and both of them not be told about the harrowing experience and Annarosa would never remember.
Vincent and Donna were both in a rage by the end of the story. They were not angry with their parents, for keeping this story from them until after the wedding. However, they were angry as hell at the FBI, for their incompetence in keeping track of Tony and Rose. They would gladly join their parents the following morning, for the interviews with the print and TV journalists, which were being planned. Donna had a double reason to be angry; because it was both her mother and her child. She immediately took out her cell phone and called her father to check on the condition of both our loved ones. When her father answered the phone, he was playing with Annarosa and Donna could hear her giggle over the phone. It made her heart swell with happiness to hear her child was safe and happy. Her father told her that her mother would be home in a day or so after more tests were completed at the hospital. He was in no rush to bring her home, because he wanted to be sure she was healthy, and the longer she was in the hospital the higher the amount he was going to sue the FBI. He had already contacted an attorney that handled cases like this, and was chomping at the bit to get his chance at mangling the FBI and the Justice Department in court.
When brunch was finished and all the goodbyes were said, Celeste suggested an intimate dinner for 12, in a private dining room, at a restaurant she knew very well in the old section of Milan.
Everyone agreed to it and dinner was set for 7 PM that evening. After that everyone adjourned to their own rooms, for their own purposes; some for sex, some for rest, some for both.
Gloria said to her husband, "Frank looked very happy this morning; don't you think?"
"I think he looked happier than his bride, to tell you the truth. I think the change in her is absolutely astounding. I do not know how or why it happened, but Frank is enjoying it immensely. He is thinking about becoming a father for the first time. I know when it happened to me, I was walking on air. If bubble wrap had been invented when you were pregnant I would have wrapped you in it to keep you safe. Frank has always protected Toni before, however, watch how he treats her for the next seven or eight months. If anybody touches her, they should fear for their lives."
"I remember how you treated me, Philip. I thought it was very cute, and very gentlemanly of you. I also thought you were overreacting quite a bit. However, I never thought we would only have one child. I always thought we would have a group of them running through our home. I hope you were not disappointed with me."
"How could I ever be disappointed with you? You gave me Frank; a son any man would die to call his own. You have badgered and bullied me for more than 33 years. I am still with you, because I love you so. My hair has gone from black to gray, because I have had to listen to the countless stories of your soap operas, when I come home from work. Do I complain; No! Why, because you are a great cook. I can tune you out while I am eating the fabulous meals you have made me. You have been frugal to the point of being cheap. Why; because I have not given you any money to spend, during all the years our marriage. Any woman who could put up with me, for all those years, with all your faults is the perfect woman for me. How could I ever be disappointed with you?"
Gloria had listened intently, as her husband rambled on, and when he finished she politely said, "You, my darling husband, are going to be eating poisoned food for the rest of your life. Thanks to the great deal of money, that it is in "My Checking Account," and our new satellite antenna, I will be watching my soap operas every day. You are no longer working, so you will be watching them with me, even if I have to handcuff you to the couch."
"Are we getting kinky in our old age, Gloria?"
"You may be an old man, at 57, Philip. However you keep forgetting that I am nine years younger than you are. Even though you still look good for a man of your advanced years, and declining mental aptitude, you continue to forget that I am nearly 10 years younger than you are. For the lack of two months, I could say I was 11 years younger than you are. My youthful age and appearance still gets stared at by younger men, because my breasts are still high on my chest, my hips are narrow, and my ass is tighter than you are with money. As for my mental acuity; you have not won an argument with me in all the years we have been married. Do not believe you are going to win one, any time soon."
"Madam, you need a lesson in humility. I am going to take you into the bedroom and show you that an old man can teach an over the hill, 48 year old woman, some tricks she has never encountered before."
"Where would a man, of your advanced age, have learned any new tricks?"
"The new antenna picks up programs that you would not believe my dear. Some of it is extremely educational. If you reach adulthood, I may let you watch a few of the programs. However, until you do, you will have to learn them from me."
"I hope you are a good teacher, because I hate learning things secondhand."
"The second hand does have something to do with this lesson dear; however, you are getting ahead of yourself. Let's take a shower and get into bed, and we will start out with the first-hand."
"Do you see what I mean Philip; you still have not advanced out of the dark ages. With you it is still, 'the bed, the bed, the bed.' Do you realize that in all the years of our marriage, we have not taken advantage of the couch, the kitchen table, the countertop, the bathroom vanity, the shower, or even the out of doors, to make love? Someone should slap you over the head and broaden your mind as to the possibilities of other places to live carnal knowledge of your wife, and lover; who, in your case, had better be me."