Lorenzo stepped out of his agency building, and slid into his waiting car. Mike closed the door behind him with a polite nod. As they pulled away from the curb, Lorenzo leaned back against the plush leather seat, puffing on his cigarette.
"Mike, take us to the Grauman's Chinese Theatre, will you?" he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
"Yes, boss," Mike replied, tipping his hat as he started the engine.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the grand theater, its oriental facade glowing under the sun. In the distance, the Prospect Avenue that's now known as Hollywood Boulevard.
Lorenzo glanced down the street, where the future site of the Hall of Fame on Hollywood Boulevard would one day stand. It was nothing but an empty lot now, so he hatched a plan to build it sooner, but in his name and under his company's banner. However, he knew that was a task for later.
Lorenzo and Mike emerged from the car. They strolled up to the ticket booth, where a pretty blonde in a red uniform greeted them with a smile.
"Two tickets, please," Lorenzo said, flashing a five-dollar bill. Mike discreetly slipped her a two dollar tip, eliciting a blush and a grateful curtsy.
With tickets in hand, they made their way inside the opulent theater. The lobby was bustling with people, all dressed in their finest attire. The air was thick with the scent of popcorn and perfume, punctuated by the sound of laughter and chatter.
"After you, sir," Mike said, gesturing to the auditorium.
Lorenzo nodded his thanks and led the way, cigarette in hand.
Lorenzo and Mike made their way down the aisle, weaving through the sea of elegantly dressed patrons. Women in their finest gowns and pearls, escorted by dapper gentlemen in suits and fedoras, filled the plush velvet seats. The two men found their seats just as the lights began to dim, signaling the start of the show.
Mike sat in the darkened theater, his curiosity piqued as to why they were here. He glanced at his boss, who seemed entranced by the stage. The lights dimmed further, and the host took the microphone, warming up the audience with a few jokes that elicited laughter from the crowd.
Finally, the show began. The red curtains parted, revealing a group of actors on the elaborately designed set.
Lorenzo's gaze drifted to a young man near the back, playing a poor, unassuming character. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself. He knew exactly who the young man was. This unknown actor is the iconic Charlie Chaplin, a name that would be synonymous with silent films and slapstick comedy. But for now, he was just starting out, a nobody in a sea of hopefuls.
The young man on stage was a far cry from the iconic Charlie Chaplin that Lorenzo knew from his previous life.
In this timeline, Charlie Chaplin was still an unknown face, his features clean and unlined, without the trademark mustache and wrinkles that would one day become his trademark.
It was incredible how a few makeup touches, a mustache, and a simple costume could transform him into the beloved Tramp character.
Lorenzo observed the young actor, comparing him to the memory he had of the legendary comedian. The audience around them, including Mike, seemed to be enjoying the play, the story of which depicted the hardships of the Great Depression and the rise of organized crime.
As the first act came to an end, Lorenzo stood up, drawing Mike's attention. "Stay here, Mike. I'll be going somewhere. I'll be back," he said, slipping out of his seat.
"Okay, boss," Mike replied, a hint of confusion in his voice as he watched his boss leave.
Mike settled back into his seat, wondering what could be so important that Lorenzo would leave in the middle of a show. He glanced at his watch, noting the time. It was still early, and the second act was about to begin. Shrugging to himself, he decided to enjoy the rest of the performance.
***
Lorenzo made his way backstage, weaving through the maze of props and curtains. Stagehands and actors bustled about, preparing for the second act. He spotted the young man who had caught his attention earlier, now in the process of removing his makeup.
"Excuse me," a stagehand stopped him, "You're not allowed back here."
Lorenzo flashed a five-dollar bill, "I have important business with this young man," he said, nodding towards the actor. The stagehand's eyes widened, and he stepped aside, allowing him to pass.
Lorenzo approached the mirror where the actor, Charlie Chaplin, was removing his makeup. "Mr. Chaplin, I presume?"
Charlie looked up, eyebrows raised in confusion. "That's right. And you are?"
"Lorenzo," he extended his hand, "I'm an old friend of your... previous employer."
Charlie's expression shifted, "You're from the agency?"
Lorenzo smiled, "In a manner of speaking. You see, I've just acquired your agency. As of today, you and the other actors are all under my management."
Charlie's eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly regained his composure. "You're the one who bought the agency?" he asked, unable to hide the skepticism in his voice.
Lorenzo chuckled, "I can understand your skepticism, Mr. Chaplin. It's not every day that a young man like myself takes over an established agency." He reached into his pocket and produced a business card, handing it to Charlie. "Lorenzo Lupo, at your service. Pleased to officially meet you."
Charlie took the card, eyebrows raised as he read the name. "So, you're the one who changed the agency's name to Lorenzo Lupo Agency?"
Lorenzo smiled, "Guilty as charged. I believe a fresh start calls for a new identity, don't you agree?"
Charlie's expression shifted from surprise to fear. "You're not here to... let me go, are you?"
Lorenzo chuckled, "Of course not, Mr. Chaplin. Quite the opposite, in fact."
Relief washed over Charlie's face, "Then, what can I do for you, Mr. Lupo?"
Lorenzo's smile widened, "I'm here to offer you an opportunity, Mr. Chaplin."
Charlie furrowed his brows, "An opportunity?"
"Yes," Lorenzo nodded, "I'd like to offer you a role in our upcoming film project. I believe you have what it takes to be a star, and I'd like to help you get there."
Charlie's eyes widened in disbelief, "A-Are you serious?" he stuttered.
"As serious as can be," Lorenzo replied with a genuine smile. "I see potential in you, Mr. Chaplin, and I think it's a waste to have talent like yours relegated to the background. I want to help you shine on the silver screen, not just here in this city, but around the world."
Charlie couldn't believe his luck. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and it came from the most unexpected way.
"What do you say? Are you in?" Lorenzo asked, extending his hand.
"I-I'm in!" Charlie stammered, excitement evident in his voice as he shook Lorenzo's hand.
"Wonderful," Lorenzo said, nodding approvingly. He reached into his pocket and handed Charlie a card with an address on it, "Be at this studio tomorrow morning, nine sharp. We'll discuss your upcoming projects under Lupo Pictures."
"I'll be there!" Charlie said, grinning from ear to ear as he took the card.
With that, Lorenzo tipped his hat and made his way back to the exit, leaving a stunned but elated Charlie Chaplin in his wake.
Charlie watched Lorenzo's retreating back, his mind reeling from the conversation just had. His friend, another actor in the play, approached him, draping an arm around his shoulders.
"Charlie, who was that guy?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the exit.
"That," Charlie said, still in disbelief, "was the new owner of our agency, Lorenzo Lupo."
His friend's eyes widened in surprise, before skepticism clouded his features, "You're kidding, right? He looks our age!"
"I know, but he said—"
"Maybe he's one of those thugs you've been telling us about, trying to trick you," his friend interrupted, referring to the recent harassment Charlie had been facing.
Charlie's expression darkened at the mention of the thugs, but then he shook his head. "No, it doesn't add up. Why would they go through all this trouble? Besides, he didn't seem like the type."
His friend shrugged, "I don't know, man. Just be careful, alright?"
"I will," Charlie said, tucking the card with the studio's address into his pocket. "I'll check it out tomorrow. If it's legit, I'll let you know."
***
Meanwhile, Lorenzo and Mike left the theater, opting not to return to their agency or the mansion in Beverly Hills. Instead, they headed to Melrose, just off Santa Monica Boulevard.
Lorenzo met with his team of scriptwriters, discussing the upcoming film projects, including the one he had in mind for Charlie Chaplin. After hours of brainstorming and planning, they finally emerged from the building, the sun already setting.
As they pulled up to the mansion, Lorenzo spotted Deborah and Mica in the living room, engaged in conversation with Tiffany and Peggy.
Max, Patrick, and the others were still out, presumably handling the business he'd assigned them, while Adam and Richard were engrossed in a game of poker.
Lorenzo's gaze lingered on Deborah and Mica, feeling a twinge of... something as he watched them laugh together. It was strange to see his two lovers getting along so well.
"You two finished with the business I gave you?" he asked, sitting down next to Adam and Richard.
Adam and Richard exchanged glances, and Richard replied, "Aye, we're even wearing masks while conducting our gang business, just like you said, boss."
Lorenzo nodded in approval, "Good. As long as we ain't got a tight grip on this here city, our gang's best to keep a low profile."
Adam and Richard both nodded, and then Adam leaned in to whisper to Lorenzo, "Boss... who's this dame named Mica? I heard she's got somethin' goin' on with you?"
Lorenzo chuckled, while Richard piped up, "I remember her. She's the nurse that took care of our boss when he was on the mend from the war wounds."
Adam's eyes widened, "No kiddin'?"
Lorenzo nodded, "That's right. She's the one." He glanced over at Deborah and Mica, who were chattering away like old friends. It seemed like Deborah's plan to teach Mica how to defend herself and handle a gun had paid off, judging by how chummy they'd become.
As for the rest, Lorenzo would find out later. Turning to Richard, he said, "Richard, I've got my eye on a new talent. His name's Charlie Chaplin. He's under my agency. I just met the fella, but I want you to keep an eye on him. Find out where he lives, and if he's tangled up in any kinda trouble, I want you to handle it, understand?"
"You got it, boss." Richard nodded in agreement.
.
.
.
.
.
Lorenzo chatted with Adam and Richard for a while before he sauntered over to Deborah and Mica, a grin tugging at his lips. "Well, well, seems like you two are getting along just fine, eh, Deb?" He chuckled, but his mirth faded when both women continued their conversation with Tiffany and Peggy as if he were invisible.
He wedged himself between the two ladies. "Hey, dolls, what's the matter? Why the cold shoulder?" He placed a hand on each of their shoulders, hoping to lighten the mood.
Deborah's eyes flashed with annoyance. "You, you cad! Just because I'm having a civil conversation with your… bitch Mica here, doesn't mean I've forgotten about your… indiscretions."
"Hey, now," Mica interjected, her voice laced with hurt, "there's no need for that."
Lorenzo couldn't help but chuckle at Deborah's cute demeanor. He discreetly motioned for Tiffany and Peggy to leave them alone, and the two women exchanged knowing glances before departing. "Well, well, I thought you and Mica were getting along swimmingly. I had hoped we could all have some… fun together."
Deborah huffed, her hands on her hips. "I was getting along with Mica, believe it or not. She's quite… persistent, especially for someone so smitten with you."
Mica blushed and giggled, leaning into Lorenzo. "Hehe, Deborah thinks the training will scare me off, but I'll do anything to be by your side, dearest."
"Hey there, Mica," Deborah warned, her tone icy. "We had a deal, remember?"
Mica blushed and scooted away from Lorenzo ever so slightly.
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What's this about a deal, Deb?"
Deborah huffed, her cheeks flushing. "It's none of your beeswax, pal. Besides, our little... arrangement is only for the duration of our training."
Lorenzo grinned, unfazed by their secret. "Well, well, you two have been keeping secrets from me. I don't mind, though. In fact, I've got an idea. How about we all head back to our room and... discuss our... arrangement... in more... comfortable surroundings?"
Deborah and Mica pulled away from Lorenzo, their cheeks flushed. "You think you can handle both of us, tough guy?" Deborah teased.
Mica smirked, her blush deepening. "Even if I know you've got… stamina, I doubt you could keep up with us, especially after what I heard about your… performance with Deborah."
"Oh really?" Lorenzo chuckled, his eyes dancing with mischief as he looked at Deborah, who avoided his gaze. He chuckled and turned to her, "So, your bragging I can't handle you, eh? How about we put that to the test right now?"
The truth was, it was Deborah who couldn't handle him, but she'd never admit it.
Deborah's heart raced, but she couldn't let Mica know the truth. "You're on, big shot," she said, shaking his hand firmly. "But you'll have to wait a week. Mica and I are going to focus on our training—martial arts, shooting, the works. No distractions, got it?"
Mica nodded in agreement, her grip on Deborah's hand tightening. "That's right, lover boy. We'll be staying in the guest room, so don't even think about sneaking in."
Lorenzo chuckled, unfazed by their challenge. "Fine, fine, ladies. A week it is. You better be ready for a night you'll never forget."
With that, Deborah and Mica sauntered off, their hips swaying in unison as they headed upstairs in the grand mansion. Lorenzo watched them go, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, my dears, you have no idea what's in store for you."
---
Richard and his entourage began their day bright and early, following a lead that had piqued the interest of their boss, Lorenzo.
They were on the investigation of the talent, a young man by the name of Charlie Chaplin. The sun had just started to rise over the bustling city as they made their way to the heart of the downtown neighborhood where the lad resided.
Richard sat in the back of his sleek automobile, puffing on a cigarette, as his boys kept watch on the worn-down apartment complex where their quarry lived. As the clock struck the hour, a young man, Arturo, one of the boys under Richard's command, emerged from the building after Charlie.
Arturo, an orphan himself, sauntered up to the car and leaned in through the open window.
"Boss," he drawled, "that Charlie fella, he's got a mother, and she's quite a looker, but... well, I think she's a few cards short of a deck. Poor kid's gotta take care of her."
Richard, unfazed by the news, simply nodded and adjusted his fedora. "Is that so?" he mused aloud, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Well, we'll just have to see about that."
Richard and his entourage continued their surveillance, tailing the unsuspecting Charlie Chaplin. As they rounded a corner, they spotted the young man backed into an alleyway, surrounded by a group of thugs. The air was thick with tension and the unmistakable scell of fear.
Richard signaled to his boys, and they all approached the scene with purpose. Richard's hands were casually tucked in his pockets, exuding an air of nonchalance that belied the danger he posed.
"What's the matter here, fellas?" Richard drawled, his voice as smooth as honey.
The thugs turned to face the newcomers, their smirks fading as they eyed the well-dressed menace and his equally intimidating entourage. The leader of the pack, emboldened by numbers, sneered at Richard. "You feeling heroic now, tough guy?"
Richard's response was to casually flick his cigarette to the ground and grind it out with his polished shoe. In one fluid motion, he drew a revolver from his pocket, and to the thugs' horror, so did his four companions.
The click of the hammers cocking echoed through the alleyway, as if in sync with the thudding hearts of their prey.
"I-I'm sorry, sir!" the leader stuttered, hands trembling as he raised them above his head. "Please, don't kill us!"
Richard's lip curled into a cold smile. "You'd better apologize to my friend here," he said, jerking his chin towards the terrified Charlie Chaplin, "Or you'll have a bullet in your head. Understand?" Richard's voice was as cold as ice, leaving no room for negotiation.
The thugs gulped in unison, their bravado evaporating faster than the morning dew under the harsh sun. "Y-yes, sir! We're sorry!" they chorused, their voices trembling with fear.
Richard holstered his gun, but his boys kept theirs drawn, ensuring the message was crystal clear. "Good. Now, scram."
The thugs didn't need to be told twice. They scattered like rats, disappearing into the labyrinthine alleyways of the city, leaving Charlie Chaplin trembling but unharmed.
Richard turned to the young man, his expression softening ever so slightly. "Are you alright, kid?"
Charlie, still shaking, managed a nod. "T-thank you, mister... I-I don't know how to repay you."
Richard waved off the gratitude with a flick of his hand. "Forget about it. Just consider it a favor from one friend to another. You never know when you might need a hand yourself, eh?"
Charlie swallowed, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Y-yes, sir. I... I won't forget this."
Charlie, still shaken but grateful, eyed Richard and his four men warily. "If you don't mind me asking, sir... who are you?"
Richard tipped his fedora, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Mr. Chaplin, we work for Mr. Lupo." He paused, his eyes boring into Charlie's. "He's... interested in ensuring that nothing... untoward happens to his... investments."
Charlie's eyes widened, but he quickly masked his fear with a nod. "Well, thank you very much, then."
After a moment of uneasy silence, Charlie spoke up again. "If you don't mind me, I have someplace I need to be."
"Of course, Mr. Chaplin," Richard said, gesturing towards his car. "If you're headed to the studio, we'd be more than happy to escort you."
Charlie hesitated, but after a brief internal debate, he agreed.
He followed Richard and his entourage to Richard's sleek automobile, and they set off towards the Lupo Pictures studio.
Upon their arrival, Charlie thanked Richard and exited the car, his heart pounding in anticipation as he approached the grand entrance of the studio.
A pretty receptionist greeted him with a warm smile and a pen poised over her pristine ledger.
"May I help you, sir?" The receptionist asked Charlie.
Charlie tipped his hat and handed the receptionist a crisp business card bearing the name "Lorenzo Lupo." "I'm Charlie Chaplin," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "I was told to come here by Mr. L... Lupo himself."
The receptionist's eyes widened, and she quickly ushered Charlie to Lorenzo's opulent office. She knocked lightly on the door, and after a moment, a deep voice boomed, "Show him in!"
Lorenzo Lupo rose from his leather chair and extended a hand across the mahogany desk. "Mr. Chaplin, I've been expecting you." His smile was as warm as the glow of the cigar embers in the ashtray.
Charlie shook the proffered hand, trying to hide his nerves. "Thank you for this opportunity, sir. I won't disappoint you."
Lorenzo chuckled, gesturing for Charlie to take a seat. "I have no doubt about that, my boy. No doubt at all."
After a brief but fruitful conversation, Lorenzo led Charlie down a bustling corridor, past the open doors of buzzing scriptwriters' offices. He stopped at one such door and rapped on the frame. "Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to our newest addition: Charlie Chaplin."
A chorus of surprised greetings and congratulations filled the room as Charlie took in the sea of expectant faces. This, he thought to himself, was the beginning of something truly extraordinary.
"Gentlemen," Lorenzo boomed, addressing the roomful of expectant scriptwriters, "in two days' time, we'll begin shooting a new comedy starring our very own Mr. Charlie Chaplin here." He gestured grandly towards the young man, who blushed under the sudden attention. "I trust you've all had a chance to review the script I sent over yesterday?"
Mumbled affirmatives and nods filled the air as the seasoned writers exchanged knowing glances. Many of them had worked with Lorenzo back in New York; now, they'd made the trek to Los Angeles to work for him.
Lorenzo turned his attention back to Charlie. "I want you to sit in on these meetings, Charlie. Feel free to chime in if you've got any ideas or suggestions. We're all about collaboration here at Lupo Pictures, aren't we, boys?"
"Yes, boss!" the writers chorused, though their enthusiasm was tempered by a hint of skepticism.
"Good," Lorenzo said, clapping his hands together. "Then it's settled. Charlie, make yourself at home."
With that, Lorenzo swept out of the room, leaving Charlie to fend for himself among the professional writers.
---
As the Wolf Familia's influence continued to grow in the city, rival gangs took notice. From the Cohen Crime Syndicate to various Hispanic, Asian, and African-American gangs, word of this new power player spread like wildfire through the underworld.
In his opulent mansion, Mickey Cohen, the head of the Cohen Crime Syndicate, sat down with his most trusted lieutenants. "Gentlemen," he began, tapping a cigar ash into a pricely ashtray, "our meeting today concerns this 'Wolf Familia' organization that's been making waves lately."
Johnny Stompanato, Cohen's right-hand man, nodded gravely. "It seems they've been making moves in the arms trade, acquiring real estate in Beverly Hills at a steep discount... and even the mayor is involved."
Cohen's eyebrows shot upwards. "Is that so?"
Stompanato continued, "This 'Wolf Familia' has connections to high-ranking politicians, and they've even got the press in their pocket." He paused, flipping through a newspaper that prominently featured the Raven Corps, a supposedly righteous vigilante group that was rumored to be connected to the Wolf Familia.
"They've got connections in City Hall, the press, and even the business world. We know about this Lorenzo Lupo character, but we're still in the dark about other businessmen in cahoots with them."
Frank Steiner, puffing on a cigar, leaned back in his chair. "It seems this Wolf Familia has a tight grip on the city."
Mickey Cohen nodded grimly. "They came out of nowhere, and now they're taking over the city block by block. Boyle Heights is already under their control, and they're bleeding the other gangs dry with protection fees and extortion."
Lenny Finkelstein, another high-ranking member of the Cohen Crime Syndicate, added, "And it's not just Boyle Heights. Thugs with ties to the Wolf Familia are flooding into Downtown as we speak. They're expanding fast, boss."
Mickey leaned in, lowering his voice as he spoke. "Fellas, we gotta keep an eye on that organization," he said, jabbing a finger for emphasis. "We ain't got the faintest 'bout what they're up to, but I got a hunch they're onto us. We're the ones in the spotlight, and they're lurkin' in the shadows. And I don't cotton to that one bit."
Johnny Goldberg grunted in agreement. "Ain't room for two lions on one mountain, boss."
Mickey nodded, his eyes darting around the table, gauging the resolve of his men.
.
.
.
.
The Cohen Crime Syndicate's boys began to probe into the Wolf Familia, a new power organization that had seemingly sprouted out of thin air in the city. This upstart group had been expanding at an alarming rate, and had even managed to strike deals with the Syndicate. However, every time they met, the representatives from the Wolf Familia were always masked men who took great pains to conceal their identities.
Suspecting foul play, the Syndicate's boys tried to tail these masked figures, but to no avail. The masked men seemed to possess an uncanny ability to sense when they were being followed, and would invariably shake their tails before vanishing into the labyrinthine streets of the city.
The Cohen Crime Syndicate's bosses were growing increasingly uneasy about this mysterious new player on the scene, and they knew they needed to unravel the riddle of the Wolf Familia's true face if they were to maintain their iron grip on the city's underworld.
Frustrated by the lack of progress, Mickey Cohen summoned his lieutenants and ordered them to tread more cautiously in their investigation. He expanded their list of targets, now including the Mayor, the Police Chief of LAPD, and the Los Angeles Times newspaper publisher, all of whom have ties with the elusive Wolf Familia.
They also added a new name to their list of persons of interest: a recently arrived businessman by the name of "Lorenzo Lupo," who was rumored to be connected to the organization.
The Cohen Crime Syndicate's men shadowed Lupo and his entourage of advisors, but they found nothing out of the ordinary. The man seemed to be consumed by his businesses, spending long hours at his various establishments, meeting with clients, and overseeing operations.
Despite their best efforts, the Syndicate's boys were drawing a blank. The Wolf Familia and its members remained as elusive as ever, and the Cohen Crime Syndicate's grip on the city's underbelly was beginning to slip away, one deal at a time.
***
In the modest mansion of Lorenzo, a tense meeting was underway.
Adam, Richard, Max, Patrick, Leo, Julius, Ricky and Henry, key members of the Wolf Familia, had just informed their boss that the Cohen Crime Syndicate was starting to probe into their organization's affairs.
Lorenzo puffed on his cigarette, a wry smile playing on his lips as he exhaled a plume of smoke. "So, they finally feel threatened, eh?"
Richard spoke up first. "Boss, how do you want us to handle this? The Cohens are not ones to be trifled with."
Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of calm that belied the gravity of the situation. "Relax, Rich. We've been in this game long enough to know how it's played. We may be new in this city, but our power is no joke. We've got the guns, the ammunition, and our ranks are swelling by the day. Besides, our experienced men from New York are trickling in as we speak. If it comes down to a war, I'm confident we'll come out on top."
Max and Patrick exchanged glances, and Max voiced the question on everyone's mind. "Boss, you don't mean we're going to declare war on them, do you?"
The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
Lorenzo chuckled, a mirthless sound. "Of course not, Max. A full-blown war would only attract unwanted attention, and there'd be casualties on both sides, even if we emerge victorious. No, our plan is to gather intelligence on the men of the Cohen Crime Syndicate who are living as neighbors around Mickey Cohen's house, posing as his guards." He puffed on his cigarette, the smoke curling around his head like a sinister halo.
Adam nodded in agreement. "You're right, boss. Those men are the first line of defense for that Mickey Cohen. The whole damn neighborhood where he lives must be crawling with his goons."
Patrick frowned, "Eliminating them won't be a walk in the park, boss."
Lorenzo steepled his fingers, a calculating glint in his eyes. "I know that, Pat. That's why we have a backup plan. We find one of Mickey Cohen's close men and turn him to our side. A man in his inner circle would be a valuable asset."
Henry scoffed, "That's easier said than done, boss. The high-ranking members of the Cohen Crime Syndicate are as loyal as they come."
Julius, the quiet one among them, spoke up for the first time. "There might be one exception, boss. I had a chance to talk with a high-ranking member of the Cohen Crime Syndicate during our fuel and cigarette deals. His name's Lenny Finkelstein. He's the general manager of Polar Bear Ice Company, which is under Cohen's control. Word on the street is, he's not as loyal to Mickey Cohen as the others."
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed. "Lenny Finkelstein, eh? Sounds like we found our way in. Get me everything you can find on this Finkelstein character. We need leverage, and we need it fast."
Julius nodded, already mentally ticking off the names of his informants who might have the dirt they needed on Lenny Finkelstein.
Lorenzo drummed his fingers on the mahogany table, a cold glint in his eyes. "Once we have enough information on our friend Lenny, I'd like to have a little chat with him. As the boss of the Wolf Familia." He chuckled, picking up a golden mask with an intricate design from the table.
Leo interjected, "Should I send him an invitation, boss?"
Lorenzo shook his head. "That won't do. We'll need to... persuade him to join us for a little talk." He smirked, "We'll arrange a 'meeting' at the construction site we control in Boyle Heights. I'll negotiate with him there."
Ricky chuckled, "That's practically kidnapping, boss."
The room erupted in laughter, even Lorenzo joining in, but there was no mirth in their eyes.
***
A day passed, and Lorenzo's men had gathered enough information on Lenny Finkelstein to fill a dam. It turned out that Lenny was Mickey Cohen's brother-in-law, but the relationship was far from amicable.
Mickey Cohen didn't particularly care for his in-law, and the feeling was mutual. The tension between them stemmed from Lenny's penchant for making rash decisions that often attracted unwanted attention from the authorities. Lenny had been lucky so far, but it was only a matter of time before his recklessness caught up with him.
Lorenzo smirked. "This is perfect."
The next day, as Lenny Finkelstein stepped out of the Polar Bear Ice Company building, flanked by his men, Lorenzo's men struck. In a matter of time, Lenny's guards were down, and a gun barrel was pressed against his temple.
"Just be cooperative, Mr. Finkelstein," a masked man said, his voice muffled by a unique and intimidating mask that resembled a snarling wolf. Lenny raised his hands in surrender, realizing that resistance was futile. His men, outnumbered and outgunned, followed suit.
The masked men, all wearing similar wolf masks, tied up Lenny and his men, then led them to their waiting cars. Lenny was shoved into the backseat of one of the vehicles, sandwiched between two burly guards.
The caravan of vehicles sped through the city streets, attracting no attention in the bustling metropolis. They arrived at an unassuming construction site, where the masked men led their captives up the rickety stairs of an unfinished building.
Once inside, Lenny Finkelstein and his men were led to a dimly lit room where two masked men awaited them. One wore a golden mask with intricate designs that exuded an air of elegance and nobility. Beside him stood another man in a silver mask adorned with lines and whiskers, radiating a sense of lethal efficiency.
"Welcome, welcome," the golden masked man said, clapping his hands together as he extended a hand towards Lenny. "I've been dying to meet one of Mickey Cohen's inner circle. Pleased to meet you."
Lenny scowled and slapped the proffered hand away. "So, you're the boss of the Wolf Familia, huh? What do you want?"
The silver masked man, Richard, tensed, but the golden masked man, Lorenzo, raised a hand to stop him. "It's alright, it's alright. Our friend here is just a bit on edge."
"What do you want with me?" Lenny asked through gritted teeth.
"I hear you have a... less than amicable relationship with Mickey Cohen. Care to enlighten me?" Lorenzo asked, feigning casual interest.
"It's none of your damn business," Lenny spat.
Lorenzo chuckled. "Look, I'll cut to the chase. I'm offering you a deal. Would you like to join the Wolf Familia and betray your boss?"
Lenny laughed, as if Lorenzo had just said the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Not a chance. Even if my relationship with my brother-in-law is bad, I wouldn't betray my organization. The Cohen Crime Syndicate is all I've got, and I'm not about to throw it away for some upstart like you."
Lorenzo sighed, his disappointment palpable. "I see..." He knew that Lenny Finkelstein could have been a valuable asset to the Wolf Familia, but it seemed the man's loyalty ran deeper than anticipated.
Richard, the silver masked man, growled, "Should we... convince him properly, boss?"
But Lorenzo's response surprised everyone in the room. "It doesn't matter."
Lenny and his men braced themselves for the worst, expecting torture or worse, but nothing came.
To everyone's surprise, Lorenzo said, "Untie him."
The masked men hesitantly complied, and Lenny Finkelstein found himself free from his restraints.
Lorenzo reached into his pocket and pulled out three old-looking tarot cards. "You can leave here alive, for now."
Lenny's eyes narrowed, but he didn't dare say anything.
Lorenzo continued, "But I want you to deliver these cards to Mickey Cohen and his underboss, Johnny Stompanato." He handed Lenny the first card, depicting a skeleton on horseback. "Give this to Mickey."
Lenny's brow furrowed, but he took the card nonetheless, not wanting to provoke the man in front of him.
Lorenzo then handed him another card, this one showing a man hanging upside down by one foot. "And give this to Johnny Stompanato."
Lenny reluctantly accepted the "The Hanged Man" card.
Finally, Lorenzo handed the last card to Lenny. "And this one... is for you."
Lenny stared at the Judgment card in his hands, his mind racing with questions. What did these cards mean?
Lorenzo leaned in, his voice a low purr of greed and opportunity. "Deliver these gifts, and I'll make it worth your while. I'll pay triple for the morphine stashed at Polar Bear Ice Company cold storage, and I'll even throw in a bonus for the trouble I've caused you and your men."
Greed, like a spark, ignited in Lenny's eyes. "You mean it?" he asked, trying to mask his eagerness.
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed, his gaze as cold as the cards he'd dealt. "Give Mickey the 'Death' tarot and hand 'The Hanged Man' to Johnny. Deliver these gifts, and I assure you, the morphine deal will be yours."
Lenny had a hunch that the boss of the Wolf Familia was using him to deliver some sort of ominous message to his boss and underboss, but he couldn't quite decipher the meaning behind the tarot cards.
His mind clouded by the lure of the morphine deal, he pushed his reservations aside. "A-Alright," he stammered, feigning nonchalance.
Lorenzo chuckled, he nodded to his men, "Let them go, boys." His voice was like ice as he added, "But remember, Lenny, don't double-cross me. The cards are my gift to them. If you fail to deliver, our deal is off."
Lenny forced himself to nod. "I won't disappoint you."
The men in wolf masks reluctantly released their grip on Lenny and his men.
Richard, standing by Lorenzo's side, couldn't help but voice his concern. "Boss, are you sure about this? Why let them go?"
Lorenzo's smile was cold as the winter wind. "Just wait and see, Richard. The tarot cards will do the job."
Richard frowned, not quite understanding. "What do you mean, boss?"
"You'll see soon enough," Lorenzo said with a chilling chuckle.
Lorenzo didn't need to be the one to directly hand the cursed cards to his victims. From his system's information, he could use the victim's closest friends, associates, or even their own men to do the deed. He'd tested this strategy two days ago, and the results had been chillingly effective.
So, as soon as Lenny handed the 'Death' card to Mickey and the 'Hanged Man' card to Johnny, the underboss of Cohen's organization, their fates would be sealed. The lives of Mickey and Johnny would be in Lorenzo's hands.
***
Once outside the construction site, Lenny and his men scrambled to their feet, adrenaline pumping through their veins. They quickly made their escape, leaving the ominous building in their dust.
"They must've been scared of our organization," Lenny boasted, trying to mask the fear still lingering in his voice. His men nodded in agreement, eager to believe their boss's bravado.
Lenny looked down at the two tarot cards in his hands: 'Death' and 'The Hanged Man'. He figured the boss of the Wolf Familia had some sort of message for his own boss and underboss, but he couldn't quite decipher the meaning behind the cards.
He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to these tarot cards than he'd been led to believe. Why had the masked boss of the Wolf Familia given him the 'Judgment' card as well? What did it mean for him? Shaking off the unease, he hailed a taxi, desperate to deliver the cards and collect his reward.
The taxi driver, white-knuckled on the wheel, sped through the streets, avoiding potholes and other cars as if the very hounds of hell were on their tail.
They finally arrived at Mickey Cohen's opulent mansion, where armed guards eyed them warily.
Lenny stepped out of the taxi. The taxi peeled away as soon as he slammed the door, leaving him alone with the guards.
The guards at the gate recognized Lenny and, after a curt nod, let him through. He made his way to Mickey Cohen's opulent office, where the boss of the Cohen Crime Syndicate sat with his lieutenants.
"What's the matter?" Mickey asked, frowning as Lenny entered.
"Boss," Lenny began, "I just met with the boss of the Wolf Familia."
Mickey's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
Lenny continued, "He proposed a deal... regarding the morphine stash at Polar Bear Ice Company." He left out the part about their abduction, not wanting to appear weak in front of his boss.
Mickey stroked his chin, intrigued. "Is that so?"
Lenny nodded, reaching into his pocket. "He also wanted me to give you this." He handed the 'Death' tarot card to Mickey, who frowned as he took it.
Johnny, the underboss, received the 'Hanged Man' card with less fanfare.