by R. W. Hughes
Peer Merkel thought for a moment. He sometimes did not understand this young man’s terminology, like digs and green stuff. But he understood the gesture of rubbing thumb and fingers together, that sign was universal; it meant, CASH!
‘You require apartmento, think I. An in Italiano would you like to digs?’
Peer Merkel was quite pleased with himself as he thought he was learning quite well what was obviously slang language used by these young men.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ replied Geoff. ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head, wherever you suggest, just somewhere for us to crash.’
Nail in the head, crash! he thought, perhaps on reflection, as he proceeded to pour the last of the white wine into his glass. It would take longer than he had first anticipated understanding these lads properly.
‘Okay! Halt here, hotel very nice. Tonight I telephono calls comrade, you boys tomorrow have very bella apartmento.’
‘Are we stopping here, Geoff?’ said John Bolton who had been following the conversation closely whilst looking at the very expensive décor of the five star hotel.
‘It looks like it,’ said Geoff, ‘our friend and translator, Herr Peer Merkel, seems to have very expensive tastes.’
He was quite pleased with the afternoon’s work, even though the meal, if he had been back in the UK, would have had cost him more than a week’s wage.
All being well, Peer Merkel would rent an apartment in his name and the lads would move in without having to produce or register their passports. Geoff would make a point of keeping Herr Merkel sweet.
If things went to plan, they would lose themselves amongst the thousands of tourists and slip through the net of the Italian police, for a while anyway, who, no doubt, would be looking for them very shortly, if they had not already started.
Geoff told Herr Merkel to book himself into the hotel; he would reimburse him later while he and the lads would go back to the station to collect their luggage. His idea was to have as big a gap as possible between Herr Merkel’s name and their names on the hotel register.
He was not particularly worried at the moment as, he reckoned he had another couple of days before the Italian authorities got their act together and started to trace them through the hotel bookings but he did not want to leave anything to chance.
The following morning the group left the five star Florenze Hotel. Geoff made sure that he and the lads booked themselves out a good while before Peer Merkel, settling their bill in cash to a surprised receptionist.
They were all waiting in a café across the road from the hotel until the old man eventually appeared, struggling with his large suitcase. That is until the Bolton brothers appeared; one to carry the case and one to assist the old man across the busy road to the café.
Peer Merkel had felt quite weary that morning but he had enjoyed an excellent breakfast followed by several cups of coffee laced with schnapps; this had quickly lifted his spirits! He had made several phone calls to previous business associates and old friends living in the area, eventually managing to find a property available for rent. The price was quite high but these lads did not seem to be short of money and, hopefully, he would end up with free accommodation close to the city where he had intended to stay anyway.
Eventually, after waiting in vain in the hotel lobby for twenty minutes, he had paid his bill, and then feeling rather disgruntled wandered outside the hotel, where he was then met by two of the young men.
After settling down in one of the comfortable café chairs and ordering his third cup of coffee of the morning with its schnapps chaser, Herr Peer Merkel was feeling happy, relaxed and very pleased with himself, in his inside pocket were the euros given to him as promised by the boys’ leader to cover his night’s hotel expenses.
The accommodation that he had arranged was not an apartment but a six-bedroomed villa with its own swimming pool set in its own grounds outside the medieval-walled city of Arezzo in Tuscany.
‘Ah Geoff! My associates negotiate little rent for Italino property my behalf. Charge usually uno thousand euros per week holiday season, but as we taking bella villa several months cost you 800 euros week, very, very cheap, very good deal.’
Geoff felt his stomach turn over as the figure was mentioned; he quickly calculated the total that would be required.
Putting on a brave face in front of the rest of the lads and Peer Merkel, he counted out a month’s rent in advance, in cash, with a flamboyant, ‘That’s not a problem Peer but will there be a problem with us paying in English pound notes?’ as he proceeded to count out the money into the outstretched hands of their newfound guide-come-interpreter.
‘No! Landlord not have problem with green stuff,’ replied the old man, smiling at the use of their terminology, as he stuffed the wad of £50 and £20 notes into the inside pocket of his jacket.
‘All embark rail Italia to Arezzo. I meet associate for keys accommodation. You much like, very nice, Bella-Bella Casa, in Italiano; in English, beautiful, beautiful house.’
As there were too many of them and their luggage to fit in one taxi, at Geoff’s suggestion the four lads went in one vehicle, while Peer Merkel with his luggage followed behind in another, all meeting at the main railway station in Florence. While Peer Merkel went to book the train tickets for the group, the lads remained in a corner of one of the station cafes sharing a table with two young New Zealand backpackers, who were very friendly and struck up a conversation with the lads.
‘We are travelling around Europe; we landed in Rome several days ago and stopped there touring the city while we recovered from jet lag. We caught a train to Florence then we intend going on to Venice, using youth hostels for our accommodation. It’s our intention to make London our final stop before we fly back to Auckland in several months’ time. Will you guys keep your eye on our packs while we shoot off to the little boys’ room?’
The question was directed at the Bolton brothers.
‘Sure no problem,’ replied the brothers in unison.
Geoff looked at the Bolton brothers and nodded his head as the two young men left their packs unattended on the chairs while they walked off, chattering to one another, on their way to the toilets.
‘Within a week they will be ringing home, asking for more money to replace all their stolen equipment,’ Geoff said to the trio, shaking his head as he slipped both the New Zealanders’ passports, taken from a zipped pocket on the outside of their backpack, into his inside coat pocket.
‘It seems expensive, this accommodation, Geoff,’ said the youngest of the Bolton brothers, directing his question across the table to his friend as he sipped a cup of the tepid cappuccino coffee.
‘Well, it gives us a breathing space. It’s in Peer Merkel’s name and not in ours, just in case the Italian coppers are looking for us,’ he explained with a false sense of confidence. He assumed that, by now, the Italian police would be following their trail, at least up to the costly five star hotel then, hopefully, it would come to a full stop, but he was concerned about their costs; Peer Merkel obviously had very expensive tastes, especially, if someone else was picking up the tab.
Geoff quickly reckoned that, at a rough guess and at this rate, he had enough to last them about three months or, possibly four, but only if they were very careful, then they would be broke, in a foreign country, wanted by the police and possibly by the heavy mob. He weighed up and evaluated the alternatives.
He could do a runner with the bulk of the money leaving the rest of the group to be, eventually, arrested, by the Italian police to be then passed on to the English coppers but, at least they would be safe and, hopefully, out of reach of the heavy mob that were hunting them.
After all, what could they be charged with? At the most it would be with stealing some guy’s briefcase. Big deal! It was the heavy mob he was frightened of. Even in jail they could be targeted and they would be in danger from anyone who wanted to earn a few hundred quid. What would happen to him though? He would have sufficient funds, all
be it in English pound notes, in a foreign country where he could not speak or understand the language and was unable to book into a hotel without handing over his passport and in grave danger of being picked up at any time by the Italian police or, worse still, by the heavy mob who, by now, would also be searching for them. No! He had to stick it out, enjoy it while it lasted and look around for a long-term solution. After all, he had always been an optimist. Where they were at the moment they were reasonably safe, they had money to spend, the food was excellent and the sun was shining. He recalled two of the sayings used by his old friend, Sir Reginald, ‘a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush’. And, ‘The grass on the other side of the fence always looks greener’. Yes they were really a very lucky group.
When Peer Merkel returned with the tickets, the two New Zealand backpackers had left the table, rushing off to catch their train. He sat down heavily in one of the vacant seats.
‘Train Italia leaves come our destination in venty minutes. Coffee again you have time for?’ Geoff took the hint, Derek Bolton volunteering to go and get the coffee taking the twenty euro note that Geoff offered him.
Peer Merkel coughed to attract the younger Bolton brother’s attention, indicating with a smile, a bent thumb and a finger. Derek looked at Geoff, who just nodded and shrugged his shoulders. This old guy certainly likes his drink, he thought as he watched Derek make his way to the counter to order the five coffees and an Italian brandy.
They had missed the express that stopped at their destination by several minutes, a combination of Peer Merkel being in the toilets when the late announcement of the change of platform was made over the speaker system, and the slow walking pace of the old man.
The local train they did catch stopped at every station en route and consequently, it was late afternoon when they eventually arrived at Arezzo railway station.
They passed several taxis parked outside the station but they were too small to accommodate all five of them and their luggage.
A people carrier was unloading its passengers, possibly from a hotel in the town and as the last of the tourists collected their cases, Peer Merkel approached the driver. After a few words he waved to the lads to come over. ‘Driver take green stuff transport all, OK! Geoff nodded. Fortunately he had taken the opportunity to exchange some English money into euros at the railway station, to avoid confusion this bundle he was careful to keep separate from his English notes.
They all bundled into the people carrier and ten minutes later, they were outside what was obviously an estate agent’s with lots of photographs of properties in the window. Many of the photographs had faded to dull yellow in the fierce sun they had been there that long.
Peer Merkel left the taxi and tried the door of the offices. It was locked.
On the door there was a note giving the opening times. Geoff looked at his watch; it was three fifty in the afternoon or 15.50 hours as everyone seemed to say nowadays.
Peer Merkel held up ten fingers; the agency would be open at four o’clock. He then moved several yards away and parked himself on a wooden bench in the shade of a large tree; it was cooler there than in the people carrier which was having problems with its air conditioning and all the lads were sweating profusely.
‘You boys Americanos?’ said the taxi driver to the group in the back of his vehicle but to no one in particular.
‘Yes!’ said Geoff before anyone else could answer and he then continued in a contrived American accent. ‘We come from the West coast of America.’ The rest of the lads gave Geoff a puzzled look but they had learnt from past experience that if he did anything out of the ordinary there was usually a good reason behind it.
‘Aha!’ exclaimed the taxi driver. ‘John Wayne country. He my hero! Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, all super dupa.’
The taxi driver continued to reel off a list of films that his hero, John Wayne, had appeared in. Stage Coach, True Grit, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, El Dorado. It was during a brief lull in the accolades of John Wayne that Geoff managed to obtain a business card from him.
If they had to move in a hurry they would need a big vehicle like this to accommodate all of them. Further conversation was cut short by the reappearance of Peer Merkel.
He was waving a set of keys obtained from the proprietor of the agency who had appeared and opened his shop while the taxi driver was reciting some of the famous sayings in the films in which his hero John Wayne had appeared.
It was only a short drive to the outskirts of the town. The scenery quickly changed from a built up area, to fields of olive trees and lines of trellising interwoven with grape vines surrounded by fields of sunflowers. All this was pointed out to the boys by Peer Merkel who could not understand why they had all suddenly started to use a poor imitation of the American accent.
The taxi came to a juddering stop just past the entrance to a large house prompting several loud blasts on the horn from a van travelling close behind them, and curses from the group of lads in the back of the vehicle as they untangled themselves from on top of one another after the unannounced emergency stop. After the van had passed, the people carrier reversed and swung into the steep tree-lined drive.
‘A bit late for that Sooty, we’re nearly there by the looks of it,’ Geoff said, smiling at his friend as he watched him struggling to fasten his seat belt.
The carrier pulled up on the loose gravel outside a huge pair of double wooden doors with a pair of highly polished brass lion head door knockers all set back in a porch which in turn was supported by two enormous, circular, marble pillars.
‘Wow! Is this it?’ said Sooty forgetting his American accent. ‘It’s as big as a hotel.’
‘Yes, these our is accommodation total six months,’ said Peer Merkel as he was being helped out of the taxi by the Bolton brothers.
In no time at all the luggage was unloaded and Geoff gave Peer Merkel the money for the taxi fare using the last of their euros they had obtained at Pisa airport, plus a tip. As Peer Merkel said that it was the custom, Geoff gave more for the tip than was asked, thinking he would never know when he would require this guy in a hurry, he was still left with euros from his exchange at the railway station.
As Peer Merkel opened the front door to the villa the lads rushed in, leaving their cases outside in the porch in their excitement. Several moments later there was a great shout from Sooty that could be heard all over the house.
‘Geoff! Geoff! Fellas come here quick!’
Geoff rushed to where the shouting was coming from followed by the Bolton brothers and, bringing up the rear and much more slowly, Peer Merkel.
Sooty was standing at a pair of open French windows that overlooked a rear garden and several yards from the windows was the edge of a large swimming pool.
‘Is that with the house?’ said Geoff, turning to Peer Merkel.
‘Yes!’ gasped the old man who then collapsed breathless onto a nearby chair.
‘Whoopee!’ shouted Derek Bolton, taking several large strides and jumping in the pool fully clothed.
‘Geronimo!’ shouted John Bolton, following closely behind his brother. Geoff, along with Sooty, ran to the edge of the pool laughing at the antics of the other two boys but they stopped short of jumping in themselves as they were not the best of swimmers.
Peer Merkel rose from his chair and made his way to the French windows. From there he could see Geoff and Sooty watching the Boltons splashing about in the pool. He turned back into the room shaking his head, the things that young men get up to.
At the same time, however, it reminded him of himself and his comrades who, at that time, would be a similar age to these lads, in this the very same part of the country but so many, many long years ago.
There were six bedrooms with the villa, all with their own bathrooms and sufficient for a bedroom each for the young men who, never before in their short lives, had experienced such luxury.
When he had unpacked his case, Geoff studied the papers that he had collected from Jock. Th
e fence had not skimped on the documents and there were two sets of driving licences. One was in the name that John Bolton had taken and that was fine but the other was in the name of the person Geoff was impersonating. Geoff thought that this could cause problems, as he was a novice driver and a poor novice at that. It was obvious to Geoff that where they were situated they would need transport, and something substantial to accommodate them all. Hanging around waiting for public transport in this rural setting could attract unwanted attention, which was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.
It was Geoff who took over the role of cook that night under the guidance of Peer Merkel who sat in the kitchen with a bottle of red wine giving detailed instructions on the preparation of the meals, Italian style. Geoff enjoyed the preparation and the cooking of the food. It gave him a great deal of inward satisfaction and it was obvious, by the way the other lads devoured what he had prepared, that Peer Merkel was indeed an experienced and first class chef.
Chapter Seventeen
On their arrival they had stopped in the village of which the villa was on the outskirts, taking the opportunity to load up all spare space in the taxi with food. Feeding four hungry lads, the food brought to the villa by the taxi, diminished after just two days.
They needed to restock. The first expedition involved walking into the village to purchase supplies but this turned out to be a disaster. It was too far for Peer Merkel to walk so it was left to Geoff and John Bolton to make their way to the local stores.
They badly misjudged the time and arrived in the middle of siesta, having to wait an hour and a half in the hottest part of the day, until the shop opened again at four o’clock.