The Assassin Code

By Richard Joseph Zazzi

Most grandfathers show their grandsons how to fish or play baseball, but not in the Castinetti family. Joseph Castinetti has no idea that growing up in a traditional Italian family means total loyalty to the family and doing exactly what you are told. So when his grandfather takes him target shooting, he never realizes that he is rehearsing to assassinate President John F. Kennedy.

The benefit of being born into a traditional Italian family means a secure future with all the trappings of life in Americaunless the family is the Mafia. As Joseph is unwillingly thrust into a life of crime, he must perform dirty deeds as his grandfathers pawn and bids to win favor at the highest levels of organized crime. As he becomes immersed deeper and deeper into the thick of the Mafias plans, it soon becomes apparent that they are grooming Joseph for something special.

If its true that once in the Mafia one is always bound to the Omert, Joseph must find a way out before it is too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450298025

Richard Joseph Zazzi

RICHARD JOSEPH ZAZZI was raised at a winery in northern California owned by his traditional Italian family and was a therapist for nearly twenty years. Now retired, he and his wife have three grown sons and live in a remote part of the Big Island of Hawaii.

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Copyright © 2011 Richard Joseph Zazzi

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ISBN: 978-1-4502-9803-2 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-4502-9802-5 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 5/23/2011

Acknowledgments

I acknowledge that the content of my book is very powerful and can conjure up serious emotions. I apologize in advance to any reader who might find this material offensive in any way. The book is intended for casual amusement only. I take complete responsibility for the contents of this book and was not influenced by anyone. This is a fiction novel intended for entertainment value and that is all. None of the events expressed in this book should be even remotely taken as fact. I want to thank my family for their continued support of my writing and most significantly my wife. I encourage anyone that has or holds strong degrees of interest in this novel to express it in a customary and acceptable fashion. I sincerely hope you enjoy this book and find it amusing, interesting, and worth reading.

Contents

Chapter 1 The Phone Call

Chapter 2 My Childhood

Chapter 3 Meeting The Don

Chapter 4 Joining The Teamsters

Chapter 5 Consolidated Freightways

Chapter 6 Barry Bates

Chapter 7 Starlight Ranch

Chapter 8 Wayne Grady

Chapter 9 Kansas City

Chapter 10 My First Rifle And First Wedding

Chapter 11 Proper Planning

Chapter 12 Long Drive

Chapter 13 Angel

Chapter 14 Taylor & Warren

Chapter 15 Another One Bites the Dust

Chapter 16 Hotel De Marco

Chapter 17 Times Two

Chapter 18 Last Assignment

Chapter 19 No Turning Back

Chapter 20 Home Sweet Home

Chapter 1

The Phone Call

It all started with the simple ringing of the telephone. I was seventeen years old and living with my grandfather at the family winery. The winery was just over two hundred and fifty acres of rolling hills with seven different varieties of grapes. Growing up on a winery was quite a different childhood from that of most of my friends who had much more mundane families.

Over the last year my anticipation of that life changing telephone call had been weighing heavy on my mind. I didn't fully know how I would react once it finally came in. I didn't know whom I was talking to but recognized the voice from answering the telephone over the last few years. My grandfather had me answer the phone giving me the signal if he didn't want to talk to a particular person. Growing up, it never ceased to amaze me how many friends he had. Between the telephone calls and people stopping by there was never a dull moment.

Right from the beginning I knew I was different from the other kids at school. I didn't know if it was for better or for worse. Thinking back now I guess I didn't have much say in how my life developed. All my important decisions were made for me before I was born, given that I was born a male. In a serious, traditional Italian family the difference between boys and girls is the difference between night and day.

My older sister Anna was living with my aunt Paulette in a large Victorian downtown. She had been dating a friend of mine from high school. They were the same age and just a year older than me. They had been going steady as far as I can remember and everyone expected them to get married someday. Warren played football and his dad was a big time football player when he was in school. Warren was getting scholarship offers to various colleges around the country but he didn't want to be far from Anna. After several interviews and telephone calls he submitted a letter of intent to USC. We had a big party at the winery before he left for school. Somehow my sister and him were able to keep their long distant love affair alive over those years apart.

During prohibition the winery was able to continue making wine but only in very small amounts just for the church. My great grandfather came to America with only a nickel in his pocket at the tender age of twelve. The way he made it to California and started a winery is still an example of determination, perseverance, and the American Dream. His accomplishments made it possible for his sons and me, his great-grandson, to have great jobs. He provided for a life worth living. At that time it completely broke his heart when he was told that the federal government had just made what he did for a living illegal. Being successful in making and selling wine had its hills to climb. Could you imagine that once you'd climbed that mountain and became successful, the federal government told you that you no longer were allowed to pursue your means of earning a living? It turned my family into bootleggers without trying. They had tried to earn an honest living and now they were becoming criminals in reverse - just by continuing to do what you've always done, making wine.

All this took place long before I was born but revealed the state of mind our family had about the federal government.

Of course, they made more wine than they were supposed to. Before my great-grandfather died he told me in broken English that we had family in Sicily. They lived on a large winery twenty miles outside Palermo. This winery had been in the Castinetti family for centuries.

Part of my job growing up was to shoot the pigeons that would roost above the open vats so the damn birds wouldn't crap in the grape juice. I used a pellet gun so the bullets wouldn't damage the roof. If a dead bird fell into a vat I had to fish it out with what was equivalent to a pool sweep. I earned a dime for each bird I shot. Other chores included hunting rabbits, pheasants, and other birds that would feed on the grapes. The same pay scale applied. For those duties I used a twelve gauge double barrel shot gun. This also applied to those assholes that tried to climb the fence and help themselves to some free grapes. I'd shoot warning shoots in the air not trying to hurt anyone.

The grapes were crushed and the pulp would be pumped into above ground tanks, similar to swimming pools, to settle out. Once the seeds and skin settled out, the grape juice was put into barrels along with other flavoring for fermentation. Once the wine reached appropriate fermentation and taste it was bottled and sold. Since I can remember I helped loading the trucks and rode with an adult to the bars and restaurants for delivery. We have child labor laws in this country but that didn't apply to my childhood. I worked my ass off and didn't complain unless I wanted to be backhanded.

The call came early in the morning and the voice on the other end of the line was barely audible. The man asked me where I was and I told him I was close to the highway and could hear the traffic of the early morning commuters who were heading to their dead end, shitty jobs with the State of California. That was a lie, of course, but I was damn good at it because he told me to come to the meeting and hung up. I ran downstairs and woke up my less than amused mentor and was told to put the coffee on, the stronger the better.

My grandmother died before I was born and my grandfather and I lived in this big two-story house. He lived downstairs and I had the upstairs all to myself.

Tony said, So you think you're ready for this?

I looked at his blood shot eyes and just shrugged my shoulders.

He went on, This is your big day.

With a distasteful look I asked, Big day for what?

He didn't say anything, smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.

Apparently this would change my life in a way that I never could have imagined at the time. My grandfather, Anthony Tony Castinetti, is the youngest brother of four boys. He clearly was the most successful outside the endeavors of the family winery business. He had a business of his own; this enterprise was simply referred to as The Family and later that day I was going to be initiated into it. Tony told me this was a great honor and that The Family has had its eye on me for some time. I didn't fully understand what I was getting myself into until it was too late.

You only think about things like this when you're old or at least older. Were did I go wrong? Did I take my lucky break and break it in two? Who can say? Some of the most miniscule decisions you make can have the greatest outcomes over time. The adventure, intrigue, and thrill of life should be enough for true happiness but that's a destination that's hard to find.

My great grandfather, Lorenzo Castinetti, came to this country in 1890 from Sicily. As the story goes, he and one, or possibly two, brothers landed in New York. While one of the brothers stayed in New York, and possibly the other one went to Chicago, Lorenzo took the train from New York to California and started growing grapes in the lush valley between San Francisco and the capitol of California, Sacramento. Nobody really knows how he was able to do this at such a young age but he did it and the winery is still there today. Lorenzo had four sons who ran the winery but my grandfather, being the youngest, was left out of a lot of the important decisions and started making decisions of his own.

Anyway, I think it was the brother in New York I talked to on the telephone that fate altering morning but I'm not sure.

We sat down for coffee and Tony wouldn't say who the man on the telephone was.

His face got serious and he said softly, If you embarrass me I'll shoot you and burry you in a shallow grave, one the wild pigs can get to once you smell bad enough.

Don't worry, I said without looking up wondering if he was really that serious. I'm as embarrassed as a nun farting in church.

Pretending he didn't hear my poor attempt at humor he stated, Today you become a man and men die everyday, if you were just a boy I could let you slide but not anymore.

I just stared at him with my eyebrows furrowed. I knew better than to say anything at this point.

Take off that baseball cap, comb your hair, and put on a button down shirt.

All I could think of saying was, Yes sir!

He talked to me while looking over his coffee and pouring brandy into it. He would always put a tablespoon of butter in his coffee as well. I've never heard of anyone doing that before or after living with him. I still couldn't tell if he was kidding or serious. He told me that this was the way people who caused problems were dealt with back home. He also informed me that if I told anybody about this meeting, mostly my mother, the pigs would be fat and happy for a long time. I drove to the meeting even though I didn't have a driver's license but had been driving for sometime up to that point. Looking back now, I realize that Tony didn't want to get picked up for drunk driving and being big for my age and having half a mustache I never got pulled over. As usual we drove on in silence.

Chapter 2

My Childhood

I should fill in some blanks before I get ahead of myself to better explain the wheels that were put in motion for my benefit or demise, whichever you see fit. I grew up going to a small school that had grades one through twelve. The classes were split into one through six and seven through twelve.

My sister and I would walk or ride our bicycles weather permitting to school. Even though we were not in the same grade we were in the same classroom. Ms. Weather's was our teacher throughout elementary school. It wasn't until high school that we didn't attend class together. By the time we started high school the area had developed and more and more people were moving to the general area.

The little brick building was set back from the road with a large grass area in front for outside activities. The school itself had two classrooms set apart by one common hall. We had no more than a hundred kids from around the area that would ride their bikes or get dropped off by their parents. At that time buses were yet to be needed.

My first recollections of really doing something interesting in school is from around seventh or eighth grade when Willy Blackman brought to school what looked like baseball cards. Being an avid baseball player and baseball card collector I was immediately interested. Willy's cards were the size of baseball cards but their content was hardcore pornography. They were black and white and had these black lines across the eyes of the people involved.

I had to keep this secret from my sister who would tell on me if she found out what I was doing. The same with Warren. He and my sister were close even that far back. I learned to keep my mouth closed and lie very convincingly at a very young age.

He told me he got them from his dad who just got out of prison and needed someone to help him sell these to the kids at school. Hell, I'd only seen a Playboy magazine up to that point and this was really racy stuff but of course I was more than happy to help a friend in need. Up to that point all I was able to hustle at school were marbles and emblems I stole off of cars at night. I don't feel too bad talking about that now because Willy and his dad are both dead.

I guess right then and there I should have gotten into the smut but I would rather be busted with drugs than this sleazy crap. My first real girl friend became a porn queen. She had a perfect body, okay face, and loved sex. She went to Florida to visit her father. Her family was fragmented with people living all over the world. Apparently, while driving with her dad they hit a telephone pole and she didn't have her seatbelt on. Her face went through the windshield. It broke every bone in her face and jaw. Her jaw was wired shut and she had to eat through a straw. Her dad was drunk as usual and sent her home on the next plane back to her mom. I still can't believe that bastard put her on an airplane with both eyes covered with bandages. The only thing physically wrong with her was that her face was bashed in. No other broken bones or injuries. Her face took all the impact.

She went through several skin grafts and facial reconstruction. I honestly lost count of how many surgeries she went through. After about six months the bandages came off for good. I didn't recognize her and she didn't recognize herself. Her face was perfect. It went immediately to her head. She was beautiful, at least on the outside. How she got into pornography is still a mystery but she was badly damaged psychologically after that accident. I heard rumors that she sent a couple of her male friends down to Florida to kill her dear old dad. She asked me to do it but I hadn't killed anybody yet and it was a long way to drive. I don't fly and that is the safest way in the world to travel. I told her I'd do it but she had to drive me down there. She got mad and told me I was out of my mind, which is probably half correct. After that we lost touch with each other and I'm glad she forgot about me. I can't tell you what a surprise it was to see her name on the marquee of a porno movie theater. I told my grandfather as we drove by a theater one day, Hey look, that girl in that movie, she was my girlfriend all through high school. He just looked at me with this look that said, Yeah, right!

Anyway, it wasn't long before I had a pretty good business going with the wilder kids from high school. I started selling pot that I got from Will's dad. I don't know where he got the stuff but it was the best. A lot of the loser kids would get this Mexican brown crap from other dealers but mine was pure California grown. Nobody was getting the green buds like me. I think some friend of Willy's dads got out of prison and started growing the stuff indoors. Anyway, the network grew and grew. I don't think any of my costumers finished school with the exception of a few of the older kids. I stayed in school mainly to sell drugs. That was where all my customers were. By then the class sizes had tripled much to my delight.

Some of the lame kids got into burglary and robbery ending up behind bars. There's nothing worse than a bunch of dumbass kids running around with guns. I went on to college. You don't think for a minute that it was to get an education. I majored in making money. Isn't that the ultimate goal of going to college anyway, to make money?

Willy wanted me to steal some wine from the winery once but I told him I didn't want to die young. He insisted that those old farts wouldn't miss a little bit of the vino and I told him that was bullshit. This told me how stupid he really was. After that I spent little time with that crowd of people and ended up getting green bud from a friend of mine that I told my main connection about. I set him up with some of the other people that I trusted. I gradually introduced him to the people that trusted me. In the end I had made enough money and didn't want to get caught. Once I started working for the trucking company I had to tone down my profile anyway. That's the problem with most criminals they don't know when to quit. You don't quit being a criminal you just go into another line of work, one that's more lucrative. Most of the people that I went to high school with ended up dead or in prison.

I remember the first time I got drunk and it was with my grandfather. We were playing pinochle and smoking cigarettes. I could drink or smoke as much as I wanted growing up as long as I didn't go anywhere. We were drinking Marsala, a sweet wine about the same proof as cheap slow gin. I got so sick; I think I barfed for two days. My grandfather just laughed and reminded me that he had warned me. That cured me from drinking for a long time.

The winery was the biggest thing in the area and a lot of weddings took place on the grounds. We could accommodate several hundred people in an outdoor setting. We had family reunions there as well. One year we had a big reunion and people came from all over the country. We had about a hundred people. I remember standing there, looking at all of them, and saying to myself, I'm related to all these people.

I had mostly cousins who were my age and almost all of them were girls. My cousins were gorgeous and I was told if I got caught with one of them I was dead meat. I never fooled around with any of my cousins but I sure wanted to. It would be a typical setting of the women cooking and setting the tables while the men worked in the winery, which meant drinking wine. On these occasions several barrels of the aged wine would be opened and wine poured directly from the kegs. The bottling room was just right there, so getting a few barrels bottled was just family tradition. Red or white, hands down, we had the best wine within a hundred miles.

I had a good childhood. I could do whatever I wanted as long as I got all my work done first. I wasn't lazy and offered to help whenever work needed to be done. I gained respect from my elders because of this - not trying to get out of work. I was always very careful not to break anything. I didn't have any fear of heights and this meant anytime the roof needed repair I would have to do it. I had no fear as a young man growing up and I honestly thought I was invincible.

They'd let me drive the truck and the tractor. I could run the grape crusher and move the heavy siphoning hoses. All this was a big deal for a young man growing up and it also made life a little easier on my great uncles. They treated me good and once I gained their respect they would watch out for me. I worked as hard as my other family members and didn't complain.

I didn't worry too much about anything; as long as I could go hunting every day I was happy.

Chapter 3

Meeting The Don

We went to my grandfather's warehouse that was a fruit and vegetable moving and storage warehouse, which had railroad cars on one-side and truck bays on the other. The workers were respectful and tried not to make eye contact as we went upstairs to his private office. At the conference table sat three men that didn't look up when we came in but continued their animated conversation. They were speaking Italian so I didn't have a clue what was being said but Anthony immediately joined in. The conversation was rather animated and got louder while all of them were talking at the same time. After we sat down and everyone lowered his voice, my grandfather introduced me. This is my grandson Joseph.

The three men at the table looked at