Little Italy and Genco Pura Olive Oil Company
In the heart of Manhattan's Little Italy, a mere five blocks along Mulberry Street north of Canal, the neighborhood thrums with life.
Lorenzo arrived in Little Italy in no time, feeling the distinct shift in atmosphere as soon as he set foot there. Having arrived in this world just a week ago, it was only now, amidst the vibrant streets and bustling crowds, that he truly felt he had stepped into another, perhaps parallel, world.
The area was alive with activity—locals mingled on the streets while children played freely. Despite the ongoing war effort, which necessitated rationing and visibly affected daily life, the community's spirit remained undimmed. Posters and signs calling for the conservation of food and resources dotted the landscape, a constant reminder of the times.
Here, in Little Italy, the presence of Italian Americans was unmistakable, living up to the neighborhood's name. It was a cultural enclave similar to how the Lower East Side was known for its Jewish community.
Clutching the slip of paper with the address Albert Neri had given him, Lorenzo found himself a stranger in an unfamiliar part of town. Spotting a passerby, he approached with a friendly, "Hi, do you know where this is?"
The passerby, evidently British from his strong accent, apologetically responded, "Sorry, I just arrived myself. Try asking someone else," before continuing on his way.
Undeterred, Lorenzo turned to another stranger, this one with an unmistakably Italian demeanor. "Excuse me, do you happen to know where this address is?"
The man took a moment to study the paper in Lorenzo's hand, then nodded, "I know the place..." With a kind gesture, he offered to lead Lorenzo there.
After a brief walk, the Italian man pointed out the destination. Surprised and relieved, Lorenzo expressed his thanks in Italian, "Grazie."
The Italian man waved off the thanks with a friendly, "No problem," in Italian, and continued on his way.
Lorenzo then made his way to the front of the building he had been searching for. It turned out to be the Little Italy police station. He surmised this must be Albert Neri's workplace. As he approached, he caught sight of Albert Neri reprimanding a group of teenage boys with a stern smack, admonishing them, "This is what you get for acting like thugs! Shape up, or there'll be more where that came from!"
The teenagers, looking like they'd had run-ins with small gangs, could only groan in discomfort.
Lorenzo paused momentarily at the entrance of the station, his resolve wavering slightly. Inside, Albert Neri was in the midst of dealing with a group of teenagers. Catching sight of Lorenzo, he paused.
"Lorenzo?" Albert's initial surprise quickly shifted to a welcoming smile. "I didn't expect you to find your way here so soon after I gave you the address."
Lorenzo offered a sheepish chuckle, admitting, "Well, I really needed help."
Albert handed off his baton to a colleague, entrusting them with the continuation of the teenagers' reprimand, and joined Lorenzo.
"So, have you made up your mind?" Albert inquired as they stepped outside the police station.
Lorenzo nodded affirmatively, his determination clear. Pleased with Lorenzo's resolve, Albert motioned for him to follow.
"Let's go. I'll take you to someone who can put us in touch with my contact in the Corleone family," Albert said, leading the way.
Lorenzo gave a nod and decided to follow Albert, placing his trust in him. This trust wasn't blind; it was somewhat informed by the "Relationship Status" feature in the system, which provided insights into the dynamics between Lorenzo and the other characters he encountered.
Moreover, during a quiet moment in his apartment, as he navigated through the system, Lorenzo had a flicker of recognition. The name "Albert Neri" echoed in his mind, a name he faintly recalled from "The Godfather" novel. While he didn't remember Neri as vividly as the more prominent characters, the connection to the Corleone family was clear enough to reassure him. The future association of Albert Neri with the Corleones lent enough credibility to believe Albert might truly have a link to someone within the famed family.
Together, Lorenzo and Albert meandered through the streets of Little Italy until they arrived at their destination.
Standing before them was the "Genco Pura Olive Oil Company." It was the legitimate front of the Corleone family for some of the Corleone family's operations.
Lorenzo and Albert stepped into the store, immediately enveloped by the warm, soft glow of yellow light. It illuminated rows of wooden shelves, each meticulously organized with bottles of olive oil in shades of dark green and amber.
The store was a trove of Italian culinary delights beyond just olive oil. Shelves were stocked with imported goods such as dried pasta, canned tomatoes, olives, and artisanal cheeses. Near the entrance, a small display showcased an array of vinegars and specialty oils among other products.
Lorenzo cast a brief look around, taking in the store's offerings, until his gaze settled on the far end. There, a large wooden counter stood, its presence anchored by a chalkboard listing the store's recent arrivals.
Approaching the counter, Albert exchanged greetings with the clerk behind it—a middle-aged man donned in a simple apron over his shirt and trousers. The clerk paused his tasks, turning to Albert with a warm "Buongiorno! How can I assist you today?"
Albert, clearly familiar with the clerk, struck up a conversation about the store's products, but Lorenzo picked up on the subtle exchanges between the two. As Albert chatted with the clerk, Lorenzo couldn't help but notice the employees' keen attention to the store's visitors and the partially opened door to the backroom, suggesting activities beyond retail.
Lorenzo surmised that the employees were in tune with the discreet signals being passed between Albert and the clerk. He wasn't taken aback by this realization; after all, the store was under the ownership of a mafia family.
After a brief exchange, and once the last of the other customers had left, the employees secured the front door. The atmosphere shifted; the congenial banter gave way to a more solemn tone.
"Alright, what's your business today, Neri?" the clerk, who just moments before had been all smiles, now asked with a stark seriousness.
Albert, with a reassuring pat on Lorenzo's shoulder, replied, "I'm here to get in touch with my contact in the family. I'd like to introduce this man to him."
Upon hearing Albert's words, the clerk cast a scrutinizing look at Lorenzo. "Who is this?" he inquired, his gaze lingering on the younger man.
"He's Lorenzo Lupo. He's come to request a favor from the don," Albert explained, cutting straight to the point.
The clerk, seemingly unfazed by the request, simply responded with a thoughtful "I see..." He then signaled to an employee, instructing them to make a call to the Corleone family's residence in Long Beach.
---
In Long Beach, New York, the Corleone family's main residence stood prominently.
Within the office of the Don, Tom Hagen and several caporegimes were engaged in a discussion about the family's affairs with Don Vito Corleone himself. The Don, a commanding yet calm figure, was stroking a cat on his desk, his voice soft and deliberate. "The war has changed many things..." he mused, a hint of weariness in his tone. "It's no longer just about demand and supply. And now, we have the government watching our every move."
Tom Hagen, always attentive to the Don's insights, nodded in agreement. "Wartime regulations are becoming stricter. Rationing has turned even basic goods into valuable commodities. While this presents an opportunity, it also brings with it significant risk."
Peter Clemenza chimed in, adding his perspective to the discussion. "We've got our hands deep in the black market, Don Vito, but slipping goods past the watchful eyes is becoming a real challenge."
Salvatore Tessio weighed in as well, "And the word at the docks is troubling. The overseas shipments—" His words were cut short by the sharp ring of a telephone.
"Somebody's calling..." Don Vito murmured, casting a look towards his son, Sonny Corleone. "Santino, would you mind?"
At his father's request, Sonny promptly rose to answer the call, offering a curt "Hello?" His expression shifted as he recognized the caller to be the clerk from their olive oil business, seeking Tom Hagen.
"Tom! Phone's for you," Sonny called out, not one to mince words.
Tom, looked composed despite Sonny's brusque manner, asked, "For me? Who might it be?"
"It's someone you know, goes by Albert Neri," Sonny relayed.
The mention of Albert Neri sparked recognition in Tom; he remembered him as the policeman he had successfully brought into the family's fold. Excusing himself from the ongoing conversation with the Don and the caporegimes, Tom swiftly took over the call from Sonny, eager to hear what Neri had to say.
---
Back at the Genco Pura Olive Oil Company Store, the clerk discreetly handed the phone to Albert, whispering, "Tom's on the line."
Acknowledging with a nod, Albert took the receiver. "Hello, Mr. Tom Hagen."
Tom greeted him warmly, "How's it going, Al Neri?" His tone was casual, the fact that Albert was a policeman not dimming the familiarity of his address.
Albert, unfazed by the informal nickname, got straight to the point. "Tom, there's someone here who seeks the don's assistance."
"Oh? And does he hold respect for my Don?" Tom's voice carried a note of interest, not concern, at the prospect of someone desiring an audience with Don Vito for help.
"Absolutely, he's right here with me," Albert confirmed, casting a glance at Lorenzo standing beside him.
"Is that so? Then let's have him on the phone. I'd like a word," Tom directed.
"Understood." Albert then handed the phone to Lorenzo.
Lorenzo greeted cautiously, "Hello..."
"You're the one seeking the Don's assistance?" Tom inquired straightforwardly.
"Yes, sir," Lorenzo replied, his voice laced with respect.
"Do you understand that accepting help from Don Corleone means you'll owe him a favor? And should he ever call upon you, you're expected to fulfill it without question?" Tom's question was serious, underlining the weight of such a request.
"I understand," Lorenzo affirmed without a trace of hesitation.
"And your name is?" Tom's voice softened, tinged with curiosity.
"Lorenzo Lupo," he replied, straightforward and without drama.
"Lorenzo Lupo..." Tom repeated, as if committing the name to memory. "Head over to Long Beach. You'll find the family's mansion there. Whether you come tomorrow or in a week doesn't matter. Whenever you're ready, you're welcome."
"Thank you," Lorenzo said, his gratitude evident in his voice.
After the call concluded, Lorenzo turned to Albert with a look of sincere appreciation. "Thanks for this, Albert. I really mean it."
"It's nothing," Albert replied, giving Lorenzo a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You seem like a good person, and that's enough reason for me to help out."
Lorenzo couldn't help but feel a bit out of place with the compliment. Being called a "good person" felt strange, especially considering his past alias, "Lupo," wasn't exactly synonymous with virtue in his previous life.
"I should get back on duty," said Albert, offering one more supportive pat before heading off to resume his responsibilities.
Lorenzo also took a moment to thank the store's clerk before he stepped out into the bustling streets of Little Italy, making his way back to the Lower East Side of Manhattan. His journey took him through the Jewish neighborhood, eventually leading him to the humble tenement building where his apartment was nestled.
Resolved, Lorenzo planned his next steps. After wrapping up another day's work at the factory, he would make his way to the Corleone family mansion in Long Beach, New York, a visit he now looked forward to with a mix of anticipation and resolve.