Shadowgames

By Aaron Majewski

In the wrong place at the wrong time, a staid CPA learns too late not to play around with his new car starter in the parking lot of a mob owned deli.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron Majewski
• Release date: Mar 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458117090

Aaron Majewski

Author, screenwriter and playwright

Book preview

SHADOWGAMES

By Aaron Majewski

Smashwords edition

Copyright 2011

Chapter One- A Shady mistake

The upper middle class suburban neighborhood was calm and quiet. No one in sight in the warm early afternoon sunlight, but one specific house is of interest. Inside, a man recounts his tale…

From within Rhea speaks, her voice floating out through a window. Calm down Rick, I assure you you’re not crazy; just relax and tell me exactly what happened step by step. I promise I won’t judge you.

Rick replies harshly, empathetically. But doctor, you have to believe me, this really happened, it’s not a story not a fantasy, it really occurred I have witnesses!

The therapist soothes, Okay Rick, just tell me everything and then we’ll discuss it.

An office in the doctor’s home, the walls were of paneled wood. Bookcases line two of them, full of reference works; which lent a soothing air of competence and learning. The furniture is dark and heavy, sober and thought provoking. A tall brass lamp stands in one corner, and several comfortable armchairs flank a little table. Various diplomas and pictures of the doctor grace the wall behind her large desk.

However Rick couldn’t see those, he couldn’t see the doctor either from his position. Rick’s therapist Rhea, sat behind her desk and let Rick talk; using nondirective therapy with him.

He was a middle class New Yorker, thirtyish Caucasian; a C.P.A. (certified public accountant) he led a normal vaguely boring life, most of the time. A normal middle class American, he brings in enough money to pay his mortgage, bills, own a couple cars, support his family and still have a little left over for investing and fun. He’s a little staid (he’s a CPA) but not abysmally boring, for fun Rick went camping and hunted.

In chinos and a sports shirt, he lay on a dark upholstered couch hands clasped across his stomach, and looked up at a corner of the ceiling as he speaks, studying the cobweb there. I know it’s hard to believe doc,

Rhea interrupts from the anonymity of his lack of sightline. Rhea.

He continues, tacitly accepting her gentle admonishment, he knew the rules. I know it’s hard to believe Rhea, but there I was; I’d just finished breakfast at a really great Italian deli with a friend of mine. The food is amazing but little did I know the joint is a mafia front.

The therapist murmurs quietly. I see.

It is! He was getting excited again and Rhea sighed, debating whether or not to give him a prescription, but he went on. Look I was trying to program my brand new PDA, it’s supposed to double as a remote car starter. I wasn’t paying attention because I hit some button and it made the trunk of my car pop open instead of unlocking the driver’s door. Then some guy walked up, said something; I thought he was asking if this was Geovonie’s deli, but I guess he said something more like did I work for Geovonie.

***

The deli was almost devoid of people, it really wasn’t a place to sit and eat. Really it was a place to come in and order deli meat, the front was just a bright linoleum floor, a long counter behind which meat cutters could be seen slicing up meat. They did a big business in the Italian community. By the large front windows were a couple small round tables and a few chairs, and the owner didn’t mind if you sat there and ate what you ordered, at least if he knew you.

Nobody was going to bother Ron. Rick sat across from him at the little table, a plate of breakfast sausage, hot and spicy sat between them; hardly a proper breakfast but that was what the deli had to offer. Rick was concentrating on his brand new PDA, an early birthday present; he looked up when Ron spoke.

So buddy, thirty years old, how do you feel?

Middle aged, Rick replied with a faux pout. And my damn PDA won’t do what it’s supposed to; you need a damn degree to make it work.

Ron chuckled. Ronald ‘Ron’ Geovonie, a thirty-two year old Italian; wide shouldered, with rugged good looks like a woman’s rugged wet dream. He was Rick’s friend, and genuinely liked him; he was also the younger brother of Paul Geovonie, the local mob boss. Although Rick, the sheltered suburbanite would have been shocked to realize that. Ron’s taxes were legitimate, and using the legitimate CPA helped insure the feds left him alone, but he really did like Rick, a lot; he was a fun guy.

Naw, he said dismissively, you’re not middle aged, you just need a night with a broad; or perhaps you should consider a mistress? You can afford to keep one can’t you?

Rick smiled and shook his head. No, I love my wife thank you. I just wish I could figure out this damn handheld she got me!

Ron chuckled, playing with him. Maybe you can use it to find me some new tax breaks?

Rick shook his head. Hay no business, it’s my birthday, besides I already found a new law that’ll save you at least a grand; we’ll talk about it next time you come into the office. He paused mischievously, When I’m allowed to bill you for my time.

Ron laughed. Just as long as you save me money in the end, bill all you want.

Rick played along. If you like I can waste a bunch of your time trying to figure out your taxes on my brand new torment, according to the spec sheet it has a calculator on it somewhere. Probably only take me an hour or so to figure out how to use it.

What about that numbered account in the Bahamas? Ron asked.

I looked into it; the mix-up was a simple number inversion, totally the IRS’s fault. I sent them the paperwork to prove it, almost three years have passed, and you should get a large refund. I could try to figure out how large on my new computer, but I might end up telling you the IRS is taking all your money away.

Ron laughed. Forget the computer already, let me take you to a strip club tonight, I guarantee you’ll have a good time; a chaste one if you insist.

Rick rolled his eyes. "I know you, you hell raiser. I go out with