Honor Thy Mother & Thy Father Ch. 01a

Chapter 4. Out of the Frying Pan...

It was headline news in every form of media all over the country. The heads of three New York crime families had been exonerated, because of tainted evidence. Alan Robbins, an FBI agent, had broken the law, and defense attorneys had used the evidence he had obtained illegally, as "Fruit of the Poisonous Tree," to throw out most of the other evidence, the US Attorney had against their clients. The judge agreed with their motion, and the jury had no choice but to find these men, "Not Guilty."

The US attorney was furious. The assistant director of the Northeast region of the FBI was livid. Alan Roberts was brought onto the carpet and eviscerated by both men. He had been a rising star in the FBI. At 27 years old, and 5 years with the Bureau, he him had co-opted more mid-level mob associates than any other member of the FBI. The intelligence that these men turned over to the Bureau was invaluable. Robbins had no need to cross that invisible line and break the law to take those men down.

He had just gone through his second divorce, and his wife had emptied his bank account and taken his house away from him. He was living in an efficiency apartment and paying 40% of his salary in alimony, for the next three years to her. In a fit of depression, he had taken up drinking to ease the pain of the divorce. However, it also blurred his judgment. His peers had noticed this, but tried to cover for him, which was a big mistake. It did not help him, and cost the Bureau convictions against three major crime families.

After the Bureau put him through psychological counseling and a drying out program, they sent him to no man's land to continue his rehabilitation.

He knew he was in deep trouble when he was told him the name of city he was being reassigned to: Cottonwood, Arizona. They told him he was not to leave that city, unless he was given specific, written orders, or he had died.

He was screamed out of the office, when he asked, "Does the Pony Express still deliver the mail there?"

When he arrived at the Phoenix airport, two agents greeted him. They handed him a map, directions, and the keys to a six-year-old Dodge Ram and his new home. They laughed at him, and wished him luck, in his new assignment.

He got into his new ride, found his way onto Interstate 17, and proceeded north. He realized, nearly too late, that they did not bother putting fuel into the truck. He remembered their names, wrote them down on a pad, and promised one day to return the favor.

The big Hemi in the Dodge made climbing into the mountains easy, and when he turned onto Arizona 260, the ride was glorious, until he got to Cottonwood, on Alternate 89A. It was a very old town. It was as if time stood still since the 1940s. There was rust on a lot of the buildings. If the roads were not paved and there were no traffic lights every now and again, you would think it was the 1800s. He rode northeast another two or three minutes and he saw a sign saying, "Thank you for visiting Cottonwood." He realized he must have turned in the wrong direction. He reversed course and traveled slowly looking for other signs, until he saw a sign "Cottonwood" and pointing south. He turned, and in a moment, he saw a city; not a big city, but a city with buildings, and homes, and a hospital. "Civilization exists in Cottonwood." He wondered if the Bureau had made a mistake.

As he followed the directions, he found that the Bureau had rented him a two-bedroom house, off Aspen Street, directly behind the Public Safety building. He did not believe that was coincidence. If they called to check up on him, it would not take the police two minutes to look out their back windows to see if he was there.

However, he was not going to complain. All he had to do was pay for water, electricity, and garbage service. There was no such thing as a lawn in this part of Arizona. He looked around, and wondered "What does a big city boy; do in a postage stamp town of eleven thousand people."

Well, the first thing he had to do was to visit the local cops, and tell them he had arrived safely. After he unloaded the car, he walked around the block, and in the front door of the Public Safety building.

He walked up to the front desk and reached into his pocket to pull out his identification, when someone yelled, "Gun!"

He pulled out his weapon and spun around looking for the perpetrator.

Police came from everywhere and started yelling at him, "Put your weapon down, and get down on the ground."

He complied instantly.

They cuffed him, roughed him up, and stood him up.

A police sergeant said, "How could you be so stupid as to bring a concealed weapon into a police station?"

He said, "I was reaching into my pocket to present my credentials. My name is Alan Robbins. I am an FBI agent, and I was told to report in, when I got here."

"No one in Arizona wears a jacket, Agent Robbins."

"Sergeant, FBI agents are required to wear jackets."

"You almost got yourself killed, because of it."

"Do you want to call Washington, and tell them you do not want me to wear a jacket anymore?"

"No, I am telling you, when you walk into this building again, I do not want you wearing a jacket."

"I can live with that sergeant. My name is Alan. You can drop to the Agent Robbins bull shit."

"Okay, Alan, you can call me sergeant."

"That works for me sergeant."

"Can I ask a question, without insulting the entire town?"

"Go ahead, this ought to be good."

"What is there to do here?"

"Well, there is church three nights a week, and on Sunday. Bingo on Monday nights at the Christian church. We have a library, and a hospital, you can volunteer at. We have a dance hall that is open every other Thursday. We have our share of bars, but no strip clubs. If you are an alcoholic, you have to go down the Prescott for your meetings. If you like hiking, get yourself a good pair boots, and hiking gear, because the mountains are beautiful. Horseback riding is the best though. You can ride for years out here, and not see everything."

"That is about what I thought, sergeant. It looks like I am going to do a lot of reading."

"All you big city people say the same thing, until you get your ass on a horse. Then you never want to get in a car again."

"Sergeant, I will take 413 hp over 1 hp, every day of the week."

"I will see you around, Alan; enjoy your stay."

"Keep safe sergeant; do not forget to wear your vest."

Alan Robbins thought it might not have been the most conventional way to start a friendship; but he believed it was the beginning of one anyhow.

Although they had sent him to the middle of nowhere, computers still worked out here. He got onto VICAP (Violent Criminal Apprehension Program) and tried to see if he could the separate the three criminal families that he let slip through his fingers, and go after each of them, one at a time.

Between the three indicted families; the Genova's, the Valentino's, and the Alfrada's, the most evidence he put together was against any one family, was against the Alfrada family. Manhattan was their island, and construction was their domain. If you needed concrete they got a piece of the action. Two million dollars was the cutoff price. If the contract on a concrete job was less than two million, the Alfrada's kept all the profit. If the contract was over two million dollars, the profit was shared among the five families. Everyone knew it, all he had to do was find the money trail, follow it, and then be able to prove it. He needed access to banking records. Fortunately, they had those from the trial.

"Let's see if I missed anything that will still be admissible in court."

At three thirty in the morning, he awoke with a start, to find himself in the kitchen, with the computer, and his legs in sleep mode. He decided to go to bed, and sleep in a normal position.

As he took the computer out of sleep mode to try to close it, there was a message for him, emblazoned all over his screen. It read:

I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING. DO NOT GO NEAR THE VALENTINO'S; THEY ARE MINE. IF YOU FUCK WITH ME, I WILL TURN YOUR COMPUTER INTO A USELESS PIECE OF SHIT. IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, CALL THE DIRECTOR. NOW, FUCK OFF! P. G.

He was no longer tired. So he responded to this unwelcome message. He wrote on the VICAP screen, using the Valentino search area,

"FROM: SPECIAL AGENT ALAN ROBBINS

TO: P. G. (PIECE OF GARBAGE)

GO FUCK YOURSELF. I SCREWED UP THIS CASE, AND I AM GOING TO FIX MY MISTAKES, AND TAKE THEM DOWN. IF YOU WANT TO HELP, GO TO CONEY ISLAND, AND COUNT THE GRAINS OF SAND ON THE BEACH. WHEN YOU ARE FINISHED, GO TO MIAMI, AND DO THE SAME THING. NOW, YOU FUCK OFF.

HAVE A PLEASANT DAY.

SPECIAL AGENT ALAN ROBBINS, FBI.

Moments later, he received a message from Patricia Garrett, or as he knew her, "P. G."

"FROM P. G. (PIECE OF GARBAGE)

TO: SPECIAL AGENT ALAN ROBBINS (TWICE DIVORCED, DRUNKARD, INSOLENT, FELON, PERJURER, ASSIGNED TO COTTONWOOD, ARIZONA, BECAUSE OF SUPERLATIVE RECORD PRIOR TO FUCKING THE ENTIRE BUREAU, AND COSTING THEM THREE EASY CONVICTIONS.)

FIVE SECONDS AFTER THE END OF THIS STATEMENT, SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR COMPUTER. I HOPE IT IS NOT FEDERAL PROPERTY. GOOD NIGHT, MISTER ROBBINS. ENTER."

He had just finished reading the entire message, when his computer died. It had power, but he could not shut it down, or make it obey the simplest command. He was not a computer genius, but he could work his way around a computer very well. He yelled, "You bastard; when I get a hold of you, I am going to cut your balls off; and stuff them down your throat."

The next morning, he took his computer to a repair shop. He showed his credentials, and asked the owner, Jeff, to take a look at it. He told him that he would have to stand by him, because there was confidential material on it.

Jeff plugged it in, and nothing happened. He opened up the laptop, and tested the motherboard. He asked, "What the hell did you do to this thing. It is as dead as a doornail. I have never seen anything like it before. Normally, it is one part, or another, but this is entirely fried. Either you got hit with electrical surge, or someone really did not like you."

"We will go with option number two, and if I get my hands on his neck, I will be in jail for twenty years. Is it worth fixing or should I get a new one?"

"These things are never worth fixing. Get a new one, but by the extended warranty. If your friend decides to kill your new computer, at least you will get another one for free."

"Should I go with an Apple or stay with the Microsoft technology."

"It is a personal preference; if you are comfortable with Microsoft stay with Microsoft. See if you can get one of the governments' security software's installed on the new computer. It may help keep your friend from killing it too quickly."

"Jeff, I think he works in that department. He warned me that five seconds after he hit enter the computer would crash. It did, and that is why I am here."

"If you are really fast Alan, you can beat him. You cannot shut down the computer in that short a time span. However, if you get a tower, you can unplug it, or get a cutoff switch that will turn off the electricity to the computer. It will keep the death message from getting to your computer. The next time you have to send him a message, use the laptop, and then turned it off, immediately after you hit send. He will send you a reply and you will receive it on your desktop. He may or may not notice the difference."

"This sounds like a game I do not want to play. I will contact the bureau and tell them what is going on. I will see what they say about this person, and see what they want to do about it. If they tell me to back off, I will go out of my mind, because I will have nothing to do."

Jeff said, "Do you know how to ride a horse?"

"Don't you start with that scenic beauty stuff; Jeff. If you have seen one mountain, you have seen them all."

"Bull shit Alan; our mountains are red. They are truly glorious to see at sunrise and at sunset; if you bring a woman with you, those mountains are the surest way to get laid you have ever seen."

Alan laughed. "Are you talking from personal experience Jeff?"

"You can bet your ass on that Alan. When I was old enough, my daddy sat me down and told me the facts life. He handed me a box of condoms and told me never to leave the house, without three of them in my pocket. He told me never to leave the house, without five of them in my pocket, if we were going horseback riding. I thought he was joking. However, I ran out a few times, and that is when I found out that fucking a girl in the ass is fun."

"Where can I get horseback riding lessons, Jeff?"

"Susan Knight has a little spread northwest of here, about 7 miles. Her mom passed away, almost a year ago, now, and she has been running the place since then. I will give you her number, and you can give her a call and see if she will give you some lessons."

"Do you want to sell me the computers? Do you want me to go into Prescott, or order them online?"

"I do not have anything here, you would be interested in. For a small service fee, I will order what you want, plus install what you really need when it gets here. As far as the security program is concerned, I will leave that up to you until a last minute. If they do not give you anything, I will get you the Norton 360, plus a commercial grade viral software package, and hope your friend develops a sense of humor."

"Do that for me Jeff, and try to keep it under five thousand dollars. My second wife takes half of my paycheck for the next 2 ½ years, unless she gets run over by a Boeing 747, in the meantime."

"Ex-wives do not die while you are paying them. I know that as a matter of fact. They only die after you finish paying them."

"How many have you had Jeff?"

"I am not as dumb as you are Alan. I got divorced once, and she cleaned me out. I swore I was never going back to that trough, again. I have been in love, several times. However, every time a woman says how about we get married, the relationship ends. Once upon a time I was a very wealthy man. Now, my ex-wife is a very wealthy woman, and I own this little shop. It was a very hard lesson for me to learn, but I learned it very well."

"Where were you when I needed you Jeff? I might not have listened to you anyhow, because I am a hopeless romantic. I love women, and if I think we are right for each other, those three little words pop out of my mouth, "I love you." After that it is all downhill. She says I love you too, and when are we going to get married. The best thing that happened in both marriages is that we never had children. I would absolutely hate the thought of living in a loveless marriage, and raising kids."

"Amen to that brother; my former wife and I never had children, either. I cannot imagine what else she would have gotten from me, if we did."

"Jeff order those computers on a rush delivery please. I want to piss that bastard off so bad, I can taste it. Get me one of those cutoffs switches also, so I do not have to unplug the computer. If you can think of anything else I will need, get that also. I am going to call Susan Knight, and see about those horseback riding lessons."

"Go to the pharmacy and get some Epsom salt."

"Why would I want to do that Jeff?"

"You will figure it out when you get off the horse and want to sit down."

"I can see this is going to be a lot of fun."

Bruno Valentino's son, Stephano, was returning home from Philadelphia, with his MBA from the Wharton School of Business at the University of Pennsylvania. He did not fit the prototypical Italian image. He was 6' 4" and weighed in at 215 pounds. He had wavy blonde hair, with green eyes and pale skin. He looked like his mother's side of the family, who were all Alpine skiers, some of whom made Italy's Olympic team. Her family lived and thrived in the Verbania region, of northwestern Italy, closer to the Swiss border than Milan.

Bruno's family lived around the city of Turin in the western most part of Italy. He looked more like the prototypical Italian. He had dark olive skin and dark hair; brown, piercing eyes and an accent that you could cut with a knife. This was an agricultural area, known for its olives, rice, and of course, grapes.

Stephano did not want to join his father's business, but being the only male progeny, he had no choice in the matter. He got a hero's welcome, as he exited the tunnel, and stepped into the main area of Penn Station. It seemed that everyone, who had not made it to his graduation ceremony, was here. He was embarrassed by the size of the crowd that was here to greet him.

Four years of college, with a 4.0 average; and 2 years for his MBA, with another 4.0 average. The world could have been his oyster. He could have had his pick of any job, at any corporation, in the entire world. He was recruited, constantly, at the job fairs at Penn, and he had to turn each lucrative offer down. Instead, he had to become a member of the Mafia underworld. He was going to be a criminal. He did not like this at all. He felt like throwing up.

He forced a bright smile on his face, and greeted everyone who was there. He hugged his father, mother, and his beloved grandmother. There were the plethora of aunts, uncles, cousins, and well-wishers. Then, they were off to party, at the Michelangelo Hotel, south of Central Park. Only Stephano, and an invited guest or guests would be staying overnight. Everyone else would be returning to their homes, when the festivities were done. Tonight everyone would be advised that Stephano was the heir apparent. When Bruno decided to retire, his son would step in, and take his place. There was to be no dissension among the family members. He would be taking charge of the family finances, immediately. This is what he had trained for his entire life. Now he was going to put it to good use, and have the family's fortune grow faster than any of the other five families.

Everyone in the ballroom stood up, and applauded. Bruno pulled his son up, and raised his hand above his head as a sign of victory and power. He pulled Stephano into his arms, and said, "Everyone here now works for you. You only answer to me. Make me proud of you, my son."

"Papa, you have paid for and given me an excellent education. It is now my turn to pay you back. I will work night and day to make you the proudest father on the face of the earth."

"I know you will Stephano. Your mother and I have been proud of you, since the day you were born."

He hated what he was about to do. As soon as he saw the first book, he was a criminal. He was a member of organized crime; and he was looking at prison time. He had not even had a parking ticket, in his twenty-three years. You did weird things where your family was concerned; he wished the ground would open up, and swallow him.

As the evening progressed, Stephano was besieged by many young women, who made it obvious that they were willing to spend the evening, and more with him. Some, he gently turn down, because they did not forcefully throw themselves at him. Others, who were much more obvious, he raised his voice and discarded them like yesterdays' garbage. There were some young women there that intrigued him, but they did not seem interested in him, so he let them be. However, there was one young woman that caught his eye, and she seemed interested in him. When he looked her straight in the eye, she seemed embarrassed, and turned away from him, like she had been caught doing something she was not supposed to do. He walked over to her, introduced himself, and asked her if she would like to dance.

She said, "Of course, I know who you are. This affair is for you, and yes, I would love to dance with you."

"May I ask you your name?"