by Jeff Carson
“Stella Artois,” said Wolf over the thumping music.
The man twisted to the glasses and swiftly poured him a beer from the tap.
Wolf took a sip, paid the behemoth, and sauntered to the drinker’s side of the bar, which gave him the best view into the back hallway. The hallway ended in a kitchen where two employees paced back and forth. Beyond them was a brightly lit doorway, wide open to the rear garage.
Cezar appeared in it, striding into the kitchen. He closed the door hard and leaned against it, then turned and marched through the kitchen towards the bar. He was gritting his teeth and flexing both fists.
Wolf grabbed his beer and walked through the standing patrons, wincing at the various cheap colognes and bodily emissions as he weaved his way through the loud room. There was an open small table in the corner, so he took it.
The waitress was quick to the table. She had a half circle piercing dangling from the center of her nose, a couple lip rings, and three neck tattoos that he could see. Her blue spiky hair was shaved in a stylistic side wall configuration, like an eighties NFL football player.
She asked something he didn’t understand, then looked at the dumb expression on his face and smiled. “Would you like a menu?”
“Yeah, that would be great.”
She looked him all the way down and up, then left with an evil smile.
He watched her shapely body go for a second, then brought the beer up to his lips. From behind the glass he watched Cezar, who was bending in towards the thick necked guy’s ear, whispering with sharp head snaps.
The bartender nodded towards the front window, just to Wolf’s left. Cezar stood up straight and looked, eyes hardening. Wolf froze, the beer pouring down his throat slowly. He stopped drinking, letting the beer rest up against his closed mouth, breathing out his nose. Then he realized they were looking at the front door as a warm, smoky breeze hit his face — a fully clad Caribinieri walking in.
Wolf set the beer down on the table and bent down to his boot. He fondled his laces and looked sidelong towards the red stripe of the Caribinieri uniform pants. They were poised right inside the door for a few seconds, then turned, stepping away from him.
Wolf straightened in his seat and strained to see through the patrons. He spied Cezar, who was wide eyed and turning pale. His Adam’s apple traveled up and down fast as he swallowed dryly.
He seemed to be shitting himself, and he should have been with the stuff he had sitting twenty feet directly behind the thin wood and concrete at his back.
Wolf stood and shuffled through the crowd to a more central locale, his curiosity peaked. Had the Caribinieri begun their investigation into the shady dealings of the Albastru Pub?
The girl with the piercings cut him off. “You not going to eat after all?” Her bottom lip was out with a pouty look.
“Uh, yeah, sorry. I think I’m just going to go up to the bar.” He pointed past her, then stopped dead in his tracks, accidentally juking the waitress into bumping straight into him. His eyes narrowed.
The waitress laughed excitedly, placing her tiny hand on the small of his back.
“Oh, sorry!” she giggled.
He didn’t notice her. He was still looking hard at Cezar, who had made a subtle move that didn’t make sense — a nod of his head towards the end of the bar.
Wolf looked to the Carabinieri officer, who changed the direction of his approach to the bar, following the nod.
It was an odd interaction. It was like Cezar was calling the location of the conversation, which he was, or else he wouldn’t have nodded his head. It didn’t make sense. It was a very familiar gesture, as if they were friends.
The officer reached the end of the bar, plopped his hat down and leaned over onto his elbows.
Cezar reached him and immediately leaned down, launching into a conversation in his left ear. The Carabinieri officer turned his head to his right, revealing the unmistakeable profile of Detective Valerio Rossi. Cezar was gesturing behind himself with a thumb, then also sat his elbows on the counter.
Cezar was looking at Rossi with raised eyebrows, looking like he was waiting for some kind of an answer from Rossi.
Rossi stood slowly and stared at his hat on the counter, contemplating. He began looking around, down the length of the bar, then at the patrons who watched the television.
Wolf’s heart skipped. Something wasn’t right.
He looked down at the waitress who was pulling her hand back and moving on with her life. She began shuffling past, and he twisted away from the bar following her, then he gently pulled on her arm. Turning back, she had a puppy dog look of curiosity. He bent and kissed her. She returned the gesture eagerly, a clicking tongue piercing bouncing off his teeth. Wolf opened his eyes and searched the reflection in the front window while they kissed. Rossi was walking straight towards him.
He stopped kissing her and breathed in her ear. “Sorry, no. I won’t be eating tonight after all.”
“That’s too bad.” Her breath was hot, her lips flicking his earlobe. “Well, we could always eat together later.”
“What’s that?” He said pointing at his ear, keeping his head down. She repeated herself as Rossi pushed past Wolf’s right shoulder, brushing up against him, and out the front door.
Wolf stood and watched him leave out the door and down the road to his left.
Looking in the window reflection again, he saw Cezar turning the corner back into the rear of the pub.
Wolf walked out the front.
“Fucking American piece of sh-” the waitress’ voice was snuffed out by the shutting door.
“Later asshole,” the soccer fan guy raised his beer as Wolf walked past.
He walked to the scooter, but not before glancing back to Rossi, who was hanging a left — towards the alley Wolf had just come from.
Chapter 42
The officer on Wolf’s brother’s balcony looked to the northwest corner of the piazza, then, raising a radio to his mouth, turned to look directly at him.
Static erupted, followed by a tinny voice, no more than five feet to Wolf’s right. Wolf flinched, ducking fast to his left, suddenly very conscious of his conspicuous height compared to the people around him.
He slalomed through the piazza crowd and made his way to the side shops, then ducked into a narrow side street. He bummed a light from a teenager and puffed hard on a cigarette, surveying the piazza from behind the thin smokescreen.
Wolf was on the west side of the piazza, looking up at the northeast corner. The figure left the balcony and ducked inside to the fully lit apartment. It was an officer he’d never seen. Obviously the rest of the piazza was crawling with Caribinieri, though he had yet to see any.
Meanwhile, pieces of a jigsaw puzzle in his mind were being shuffled and fitted together, his brain beginning to see the clear picture.
Rossi was everything. And if Wolf didn’t act fast, he’d be spending the rest of his life in an Italian prison. Either that, or going home in a box right behind his brother.
Wolf dropped the cigarette and walked down the side street, working his way right, then right again, into a pulsing artery of people that flowed into the piazza.
Wolf centered himself within the throngs of people and shuffled forward, surveying ahead. He narrowed his eyes. Tito just inside the entrance to the piazza along the left side, talking conspiratorially on his cellphone. A quick plan materialized in Wolf’s head.
“Can I get one of those, Officer?” Wolf watched Tito slip his phone into his pocket and put a cigarette in his mouth.
Tito’s sagging eyelids shot open in surprise at seeing Wolf.
Wolf nodded up to the apartment. “How’s it going? You keeping an eye on my brother’s apartment?”
Tito’s mouth sagged open, dropping the unlit cigarette from his mouth. “What are you…” Tito stopped at the sharp pressure at the small of his back. Wolf waited patiently as he fumbled in his empty holster, then realized it was his own Baretta held on him.
People streamed by, pushed forward by the current of humans behind them, none seeing the situation for what it was.
Wolf jabbed the barrel up harder. “Give me your phone.”
Tito pulled it out, and Wolf took and opened it up. Capitano Rossi with his phone number listed underneath was displayed on the screen.
“Was that Rossi on the phone just now?”
Tito arched his back at the gun’s pressure and winced.
“Relax, Tito.” Wolf stepped in front of him and removed the radio from his belt. “Just relax. I’m going to let you go on about your business. You stay right here as if all is fine.” Wolf put the radio and phone in his left sweatshirt pocket, pointing the gun at Tito’s belly through the fabric of the right. “Otherwise, I’m going to shoot you.”
Tito’s mouth dropped open a sliver and his arms went limp by his sides.
“Good. Now first, tell me who just called you. It was Rossi, right?”
Tito nodded his head.
“What did he say?”
“He wanted to know if I had seen you yet.”
“Yeah? What did you tell him?”
“I said I had not.”
“Okay, and what did he say?”
“He was very angry sounding, and said to call heem when I saw you.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? He did not say why, just to call heem.”
Wolf eyed him. “Remember what I said. See you later, Tito. We’ll have a laugh about this someday, I promise.”
Chapter 43
Wolf walked briskly away from the piazza, taking one random turn after another. The long tone rang up against Wolf’s ear.
“Pronto?” Paulo’s voice was distant sounding.
“You in front of a computer?”
“Tito? What? Who ees thees?”
Wolf stopped walking. “It’s David Wolf. I’m here with Lia and Tito. But, listen, we have a few favors to ask, well, Lia has a couple favors.”
He proceeded with the acting job of his life, and hung up with a spark of hope.
Wolf scrolled through the phone and found Officer Parente.
The phone rang and rang, then cut out with a beep, beep, beep.
Wolf’s blood pressure rose as he looked at the phone. The reception bars were gone, a dashed line in their place. He reluctantly back tracked his route, the bars jumping up to three as he turned left around the corner he’d just come from.
He dialed again, and listened to the ring repeat for a full thirty seconds.
His stomach sank. He hadn’t thought of the simple fact that she’d probably screen Tito’s calls at all costs.
Wolf closed the phone and exhaled loudly, staring straight up. Swarms of huge insects clouded around the lights along the tall walls of the surrounding buildings. Dark blurry fluttering bats dove in and out of the swarms.
The phone vibrated in his hand. Wolf looked at the phone, the illuminated screen displayed Officer Parente. “Hello?”
There was silence on the other end.
“Lia? Is that you?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“It’s David. I’m on Tito’s phone.”
There was silence on the other end, then a group of fifty CC motorcycles revving loud into the phone. A split second later Wolf heard the same sound in his free ear, though much fainter, coming from the direction of the piazza.
“Couldn’t hear the phone the first time because of the noise in the piazza, huh?”
There was silence for a second. Wolf looked back at the phone reception. “Where are you David?”
“I’m near.”
She stayed silent.
“I didn’t do it.”
“Didn’t do what?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Vlad. What am I, an idiot?”
She exhaled loud, crackling the speaker in Wolf’s ear.
“Look, I need to meet with you,” he said. “I’ve figured everything out. I need to meet with you and Rossi. Get hold of him, and you two meet me at my apartment in one hour. Okay?”
She paused a beat. “What’s going on David?”
“I’ll tell you when you show up, all right? All I ask is make sure you answer each and every phone call you get tonight, all right? It’s important.”
He hung up and headed back down the street and around the corner, straight into a pistol pointed at his face.
Chapter 44
Behind the sound suppressed pistol was the now familiar tiny smiling mouth of the man he’d come to know as Cezar. “Don’t move.”
Wolf didn’t move, nor did he put his hands up in a defenseless gesture. He was studying the pistol in front of him. It didn’t waver a centimeter, the knuckle white with tension on the trigger.
“I said don’t move,” he repeated, reading Wolf’s thoughts.
Wolf slowly raised his hands out to his sides. Just then a shuffling came up behind him, and hands dug into his waistband, pulling out the Beretta tucked into the back of his jeans.
“Ciao.” Rossi was behind him. “Let’s go,” he said giving a sharp shove on Wolf’s back.
They walked quietly for three or four minutes. Wolf could hear Cezar’s long stride and his energetic throat clearing, and Rossi’s shorter stride, breathing heavily from his mouth, maybe to withstand the pungent sewage smell that seeped from every other drain.
Down and down they continued along twisting and turning narrow streets. Of the few patrons they saw, only a few noticed what was happening as they passed. Those that did let out hushed whispers and turned with interest to watch the strange procession.
They came around a slight bend to Rossi’s Caribinieri Alpha Romeo.
They reached the door and Rossi turned to Wolf, “Put your hands behind your back.”
Wolf stopped and looked around, putting his hands on his hips.
Rossi raised his hand in a fluid motion, pointing his suppressed Beretta at the side of Wolf’s face. “I said put your hands behind your back.”
Wolf narrowed his eyes. “It was you who killed my brother.”
Two gargantuan hands gripped his wrists and shoved him up against the side of the car. Steel handcuffs clamped hard and tight.
Wolf lashed his right heel up and back with as much strength as he could muster, then turned around.
Cezar was doubled over on the ground grabbing both hands at his crotch.
Wolf smiled, and all went black.
Chapter 45
Cold water slammed his face, forcing underneath his eyelids. He sat up straight, sucking in a hard breath, blinking and wincing in pain.
“Ancora!”
Another cold explosion hit his face, forcing him upward into a wide mouthed inhale. He shook the water away and opened his eyes in hard blinks.
A bright halogen light on a pole was set up in front of him, shining directly in his face. He squinted hard, turning his head back and forth hard, desperately trying to figure out what was happening. There was a guy sitting cross-legged against a wall to his immediate right. He lowered a bloody towel that was pressed against his nose, revealing a rueful grin.
Wolf nodded with furrowed brow. It was the guy he tackled in the garage earlier.
He looked to the right of the strange sitting man, recognizing the clipboards on the wall, and the door. He was back in the Albastru Pub garage.
The light shifted upwards towards the ceiling, allowing him to look straight ahead. Rossi was lounging on a chair with crossed legs, smoking a cigarette.
Wolf coughed lightly, lungs itching from the smoke. “Jesus, everyone’s always smoking in this country.”
Rossi took a long drag and smiled, but it was different than Wolf was accustomed to. His face had changed, a relaxed malicious look replacing the friendly disposition.
“You should have stayed home, Offi
cer Wolf.” He didn’t blink.
Wolf did a double take to his left. A dead guy’s body lay on a sprawled out piece of clear plastic. Nose to chest, he was caked with dark maroon dried blood stains. There was a neat hole in his head, and he lay in a large pool of brighter red blood. A pool that, upon closer study, was still spreading slowly. Wolf recognized the man, but couldn’t place where he knew him from.
His head pounded. Wolf furrowed his brow and looked back at Rossi, a movement that sent a sharp pain through his head. “It’s Sergeant Wolf, dickhead.”
Rossi was still looking at Wolf, now with wide-eyed amusement. “Oh. I am sorry.” He pointed to the body on the floor. “The man you murdered tonight.”
Wolf looked again at the body, then back to Rossi.
“The man who also murdered you, I’m sorry to say.” He took another drag of his cigarette.
Wolf’s head pounded. Leaning forward to shake the cobwebs, a dizzy spell hit him hard, and he began to free fall forward. Subconsciously Wolf assumed he was somehow fastened to the chair, but there was just a pair of steel cuffs on his wrists.
Rossi caught him. “Whoa, attento, Officer Wolf!” He helped him back into the chair with a lift. “I guess I should not have hit you so hard, you are not doing so well.”
Wolf remembered the pistol in his face. The side street. Being escorted out at gunpoint by Cezar. The walk. Kicking Cezar in the balls. The phone calls. Wolf smiled at the memory of Cezar buckled over on his side on the damp alley street.
Rossi sat back and returned the smile with a tilt of his head. “What is it…Sergeant Wolf?”
Wolf’s smile vanished. “I’m going to kill you, Rossi,” he said. “You were the one who killed my brother. I’m going to kill you.”
Rossi inhaled sharply and sat back, launching into a lazy overhead stretch with his arms. “I don’t think so, Officer Wolf. Just a few more minutes now, and you’ll be dead.” He smacked his lips and crossed his arms.