Genius Against the Odds: A Gritty Mob Tale of Greed, Power, and Genius

By Malcomb Q Riddle

                                            A New Gritty Mob Story With a Twist

         After twenty-five years in a state mental institution, can Mario adjust to life as part of an organized crime family? Born with a disfigured face, Mario also suffers from tremors and panic attacks. Fate has handed him a raw deal. Gang members harass Mario with pranks and ridicule. They coax him into games of chance, miscalculating his capability and expecting to win away his meager earnings. Despite Mario's disabilities, the kingpin, Carmine, gives him work as a janitor and unexpectedly discovers ways to make big money from Mario's intuitive ability to pick winners. With the odds stacked against him, will there be a way for Mario to overcome how people perceive him? What triggers Mario to take on extraordinary challenges? Finally, is he too ugly to acquire respect, the love of a beautiful lady and the admiration of the gang's crew? Read "Genius Against the Odds" for an inside view and a remarkable account of how a misfit disabled person exceeds his expected potential within the perimeters of a mob family. The author Malcomb Q Riddle recently launched this riveting story as an exciting ebook and a two-hundred-page paperback edition.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marvin Furman
• Release date: Jan 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215028773

Malcomb Q Riddle

Malcomb Q Riddle is a pseudonym for the author, Marvin Furman, who is retired and living in North Carolina. When he was twelve years old, young Marvin had three primary interests: baseball, writing, and the charismatic gangsters of the time. Eventually, his inability to hit a curveball ended Marvin's ambition to become a professional baseball player. Fascinated by the notorious, incarcerated bank robber Willie Sutton, Marvin wrote him requesting a place in his gang after graduation. However, his subsequent failure of Sutton's Bank Robber's IQ Test dashed his hopes of ever making the FBI's Ten Most Wanted List. The one area left to pursue was a writing career. Consequently, Marvin spent his adolescent years compulsively writing whatever came into his mind. He eschewed sports, academics, girl chasing, and becoming a juvenile delinquent to practice his writing skills. Since Marv spent all his waking hours with pen and paper, his mother feared his writing was becoming an addiction. She thought he'd be better off if he became a juvenile delinquent. Marvin's obsession with writing continued through his impressionistic teen years when, instead of becoming a teenage werewolf, a choice inspired by the popular movie, he wrote poems and stories for his classmates. In those days, Marvin would hole up in his room, writing and smoking. Before his writing addiction, Marvin never smoked. But as everyone knows, all great writers smoke. Shakespeare once said, "How can I be expected to write great plays when cigarettes have yet to be invented? I need a good smoke." While growing up in a Bronx neighborhood frequented by "wise guys," Marvin was able to compile observations of their unique mannerisms, talking style, and dress. Some bizarre people in the neighborhood suffered from misunderstood mental problems that society, at that time, didn't understand and were intolerantly referred to as "crazies." Marvin crafted the distinctions of these diverse characters into his adult novel, "Genius Against the Odds." Marvin has been able to pen another novel, a screenplay, and a TV pilot. He continues to write every day. And it is not because his writing compulsion controls him. No, it is because he fears becoming a werewolf if he ever stops.

Book preview

1.  FBI RAID

Passion sated, the nude lovers stretched out on the rumpled bed and gazed into each other’s starry eyes. Cherishing the moment, they demonstrated their mutual affection with dreamy, soft caresses. The exotic woman reclining beside Carmine was Sonia, his favorite mistress. More beautiful than Goya’s Maja, Sonia’s sensuous attractiveness consisted of flowing jet-black hair, dark-enchanting eyes, olive complexion, youthful figure, and breasts that rivaled any Playboy centerfold. Her intelligence and sophistication complemented her beauty and added to her charm.

Sonia understood perfectly that their relationship was a physical one. She never tormented Carmine about leaving his wife. In all probability, Sonia would prefer to be his main comare, but she accepted that monogamy was not part of Carmine's character. And why shouldn't she accept that? Men pursued Sonia just as the ladies did Carmine. And like Carmine, Sonia would never guarantee fidelity.

Six feet tall, with blue eyes, Carmine had muscles that collected bank interest whenever he flexed them. And Carmine used these physical assets to his advantage with women. He had a stable of women at his disposal. But Sonia made him the happiest. At this moment, he would rather be here than anywhere else. She tenderly planted tiny kisses on his face and then ran her index finger through the hairs on his chest. He looked at her inquisitively.

Haven't had enough? he flirtatiously inquired.

It's fine. I just like touching you. Have a problem with that?

Do I appear insane to you? You know...

Carmine's cell phone rang. It was his wife. Usually, when he was with one of his ladies, he let the call go to voice mail. Since Stella seldom called him during the day unless it was an emergency, he answered the call. What is it?

He paused to listen. Holy shit, I'll be home as soon as I can. Call Shapiro and tell him to get over there. Carmine sprang from the bed and started to dress.

Is everything all right, baby? Sonia asked.

Shit hitting the fan. Gotta go. I'll call you, first chance.

Carmine arrived home and sprinted from his Jag through the front door. His wife, Stella, stood in the living room fanning her face with a document and called out, They just busted in here handing me this search warrant.

Is Shapiro here yet?

He wasn't in. His secretary is trying to reach him.

Carmine quickly perused the warrant and eyed five FBI men combing the premises. A burly, six-foot investigator strolled over to Carmine and introduced himself.

Bill Quigley, District Chief.

Carmine nodded, Carmine Deubel, but you probably know that. What are you doing here?

We're looking for incriminating evidence.

You want incriminating evidence? Carmine snorted, Well, let me help you. Go up to my bedroom. You'll find I tore off the label on my mattress. I understand that is a federal offense. Perhaps you want to arrest me for that? Can you be more specific?

Quigley looked squarely into Carmine's eyes and said, Heroin.

Heroin, Carmine's snicker, had a raffish quality. You know who I am. Do you think I would be dumb enough to keep heroin in my place? 

Quigley replied guilelessly, We only need about thirty minutes more. We'll do our best to keep the disruption to a minimum.

While still seething, Carmine asked, Don't you guys have better things to do? I'm sure a kidnapped dog somewhere out there needs rescuing.

Quigley ignored Carmine's sarcasm and joined his men in the search process.

Carmine looked at his wife, Have you anything new on Shapiro?

Yes, I just heard from his office. He's playing golf.

Playing golf? When I get my hands on him, he won't be able to grasp a club. I'll break his fuckin'  fingers.

Calm down, sweetheart. Let them do their job; they'll be out of our hair soon. Let's go into the kitchen, and I'll fix you a sandwich.

Carmine admired his wife's composure and wished to be more like her. She seldom panicked, even when things looked dire. Four years earlier, when the state had an air-tight case against him, Stella remained calm despite Carmine’s paranoia. That case eventually led to an acquittal when Carmine's men reached out to a juror. Sitting at the kitchen table, looking at his wife preparing the food, he realized he loved her for more than her composure.

Since she worked out every day at the gym, Stella, a sexy brunette, still looked like she did when she walked down the aisle twelve years ago.

Stella graduated from college with a degree in nutrition studies and used that knowledge to prepare healthy meals. Guests accustomed to generous servings had to conceal their chagrin when invited to dinner at Carmine's house. Stella’s dinner menu featured smaller portions of tasty, nutritious food.

Carmine realized how he lucked out by finding the perfect woman in Stella. He loved her deeply, but his dynamic libido wouldn't allow him to be faithful. He was constantly on the lookout for new sexual conquests.

As Carmine's ideal life partner, Stella knew of his involvement with mob associates from the onset of their romance. Early on, Stella felt anxious about Carmine’s morality and safety. As time passed, her love grew, and she defied her persisting anxieties and supported  Carmine in his high-ranking position with the syndicate. Stella understood that Carmine would never change. If Carmine's destiny foretold that he would be going to hell, Stella would scatter his path with rose petals.

Quigley came into the kitchen while they were eating. A look of disappointment shadowed his face. 

Carmine looked up at him with disdain. Did you have your fun?

Yeah, we're finished.

Find anything incriminating?

You're clean. We'll be gone in a few minutes.

So, you will not be taking me in on the missing mattress label?

Quigley ignored Carmine's comment and walked out of the room.

Stella gently put her hand on Carmine's and flashed her radiant smile, See, everything turned out all right.

Carmine kept an office in a mobile trailer on a construction site on the west side of town. There were no potted plants or striped awnings outside the entrance. Carmine wanted the low-key appearance so that he could conduct delicate matters under the radar.

At eight that evening, Carmine sat at his desk reviewing some papers when he heard a knock. He rose, walked to the door, and peered through the peephole. His attorney stood waiting outside alone.

In his late forties, Mark Shapiro looked like the epitome of middle-aged manhood gone awry. An ill-fitting suit covered his short, overweight body, a long strand of hair covered his bald spot, and his five-o’clock shadow made his face look seedy.

Despite the attorney's unkempt look, Carmine had complete faith and confidence in Shapiro. He retained the brilliant lawyer whose successful court case experience and valuable connections in the legal community were just what he needed. On more than one occasion, the mouthpiece extracted Carmine from law enforcement entanglement. But, right now, Carmine was angry with Shapiro.

Carmine opened the door and told the attorney to take a seat.

Do you have any idea how pissed I am at you?

Carmine's wrath affected Shapiro like a sudden high fever. As usual, he sweated profusely under stress. However, stress or no stress, Shapiro was the type who would sweat in an igloo at the North Pole due to his body physiology. He wiped his brow with his handkerchief.

I told you earlier that I inadvertently left my cell phone in the club's locker. As soon as I finished the round, I saw the text message from my office and called you immediately. I'm sorry, CD, but you know accidents happen.

Accidents don't just happen. I make them happen. I pay you that big retainer so that you won't forget. Those Fed bastards disrupted my afternoon with Sonia, messed up my house, and scared the crap out of Stella. There must have been a false tip by some rat to make the FBI suddenly suspect I had heroin in my house. I want you to find out who that is, and I need that name quickly. This incident has me on edge. You understand? Carmine demanded in his unique, sharp, commanding tone.

Shapiro nodded and felt relieved that Carmine had relegated the cell phone incident to the back burner.

Then Carmine asked, "What about The Mardi Gras? Have you any good news for me there?"

John Boy still wants four hundred K, Shapiro said. Remember, I got him off the four-fifty he asked. Now, he will not budge.

It's clear that your way got us nowhere. I think it's time I sent Charlie down for a personal chat. I want that club. It's a goldmine. But I won't give John the four-hundred K. I will pay no more than three-hundred-fifty thousand dollars. I'll use the extra fifty grand to renovate. Over the years, John never put a penny into the property. Yeah, Charlie is a great negotiator. I'm sure he'll get that senseless loser to see it my way.

You're the boss, Shapiro said with a shrug.

Carmine had been the boss for ten years. He took over the organization when his father died of a sudden heart attack. A no-nonsense leader, Carmine expected two things from his crew: their absolute loyalty and their ability to bring in significant earnings. Good earners were rewarded accordingly. Low achievers were not tolerated and were kicked to the curb. Also, Carmine had no patience for rats and dispensed with them quickly.

Always good at spotting talent, Carmine knew Charlie had the right stuff. As Carmine's enforcer, Charlie did most of the heavy lifting for the crew. Charlie collected debts and persuaded people to see things Carmine's way. When they didn’t see it Carmine’s way, Charlie had the chops to make the problem disappear.

Charlie stood only five feet eight inches. Comparing his stature to the other taller members of Carmine’s crew gave Charlie an inferiority complex. But inch for inch, Charlie’s toughness and strength surpassed all the other crew members. Moreover, Carmine recognized a benefit in Charlie’s personality quirk.  Charlie, out to show the boss that his short stature would not deter his performance, always gave one hundred and ten percent on any job Carmine assigned. Carmine had selected Charlie to handle The Mardi Gras negotiation because Charlie got superior results on every assignment.

Carmine followed up by briefing Charlie the next evening. The two guys sat comfortably in the trailer office while Carmine brought out two glasses and a bottle of his imported Scotch. He poured two shots and said, John's been a ballbuster. He's a stubborn son of a bitch. I made him a fair offer, and he's still trying to squeeze an extra fifty thou out of me.

Charlie took a swig from his glass and said, So you want me to pay him a visit?

Yeah, Carmine said, sipping the malty whiskey. He relished the flavor, Great Scotch, isn't it? It costs six hundred dollars a bottle. A distillery ships it to me from Scotland,

Carmine continued, Yeah, make John see that selling is in his best interest. I don't care how you do it. I don't need to know the details. Just seal the deal.

Consider it done, Charlie responded without batting an eye as if the assignment would be as simple as shoving a letter into an envelope.

Carmine pulled a black attaché case from under his desk. The three hundred fifty K is in here. Show him the money. Maybe that will be enough to convince him. Otherwise, do what you have to.

Charlie nodded. Skip, you keep talking about moving your office. This place sucks. It isn’t the best part of town and is a little out of the way. It takes at least a half-hour to get here from my place.

"I know. You're right. This old place served its purpose, and now it's time to move on. When I get hold of The Mardi Gras, I'll set up an office in one of the private rooms. It will be good for meetings, and from there, I can keep a close eye on things."

Carmine refilled their glasses, which they clinked in silent assent.  Grinning, they synchronized the chug-a-lug of their shots.

2.  THE LION’S DEN

Every Tuesday afternoon , Carmine had a standing rendezvous with Gloria. They would start with a drink and then have passionate sex. The lovemaking lasted about one hour. Then Carmine would have to listen to Gloria's rants about her life for the next hour. On this occasion, after their tryst, Gloria's first words were, I wish I were dead. She had made some irrational statements before, but this one shook Carmine.

Carmine couldn't comprehend why this beautiful woman lacked happiness. She had inherited five million dollars on her twenty-fifth birthday, owned her luxurious condo free and clear, and wore designer clothes. The dichotomy of her personality mystified and fascinated him at the same time. He had never before experienced such voracious orgasmic sensuality. One moment, Gloria was an animal in bed, ravishing him in all aspects of lovemaking. But the moment the sex ended, she became gloomy and pitiful.

As Gloria babbled incessantly, Carmine tuned her out, suspecting that the money came too easily and triggered her unhappiness. He recalled what his father told him: To appreciate something, you had to earn it. His dad, who could afford it, never gave him luxuries. If he wanted something, he had to pay for it. Carmine made that a tenet of his business. The young, wise guys he recruited understood they would not get rich overnight. He would pay them a decent wage, but they would have to prove they were top earners before making the big bucks.

While Gloria rambled on, Carmine arose from the bed and started to dress.

Are you leaving so soon?

Yeah, I've got things to take care of. He thought he'd better leave before her depression infected him.

Are you angry because I said, 'I wish I were dead? That was no reflection on you.

Yeah, isn't that what every guy wants to hear after making love?

You know I'm crazy about you. I'll see you next week, huh?

Sure. 

Afeeling of exasperation over Gloria's rumblings overwhelmed Carmine. He knew the best way to snap out of this morass was to head over to The Lion's Den , the social club Carmine owned and maintained for his men. Over time, the guys just called it The Den, a place to hang out with other crew members.

The Den had two large rooms. The social activities took place in the front room. Carmine furnished it with a pool table, poker table, fully stocked mini-bar, large screen TV, plenty of girlie magazines, and an old-time jukebox with songs like those in the 1950s' soda parlors.

The backroom had a desk, computer, and sofa bed. Carmine used this room as his secondary office. However, Carmine conducted little business there because he preferred the mobile trailer. Concerned about his men's morale and loyalty, Carmine paid all the expenses for the upkeep of The Den. He even went so far as to allow the men to use the sofa bed in his office for quick sexual liaisons. The main rule required that they hang out the Do Not Disturb sign and not stay for more than one hour.

The Den always lifted Carmine's spirits. Once inside, Carmine mellowed with the sound of Sinatra's My Way on the jukebox and the sight of his men unwinding with their buddies. They greeted him with a Hi, Skip and continued their activities.  

Carmine relished the camaraderie that the atmosphere in The Den stimulated. Within minutes, his concerns about the search warrant, Gloria, and The Mardi Gras faded away. The Den provided the perfect remedy for the ills of the day.

Danny Gino Scalcione played pool with Frank The Gift Molinari.

Joey Jojo Fevola dealt a hand of Texas Hold-Em at the poker table.  

When he finished the deal,  Bobby Bagels Auriela grabbed Jojo's arm and angrily exclaimed, I saw that. You dealt the bottom card of the deck to yourself.

No, I didn't. Your eyes are playing tricks on you.

Another poker player, Tony Picasso Guariglia, said, If Bagels said he saw it, I believe him. Bagels has eyes like an eagle.

In defense, Jojo argued, If Bagels has eyes like an eagle, why can't he find his dick to take a piss?

Bagels arose from his chair and growled, You cheating bastard, let me see that last card you dealt!

You've got some nerve calling me a cheater. I oughta kick your ass.

Sensing an imminent fight, Carmine interrupted the discord and said, Okay, break it up. I'm not going to have two top earners knocking each other around. In response, the players threw in their cards.

These guys were just a segment of Carmine's crew. Most of the others were out-earning. They would pop in after they completed their rounds.

Smoke from cigars and cigarettes wafted up to the ceiling, floating like clouds. It pleased  Carmine that he owned one of the few clubs that permitted smoking. The city had recently passed a smoking ban on such establishments. Of course, nobody in the municipality challenged The Den due to syndicate payoff and intimidation.

Hey, Skip, we cleaned up on the Dodgers last night, Jojo boasted.

Jojo, pipe down, Picasso implored. The Skip hasn't been in here for a couple of days. Let him relax. Bring him a beer.

Skip, maybe you haven't heard, but Bagels got the clap, Gino uttered.

Bagels lunged at Gino, but the guys held him back. It wasn't the clap. I was allergic to some seafood, which gave me that rash. Then laughter came at Bagel's expense.

Carmine spied the Do Not Disturb sign on his office door. Gesturing to it, he asked, Who's using it?

Gino responded, Mouse.

Who did he manage to scrounge up? Carmine inquired.

I think his name is Bob, Jojo jokingly answered because he didn't know the lady's name.

How long has he been in there?

Again, Gino answered, Maybe ten minutes, no more.

If you need to get in there, we'll rouse him, Bagels said.

Let him have his fun. Knowing the Mouse from past performances, he won't be much longer.

Everyone responded to Carmine's remark with knowing nods and chortles.

Gino said, He's never made it past twenty minutes. Next time he brings a dame, we should have a pool to see who can guess how long he'll last.

With all their activities ceased, the crew huddled around Carmine. Each man knew he was responsible for their prosperity and vied for his attention and favor. However, they looked at Carmine as more than a moneymaker. The Skipper earned their respect and loyalty. Everyone counted on him and knew he had their backs.

Carmine understood the relationship between him and his crew. The money they earned had a lot to do with it. After all, they relied on him to develop schemes for their benefit. And he never let anyone down. He made shylocking, prostitution, bookmaking, and fencing stolen merchandise their primary sources of income.

Now, with the FBI crawling up his ass, he knew he would have to postpone any new plans to line the pockets of his Family. He couldn't do anything until Shapiro produced the dirt on why the Feds searched his home. Preoccupied with that situation, he asked himself, When will that Heb lawyer come through?