SNOW CRASH

“Ylmow why that is? Y’know?” Mr. Caruso had come to the serious, meaningful part of his speech.

“Why is that, sir?”

Mr. Caruso wheeled Jason around so that both of them were staring down the length of the highway to the tall effigy of Uncle Enzo, standing above the intersection like the Statue of Liberty.

“Cause there’s only one, son. Only one. And you could be a part of it,”

“But it’s so competitive-“

“What? Listen to this! You got a three-point grade average! You’re gonna kick butt, son!”

Mr. Caruso, like any other franchisee, had access to Turfnet, the multiple listing service that Nova Siciia used to keep track of what it called “opportunity zones.” He took Jason back to the booth-right past all of those poor dorks waiting in line, Jason really liked that-and signed onto the network, All Jason had to do was pick out a region.

“I have an uncle who owns a car dealership in southern California,” Jason said, “and I know that’s a rapidly expanding area, and-“

“Plenty of opportunity zones!” Mr. Caruso said, pounding away on the keyboard with a flourish. He wheeled the monitor around to show Jason a map of the L.A. area blazing with red splotches that represented unclaimed turf sectors, “Take your pick, Jasie boy!”

___________ Now Jason Breckinridge is the manager of Nova Sicilia #5328 in the Valley. He puts on his smart terracotta blazer every morning and drives to work in his Oldsmobile. Lots of young entrepreneurs would be driving BMWs or Acuras, but the organization of which Jason is now a part puts a premium on tradition and family values and does not go in for flashy foreign imports. “If an American car is good enough for Uncle Enzo…”

Jason’s blazer has the Mafia logo embroidered on the breast pocket. A letter “C” is worked into the logo, signifying Gambino, which is the division that handles accounts for the L.A. Basin. His name is written underneath: “Jason (The Iron Pumper) Breckinridge.” That is the nickname that he and Mr. Caruso