Dee murmurs, "Maybe more than pals."
"I heard that, Pal. I heard that. Nothing gets by the Hawk," and he closes the door to his office.
Dee murmurs, "Think so, huh?"
And this Sunday has time left on the clock.
CHAPTER 7
"If you can choose what to bring to a gunfight,
bring a long gun and a friend
with a long gun."
A gunfighter's rule
Hunter's chat on the phone reveals little new. Zachary tells him they know for sure that Herman Mueller, aka Aries the CIA turnaround agent, was stabbed with a pick-stick, the type workmen use to pick up litter. Then Joe followed with, "However, what killed him were two shots to the head, close in, assassination style." He continues by telling Hunter that there were no witnesses, except if you consider Alberto, the owner of the restaurant. Pauses, then says in virtually a hiss, "He must have known something because he and his entire family were found slaughtered. The local police have no evidence but suspect a local artist named Roberto Muscarella only because Interpol says that is an aka for a known assassin. To us, he's Pisces."
Hunter interrupts the monologue. "Joe, this is weird. Did I tell you about the dream I had? Actually it was..."
"No, some other time, pal. This is important stuff I'm giving you." Joe Zachary goes on to notify Hunter of the villa outside of Pisa that Muscarella leased that is now empty. And of a leased flat in London and likewise empty. Joe suggests that Hunter plan a trip, as an author doing research. Before Hunter can comment, he says, "Since your ID hasn't been compromised, nor you, let's go with it. Be easier and cover your travel."
Hunter frowns, pauses, then asks, "Not compromised? What about yesterday?"
Zachary tells him again that the incident was related only to Samantha, her father, and he being there was coincidence to the PIRA. Joe emphasizes, "That's who's responsible." Then, "Pisces, and anyone that works for him doesn't know you from Adam."
Hunter asks, "What about my father?"
"Well, of course he knew your father. Certainly knows the name Kerrigan but you're not using that name and he doesn't know you. Never saw you. Doesn't know anything about you. Shouldn't be an issue."
"Shouldn't. Would of, should of, great. Personally, I believe the man is a lot smarter than you think. I'll give you the IRA crap. The PIRA on the other hand is a hard-ass group of nasty-minded, irate and unforgiving Micks. They or someone will remember Patrick Shanahan, if that was his real name and I suspect it is, or was. Hell, he's a KIA in a war. Kin doesn't forget nor forgive in that part of the world. They are at least in the top five of assholes per square foot." He pauses, laughs, then chuckles, "Hells bells, my grandfather still hasn't forgotten Pearl Harbor. He won't serve a Japanese person in his bar. Calls 'em 'damn Japs.' It's embarrassing. Anyway, I'd bet Pisces is always tuned to these frequencies and may even have done a job or two for them. And to think that no one knows my real name here is just not true."
"Who besides our people?"
"The people who were with that Oboe clown. My friend Bradovich. Sam. Dee. Probably all the police that were here. That's for starters."
Zachary replies, "According to our Intel, Pisces is not hooked up with the PIRA. Never has been. Don't worry about the rest. We've got your back."
"Really? Got my back? Who had Sam's back?" Hunter pauses, then, "And where does the agency stand on APSF?"
"What? APSF?"
"Never mind, go on."
Zachary's voice changes from business-friendly to a cold-listen-to-me tone. "Hunter, knock this stuff off. We need to get this job done."
"Joe, listen to me. This is important and it's strange. Did I mention to you this dream I had Friday night? The night before..."
"Was it wet or dry? How's that for an APSF line?"
Hunter pauses more than a moment. Then, "So you get it. Dammit, Joe, this is not a joke. It was more a nightmare than a dream; a once in a lifetime nightmare. In it I was in Pisa and I was..."
"Hunter. Okay. Good. Then you should know Pisa well. Now let's move along and get this job done. No more wet dreams; no more dipping pigtails in inkwells; no more dipping ... screwing your handlers; no more IRA. Go find and terminate this Pisces asshole or I'll get someone else and you can get out of the business. Am I clear?"
"You're clear. I'll have a plan and will see you Wednesday night. I'll call first. Have a nice Sunday, Joe. Take Ruth to church or something and read a book on nightmares." He hangs up before Joe Zachary can respond, then heads to the kitchen.
There he slides into the booth, and Dee puts a cup of coffee in front of him and says, "Give me a few minutes and I'll have your 'chow' off the griddle and on the table. How do you want your eggs?"
"Do you get nervous when people don't listen to you?"
"Yes, speaking of which, how do you want your eggs?"
"This is a conspiracy," shakes his head. "Over easy will be fine and plenty of bacon. Thanks." Sips the coffee, "Hmmm, good. Thanks, pal."
"Be nice. I heard you. We'll talk later."
"I will be nice. I am nice. At least I was once upon a...oh geez...there it is again. I'm goin' nuts. I need some time to unwind, clear my mind, and think. How about we go to the beach today, and then I'll take you to dinner at the Hotel Del tonight?"
"Are you serious?"
"I'm serious."
"Wow! Hu ... Hun ... Hunt ...," Dee takes in a deep breath and states matter-of-factly, "What I was about to say was, Hunter, you bet. And, how about this? I know a friend of Angelo's that will give, give mind you, me a room at the Del. We can go over, change, go to the beach, then back to the room, clean up and have dinner. They have a great beach there, you know."
"Yeah, I know. Been on it and all up and down the Strand. That's Navy Seal territory."
"That's all great. I mean, whoopee, or Ooh Rah, or something. I get nervous when people don't answer the question. Don't you? Is that a yes?"
"It's a yes. Great plan, pal."
"Be nice." She walks to the table, says, "Here's chow." Puts the plate with three eggs, over easy, yokes unbroken and the whites looking like rink ice without the logos. No signs of grease. Seven stripes of bacon and two pieces of toast, buttered. She leaves, is back in seconds with hers and slips in the booth across from Hunter.
Hunter says, "Looks great. Smells better. Why seven strips of bacon?"
"It's Sunday."
Hunter shrugs, says nothing and begins to eat the first strip of bacon by hand. His face shows there is a thought inside somewhere, but it just hasn't snapped on yet. Dee takes a bite of her bacon, chews and swallows hurriedly, then says, "The seventh day. Time to rest. Seven strips."
"Yeah, I got that. Makes sense."
"Not really. Hunter, I love the Del. Love it. Can't wait. Particularly the patio restaurant overlooking the tennis courts, and the beach, and the ocean. I love it all." Stops for a moment letting her cat-like smile begin to spread, then coos, "It is so romantic. I hope the moon is out. I'm goin' to wear something that will knock your eyes out.” The smile reappears, "It's been a long, long time." She pauses, then quickly adds, "I'm doin' it again, huh?"
Hunter stares at her. I doubt that. Then sensing the void says, "Well, we're just goin' to have dinner. Swim and dinner. Remember. And we'll be back before any moon rising stuff."
"Okay. Forget it. What did Mr. Zachary say?"
"To go as an author. Writing a story and doing research. Will be my cover," laughs, "Until it's opened and someone reads the Prologue. I'm letting the idea float around in my mind for a day or two. Not sure about it."
"Sounds like a plan. Seems good." She pauses, looks up and catches his eye. "Not as good as the Del." Grins. He does as well. Then she says, "Are you bringing a weapon?"
He gazes at her for a moment. "Yes, of course. Why?"
"Well, I was thinking it will be interesting. You didn't have one yesterday in your jockey shorts so I was wondering how..."
"I think you said it earlier. Be
nice."
"Should I bring mine?"
"You have a weapon?"
"Of course. And after yesterday, I'll be totin'." She takes another bite of bacon, her third strip. Then says, "You know the two rules of unarmed combat?"
"Yep."
"Well, in case you forgot, they are," she pauses, dangles a strip of bacon from her fingertips. "First, always bring a gun." She points the bacon at him. A lurid smile creeps across her face, then she adds, "And always bring an Italian girl."
"It's a Jewish girl."
She smiles, "Yeah, I know, but do you know one?" Tilts her head to one side. "Didn't think so. Besides, I'm better." She tilts her head down, brows raised with eyes at the top, and forms her lips in an oval and slides the bacon strip in her mouth, and out again. Then in again, this time biting and swallowing the strip. Wipes her lips with her index finger and thumb, adds, "At a lot of things." Pauses, then with the grin finishes, "And, big guy, you're stuck with me."
"Yes, I am. Just remember. Stuck with, not on or in." Shakes his head, "You make it darned hard to be nice."
"Hard is nice."
Hunter shakes his head, jaws locked.
She slides out of the booth and heads for the kitchen sink taking her plate and empty coffee cup with her. Says, "Let's get a move on. Clean up your dishes. I've got a call to make." Pauses, snaps, "I know, on the house phone, but I'll do it at home."
As the Shanahans leave Mass, Danny spies the Muldoons departing also. He catches the elder Muldoon's eye. The man shakes his head indicating no word. The Shanahan's mother sees this and whispers to her son, "It'll be soon I'll be wantin' to know. They'll not be lettin' me wonder for too much of a time like they did with your father. I'll see to that."
Danny leans over close to his mother's ear, "I know, Mum. I know. We'll be waiting a few more days then I'll be gettin' me own answers."
"And me as well," pipes Sean.
Danny says to both of them, "We'll see. For now we'll wait. It is the son that'll be watchin' us. I'm sure of that."
All three trod toward the house. It'll require a good foot under them, and the Shanahan woman likes her brisk walks. She's still a hearty soul, perhaps more so than her sons know and certainly more than the elder Muldoon, whom she despises, suspects.
Rocco has returned from his fishing trip. To make everything look plausible should he be seen by anyone that matters, he has a good catch of Alletterato and Palamita under tow. Already cleaned and filleted by the crew. Both fish are prevalent in these waters and most catchable during the summer months. He has one large Palamita; near 4kg, about 8 lbs. And he has a few Alletteratos or Bonitos of about the same size, and one slightly over 6kg, about 15lbs. He and Signore Catalano typically fish for swordfish when they both go out. On those occasions they rent a boat and skipper to ensure a catch or two. The area is well known for this great sport fish. Nonetheless he gives all but one of the Alletteratos to an old woman walking on the road. She's overwhelmed and appreciative and probably impossible to locate.
Neither Pisces nor Gina are up and about. So as to not embarrass his boss, Rocco leaves a brisk note in the kitchen for each. For Gina, that a Bonita is on ice. For Signore Catalano, it simply says. "Done. On my way to Pisa."
They take Hunter's Vette. Nine years old is not yet vintage, but getting close. It's white with red leather upholstery. Nary a scratch and glimmers from the wax job. They cross on the Coronado Ferry and head directly for the Hotel Del Coronado. Dee's friend has arranged a room so they are dressed casually for dinner. The swim suits, beach towels and flip-flops are in small bags. The Vette is not built for extended travel and lengthy stays for one, much less two.
The Del is an old and famous hotel. Built in 1888. At the time it was the largest wooden structure in California, possibly the States. Is famous for the movie stars and Presidents that have stayed there. And the movies made there, such as Some Like It Hot. The Presidents have included a few old-timers and more recent ones such as FDR, Ike and JFK. When you approach this wonderful old landmark from the boulevard, it can't be missed. A no brainer. Always carrying a fresh coat of white paint and red roofs. The spires can be seen from virtually anywhere on the island, particularly the main one as it stands as a beacon to lovers, romantics, weekend tourists and one-day wannabe's. The Dragon Tree out front is the final web for the spider Del.
Hunter valet parks with perhaps unnecessary words for the young man at work in his clean, crisp uniform. "No spins. No burning any rubber. And put the top up please." He gets a grin and a "yes, sir" in response. Then a tiny squeal of tires as Hunter and Dee walk up into the grand old hotel. Hunter looks back over his shoulder. Dee nudges him in the ribs with her elbow. "You encouraged him. Shouldn't have said a word."
"I know."
"The room's in my name. Let me sign in so it looks more natural since there is no charge. Just a lonely woman treating herself to...never mind. I'll change in the bathroom, you can use the bedroom. I'll do it in a closet if you don't trust me." She giggles. Does what she has to at the desk, turns her head toward Hunter and says, "Then we'll head for the beach. Do you think we can have a small bite on the patio a little later? Not enough to spoil dinner. I love eating out there. It's so...so, I'm doing it again, aren't I?"
"Yes."
"Is that, yes, for a bite?"
"Both."
"Good. Who gets to take it?" Laughs and grabs the keys from the young man behind the registration counter while saying, "Thank you."
The man smiles, fumbles with a file. Then smiles, "Yes, ma'am. On the house. Or on the hotel, or something." He watches Dee's hips as she strides toward the elevators. "Whew!"
After more than a few steps, Hunter looks back. The clerk smiles, lowers his eyes, then his head. The young man takes a deep breath through his nose, murmurs, "If it looks like, smells like, it is ..." and takes another sniff of the trailing edge of the aroma drifting back from Dee. While doing so he notices a man watching the couple from behind a copy of the San Diego Tribune. The clerk watches both. When the couple disappears into the elevator, the man folds the paper and lets it drop to the chair beside him. Checks his watch.
The day goes well. Dee and Hunter swim, body surf and have some playful shoving and wrestling in the surf. They have a light lunch and it is on the patio. The only discomfort for Hunter is all the eyes focused on Dee in her tiny, canary yellow bikini with its sheer covering blouse that she has put on for the meal. The yellow sets off her skin tone which is heightened by her tan. Her dark hair frames her flawless complexion and dark eyes. Pink lips, nails and toes. And a better job of shaving.
The staring by the gentlemen guests is a little more focused than on the actual buffet table. The bikini may be bright yellow, but the woman is not a canary, still with her sheer white cover-up tunic, her bravura breasts are like magnets to small pins in the gentleman’s eyes. Their eyes move slightly, then back again a tad quicker, then in a flash, rivet on her. Spires in their own right. As Hunter and she eat and chat, Dee, aware of her surroundings says, "Hey, pal, don't worry about it. I'm getting used to it again. Been awhile and frankly, I kind of like it."
"Well, a glance is okay, but ogling is rude. Ticking me off. Oh, and by the way, where is your weapon?"
"Which ones?" She nearly chokes laughing at her own remark. Then says, "In my purse at my feet. And yours?" She pauses a split-second, adds, "And don't you dare ask which one."
"In the back of my waistband. Under my shirt."
"Gee, that must be comfortable. If you had it in the front, possibly the ladies would stare at you."
Hunter looks around the veranda. Then up at the sky checking the angle of the sun and says, "Let's eat and get some more time on the beach. And water. I want to take a swim down the Strand and back before we come in for the evening."
She nods. Takes a drink of iced tea and leans back in her chair. That makes more than a few gentlemen guests more uncomfortable as her sheer white, three-quartered sleeve tunic's draw strings slide unfasten
ed, exposing her full to overflowing yellow-topped bikini bra to two rows of tables facing her. There are a few slight coughs. A shake of the head by Hunter. And hushed, whispered admonishments in the background from the gentlemen's ladies.
Hunter catches himself staring. They are huge. All that from one rib.
Sundays begin and end. Some begin in mass looking for help. Some end in the sea where there will be no help. Some end at an airport looking for an Antonio. Some end eating fish looking for respite and restoration. Some end in a funeral home not able to look for anything. Some end in the morgue looking but not seeing a white ceiling. And one ends for two, sitting on a patio with a refreshing breeze looking at one another for an explanation.
Like LOP's, lines of positioning of a navigational fix, they are waiting to be drawn. To be plotted. Not celestial from the stars although many of these are seen tonight by some, but not by others. And not from radio or radar. But more exactly from deduced or ded reckoning.
The maps are out and instruments sharpened.
CHAPTER 8
"Do or Do Not;
There is no Try."
Anon
The day has gone well. Hunter and Dee sit on the towels beneath them after an initial dip and body surfing. Dee smiles, looks into Hunter's eyes and says, "‘A sunbeam to warm you; a moonbeam to charm you; a sheltering angel, so nothing can harm you.’ That's an Irish Blessing. Don't know who wrote it, or if it just evolved as so many do, but it's nice."
"It is, and nor do I. But, there's more. However, the sunbeam sounds and feels good, but I'm my own sheltering angel."
Dee cants her head to one side, "And the rest?"
He glances skyward for a moment, then into her eyes. "‘Laughter to cheer you. Faithful friends near you; And whenever you pray, Heaven to hear you’ ... or somebody."
Ded Reckoning Page 8