Treason

by Valerie J. Long

  Chapter Fifty

  “I very much hope you don’t mind dying with the others anyway,” Rascati said, still smiling. “Of course, I’ll grant you the honor to come last. After all, you shall see what your deeply insolent interference with our business is worth, what?”

  Of course I should.

  “Originally, you would instruct the people that I’m to be turned in to you. Now I’ve turned myself in, so the instruction is obsolete. That you still plan to kill them unmasks you as a liar, and the people will remember that. It doesn’t pay to trust a Camorra Capo, because he has no honor.”

  His face turned red in anger—that one had scored!

  “I’ll teach you,” he whispered. “Bruno.”

  The assistant butcher stepped closer.

  “The little blonde girl at the front left. And please, take yourself a lot of time.”

  “Instantly, my Padrone.”

  No. It couldn’t go that far. Rascati had chosen, and I’d face my responsibility, with all consequences.

  “No!” I yelled and spread my arms.

  Rascati’s bodyguard had the finger at the trigger and was aiming at my head. The driver was ready to spray my body with his gun. But I was unarmed, and their Capo wanted the big show.

  “Enjoy it or bear it, but give in. You can’t do anything,” he commented.

  “Yes, I can,” I objected, and did it.

  It took a lot of energy to spray a shower of control quarks across the entire Piazza, but it was an efficient solution. All around, the shooters reached for their neck or ankles, where they noticed a sudden itch, but in vain.

  The tiny packages I had dealt out to unprotected skin areas on my previous round cracked up and released their Wyvern poison into their victims’ blood vessels. A few heartbeats sufficed to distribute the substance and induce dying.

  The four men herding the crowd shared their fate, and the assistant butcher and the two armed men threatening me, each were served a direct arrow. They had no chance.

  Rascati stared at his falling men in disbelief.

  “Over,” I commented, and then I turned to the frightened people. “Go home now. Instantly.”

  “No!” Rascati protested and tried to draw his own gun—a classy model in silver instead of the usual gunmetal finish.

  “No,” I echoed and just took the gun away from him. I was faster and stronger, as he had to find out to his surprise.

  From a side alley, numerous quick steps approached, and at the same time, two men in grubby clothes stepped forward—the mock street rats from the same morning. One of them produced an ID.

  “Maresciallo Lucio Spirillo, ROS Naples. Commissaria Giovanna Meier, I assume?”

  “Correct,” I answered, surprised.

  “Commissaria, your operation in Naples couldn’t remain unnoticed. After your first activities, the Capitano inquired with his superiors. Commissario Pattone—he directed the cleanup yesterday—knew your name and your affiliation with the ROS. However, you’re not recorded with us, so we made contact with Colonnello Altamano. He confirmed your mission in principle.”

  “So, he did do that.”

  “Commissaria, I’m glad that this operation, other than yesterday, ended without civilian victims.”

  “Me too, Maresciallo.”

  “Our men wouldn’t have arrived in time.”

  Only now, the first Carabinieri in protective vests reached the square. Their sight at least contributed to the spared victims’ reassurance, who hadn’t left despite my order—out of curiosity? Most of them somehow held tight to each other, and even the men had tears in their eyes.

  “No—I knew I had to do it alone.”

  Rascati tried to sneak away. Without turning away from my conversation partner, I shot his foot. He collapsed, screaming.

  “I ask for your understanding that I can’t unveil my methods.”

  “Naturally, Commissaria. Well, the Capitano—”

  “The Capitano will, now that the Camorra in Naples is severely weakened and deprived of a large part of its leaders, surely be able to take care of the rest. I expect that this rat over there”—I pointed at Rascati—“won’t be able to buy himself free.”

  The Maresciallo nodded, and after a brief apology turned to his men to explain the situation to them.

  I leaned down to the Capo and whispered into his ear, “Go to jail and stay there. When it comes to inflicting pain, I’m better than your primitive butcher. Have you ever heard of Hermann in the Cartel context?”

  He nodded despite the pain in his foot.

  “Good. A long time ago, Hermann taught me everything he knew about inflicting pain. I’ve been his subject, and I’ve endured his treatment consciously to the bitter end. I know everything about it, and I’ve further refined his method. Should I ever meet you outside a regular prison, I will demonstrate it to you. Have we understood each other?”

  “But—Commissaria?”

  I anticipated his question. “I’m not one of the good, Rascati, Commissaria or not. Your rules can’t protect you from me, nor could your money. I can find you in any hideout and visit you in any fortress—just as I’ve visited the Cartel headquarters. Clear?”

  His eyes showed nothing but fear. Soundlessly, his mouth formed the word Velvet, and I nodded.

  Part Four—Deserted

  Chapter Fifty-one

  The two young black suits at the corner of the street didn’t look as if they were here for a friendly chat. Just the opposite, their tension seemed to make the air crackle. Accordingly humbly, I sneaked past them.

  As hoped for, they let the dirty street rat in her baggy, torn jogging pants and the worn tee shirt pass. Their task probably didn’t leave them any leeway for a quick amusement with female passersby. Only their gazes understandably followed me for a short while.

  This already was the seventh checkpoint since I had climbed out of the water at the harbor. As it seemed, the Sicilian Cosa Nostra Families had rallied all their forces and sent them out on the streets.

  That was no big surprise after one of the two Capi dei Capi had taken flight from Rome to here and shortly later had had to learn from his Neapolitan fellow’s death—he simply had to be shitting bricks because he could easily guess who’d be the next on the list. Very obviously, the fear spread by the Families no longer protected them from this new killer.

  From Pietro, the Capo had learned about the events in Naples, and Pietro in turn had had to tell me what he had told the Capo and what he himself knew about the Mafia or Cosa Nostra organization in Palermo.

  After my cover had been blown and the ROS had taken over, I had quickly left Naples. How should I tell friend from foe, and who’d shoot my back on the next opportunity?

  Before, I had juggled the thought of covering this leg by bicycle and listening around among the people—but that would have taken too much time. For the more than seven-hundred kilometers around the Tyrrhenian Sea, I’d surely have had to plan two to three days, if I hadn’t wanted to stir attention.

  The alternative was to simply swim across the sea on a south-to-southwestern course, or to be tugged along by my Companion and thus save my own power.

  In my street rat disguise I’d now explore my last mission target—the refuge of Giuseppe Camporeale. It wouldn’t be easy, not only because he expected my visit. Not only because he had rallied all his forces.

  The Sicilian Cosa Nostra had to be quite peeved after the ROS had assaulted their plasma weapon store and liquidated it. Now the anti-terror units commanded several hundred of these dangerous weapons, and the criminals only some handfuls.

  Some handfuls too many for my taste, but—well. I’d come to terms with them. As I’d have to come to terms with the fact that the ROS here in Sicily was alarmed—for one, because of the afore-mentioned mission, for two, as they’d inevitably have learned of my Naples mission result.

  Nevertheless, I didn’t plan to unveil my presence, as agreed
with Davide. He couldn’t guarantee that none of his Carabinieri would succumb to the temptation of my bounty—even though we didn’t know the current amount—and I couldn’t and wouldn’t give any guarantees for his people’s welfare in a joint mission. I had given our Rome mission as an example—had I been alone, I just would have camouflaged myself and escaped unhurt.

  That led to the problem that I didn’t know whether and when the ROS would go into action in Palermo again—I’d have to expect a massive interference for my mission anytime.

  For now, I had a different problem—hunger. I wasn’t interested in raw fish again yet, even less in raw rat, but I had to refill my reserves.

  In my role as street rat, I couldn’t simply enter through the front door—that had already caused suspicions with the innkeeper in Naples, so I couldn’t repeat that method.

  Instead, I approached the rear and kitchen entrance of a small Ristorante. A chubby man in a white coat watched the alley with a frown, checked his watch and shook his head.

  “All okay, Padrone?” I asked him.

  “Aaaw, get lost!” he uttered without thinking, and then added to himself, “Where’s Pablo left, this waster?”

  I stopped and looked him in the eyes. “The Families are checking all streets. Perhaps he was—held up?”

  Worry flashed in the cook’s eyes. I took my chance.

  “Shall I jump in? I’ve worked in a Ristorante before, so I can surely help until Pablo arrives.”

  “You?” I saw his doubt.

  “I can quickly clean myself, and perhaps I may borrow Pablo’s apron? Shall I clean the vegetables or the salad or clean the kitchen?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Something to eat. Perhaps there are leftovers from yesterday that aren’t good enough for the guests? I’m not demanding.” At least not in this role. Once this mission was completed, I’d have some good times at Pietro’s expense.

  He considered it, looked at his watch, then down the alley, and then back to me. He saw what he should see—a young woman with puppy eyes, and at the same time a dirty street rat who owned nothing more than she was wearing. So what? Why shouldn’t a rat be able to cook or assist in a kitchen?

  “We’re cleaning after closing shop, vegetables and salad are done in the morning. When the first guests arrive, I need someone to do the noodles and sauces and who can dish up the meals, no ordinary temp.”

  “I can cook or fry food and dish it up, sure!”

  “I can’t show you all the ropes.”

  “I can memorize everything, Padrone.”

  “Well then. We’ll see. Come with me.”

  He led me to a bathroom next to the kitchen door. In passing, he fetched an apron from a clothing hook and handed it to me. “Here. Wash yourself and then dress in this.”

  “Fine.”

  I didn’t wait for him to close the door behind me, but just pulled my tee shirt over my head and began to soap my entire upper body. His opportunity to have a glance at my tits through the half-blind bathroom mirror should further divert his doubts—important to me was to show him that I didn’t only do a lick and a promise.

  He didn’t close the door behind me, nor did he turn away, but remained there and watched, even when I turned around, reached for the towel and rubbed my breasts dry. I completely ignored him until I had put my tee shirt back on and donned the apron.

  I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d asked me for a blowjob first, as a sample of my skills—but perhaps my show was too stern and business-like for it.

  “Come with me,” he repeated instead.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  “Two Saltimbocca, one Filetto di Maiale, Arrabiata, Vongole, Lasagna!” Luigi called in and smacked a sheet to the exhaust hood’s rim.

  Padrone was busy with a blue white fish and had no time to tend to the order. I had to ponder briefly and sort.

  Short-fried meat—later. The side vegetables had to be blanched, the spaghetti freshly cooked, the mussels, too, and the lasagna had to go to the oven.

  Baking took longest. So I fetched the prepared ingredients for a lasagna serving, stacked pasta dough and filling in turns into a pan, spread cheese on the top and placed the pan into the oven.

  Five spaghetti servings went into a large pot with boiling water, one mussels serving into a smaller pot, and then I quickly put the vegetables on.

  Now we had a few minutes time for the meat—actually the Padrone’s task, but he was still fighting with his fish dish.

  I shrugged. The steak had to go into the pan now, if all meals were to be ready at the same time, and the noodles and mussels shouldn’t overcook. So I let some butter heat up. When Padrone didn’t come, I placed first the schnitzels and thereafter the fillet into the two skillets. Sear briefly, turn over, glance aside—the noodles were okay, the veggies needed a little attention, and then turn the meat again. I had another moment left to put six plates on a large tray and decorate two of them for the meat dishes.

  I hadn’t done that yet, nor watched it. Let me see—two basil leaves, a half cherry tomato, a few drops of balsamic vinegar, a hint of fresh-grinded Parmigiano—to me, my creation looked pretty.

  Now everything had to happen at the same time. First the spaghetti, three nicely curled-up nests for the meat dishes, two larger servings for the pasta dishes, the side vegetables, the meat—was it fried á point?

  Padrone had almost conquered his fish. I shielded his vision with my body and poked a nano needle into the meat. Yes, perfect.

  The Scaloppine went on two plates, the fillet on the third, now the mussels, the separately heated Arrabbiata sauce, a hint of decoration and flavor, finished.

  With a finger flick, I let the bell ring, and then I took the lasagna from the oven. It just slid down on the sixth, as yet empty, plate when Luigi appeared in the doorframe.

  His gaze questioningly swayed back and forth between the plates, me, and the, until now otherwise busy, Padrone. Then he shrugged, too, picked up the tray and disappeared through the door.

  I plucked the sheet down.

  When I turned back, the Padrone was standing behind me. “What are you doing there?”

  “Six meals for table three.”

  “Complete? Only noodles?”

  “Complete—one Filetto, two Saltimbocca. You were busy with the fish, Padrone.”

  “I had told you, meat’s my business. You’re not instructed.”

  “The guests won’t notice.” At least I hoped so.

  “We’ll talk about that later.” He put the fishy apron away and trudged toward the guest room.

  I looked around. The fish was done, and the used pans and the vegetable pot had to be cleaned. The stove had suffered a few greasy specks. Let’s tackle it!

  A short time later, the Padrone returned. With lowered head, I waited for his scolding.

  “Perfect, the guests say,” he began. “Perfect. What have you done?”

  “I’ve prepared it the way I’d prefer it, Padrone.”

  “So. A street rat with a gourmet tongue and able to cook. What do you eat when you’re not working in a kitchen?”

  “If nothing else’s available, I even eat raw rat,” I admitted. “But I prefer fresh leftovers.”

  “And even more a freshly prepared, warm meal, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Padrone.”

  “Well—once I’ve served the fish, the last guests are taken care of. Why wouldn’t you prepare a menu for us afterward? You can freely choose.”

  “For whom, Padrone? Luigi and you?”

  “No, little one. For you, Luigi, Anna and me. Four courses, okay?”

  “Yes, Padrone.”

  “Then do it.”

  Chapter Fifty-three

  I’ve been thief, whore, gambler, Dragon engineer, spy, waitress, dancer, bodyguard, killer. Now I became a cook. You’ve gone far in life, Jo!

  For now, I was hungry.

  “Is it okay if
I prepare a double serving for me?”

  “Do it. I’m curious.”

  Under the Padrone’s supervision, I shouldn’t and wouldn’t make any mistake. On the other hand—if I had the opportunity, I’d grant myself a treat.

  Okaay—first a plate of cold starters. I spontaneously opted for a beef carpaccio with wafer-thin peach slices, seasoned to taste with hazelnut oil and some old balsamic vinegar, complemented with a few fine-cut herbs, and decorated with a peach mouse with clove eyes and almond ears.

  The entrée had to be fish, and thereafter I’d need a Barolo sauce for the deboned cuts of lamb, so I started the respective preparation before I decorated the starter plates on the kitchen table and rang the bell.

  The Padrone contemplatively examined my creation. Then Luigi came in and asked, “What’s up? There’s no open order.”

  “Call Anna in.”

  We waited until Luigi returned with a young girl. She looked very much like the Padrone.

  “Sit down and eat,” the Padrone asked them. “The little one’s prepared something for you. Oh—what’s your name, actually?”

  “Giovanna.” So, now he condescended to ask for my name? I sat down as well. “Enjoy your meal.”

  “Same to you.”

  Rather reluctantly, the three sampled my spontaneous experiment. But after the first bite, there was no stopping. I had to admit to myself that it tasted better than I’d expected from the simulation in my Analogy.

  Despite the double serving, I had cleared my plate first. Yes, damn, I’d had nothing to eat since the night before! Moreover, I had to tend to the fried fish with the vegetable-beer batter-pastry. In addition, I needed pieces of lemon and orange fillet, as well as further condiments for the main course, and moreover, I hadn’t done anything for the dessert yet. I had to work fast.

  Meanwhile, Anna and Luigi served drinks to the guests once again, but made sure to return in time for the second course.

  The Padrone didn’t say a word about my work, but again, this meal disappeared from the plates without leftovers.