章節 87: Rival
Lorenzo chatted with Adam and Richard for a while before he sauntered over to Deborah and Mica, a grin tugging at his lips. "Well, well, seems like you two are getting along just fine, eh, Deb?" He chuckled, but his mirth faded when both women continued their conversation with Tiffany and Peggy as if he were invisible.
He wedged himself between the two ladies. "Hey, dolls, what's the matter? Why the cold shoulder?" He placed a hand on each of their shoulders, hoping to lighten the mood.
Deborah's eyes flashed with annoyance. "You, you cad! Just because I'm having a civil conversation with your… bitch Mica here, doesn't mean I've forgotten about your… indiscretions."
"Hey, now," Mica interjected, her voice laced with hurt, "there's no need for that."
Lorenzo couldn't help but chuckle at Deborah's cute demeanor. He discreetly motioned for Tiffany and Peggy to leave them alone, and the two women exchanged knowing glances before departing. "Well, well, I thought you and Mica were getting along swimmingly. I had hoped we could all have some… fun together."
Deborah huffed, her hands on her hips. "I was getting along with Mica, believe it or not. She's quite… persistent, especially for someone so smitten with you."
Mica blushed and giggled, leaning into Lorenzo. "Hehe, Deborah thinks the training will scare me off, but I'll do anything to be by your side, dearest."
"Hey there, Mica," Deborah warned, her tone icy. "We had a deal, remember?"
Mica blushed and scooted away from Lorenzo ever so slightly.
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What's this about a deal, Deb?"
Deborah huffed, her cheeks flushing. "It's none of your beeswax, pal. Besides, our little... arrangement is only for the duration of our training."
Lorenzo grinned, unfazed by their secret. "Well, well, you two have been keeping secrets from me. I don't mind, though. In fact, I've got an idea. How about we all head back to our room and... discuss our... arrangement... in more... comfortable surroundings?"
Deborah and Mica pulled away from Lorenzo, their cheeks flushed. "You think you can handle both of us, tough guy?" Deborah teased.
Mica smirked, her blush deepening. "Even if I know you've got… stamina, I doubt you could keep up with us, especially after what I heard about your… performance with Deborah."
"Oh really?" Lorenzo chuckled, his eyes dancing with mischief as he looked at Deborah, who avoided his gaze. He chuckled and turned to her, "So, your bragging I can't handle you, eh? How about we put that to the test right now?"
The truth was, it was Deborah who couldn't handle him, but she'd never admit it.
Deborah's heart raced, but she couldn't let Mica know the truth. "You're on, big shot," she said, shaking his hand firmly. "But you'll have to wait a week. Mica and I are going to focus on our training—martial arts, shooting, the works. No distractions, got it?"
Mica nodded in agreement, her grip on Deborah's hand tightening. "That's right, lover boy. We'll be staying in the guest room, so don't even think about sneaking in."
Lorenzo chuckled, unfazed by their challenge. "Fine, fine, ladies. A week it is. You better be ready for a night you'll never forget."
With that, Deborah and Mica sauntered off, their hips swaying in unison as they headed upstairs in the grand mansion. Lorenzo watched them go, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, my dears, you have no idea what's in store for you."
---
Richard and his entourage began their day bright and early, following a lead that had piqued the interest of their boss, Lorenzo.
They were on the investigation of the talent, a young man by the name of Charlie Chaplin. The sun had just started to rise over the bustling city as they made their way to the heart of the downtown neighborhood where the lad resided.
Richard sat in the back of his sleek automobile, puffing on a cigarette, as his boys kept watch on the worn-down apartment complex where their quarry lived. As the clock struck the hour, a young man, Arturo, one of the boys under Richard's command, emerged from the building after Charlie.
Arturo, an orphan himself, sauntered up to the car and leaned in through the open window.
"Boss," he drawled, "that Charlie fella, he's got a mother, and she's quite a looker, but... well, I think she's a few cards short of a deck. Poor kid's gotta take care of her."
Richard, unfazed by the news, simply nodded and adjusted his fedora. "Is that so?" he mused aloud, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Well, we'll just have to see about that."
Richard and his entourage continued their surveillance, tailing the unsuspecting Charlie Chaplin. As they rounded a corner, they spotted the young man backed into an alleyway, surrounded by a group of thugs. The air was thick with tension and the unmistakable scell of fear.
Richard signaled to his boys, and they all approached the scene with purpose. Richard's hands were casually tucked in his pockets, exuding an air of nonchalance that belied the danger he posed.
"What's the matter here, fellas?" Richard drawled, his voice as smooth as honey.
The thugs turned to face the newcomers, their smirks fading as they eyed the well-dressed menace and his equally intimidating entourage. The leader of the pack, emboldened by numbers, sneered at Richard. "You feeling heroic now, tough guy?"
Richard's response was to casually flick his cigarette to the ground and grind it out with his polished shoe. In one fluid motion, he drew a revolver from his pocket, and to the thugs' horror, so did his four companions.
The click of the hammers cocking echoed through the alleyway, as if in sync with the thudding hearts of their prey.
"I-I'm sorry, sir!" the leader stuttered, hands trembling as he raised them above his head. "Please, don't kill us!"
Richard's lip curled into a cold smile. "You'd better apologize to my friend here," he said, jerking his chin towards the terrified Charlie Chaplin, "Or you'll have a bullet in your head. Understand?" Richard's voice was as cold as ice, leaving no room for negotiation.
The thugs gulped in unison, their bravado evaporating faster than the morning dew under the harsh sun. "Y-yes, sir! We're sorry!" they chorused, their voices trembling with fear.
Richard holstered his gun, but his boys kept theirs drawn, ensuring the message was crystal clear. "Good. Now, scram."
The thugs didn't need to be told twice. They scattered like rats, disappearing into the labyrinthine alleyways of the city, leaving Charlie Chaplin trembling but unharmed.
Richard turned to the young man, his expression softening ever so slightly. "Are you alright, kid?"
Charlie, still shaking, managed a nod. "T-thank you, mister... I-I don't know how to repay you."
Richard waved off the gratitude with a flick of his hand. "Forget about it. Just consider it a favor from one friend to another. You never know when you might need a hand yourself, eh?"
Charlie swallowed, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Y-yes, sir. I... I won't forget this."
Charlie, still shaken but grateful, eyed Richard and his four men warily. "If you don't mind me asking, sir... who are you?"
Richard tipped his fedora, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Mr. Chaplin, we work for Mr. Lupo." He paused, his eyes boring into Charlie's. "He's... interested in ensuring that nothing... untoward happens to his... investments."
Charlie's eyes widened, but he quickly masked his fear with a nod. "Well, thank you very much, then."
After a moment of uneasy silence, Charlie spoke up again. "If you don't mind me, I have someplace I need to be."
"Of course, Mr. Chaplin," Richard said, gesturing towards his car. "If you're headed to the studio, we'd be more than happy to escort you."
Charlie hesitated, but after a brief internal debate, he agreed.
He followed Richard and his entourage to Richard's sleek automobile, and they set off towards the Lupo Pictures studio.
Upon their arrival, Charlie thanked Richard and exited the car, his heart pounding in anticipation as he approached the grand entrance of the studio.
A pretty receptionist greeted him with a warm smile and a pen poised over her pristine ledger.
"May I help you, sir?" The receptionist asked Charlie.
Charlie tipped his hat and handed the receptionist a crisp business card bearing the name "Lorenzo Lupo." "I'm Charlie Chaplin," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "I was told to come here by Mr. L... Lupo himself."
The receptionist's eyes widened, and she quickly ushered Charlie to Lorenzo's opulent office. She knocked lightly on the door, and after a moment, a deep voice boomed, "Show him in!"
Lorenzo Lupo rose from his leather chair and extended a hand across the mahogany desk. "Mr. Chaplin, I've been expecting you." His smile was as warm as the glow of the cigar embers in the ashtray.
Charlie shook the proffered hand, trying to hide his nerves. "Thank you for this opportunity, sir. I won't disappoint you."
Lorenzo chuckled, gesturing for Charlie to take a seat. "I have no doubt about that, my boy. No doubt at all."
After a brief but fruitful conversation, Lorenzo led Charlie down a bustling corridor, past the open doors of buzzing scriptwriters' offices. He stopped at one such door and rapped on the frame. "Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to our newest addition: Charlie Chaplin."
A chorus of surprised greetings and congratulations filled the room as Charlie took in the sea of expectant faces. This, he thought to himself, was the beginning of something truly extraordinary.
"Gentlemen," Lorenzo boomed, addressing the roomful of expectant scriptwriters, "in two days' time, we'll begin shooting a new comedy starring our very own Mr. Charlie Chaplin here." He gestured grandly towards the young man, who blushed under the sudden attention. "I trust you've all had a chance to review the script I sent over yesterday?"
Mumbled affirmatives and nods filled the air as the seasoned writers exchanged knowing glances. Many of them had worked with Lorenzo back in New York; now, they'd made the trek to Los Angeles to work for him.
Lorenzo turned his attention back to Charlie. "I want you to sit in on these meetings, Charlie. Feel free to chime in if you've got any ideas or suggestions. We're all about collaboration here at Lupo Pictures, aren't we, boys?"
"Yes, boss!" the writers chorused, though their enthusiasm was tempered by a hint of skepticism.
"Good," Lorenzo said, clapping his hands together. "Then it's settled. Charlie, make yourself at home."
With that, Lorenzo swept out of the room, leaving Charlie to fend for himself among the professional writers.
---
As the Wolf Familia's influence continued to grow in the city, rival gangs took notice. From the Cohen Crime Syndicate to various Hispanic, Asian, and African-American gangs, word of this new power player spread like wildfire through the underworld.
In his opulent mansion, Mickey Cohen, the head of the Cohen Crime Syndicate, sat down with his most trusted lieutenants. "Gentlemen," he began, tapping a cigar ash into a pricely ashtray, "our meeting today concerns this 'Wolf Familia' organization that's been making waves lately."
Johnny Stompanato, Cohen's right-hand man, nodded gravely. "It seems they've been making moves in the arms trade, acquiring real estate in Beverly Hills at a steep discount... and even the mayor is involved."
Cohen's eyebrows shot upwards. "Is that so?"
Stompanato continued, "This 'Wolf Familia' has connections to high-ranking politicians, and they've even got the press in their pocket." He paused, flipping through a newspaper that prominently featured the Raven Corps, a supposedly righteous vigilante group that was rumored to be connected to the Wolf Familia.
"They've got connections in City Hall, the press, and even the business world. We know about this Lorenzo Lupo character, but we're still in the dark about other businessmen in cahoots with them."
Frank Steiner, puffing on a cigar, leaned back in his chair. "It seems this Wolf Familia has a tight grip on the city."
Mickey Cohen nodded grimly. "They came out of nowhere, and now they're taking over the city block by block. Boyle Heights is already under their control, and they're bleeding the other gangs dry with protection fees and extortion."
Lenny Finkelstein, another high-ranking member of the Cohen Crime Syndicate, added, "And it's not just Boyle Heights. Thugs with ties to the Wolf Familia are flooding into Downtown as we speak. They're expanding fast, boss."
Mickey leaned in, lowering his voice as he spoke. "Fellas, we gotta keep an eye on that organization," he said, jabbing a finger for emphasis. "We ain't got the faintest 'bout what they're up to, but I got a hunch they're onto us. We're the ones in the spotlight, and they're lurkin' in the shadows. And I don't cotton to that one bit."
Johnny Goldberg grunted in agreement. "Ain't room for two lions on one mountain, boss."
Mickey nodded, his eyes darting around the table, gauging the resolve of his men.
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