Bound To Change: Imagine The Possibilities

“Imagination does not become great until human beings, given the courage and the strength, use it to create” – Maria Montessori.

The following fictitious story that’s mixed with self-help is dedicated to Peyton, Rita, Joan, and to anyone who ever wanted to be a rockstar, a writer, or to follow their dreams wherever they may lead.

In The Beginning

“The word was first an image

What you believe, you can become

Harken to your inner vision

And your song will be sung” – Walter Paxton

After spending a couple of hours hiding behind a tree, Luca Amadeo had almost had enough. Maybe, he thought to himself, if he kicked the door in to room number six fast enough, he could jump on Szabo without taking a bullet.

The full moon hung heavy in the sky over the Pacific. Looking up, Luca felt like the man in the moon was mocking him for his stupidity. Again he cursed himself for not taking his gun with him when he went to the store for smokes. Now Marita was trapped inside room number six.

But Luca knew that Szabo wouldn’t dare harm her because he was loyal to her father – Don Luigi Campese. And the Don would want her safely returned home to him along with all of his money – and the head of Luca Amadeo.

Riddled with guilt, Luca realized that if it wasn’t for him, Marita would already be back home, safe in Montreal. Plus, when they had left Montreal she was close to finishing all of her studies, and she would have received her bachelor’s degree in English literature by now.

Then again, if he had never met her, had never gotten involved with her, then he would never have known such love. To him, her exquisite features were like a delicately chiselled masterpiece. And when he looked in her eyes, he melted inside because he knew that the light that shone within them whispered of hidden pleasures.

When he thought about her while practicing the guitar, a mystical quality seemed to emanate from the strings. Which was why his composition simply titled “Marita” had some of his best playing in it.

With the rest of the world, he never let his guard down, but with her he could be himself. He let her alone see inside of his soul, yet here he was cowering behind a tree unsure of what to do.

Shivering, Luca rubbed his arms. Lighting a cigarette, he huddled around the flame for what little warmth it could offer. In the fresh early morning air, as he inhaled, the smoke parched his lungs and throat.

Promising himself that if he made it through that night alive he would quit smoking, Luca suddenly realized that if he didn’t go to the store earlier for smokes that he would probably already be dead.

On his way back from the store, he had noticed a Mercedes-Benz convertible parked alongside the road just outside the motel’s perimeter. It wasn’t there when he had left, and as far as he was concerned there was no valid reason for it to be parked along a coastal highway in the middle of night.

Driving past the motel, he parked his car a block away on a side street then walked back to the Mercedes to investigate.

The license plate revealed that it was a rental car. Pulling his Swiss army knife out of his back pocket, Luca extended the longest blade, looked around, took a deep breath, and braced himself.

Quickly cutting a slit in the ragtop, he reached in and unlocked the door. With the car alarm screaming out into the night, he jumped into the car, found the fuse box, and started pulling out wires from underneath the dash until the alarm died mid scream.

Jumping back out of the car, he slammed the door shut then he ran, dove into the ditch, and waited. If the car’s owner, or the police showed up, he could hide behind the thick shrubbery beyond the ditch.

After waiting several minutes and after several deep breaths, Luca crept back out of the ditch. This time when he slipped back behind the wheel of the Mercedes, he noticed the new car smell.

Trying to relax a bit more, he picked up two cd cases from the console and positioned them in the streetlight so that he could make out their titles: The Best Of Paganini and Beethoven’s Violin Sonatas.

He opened the glove compartment and pulled out some papers. Among them was a rental car agreement from an agency in Vancouver that was dated three days before.

Unable to make out the signature on the agreement, he pulled out his lighter and sparked it up. As a wave of nausea hit him like a ton of bricks, Luca sank back into his seat and closed his eyes remembering the first time that he had ever laid his eyes upon Julius Szabo.

As he was entering Don Campese’s office, he passed Szabo, who was on his way out. A short man with a kirpan scar on the left side of his face that gave him the impression of having a permanent scowl, Szabo’s dark brown eyes were almost black, and the intensity of his gaze sent out vibes that had made Luca’s skin crawl. And with just cause.

Although he was half Italian as well as half Hungarian, his nickname was “the Hungarian Hitman.” Szabo had made his bones, so to speak, in the 1970’s and 80’s in Montreal.

The mafia had found that it was in their best interest to help perpetuate the biker wars, so they had Szabo plant several car bombs that were either blamed on the rival biker gangs, or on the French terrorists known as the FLQ.

The biker gangs would usually blame each other then retaliate with vengeance. Therefore, the mafia would inadvertently get some of their major competition to eliminate each other.

It also took some of the heat of off them because the police and the media blamed the bombings on either the bikers or the FLQ. Which made the mafia look better in comparison because at least they didn’t maim and kill innocent people – or so it was thought.

Gradually moving his way up through the ranks, Szabo became Don Campese’s number one enforcer. He was known as a tracker who enjoyed stalking his prey then striking a venomous blow when the time was right. And now Szabo had somehow picked up on Luca’s scent.

Opening his eyes, Luca slowly got out of the car and looked around. Then he went back into the ditch and squatted down to think.

Szabo could be hiding in the motel’s parking lot waiting to ambush him, or he could already be in room number six with Marita.

Then Luca remembered that he had left his cell phone in his car. After they had left Montreal, he and Marita had thrown away their old cell phones then they bought new ones just in case they ever needed to call each other.

He walked back to his car then got in and called Marita’s number. It rang four times then went to voicemail, but he didn’t leave a message. Then he called again, but again she didn’t answer.

After walking back to the motel, Luca snuck up to the entrance of the parking lot and peeked around the fence. There were two cars parked there, and at the far end of the periphery of the lot was a tree.

Figuring that if Szabo was hiding in the vicinity that the tree would be the most likely spot, Luca laid down on his stomach and crawled around to the inside of the fence. Then he started sliding his way along the grassy perimeter.

Despite the cool breeze blowing in from the ocean, Luca started to sweat. He could just wait by the Mercedes for Szabo to eventually appear, but he knew that the waiting would drive him nuts.

Besides, if he was going to die on this night then let it be done because after all, life without Marita would no longer be worth living.

Click here to go to Chapter 2 – The Heiress Of The Spectrum



© 2018, Herb Norcott. All rights reserved.


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