Now that I've properly established our hero, it's to introduce the villain of my tale. I've put a lot of time and thought into it, and I hope you'll all enjoy this new take on a classic and often overlooked baddie from Spider-Man's early years. With that said, 'The Loud House' and 'The Casagrandes' are owned by Nickelodeon and Spider-Man is owned jointly by Disney and Sony. Enjoy.
Chapter 2: Conspiracies
(The Next Morning)
Fridays were usually something of a mixed bag at the Casagrande Mercado. In the morning, the place was like a ghost town; only about two or three customers per hour, with most of them only buying whatever they could hold in one hand. Then, as it got closer and closer to noon, the walk-in traffic would steadily increase until it reached its peak around 1:30. After that, there would be sporadic periods of high and low activity until around 5:20, after which the store would be pretty much dead until closing time. Sounds a bit confusing, I know, but after five and a half decades in the business, the owner, one Hector Casagrande, was pretty much used to it.
Anyway, it was around 9:20 and things were pretty quiet. Hector's grandchildren, who often helped him in the Mercado, were all at school and the eldest, Bobby, wouldn't be in until about 12:30 to help with the afternoon rush, so he was pretty much by himself. The only other person in the store was his oldest friend, Vito Filliponio, who, at the moment, was more interested in shooting the breeze than actually buying something. So, in an effort to relieve the mind-numbing boredom of the typical Friday morning lull, the aged shopkeeper decided to turn on the tv.
Click.
"Hey there! I'm Alvin Peck! Owner, Founder and CEO of Peck's Precision Pieces." Said the bearded, heavyset pitchman on the tiny screen. "Are you tired of toupees that won't stay on your head? Do you live in constant fear of a medium sized wind exposing your chrome dome to the entire world? Well friends, fear no more, because here at Peck's Precision Pieces, not only are our wigs custom-made to match your natural hair color, but they're also custom-fitted to match the exact contours of your caninum. Guaranteeing that your toupee will not come off without your consent. Not even in a typhoon!"
Click.
"Lousy, loudmouthed bobo." Hector grumbled to himself derisively.
"Hey, I was watchin' that." Vito said annoyedly. "What gives, Hector?"
"What gives is that it's my tv and I can turn it off whenever I want." The aged shopkeeper replied gruffly. "Besides, it was just a dumb informercial."
"Maybe so, but you gotta admit, that Peck guy really knows how to put on a show. Did you see the one where he jumps in a pool and the wig stays on underwater? Man, what a salesman."
"Pfft. He's not so great. He's just a big fat phony."
"Yeesh. Someone's in a mood this morning." Vito said disapprovingly. "Seriously, Hector, what've you got against Peck?"
"You mean besides the fact that he's the biggest scam artist to hit this city since that guy who invented 'diet water'? I bought one of his so-called 'precision hairpieces'. He swore to me, to my face, that it wouldn't come off in a hurricane. The estúpido thing flew out the window after I sat too close to an electric fan, but not before the cheap polyester it was made of gave me a rash."
"He gave you a full refund, didn't he?"
"That's not the point. Look, when I was little, mi papá always used to tell me, 'When a man puts his name on something, it becomes a reflection of who he is on the inside'. Well, this Alvin Peck character is out there putting his name on shoddy merchandise, so I don't trust him. You mark my words, that guy is no good. Simplemente no bueno!"
"Ah, you're just paranoid" Vito replied dismissively, before abruptly changing the subject. "By the way, did the new issue of 'The Illinois Intruder' come in yet?"
"Yeah, it came in, and I set aside a copy for you, just like always." Hector answered as he pulled out the tabloid magazine in question. "But I still don't see how you can read this garbage."
"Garbage? Hector, this is a legitimate publication here. This is real, hard-hitting reporting. This is…"
"A bunch of crazy nonsense." The aged shopkeeper finished. "Seriously, Vito, that rag isn't fit to line a birdcage. I swear, if it didn't sell so well I'd cancel my subscription. By the way, you owe me $8.50 for your copy."
"Scoff if you must, Mr. Thinks-He's-So-Smart, but I've been lookin' forward to this issue for weeks." Vito said smugly as he exchanged the requisite cash for his periodical. "It's an in-depth look into what really goes on at that new lab they just opened up."
"Bologna." Hector said dismissively. "I read all about that place online. They're just doing medical research and looking for new ways to fight climate change. Besides, Ronnie Anne and her friends are going on a fieldtrip there today. Do you really think they'd let a bunch of niños take a tour of the place if they were up to anything shady?"
"Oh, wake up, Hector. The squeaky clean lab they show everyone is a just front. Their real lab is underground; completely off the grid. That's where they do their real research. Genesplicing, mind control rays, lightning cannons, killer robots, pictures on page 11. Page 11, Hector!"
"You skipped breakfast thing morning, didn't you?"
Vito opened his mouth to deliver an undoubtedly cutting retort, but before he got the chance he was cut off by the unmistakable chime of the Mercado's front door. Hector turned his head slightly to the left so he could see who it was and there he saw a man, in his late twenties by the look of it, with dark chestnut hair slicked back with too much gel, wearing a champagne colored business suit. He looked vaguely familiar, but for some reason he just couldn't quite place the name.
"Michael!" Vito exclaimed suddenly as he approached the newcomer with open arms. "Bambino! It's been a dog's age. Why didn't you tell me you were comin' to visit? Ah, it's great to see ya, kid."
"It's nice to see you too, Uncle." The stranger replied politely; instantly jogging Hector's memory.
This was Michael MacDougal, the eldest son of Vito's youngest sister, Maria. Though the way Vito always raved about him, you'd think he was his own son. It had been at least three years since he last saw him, so it made sense that Hector hadn't recognized him right away. Though he was curious what he was doing back in the old neighborhood. The last he'd heard about him from Vito was that he'd taken a job at some big accounting firm uptown.
"Hector, you remember my nephew Michael, dontcha?" Vito asked, stirring Hector from his internal musings.
"Of course. How could I forget?" he answered pleasantly. "It's good to see you, boy."
"It's good to see you too, Mr. Casagrande." Michael replied politely. "And how is Mrs. Casagrande doing?"
"Rosa's fine. She's still working as the building manager, so that keeps her pretty busy."
"I'm glad to hear that. Keeping busy is the best way to keep your mind sharp. Nothing worse for a person than to have their brain slowly rot away. Compared to that, even a knife to the heart is preferable."
"Yeah… I guess." Hector replied, unsure of how else to respond to such a statement. "So… uh… your uncle tells me you got a new job at some big accounting firm."
"My uncle tells you right. In fact, I just got a promotion. That's why I'm here. Uncle Vito is the only relative I have that still lives in the city, so I thought I'd take him out for lunch to celebrate."
"You hear that, Hector? The kid makes it big and he still remembers his dear old uncle. Don't that just tug at the old heartstrings?"
"Yeah, I guess." The aged shopkeeper answered suspiciously. "But isn't it a little early for lunch? It's not even 10 o'clock yet."
"Hector, please, let us not look a gift horse in the mouth." Vito replied, sounding almost insulted. "If Michael wants to buy me lunch at 9:30, then who am I to refuse?"
"I realize it's a bit unconventional, but I have an important meeting at noon, so I wanted to get together with my uncle while we're both free." Michael explained before turning back to Vito. "Uncle, I was thinking of trying that little pizzeria down the street. Is that alright with you?"
"Are you kiddin'? There's never a bad time for pizza. I'll see you later, Hector. I just acquired a previous engagement."
"It was nice seeing you, Mr. Casagrande. Please tell Mrs. Casagrande I said hello."
"Yeah… sure, I'll do that." Hector replied uneasily, and with that, the two of them were out the door and heading down the street; leaving the aged shopkeeper alone with his thoughts.
He wasn't quite sure why, but Michael's sudden visit left a bad taste in his mouth. Why would a big shot accountant come all the way down to his old neighborhood just to surprise his uncle with pizza for breakfast? It just didn't make sense. Then again, Michael was related to Vito, and Vito's whole family was… odd.
Oh, forget it.
Hector had more important things to think about than Vito's eating habits.
And besides, Michael was just a nice, polite, relatively normal guy.
There was nothing to worry about.
Right?
XXX
(Down the street, a few minutes later)
Despite his calm outward demeanor, Michael was a nervous wreck. His imagination bounced from one unthinkable scenario to another as his rational mind attempted to find a solution. But no matter how many simulations he ran through in his head, he always reached the same conclusion. There was nothing he could do. The only person who could affect the outcome of this meeting was his Uncle. All he could do was pray.
Ding Dong.
Went the pizzeria's front door as Michael and his Uncle Vito entered the establishment. As he'd expected, the place was deserted, save for a party of three in the booth by the Men's Room. The young accountant shot a look to the man at the counter as he led his Uncle to a secluded booth opposite the other party. By the time they reached their table, the man had finished his task; closing all the blinds on his windows and turning off the neon 'Open' sign to insure that what was to come would be a 100% private affair.
"So, what kinda pie we havin', kiddo?" Uncle Vito asked, completely oblivious to what was really going on. "Personally, I could go for a nice Hawaiian style. Somethin' about the sweetness of the pineapple and the saltiness of the ham just…"
"We're not having pizza, Uncle Vito." Michael said sternly.
"Oh… okay, I guess you're right. It's a little too early for somethin' that heavy. Let's just order some cannolis and coffee."
"No cannolis. No coffee." The young bookkeeper replied, sounding even sterner than before. "This isn't a social call, Uncle. This is business."
"Oh… okay then." Vito said, sounding a little confused. "So, eh… what's up?"
"It's about last night's boxing match."
"Ugh. Don't even get me started on that travesty. I paid over two hundred bucks for a ringside seat and it was over before I even finished my popcorn. What a waste."
"Yes, and as a result, you now owe the community an additional eight thousand dollars. Add that to all the money you lost betting against Los Gatos, your recent run of bad luck down at the track and the unfortunate results of last Sunday's crap game, your debt now comes to about seventy-three thousand dollars. Good Lord, Uncle. How could you be so irresponsible?"
"Alright, alright, I see where this is goin'." Uncle Vito said dismissively, still clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation. "No more bets until I pay back what I owe. Got it."
"No, I don't think you do. You need to pay back everything you owe right now or something very, very bad is going to happen."
"I understand, you have to say that to everyone. Look, kiddo, this ain't the first time I've been in the hole with Fat Philly. I'll go over to his place later, we'll talk about the good old days for a while and then we'll work out some kind of installment plan. Easy peasy."
"Fat Philly's dead." Michael said in a voice completely devoid of mirth or humor.
"Uh… what?" Uncle Vito replied as the blood started to drain from his face.
"Fat Philly is dead." He repeated bluntly. "It happened three weeks ago, while he was visiting relatives in Sicily. Arteriosclerosis. His family insisted on having the funeral in the old country. That's probably why you didn't hear about it."
"Oh my God." The older man said somberly. "I… I just can't believe it. I mean, we've been friends for years. I knew him back when he was just Medium Philly. And now he's gone…"
"I'm very sorry, Uncle. I don't mean to make lite of your grief, but we have more pressing matters to attend to. There's a new Boss now, he's calling in everyone's markers and he does not believe in installment plans."
"Right… right… just give me a minute." Uncle Vito said before he paused for a moment; seemingly to collect his thoughts. "Well… I have a lot of history with the rest of Fat Philly's crew. Maybe I can still work out some kind of deal. So, who's in charge now? Nick the Fish? Jimmy the Gimmick? If it's Tony No-Nose, he owes me big time."
"It's no one you know, Uncle. And believe me, it's no one you want to meet."
"Whataya mean?"
"This guy, he… he scares me, Uncle. More than anyone I've ever met." The young bookmaker answered, being as brutally honest as possible. "As soon as we got word that Fat Philly was dead, this guy came out of nowhere and started throwing his money around; almost like he knew it was gonna happen. Before long, he had bought enough people's loyalty to put himself in charge. Then he brought in his own people to… deal with anyone who couldn't be bought. He's taken over everything, Uncle. The unions, the gambling community, all of Little Italy is under his complete control, and he still wants more. That's why he's calling in all these markers. He's building a war chest so he can expand his territory."
"I see…" Uncle Vito said skeptically. "And does Mr. Enterprising have a name?"
"We don't know his name. We've never even seen his face. He relays orders through his representatives and on rare occasions he contacts us via text from an encrypted phone. We don't know who he is, what he looks like or if he's even really a he. All we've got on him is an alias. He calls himself… the Big Man."
Michael paused for a moment to allow his Uncle to digest this new information. However, his response was not what he'd expected.
"BAH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA! Oh, you really had me goin' there for a second, Kiddo." The older man said amusedly as he wiped a tear from his eye. "Oooo~ the Big Man~ Seriously though, if you're gonna try to pull someone's leg, you need to come up with a better name than that."
"This isn't a joke, Uncle. The Big Man is real, and if you don't pay him what you owe by 5 o'clock today, something really, really bad will happen."
"Ooooo~ I'm shakin'~ Look, if Fat Philly's strapped for cash that's fine, but don't try to scare contributions outta me with your crazy stories. Besides, I couldn't pay that much even if I wanted to. I've only got about forty-two thousand in the bank. Even if I sold everything I own I'd be lucky to make it sixty thousand in a day."
"Are you sure? Think hard, Uncle. Are you absolutely sure you don't have some jewelry Aunty left you, or maybe some old savings bonds you might've forgotten about, or an antique coin collection, or something?"
"Michael, read my lips. I. Don't. Have. The. Money. There's no way I can scrape up that much scratch by 5 o'clock, so Fat Philly's just gonna have to make due. I mean, what are you gonna do, break my legs?"
"Nope, but we are." Said a new but terrifyingly familiar voice that made Michael's blood run cold.
Both men turned their heads and there they saw them, the party from the other booth, standing over them menacingly. The one in the middle, a tall, thin Caucasian man with jet black hair, had a particularly sinister look in his eyes.
"M-M-M-Mr. Hill. Mr. Hastings. Mr. Grappa." Michael addressed each of the men nervously. "I was just explaining to my Uncle that…"
"We heard." Mr. Hill cut him off coldly. "The old man said he won't pay up. We tried doing things your way, Mikey Mike. Now we do 'em my way."
"B-But that's not n-n-necessary. Uncle just misunderstood the situation. He thought Fat Philly was still alive and playing a joke on him. That's why he…"
"Shut up." Mr. Hill said sharply. "We'll take it from here. Just slip out the back so no one 'll see you."
Too scared to speak, Michael shot his Uncle one last rueful look before doing as he was instructed.
"Hey, Michael, w-where are you goin'?" Uncle Vito said nervously, having finally realized the severity of his situation. "You're not just gonna leave me here, are ya? Kiddo? Bambino?"
Michael could tell his Uncle was scared, and rightfully so, but he chose not answer him. Instead he just kept right on walking until he was in the alley behind the restaurant. Then he fell to his knees and started hyperventilating.
Inside, he could hear his Uncle's cries for help as those animals beat him with reckless abandon. He knew that trying to interfere would only get them both killed, but at the same time he couldn't bring himself to leave. So instead he just stayed there and prayed to high Heaven that there would be enough left of his Uncle to take to the hospital when they finished.
End Notes:
I'm really enjoying this new story and I hope you are too. Not much else to say right now, except that I hope you'll leave a review on your way out. The reading your thoughts on my work is one of my favorite parts of writing fanfiction.
Anyway, thanks for reading and I'll see you in the next one.
Peace.