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The path to hell is best travelled in golf cleats


League Member
Feb 19, 2004
North Shore, MA
He had always wondered what it would feel like to kill someone. With so much of ourselves built on moral and ethical guidelines he expected that the event would be religiously moving, almost an epiphany of regret.

What he felt was an epiphany in the truest sense of the word. He wanted to kill him, and he appreciated the result. The bodies of Carlo Castinetti and his guards were scattered across the veranda. Blood soaked into the marble walkway and would likely be a reminder of the event for years to come.

He had purchased the VP70 handgun shortly after his injury and had become a proficient shot shortly thereafter. He wasn’t going to win a shooting trial, but he wasn’t going to miss a man-sized target either. It felt warm in his hand, inviting and real. It crossed his mind that this was the first real thing he’d done in a long time.

Moments passed as the sun went down over the shore. He finally felt at peace. The time had come for him to do what he had hoped to do for quite some time. He could settle down, he could rest. No one would question a hit on him. The family expected it, and would find someone else. That was the good thing about family. There was always someone else. The police would never find the body. They were good at that too.

The sun was so beautiful, so peaceful.

She walked out on to the veranda purposefully, quietly. He hadn’t seen her. He wouldn’t see her. Genovese had the perfect opportunity, the opportunity to take it all. The glock was heavy in her hands, but all she needed was one shot.

Beauty can be so deadly. Peace can come in many ways.

As he looked into the sun a voice sounded next to him. It was all he needed to be back in the present. His mind had drifted to another place yet again. With the Misters Johnson some 100 feet behind them the diminutive frame of Carlo Castinetti stood with confidence next to him. The dichotomy between the two was never more apparent. Campbell was wearing his leather jacket and street clothes. Castinetti looked as though he walked off the PGA tour.

Both were men of honor. Neither liked the other. Castinetti began the exchange with a smile and a shake of his head.. he almost chuckled.

“Kid, you know the one thing I always liked about you. You’ve got balls. You could knock down buildings with those things. Would you like a drink? How’s the wrestling business?”

Campbell was still coming around. He could still see a bullet hole in Castinetti’s ear. Moments passed and he spoke in return. It was equally obvious that he didn’t expect a warm welcome.

“If you’ve got an unopened bottle of something, great.”

Castinetti motioned to a small table placed centrally on the veranda. A few moments later they were seated opposite each other. A bottle of wine was placed gently upon the table, opened and poured into two glasses as they sat.

“I think you’ll appreciate this, it’s a Napa Red bottled in June of 2000. I’ve been saving this for a special occasion.”

“Is this special Carlo?”

“It’s not every day I get to sit and speak with someone who’s on TV every week.” He took a sip of the wine and with such Campbell allowed himself a taste. “and when that man is also the person who sent my daughter crying to a convent after using my influence to assist him build his career… “ A wicked smile cracked over his lips as he picked up a twinge of discomfort in Campbell. The devil danced in his eyes.
“It’s.. special.”

“So what can I do for this special sort of man?”

Aidan allowed himself to finish the glass of wine. He knew Carlo bought this vintage on the day of his accident. He may as well have been drinking his own blood. Their eyes locked. This was to be the opening move in a chess match that would define both of their lives. Neither would ever be the same..

(to be continued)

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