Dream of: 03 October 1997 "The Godfather"

A sprawling modern one-story corporate building, painted white on the outside, was located northeast of Dallas, in an area where many corporations had established a corridor of high-tech concerns. This particular building belonged to a prominent publicly-traded corporation, although try as I might I couldn't remember the name of the corporation. Every time I would try to recall the name, just as I had it, it would disappear.

I had been invited to a party in progress in the building. As I walked through the spacious halls and viewed the capacious work areas, I observed the employees mingling and talking with each other. I wasn't entirely sure why I had been invited, and I hoped no one would ask. I was satisfied with being here; I didn't care about participating in the festivities.

However, I did talk with a few people. Once, several young fellows joined me in a little group. Then later an older man dressed in suit and tie stood and talked with me. He asked me if I worked here and I laughed out that I didn't. I thought it must be evident that I wasn't one of the employees of this corporation: I didn't fit in at all. Most of the employees were young men not over the age of 25; and everyone was neatly dressed and coifed. Most were wearing white shirts, were cleanly shaven, and had short manicured hair. I was a stark contrast, somewhat unkempt with long raggedy hair. Of course I had no desire to work in a place like this, where everyone moved slightly robotically. Yet at the same time, I was quite aware everyone who worked here was highly intelligent, and I wondered what it would be like to be in an environment filled with questioning and curious minds. That might be interesting.

Continuing to roam around, I finally found a cafeteria-like area where food was being served. I saw some hot dogs and thought I might try one. But then I saw another section with more appetizing entrees of meat and potatoes. I was just about to step up and order something, when I suddenly remembered I didn't want to eat any meat anymore. Not eating meat was a constant struggle for me because I liked it so much, yet felt as if I shouldn't eat it.

As I pondered the meal, another man stepped up beside me and began talking. He was probably in his late 20s and resembled the other workers, except he had curly hair. He attempted to be friendly, and finally suggested I might want to accompany him to his office where we could play an electronic game together. I was immediately on my guard. I certainly didn't want to disappear into some office with this stranger; he might be dangerous, or gay. However, not showing my apprehension, I continued to exchange pleasantries with him until I was able to politely excuse myself and continue my wanderings alone.

Now a thought took root in my mind and quickly flourished. As of late I had become deeply involved in trading stock. I was acutely aware of the importance of the quarterly earnings reports which corporations were required to make four times a year. Each quarter, stock analysts made their predictions of how much a corporation was expected to make or lose during the quarter. But often the actual reports weren't in line with analysts' expectations, and the stock could rise or fall dramatically depending upon the actual earnings announcements.

If, therefore, I could find out what the earnings results of a corporation were going to be, before they were announced, I could either buy or sell the stock accordingly, and be guaranteed of a more than handsome profit. Of course it was illegal to trade stock based on such inside information. But that was of little concern to me. In fact, the thought now blooming in my mind was far more illegal than mere insider information: I was contemplating how it might be possible to steal the information, and then use it for insider trading.

How could I steal this information? Walking through the halls of this corporation, it appeared clear that the sought-after information must be in the accounting department. Thus the first step would be to simply figure out where the information was stored, and proceed from there.

***

I was driving my car, heading home from the corporate party, fully absorbed in thoughts of corporate espionage. I would have to learn a great deal: how to bug offices, how to wiretap, how to break into a building, how to spy. It would all be extremely complicated; and I would have to choose my targets well. I would probably be unable to tackle large corporations – they would be too closely guarded. But many smaller publicly-traded corporations were right here in Dallas. I could focus on them. Some were probably loosely protected and easy to penetrate.

***

Arriving at the place where I was living, I stopped the car and got out. A large clapboard building, painted light green, apparently a rooming house. Just as I walked through the front door into the wide hallway, a man with a gun came running out of one of the rooms. Another man with a gun followed him, and right before my eyes the men began engaging in a gun battle. Somehow the first man managed to drop his gun, and I was able to retrieve it. I then got the drop on the second man and forced him to drop his gun. With both men in front of me, holding them under guard, I marched them into the room. Inside were several more men from whom I also began confiscating guns. I ended up with five hand guns in all. The men looked as if they were all Mafia hoods, all dressed in cheap suits and ties. I had no idea what they were doing in this sparsely furnished room, and I didn't really care to find out. Once the situation seemed under control, I turned, still carrying the guns, and walked out a back door.

***

The scene outside was in stark contrast to everything which had preceded. All around me were huge rocks and boulders, inclining downward to the blue sea, not 20 meters away. One wide flat rock allowed me to walk right down to the edge of the ocean, where the waves rolled and lapped up over the rock. The sky was blue and the sun was shining. And in the background, wafted by the ocean breeze, the soothing sound of music, soft and low, music which I recognized as particularly apt for this setting: the theme song from the movie The Godfather.

By the ocean's edge, looking back at the door from which I had come, instead of the wooden frame boarding house, I now saw a stately mansion. Or at least I saw the door of the mansion, since the view of the house itself was obstructed by the many boulders in my way. I immediately knew this was the home of a man who was similar to Michael Corleone (the character played by Al Pacino in The Godfather).

It seemed that a party was in progress and that many laughing and merry people were going in and out of the house, flocking back and forth to the beach, not exactly to the spot where I was, but to another rocky area not far from me.

Only one person was standing near me: Buckner. It seemed perfectly natural for Buckner to be standing here waiting for me. He and I had been buying and selling stocks together recently, working as partners. Our present relationship somewhat mirrored our partnership in the early 1970s, when together we had brought marijuana up from Mexico and sold it in Ohio.

At the moment, I was still concentrated on my new scheme: to steal corporate earnings information and use the information in the stock market. Although Buckner and I had been doing fairly well with the way we had been buying and selling stock, we still weren't making a lot of money. I turned to Buckner and said, "I don't think we're gonna get rich."

I began explaining my new plan to steal corporate earnings information. I opened by saying we needed to follow the same type of techniques used by the Godfather in the movie. I wanted to explain the plan in a way which Buckner could understand and accept, and I thought by pointing to the success of the Godfather, he would comprehend what I was trying to say. I felt sure he would go along with me. Over the years, I had gradually become the brains of our operation, and he was generally inclined to follow my lead.

But something distracted Buckner: several young black-haired beauties had poured out of the house and were gamboling back and forth between the rocky spot on the beach and the door of the house. I immediately recognized that all the young women were daughters of the Godfather. All were dressed in flimsy semi-transparent white slips. Buckner was transfixed by the sight of the derriere of one of the girls as she ran into the house.

I was also riveted by the girls; but for me they represented more than just girls: they were the daughters of the Godfather, and as such, I had never been able to come up to their level; they were far above me. Just as Buckner and I were standing on our isolated rock, while the girls were laughing and playing with their party not far from us, so it was with my life, that I hadn't attained the position where I could meet with them.

Yet now I felt my position in life might be about to change. The haunting music in the background even seemed to reverberate this notion. Although the soft Italian music resembled the theme from The Godfather, it wasn't exactly the same. Indeed, this music in the background was my theme, this was my music playing, similar but still different from The Godfather.

I now noticed that I was immaculately dressed in a black suit and white shirt. I was still holding one of the hand guns in my right hand. I walked to the edge of the rock, where the blue water was splashing over the edge, and I turned my back to the sea. Then I fell over backward into the spray, slipping beneath the soft water. As soon as I was in the water I let the gun slip and sink from my hand. I rose to the surface and lay floating on my back.

I had done everything purposefully, mainly for the benefit of the Godfather's daughters. I knew they were watching me, that they were amazed that I would just jump into the sea, dressed in my suit; but I knew they would be impressed that I had evinced no qualms about doing something out of the ordinary. The girls were all a bit timid, and I thought they would admire my audacity.

What I didn't expect was the delicious feeling of the water. Even though I was fully dressed, even wearing shoes, I had no trouble moving about in any way I wished. The water was crystal blue, and of perfect temperature. I hadn't realized the water could feel so good.

The girls, with their long black hair, dressed in their white slips, were all sitting together in a group, like sea nymphs, on the rocks beside the water. I slowly maneuvered myself in their direction, sensing that for the first time they might be willing to accept me. When I pulled up below where they were sitting on the edges of the rock, I kept my head under water, thinking to impress them by how long I could remain submerged.

When I was right next to them, still under the water, I was surprised by what happened: one of the girls grabbed my head and lowered herself unto my shoulders, wrapping her legs around my neck so that she sat above the water on my shoulders. I could feel her pubic hairs press against the back of my neck. I couldn't see her face, but I touched her knee, trying to estimate how old she was; I was happy to see that she was clearly an adult and not one of the younger girls.

I finally raised my head up out of the water enough so I could breathe through my nose. The haunting music was still audible, and at last – with the Godfather's daughter's sleek body on my shoulders – I understood what it meant: that it was my music and that I also was becoming a Godfather.

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