1
Andre has everything one could want. His father is a wealthy businessman who makes more money than he could possibly ever spend. You name it and “Dad” has a piece of it: trash collection, casinos, construction, adult entertainment; his holdings run the gamut.
Andre has a life others only dream of. His home is an 11,000 square foot limestone mansion on “billionaire’s row” in San Francisco. His next-door neighbor is Larry Ellison who founded Oracle. “Next door” is not exactly accurate because Larry’s house is about two football fields away from Andre’s front door.
Andre was looking forward to dinner tonight at LUCE! in the Intercontinental Hotel on Howard Street. It’s the favorite of Camille, his current arm candy. His preference would have been The French Laundry but after the governor got caught there without a mask during the pandemic the publicity killed its exclusivity. Oh, it’s also an hour drive north in Yountville. He’d need to think about getting a place there so he could entertain his guests nearby.
Ah Camille. He’d been with many women, some of whom were memorable. Camille was different. Smart, accomplished, Camille didn’t put up with his rich boy shit. That intrigued him. The fact that she was a very successful real estate broker meant she wasn’t after his money. That was something that he always had to be careful about.
They’d just come back from a three-week trip to Bali. Travel is so easy when you’re rich. His private jet is always ready and he’s put a ton of miles on it. Paris, Tahiti, Rome, Sydney. His passport was so full they needed to add extra pages. And he’s only had this one for 4 years!
He and Camille stayed at The Legian Seminyak resort on the beach in Bali. Of course, it’s not the Four Seasons but the private villa on the beach was just the seclusion he wanted for them. He hated prying eyes and wanted something out of the way. The Legian was only too happy to sell him and his bodyguards their expensive rooms.
2
Andre’s father is not only a walking conglomerate, but he’s a criminal too. To his friends, Robert Rakoczy was “Bob” or “Bobby”, but in the underworld he was “The Revolver”. To the FBI he was just a slippery shit who was always one step ahead of them. And his steps were always carefully disguised.
Anthony Nardelli was the boss who ran the territory south of I-80, east of the 101 and south of I-280. Rakoczy ran the rest of San Francisco, plus a few small parts of the rest of the SF bay area.
To say there was bad blood between Nardelli and Rakoczy would be an understatement. The two factions had a détente that loosely kept the peace for over 10 years. Not that there weren’t a few minor skirmishes here and there though.
Things had been quiet until the recent Meatball incident.
Tony (“The Meatball”) Gianni ran drugs for Rakoczy and one spring day he “accidentally” wandered into Nardelli territory to sell a kilo of high-grade cocaine. Nardelli heard through the grapevine that the buy was going to happen and sent a team of his best people to steal the coke from Gianni and break up the sale. Of course, Gianni didn’t come alone and in the ensuing gunfight Nardelli’s son was gravely wounded.
Nardelli plotted his revenge.
3
Today Andre was just knocking around. He was dressed in his favorite Armani shirt and slacks with Ferragamo loafers and no socks. All white because it was after Memorial Day, dahling.
He didn’t want to sleep in today but ended up sleeping late anyway. Never an early riser due to his frequent late-night adventures, Andre almost always rose around 10AM, but sometimes much later. Today was no different.
In preparation for his dinner with Camille, Andre needed to meet Marty, his “guy.”
Marty Foster was an interesting character. Like Andre, his parents were very well off but when he was in his early twenties, they disowned him. Seems as though Marty got hooked on pills and crack and after many failed attempts at rehab his parents threw up their hands and kicked Marty out.
Andre liked Marty because Marty understood Andre and his lifestyle. And Marty had all the coke, ecstasy and ketamine that Andre’s adventures required.
4
After lunch Andre left to meet with Marty. Normally he’d have a bodyguard drive him in the armored Escalade. But the SF weather was especially nice and he decided to drive himself in the Ferrari.
Marty’s apartment was more like a hovel compared to Andre’s mansion but he didn’t judge. The apartment was at Fisherman’s Wharf in North Beach. It was hard to tell which smelled fishier, the fishmongers or Marty’s apartment.
Andre snagged a close parking spot and left the car’s top down. His dad would be sure to mess up anyone who would even look at the car.
Marty’s place was on the second floor, end of the hallway.
Marty opened the door: “Yo maestro, what’s happenin dude?” Marty always spoke like a clapped-out hippie. Maybe that was because he was a clapped-out hippie.
“What you lookin for today? I have some wicked blue crystal meth. Just got some flamethrowers and some groovy rocks.”
“Dawg, just lookin for a couple Zs of coke and a half dozen happy pills. Just enough for tonight and the morning.”
Marty grabbed the two ounces of cocaine and six Ecstasy pills. Andre threw six Benjamins on the table.
5
As Andre walked back to the Ferrari, he was preoccupied by thinking of dinner with Camille. He didn’t pay any attention to the black Cadillac slowly approaching.
He hopped in the Ferrari, put the key in the ignition, and as he was about to close his door the window of the Cadillac glided down and a 9mm Heckler and Koch semiautomatic quickly spit out 10 rounds. Andre was hit in the arm, and as he turned away, was hit in his back and head.
The Cadillac sped away.
Fortunately, Andre was only hit three times but he was near death.
And the key left in the Ferrari’s ignition beeped its open-door warning: Beep Beep Beep Beep…
6
…Beep Beep Beep Beep. The heart monitor was making the rhythmic echo of the patient’s heartbeat.
The attending physician, followed by a gaggle of med students entered the room. A few minutes before they arrived, the heart monitor’s beeping had sped up and the patient’s heart rate entered the danger zone.
“Patient is a 28-year-old white male, suffering from severe head trauma due to a gunshot. He is partially paralyzed due to a second shot that nipped his spine.
“Patient was placed in a medically induced coma for 25 days. We felt that he was stable enough and removed the meds. Unfortunately, the patient never regained consciousness and, because he is indigent and has no known family, we are maintaining him.
“As you can see, the patient is in a severe vegetative state and we have no expectation that he will regain consciousness.”
A nurse was standing at the door waiting for the group to depart so she could give meds. One student who was standing near the door asked her what happened to the man.
“The patient’s name is Andre Rakoczy. Apparently, he was shot during a convenience store holdup. It’s so sad, he’s homeless and has no family and no one visits him. In a few weeks they’ll be transferring him to the county home.”
Even though he was in a coma, Andre heard all this and thought that even though he probably would never move again, he still had his imagination.
Ha Ha, not me