A BULLET IN THE FOUNTAIN CHAPTER 1
So, you ask me. What do a Jewish diamond cutter, an Italian mobster’s girlfriend, and a Scottish lesbian have in common?
I wish I could tell you in a few words or give you a simple answer, but the plain truth is the answer is complicated.
There is a connection.
In order to show you the connection, I have to tell you the story of “The Bullet in the Fountain”. I promise I will keep it short, sweet, and just like Tony Soprano would say, “Badda Bing, Badda Bo, A Fung Goo” you shall see the nasty little secret they all tried so desperately to keep hidden.
This story starts in a most unlikely place.
Mozzie, the diamond cutter is sitting in the last row of a Synagogue not far from the center of Catholicism, the Vatican City. One look at poor Mozzie and you can see he is sitting on tacks. The poor guy is so nervous; it looks like he is waiting for an IRS audit.
A very black, well-dressed man sits behind him. It is very obvious this impeccably attired young man is not of the Jewish persuasion but no one comes forward to challenge his attendance at Hymie Goldman’s funeral.
Mozzie knows he is there and he makes a point of ignoring him completely. The black man (His name is Conrad Swartzer but that is not important) leans forward and whispers in Mozzie’s ear.
“The boss wants it done this weekend. Pick up the package at the airport at nine in the morning. Her name is Lizzie and she is on the British Overseas flight from Edinburgh. He says “Watch her close; she is a devious little bitch”. Just nod if you understand and don’t turn around.”
Mozzie nodded his head and resisted the urge to turn around and yell as loud as he could,
“I am not your fucking slave, you shithead. Tell “the boss” to stick it up his ass.”
Of course, he just stared straight ahead while his fear and nervousness churned inside of him. Mozzie was certain he was destined for stomach ulcers before he hit 40 just like his father before him.
Mozzie left the funeral with a sense of impending doom. It was the same feeling he got just before his wife of 15 years told him she was leaving him for her girlfriend Marsha in New York City. He knew he should have been suspicious of those “shopping trips” to the big apple and her long silences even when they were dining by themselves. But Mozzie was a very accepting person. He even got his sister-in-law Shirley Bernstein to find a suitable little townhouse for his ex-wife in the West Village.
He kept his diamond cutting workshop in his basement under lock and key. Sometimes the raw diamonds in his inventory exceeded millions of pounds in value. He figured he would have to keep this “Lizzie person” in his own home to keep nosy competitors from guessing about his activities.
Mozzie drove an American Camaro.
He liked the powerful engine and the fact it was quite good on petrol even though the press often berated the American auto industry for its lack of vision in delivering a fuel-conscious product. The stick shift on the floor was somehow a bit macho in design and Mossie enjoyed the feel of control it gave him as he sped quickly out to the airport the next morning.
The early fall air was sharp against his skin and it felt like it used to back in Chicago when he was studying the trade under the eagle eye of the long-bearded Sheckie Greenburg, the master craftsman in the North American part of his Father’s business. His father never left the small enclave in New York City anymore because of the many threats on his life by jealous competitors. His 3 sons ran the empire from various locations, but only Mozzie was a master diamond cutter like his father.
Joshua was the London representative of the Rosenthal Empire, and Lennie was the deal-maker in Hong Kong.
His brother Joshua was so British with his stupid umbrella and tailored three-piece suits that Mozzie had to grit his teeth to keep silent in his presence. His affected British accent and phony class-consciousness irritated Mozzie beyond belief.
His younger brother Lennie was a different story entirely. He was the loose cannon in the Rosenthal family and was often in trouble for various risky ventures with shady characters. His sexual indiscretions were the source of much amusement in the home office. Even now, he was rumored to be linked up with the notorious “Galinko Girl”, a prime paparazzi target infamous for her scantily clad and drug-induced escapades in the Far East.
Mozzie pulled into the short-term parking lot at the bustling airport and made his way to the incoming flight station. He was not noticed by anyone as a person of interest and the face-recognition cameras didn’t waste an iota of extra time on this bland nonentity. He was not on any watch-list and had never been convicted or for that matter even suspected of committing a crime of any description.
Inside the terminal, he relaxed at an outside coffee shop sipping on a delicious cup of Italian coffee. It was black and sweet, the way he liked the strong European brew. The raw sugar gave the liquid a level of sweetness that the processed sugars could never hope to achieve. In a very discreet manner, he catalogued every person in the large waiting facility. Mozzie always made a habit of this even though he seldom was able to discern a threat in these public places. It was just that his sense of danger was heightened by the vulnerability of the open areas.
The only persons that registered on his built-in radar system were a pair of very rough-looking characters sitting in the first row in front of the debarkation tunnel. At first glance, he thought they might be plainclothes police; but their resolutely hard look convinced him they were bona fide Italian mobsters on some business of their own.
The strident voice of a bored sounding woman cut into his perusal as the airport announcement speakers advised,
“Flight BO707 from Edinburgh arriving at Gate 2 now.”
This same announcement was repeated in Italian and again in French. Mozzie easily understood the announcement in all languages as he was quite fluent in a number of European languages.
The disreputable looking duo was activated by the announcement and they rose like Siamese twins to take up a position right in front of the exit ramp.
Mozzie did not like this development because it could present a problem to his discreet meeting with the Scottish female named “Lizzie” and a quiet start of the project at hand. He was not too worried because he realized they were most likely meeting a traveler with no connection to his contact. But you never know for sure and he always played it safe not to be sorry. He certainly did not want a repeat of the debacle in Prague that almost caused his sudden demise in a most unseemly manner.
At first, there was a slow trickle of passengers emerging into the hustle and bustle of the waiting area like guppies from the womb. No sign of a redheaded female wearing black leather pants and carrying a copy of “Doctor Zhivago” under her arm.
There was a little stir when a totally hot blond with a small Chihuahua in her oversized shoulder bag emerged from the ramp. The expensive sunglasses and the “fuck me” high heels matched her freely flowing hair swinging in a most seductive way. Every step she took was an exercise in sexual expression. Mozzie found it difficult to draw his eyes away from the impressive breasts that jiggled like gelatin dessert waiting to be sucked into a hungry mouth.
There she was!
The redhead was pausing at the end of the ramp. She looked about her, spotted the two goons and turned away from them hiding her features. The two gangsters, Mozzie dubbed them “Mutt” and “Jeff” for lack of a positive ID, slithered up to the gorgeous blond hottie and handed her a small card. She seemed satisfied with their bona fides and started to walk away to the waiting transport.
Mozzie was relieved at this development and started to approach the Scottish contact known to him as “Lizzie”. He was startled into freezing in place when the redheaded girl with a most appealing ass inside of tight black trousers walked over to the eye-catching blond and said,
“Anna, you must let me drive you into town. I have a car and driver waiting for me. I want to hear more about your adventure in Venice and how you got rid of that nasty Count Bellagio.”
The two goons seemed a little confused but they stepped back. It was obvious the blond was in total control and they were simply servants at her whim and call.
“Ah, Lizzie darling, nothing would please me more. I also want to hear how you put those cucumbers to so many uses. Umberto, go with Carlo and get my luggage and take it to the Villa. Be very careful with my camera equipment. Treat it like a virgin waiting for her first poke.”
The two sour-puss goons smiled and left the blond with my contact.
I had no other option but to approach them both and let Lizzie know her “car and driver” were ready for duty.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/novels/a-bullet-in-the-fountain-part-i.aspx">A Bullet in The Fountain Part I</a>