Chapter 22
David D. Chestermill
David's day began like usual, at 7am sharp, when his alarm woke him up from a fitful sleep.
No, not like usual. He sat on his bed for a few moments, noticing how he wasn't assailed by little aches and pains. His mind was not as foggy as it should be, and he felt well-rested and full of energy. He wondered, for a moment, whether he was still dreaming, but then his mind kicked into gear, bringing a grin to his wrinkled face.
Is this the effect of that strange healing? It had been years since he had slept so well. Ages since the last time climbing out of bed hadn't been painful. Now, though? He was strong and flexible like a spring chicken.
Perhaps that's a bit of an exaggeration. I am still old.
He wasn't feeling as frail as he used to be, and he felt ravenous. His appetite was back, it seemed, a thing he had sorely missed in his twilight years. Going to the bathroom to wash his face, he thought it had less wrinkles, more color, and that his eyes were sharper. No, the world is sharper. That fucker even fixed my eyes.
It was a miracle. Michael was indeed a gold mine. That idiot Carmela. "I owe him my life. What is it that you owe him?" Stupid. Ah well, it's a habit of the young, they don't know any better. If she had known just what sort of a tragedy growing old is, she would know that I owe Michael just as much as she does, if not more, for giving me a semblance of youth back.
The boy was dungeon delving, as he called it. He was probably still on the way there. David had not been told where this dungeon was, but even though the kid was getting more paranoid about it, and rightly so, it was not hard to divine its general location. Piecing together all the information he had, David was pretty sure that this dungeon was somewhere on the Appalachian Trail, the closest spot being two hours away by car.
A clear waste of time, going back and forth every day.
At the diner, they had talked about the possibility of other people having access to other entrances to this magical dungeon. Potentially gaining abilities themselves. If that's true, then the current world order won't last for much longer. Could be weeks, or months, but sooner or later it's going to come out. I need to prepare.
It was all speculation, heavily dependent on many factors. How many entrances there were, how many people actually found them, how many of them were as crazy as Michael was, and at what rate they gained power. Then there was the most important factor: how smart they were about it.
If they are all as naïve as Michael, it won't be long before someone up the power chain finds out about this.
He surely hoped it wasn't the case. If the world was about to radically change, he needed to make preparations. To that end, he decided to call Carmela while he was on the way to the pawn shop. I still need to open up shop. It's too early to just carelessly throw away my retirement plan.
"Carmela, what's the situation?"
"Buongiorno to you too, Dave," she said, a bit annoyed. Then her voice turned syrupy, as it always did when she wanted to have some fun. "Worried about me already?"
"Not you," he shot her down, "the kid."
"There's no need to worry. In fact, it is I who should worry, although seeing how ansioso you are, perhaps there's no need for me to worry either. I am working on it, Don Casellaro reacted as I predicted he would, which gives me some leeway. If I play my cards right, and the healing will certainly help, I can have the whole branch of the American Casellaro family under my thumb in a matter of weeks."
"Damn," David whistled, "that's some good resources. "Think they'll let ya?"
"That's where the healing comes in," her tone had shifted back to normal, now that they were talking serious matters, "provide them with a service they sorely need, and make sure they understand that only I can provide it to them. Well, we can. No way they won't know that you are also involved."
"Better also make sure they don't get their hands on Michael, hear me?"
"Right," she giggled, "worry not, old man."
They exchanged some pleasantries afterwards, talking about their plans until David arrived at the pawn shop. Mustang was already there, the eyesore.
"You're late," he said caustically.
David just grumbled at him, casually lifting the metal roller shutter and opening shop. Damn, it really is much easier now, and my back doesn't hurt. That Carmela… she doesn't get it. Not really. Not the full extent of what magic could mean. Luckily I have contacts of my own. Let her handle the illegal shit, I will make sure Michael has a secure footing without having to hide from the law. For the most part at least.
"Mustang," he said to that end, "it's finally time you show me what you learned. You take the lead today. I'll be watching you without interfering." Rather, I will be handling far more important things than random old ladies selling their rings, "if you don't fuck up too bad, I can consider giving you the keys to the shop one day."
Mustang's face brightened up at that. What a fool. I almost feel bad using him. But then, he's no Michael. He's lazy, has no impulse control, arrogantly wants good thing to happen to him without putting in the effort…
Going into his office, he quickly started going through his contacts, writing mails and messages to several people he predicted would become necessary soon.
***
Carmela Esposito
"You're right it was a mess," said the voice on the phone. He was speaking Italian, as was Carmela.
"Yes Don. But I believe we can make an opportunity out of this. To that end, I ask for your support in taking over the branch of the Family."
"Rat out the mole, find out if there are others, then I might consider it. You know what? Pino is dead, as well as that American, what was his name?"
Carmela perked up, "Terrence, I believe."
"Yes. Those. Take over their share of the business. If you do a good enough job, that slice of America is yours."
Carmela smiled at that, a predatory smile only she could see. "I will. I won't let you down, Don Casellà. Now, if I may be so arrogant, Don, I wish to start a side business of my own—"
"What? You think you will have the time?" the man said, amused more than anything.
"I know the right people. It's on the more… legal side of things, although I am sure you will find that several proposals I will come to you with interesting, once the project gains its footing."
"Money is always interesting. Legal fronts, even more so." The Don said, ending the call.
Carmela slumped on the chair, drawing a breath of fresh air in relief. Calls with the Don were always nerve-wracking, but now she had all the pieces she needed to start working her end of the deal with Michael. One where, of course, she was bound to gain more than she expended, but she was a very fervent believer in win-wins.
It doesn't have to be a zero-sum game, after all.
The real thorny affair was dealing with the mob part of her projects. If it were up to her, she would leave the Family immediately, use whatever old contacts she had to find a client to heal, and work from there. But she was not a stupid woman. Gaining power in the Family was going to be essential if they wanted to come ahead in the new world, one where magic was real. They would need trusted people to use for all sorts of nasty things, from silencing the odd idiot who threatened to spill secrets about magic to the public, to making sure the government wasn't onto them.
Why waste time recruiting people when she could just use the resources of the Family? Unless they had another delver as crazy as Michael, able to keep pace with him, by the time they found out what her true plans were, she would be in a position of power so unassailable that not even the Italian mafia could do anything about it.
I don't think there are many like him. The way he talked about putting his life in danger, he gets a kick out of it.
Perhaps she could dream bigger. After all, why stop at taking over the branch Family?
She would simply need to… restructure the Family a bit. Perhaps a trip to Italy would also serve the purpose. After all, one could not remodel a house by only painting the shed. And the USA branch of the Family, despite being fairly influential, was just the shed compared to the house that was the main Family back in Naples.
One thing at a time. First, I need Michael to trust me enough to know I am only doing this with his interests in mind. That my interests also happen to coincide with his, it matters little. He also needs to grow stronger. What I saw yesterday was impressive, but we need more.
She texted Dave, who confirmed that the boy was currently training in the Dungeon. Good.
Now it's time to see what those two dead idiots were up to. If I am to take over their business, I need to know what I am working with.
It turned out, according to the documents and ledgers they were keeping, that Terrence was involved in a stolen car trade. The dealership where the shootout had happened was the front for their activity, and Terrence had also linked up with a car salvage yard, several repair shops and, of course, the actual thieves. Although it seemed that most of the deals were brokered by a certain Lynchpin, she cringed at the name, who provided the stolen cars in exchange for cash.
It wasn't a pretty thing, nor was it very lucrative.
Pino, instead, was trafficking drugs. Carmela had no moral qualms about that, at least she didn't until she saw that he was trying to push his people to sell them to underage teens. Too hard to be lucrative otherwise, it appeared.
This sucks. The Don really threw me a curveball here.
There was a silver lining, although it would make everything much messier. Both Terrence and Pino had yet to report to the Don about what they were doing. All the Don cared about, at this stage, was how much money flowed back to him. Everything else he didn't care about, and the more Carmela looked into things, the other surviving members of the family included, the more she realized that they had mostly been left to their devices.
Exile. To think I was so stupid as to be happy to be sent here. Fuck the Don, I'm going to milk them dry of all they can offer, putting back just enough money to make the Don happy. And when he finally comes knocking, demanding to know what I was doing? I'll deal with him.