No Apologies and No Regrets

by Roddy Wix

A view of the Alps from twenty-thousand feet always proved breathtaking, even for a pilot who had flown the route at least a dozen times.

  The Swiss built Pilatus performed efficiently allowing Frank to relax and enjoy the panorama. Frank hoped the beautiful afternoon might be a harbinger of good fortune. With a little luck he would be on the ground in less than forty-five minutes and on his way to Laglio. Clearing customs at Legacy in Milan posed his next and highest hurdle before delivering a long overdue ending to Serge Malroff.

  The approach into Malpensa passed without event and Frank taxied the plane up to the tarmac at Legacy on schedule. The ground crew rolled a red carpet out to the plane’s large cargo sized rear door as Frank stepped down to be greeted by the local operations manager and an Italian Customs agent.

  Frank handed over his declaration and a British passport identifying him as Dr. Bennett Franklin. He shook hands with the Legacy official, Felix Brundage.

  "Felix, good to see you again.”

  “My pleasure, Dr. Franklin. Is your luggage in the cargo compartment?”

  “Yes. I’m traveling light. Just a duffel and a briefcase.”

  The man nodded to one of his crewmen who in turn removed Frank’s bags and carried them inside for inspection.

  Beretta and Felix made small talk by the plane then proceeded into the lobby of Legacy’s facility. The Italian customs agent approached Frank and handed him his stamped passport.

  “Enjoy your stay in Italy, Dr. Franklin.”

  “Grazie, Signor. Arrivederci.”

  “Arrivederci, Dr. Franklin.”

  Frank’s blood pressure dropped by half and he exhaled deeply. The cloak and dagger stuff, never his forte, was starting to wear him out.

  “Feeling better?” Felix Brundage fixed a knowing smile on his company’s good and long time customer.

  “You have no idea.”

  “May I offer you a drink?”

  “Why not?”

  “Excellent.” The Austrian athlete took Frank by the arm and guided him in the direction of his office where he poured two glasses of Glen Morangie Scotch, Sherrywood finish.

  “Here’s to a successful visit to Italy, Herr Beretta.”

  “Danke schoen, Herr Brundage.” The men toasted one another.

  “To justice.” Frank said.

  “And those who advance the cause.”

  ”Before I leave don’t let me forget to grab my map case out of the plane.” He referred to the kind of square edged black case favored by commercial pilots and trial lawyers.

  Felix flashed a knowing smile.

  Less than an hour later Frank sat behind the wheel of a rented Alfa Romeo with his bags stowed in the boot. He enjoyed the drive from Milan to Lake Como, and under different circumstances would have looked forward to another visit at the Villa d’ Este. He and Joey vacationed at the hotel on their first anniversary, but this wasn’t a pleasure trip. He did, however, anticipate the satisfaction of knowing he’d fulfilled his old promise to eliminate Serge Malroff.

  He knew Malroff's Kremlin bosses eventually reined him in, but the fact did nothing to mitigate the contempt Frank Beretta felt for the man. The misery he’d brought to the young girls he’d ensnared in his hellish world of drugs and prostitution was beyond redemption. Serge turned them into sex slaves, serving their master in a drug-induced haze of compliance. Of all of them, Katya found herself in the worst circumstances. Despised by Malroff and his handlers because of her noble family’s former status in Russia, she had the misfortune of being physically attractive to the psychopath and worse, she had the spirit of a warrior. It was a combination Serge found irresistible. The pig rewarded Katya’s beauty and courage with frequent rounds of abusive, perverted sex. At other times, provided Serge had not bruised her face, he sent her off to entertain a small retinue of his deranged friends.

  His failure to destroy Malroff still pained Frank. This time he would succeed without distraction. So, he drove on with a sense of determination and focus he had not felt in years. The White Knight embarked once again on a virtuous quest.

  While Beretta planned their fateful rendezvous, Serge humped frenetically on top of a naked and frightened Penelope Goldman. As his excitement approached a crescendo his hands tightened, vice-like, around her neck. To this point she’d been a willing partner because his brutality somehow complimented her own dysfunctional, drug addicted needs, but he'd become enraged in a way she’d never seen. He spun out of control and now terrified and nauseated her until a blessed darkness descended over her and brought relief. The ogre continued to hammer away at the pale, limp woman until he had satisfied himself then he rolled off and walked nonchalantly into his bathroom for a steamy relaxing shower.

  A half hour later he emerged from the bath and found her in the same position in which he’d left her. He gave her an indifferent glance and concluded she was not dead, although he had no idea how extensive her injuries may be. Whatever. He had grown tired of her months ago and already begun to think about her replacement. Serge picked up the phone and rang Duccio’s desk downstairs.

  “Duccio, I am going out. I believe Lady Goldman is not feeling well. Please make certain she is taken care of.” Serge spoke with a tone of indifference.

  “Immediately, sir.” Again? "Will she require medical attention?"

  “Perhaps, but first, tell Friedrich I want to go to Milan. I’ll be staying at the Principe di Savoia.”

  “Of course, Signori.” In Duccio's mind Penelope Goldman must be seriously injured if the cowardly brute was running off to Milan. Let the servants clean up his mess yet again. Duccio dialed the discreet doctor’s phone number.

  Duccio was relieved his boss had gone by the time Dr. Federico Farnazzi climbed the staircase to the villa’s master bedroom. The doctor, famous for his private spa and cosmetic surgery practice also discreetly served their special needs. His modern and expansive complex included a private and exclusive drug rehab center on a well guarded and secluded stretch of the lake’s shoreline. Celebrities, royals and rich trash often spent time drying out at the doctor’s facility where he fawned over them pretentiously. Many became repeat customers.

  Penelope began to stir as they entered and, after a brief examination, the doctor recommended she be moved to his clinic. The two men gently carried her from the bedroom and went downstairs by elevator. They placed her on the rear seat of Dr. Farnazzi’s Mercedes. Duccio rode in the back with Lady Goldman as they drove her the twenty kilometers to the Farnazzi Clinic.

  Penelope Goldman would not die nor would she ever see Serge Malroff again.

  54.