“For peanuts,” said Brenda. “In England we say ‘For peanuts’.”
Salvatore took a few moments to digest this, and then nodded. “Yes: for a few peanuts and olives.” He smiled. He could see they were mellowing.
“So,” said Chrissie. “We give you this memory stick, and then what? You give us a fiver apiece and say ‘Thank you’?”
“No,” cried Salvatore. “You are now part of our production team – a very important part. It was always a bit of a problem that it was down to me and Fabio to meet with these people. They are very important contacts, and I have my limitations. I will set up the meetings and you can do the negotiating. Italian men like to deal with beautiful women. Also, the fact you are English will give us a global face. We will appear to be serious players. It gives everything a higher profile.”
“And what’s in it for us?” asked Chrissie.
“When money changes hands you will receive 5 per cent of that investment. You will be named as co-producers of the film, with full title credits and a percentage of profits. When we premiere you will be guests of honour.”
“We’re in,” said Chrissie.
“Hold on a minute,” said Brenda. “We get hijacked by some nobody Italian, who comes out with the most absurd rubbish I’ve ever heard – and who wants us to get involved in what’s probably some scam. We need to check this out. We need to check you out, Salvatore, or whatever your real name is. No. We’ll get back to you. Call us next week … Now drive us home.”
Salvatore looked at the floor.
“Now what?” asked Brenda.
Salvatore sighed and looked up. “When Fabio was captured he was put under a lot of pressure. They wanted to know where the USB was, and eventually he had to tell the truth. One of their men is part of our side, and he let us know about Chrissie McGuire. So then we found out that you had the lists, but so did our enemies. If I’m in Liverpool … then so are they. I suppose they could be waiting at your address.”
“Then we go there. We give them this memory stick, and to hell with you and Fabio and your so-called film-producing,” said Brenda, sharply.
“It’s up to you,” replied Salvatore. “But they will give you nothing, whereas we are offering you a piece of the whole thing. It is incredible. But if you are with us, then you cannot talk to our enemies. We must go, right now, to London. You will be guests of my family, and we will make plans. You will become rich. You will meet film stars and many famous people. Your lives will change forever.”
“I know what you’re thinking, Chrissie,” said Brenda. “But just look at it sensibly. We meet this clown – who offers us fame and fortune – and ten minutes later we’re letting him take us to God knows where, with nothing but a car full of dirty holiday clothes and some ridiculous promise of becoming film producers. It’s laughable.”
“You know I can’t think sensibly, Brenda,” replied Chrissie.
“Oh, you’re hopeless,” said an exasperated Brenda. “What do you think, Megan?”
Megan was quite calm. “What were we coming home to? Our money has almost run out, and it was down to the job centre on Monday with very little to look forward to. I’m with Chrissie. These random events are what we are all about. Remember … power to the sisters.”
Brenda was far from convinced. “How do we even know there is a USB stick?”
“Well, let’s find out,” said Chrissie, and got out of the car and opened up the tailgate. She dragged out her suitcase and opened it up, right in the middle of the pavement. She searched below a selection of assorted tops and shorts and pulled out the beach bag. She felt inside, and then produced a red USB data stick. She closed the suitcase and bundled it back into the estate car. She jumped into the passenger seat and held up the USB.
“Well, at least this bit’s true,” she said.
Brenda grabbed the USB and put it into the zip compartment of her handbag. “I’m hanging on to this. It could be that as soon as they get their hands on it then we are surplus to requirements. So at the first sign of trouble I’ll make sure it gets damaged beyond repair. You hear that, Salvatore?”
“Yes, miss. I understand. But I promise you will not be harmed. In two days we will begin to meet with the investors and you will see everything coming together.”
“So are we all agreed?” asked Chrissie.
“Yes, okay,” replied Brenda and Megan together, and then a second later Salvatore also agreed. Brenda shot him a withering glance and he looked apologetic.
“London, here we come,” shouted Chrissie.
“One moment, please,” said Salvatore. “I need to call my uncle so that he can prepare for your arrival.” Salvatore called a number on his phone but it didn’t ring. “I need a better signal,” he said, and got out of the car. He walked a few yards up the street and tried again, and this time the girls could see he was talking to someone. He moved sideways so they couldn’t see his lips, and he spoke softly into the phone.
“Yes, Uncle, I can’t believe it. They fell for the movie story. I know you said it would work … I know. Yes … yes, that is why you are the boss. Okay, we are leaving now. See you later.”
Salvatore ran back to the car, and once inside he turned to face the girls. “My uncle is very excited. He says the movie is going to make us all millionaires, and that you are the key to everything.”
He smiled and drew the Mondeo away from the kerb, slipped into second gear, and swung a sharp U-turn. Then they were speeding away from the city of Liverpool, away from home turf and the security of friends and family. Now it was just the three of them … once more hurtling into the unknown.
Chapter Five
There had been three separate accidents on the M1 south, each closing two lanes and causing miles of standing traffic. Salvatore had decided to detour via the A14, Cambridge, and the M11. That hadn’t been much of a better journey but at least they had kept moving, and eventually they were nearing the end of the M11. Speed cameras restricting them to 50 mph were slowing them down, and the signs were now belonging to London.
Brenda glanced out of the window as they passed the North Circular east and west turnings. She gave an apprehensive shudder, but not because of the dangers that may lie ahead. This was London, and it always had that effect on her. It was big and impersonal. Parts of it were thrilling and exciting, but mostly it gave Brenda the heebie-jeebies.
Chrissie loved the hustle and bustle, and to Megan it was like coming back. From the age of five she was brought up in Bethnal Green. It hadn’t been a particularly happy childhood, and her first school just off the Mile End Road had felt like a penal sentence, but as she grew and became more accepted the East End did become home – for a while.
They followed the Docklands signs until the A13 and then continued towards the city. When they reached the Blackwall Tunnel interchanges they turned right. After a short distance Chrissie saw the sign for Tower Hamlets Town Hall where they turned into a series of one-way streets, eventually entering a back alley.
Halfway down the alley Salvatore stopped outside two huge solid metal doors. He rang his mobile and waited. Almost immediately the doors opened to reveal a car parking area. There were two cars and a van positioned there already, but there was still easily enough room for the Mondeo. Salvatore parked against a wall adorned with creeping ivy, and the gates automatically closed behind them.
The girls got out of the car and stretched. It had been a long day. It was only this morning they were boarding a plane in Naples – and now, nine hours later, via Liverpool and half the nation’s motorways – they were in what appeared to be a fortress in the middle of the East End of London. It was dark and the surrounding walls and metal gates seemed to envelope them. With no way out, and at the mercy of whoever controlled this place, they were now regretting this decision to come south. This was a stupid idea. Definitely the most stupid thing they had ever done.
The lights came on at the back of the house, and a door at the top of a flight of stone steps burs
t open. Even Chrissie closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. There was the sound of footsteps running towards them, and Chrissie felt hands gripping her upper arms. She opened her eyes and there, standing before her, was the most genial little man imaginable. His bald head shone like a beacon in the night and his snow-white, immaculately groomed moustache topped a row of equally white teeth.
“Hello, Uncle,” said Salvatore.
The man ignored him. “You poor girls,” he said. You must be weary. You need to sit … and eat. Mama has supper ready, and we will make coffee. Salvatore, bring in the bags. Please … follow me … follow me.”
He ushered the girls up the steps. Before them was a long corridor, decorated with thick red wallpaper and lined with several wall lights with coloured glass shades. It was like the entrance to a brothel, and once again they had grave reservations. Uncle squeezed past them and went to open the door at the end of the corridor. It felt like the crazy house on Blackpool Pleasure Beach, none of it seeming real and all of it seeming wrong, but they kept going.
Uncle opened the door, and went directly into a large room with beautiful furniture and exquisite decor. It was perhaps a little too fussy, in that old-fashioned Italian sort of way, but there was no doubting it: it was all quality.
“Please, be seated,” said Uncle. “I will see how Mama is doing.” and he scampered off into another room.
“What do you think?” asked Chrissie.
“It’s too early to say,” replied Megan.
Brenda simply shook her head. “I’m too tired to take it in.”
A noise from the corridor like an oncoming Tube train on the Central line heralded the entrance of Salvatore and two large suitcases. He placed them in the corner then trooped off again, muttering to himself. The girls looked at each other and smiled. They sat down and began to relax. After a few moments Salvatore returned with the final pieces of luggage.
“Hey, Salvatore,” whispered Chrissie “What’s your uncle’s name? We can’t keep calling him Uncle, can we?”
“Well, actually everyone does call him Uncle,” said Salvatore, “but his name is Luigi.”
Chrissie was about to reply when Luigi came in hand in hand with an elderly lady with a perfectly round body.
“Ciao,” said the lady.
“Ciao,” they replied.
Luigi stood to attention and addressed the girls very formally. “I am Luigi and this is my wife of forty-two years, Mama.”
Mama took a bow.
“This is my nephew, Salvatore.” Luigi waved his hand as if presenting Salvatore at court. “I know you have already met the boy, but don’t let that affect your judgement. I promise he does grow on you.”
“And he’s single, by the way,” said Mama.
Salvatore looked uncomfortable, and Luigi laughed.
Mama threw her hands up in a sign of mock frustration and then turned to the girls.
“Please take your seats, and I will serve supper.”
Luigi led them to a long mahogany hardwood table at the back of the room. This was a family table. This table had seen a thousand get-togethers and been host to more meals than the breakfast bar at Euston Station. It was already set with plates, cutlery – and, of course, wine glasses. Two bottles of red and two bottles of white sat like the Household Cavalry around the huge place mat in the centre of the table.
The smell of fresh cooking drifted through the open door and the girls realised how ravenous they were. They wanted a good hearty meal, and they were not to be disappointed. Mama didn’t do starters. She carried in the biggest casserole dish any of them had ever seen and sat it on the place mat. She lifted the lid and steam rose like autumn mist. Mama served them all with a mountain of pollo al forno, then hurried off to bring in a tower of garlic bread.
“Enjoy,” said Luigi. And they did.
After the meal, the four bottles of wine, and a wonderful choca mocha dessert, they retired back to the comfort of the living room chairs. They had talked and laughed over dinner. Italian hospitality does create an ambience and a feel-good factor, and they had readily fallen into the mood.
No one wanted to disrupt this feeling but someone had to, and eventually Chrissie asked the question. “That was a lovely meal, Luigi, but you need to tell us what happens next. How are we to know that all this is for real?”
“Things are going to happen very quickly,” said Luigi. “In two days from now we should have three meetings arranged. I will brief you on the people you will be seeing, and then it’s up to you. You do the negotiations. Everything should be very straightforward. These people are coming to give you money. They want to invest. You will see how easy it is, and later you will see the movie begin. We need to take this day by day. You have two days’ rest, and then it begins … Now the USB, please,” and he held out his hand. “You need to give me the data, and I can then make some calls …”
Brenda looked into his eyes and tried to read them but all she got was a scene from Forrest Gump: all innocence and sincerity.
Chrissie intervened. “Oh … give it to him, Bren. We’re here now, so we may as well roll with it.”
Brenda tried once more to look into Luigi’s soul and then, realising she was squinting and probably looking ridiculous, picked up her handbag and took out the USB. She handed it to Luigi, who grasped it like it was the key to the gates of heaven.
“I shall start tonight,” he said. “I will decide which contacts you shall meet first, and I will arrange everything. They will be the ones most interested. They will come to you with open arms.”
Still grasping the USB, he hurried from the room.
Salvatore smiled. “Come, I will show you to your rooms.”
The hearty meal and the wine had taken effect, and the flight of stairs seemed like the north face of the Eiger. They washed and changed into the cleanest of their holiday leftovers and fell into bed. They were weary, and sleep was calling. They let their minds and bodies follow the piper’s tune to soothing relief, knowing that sleep is good … as long as you wake up in the morning.
Chapter Six
Two days had passed since the girls’ arrival in London, and absolutely nothing had happened. They had slept, they had eaten, they had watched TV … and they had eaten, they had played charades with Mama … and they had eaten. If they didn’t get out of this house soon they would be forming a Roly Polys tribute act.
Chrissie was just about to say, “Let’s go down the pub,” when Luigi came into the room. He closed the door and glanced around, as if informers were everywhere. He ushered the girls on to the settee and pulled his chair to face them. He looked earnestly into their eyes, and they looked as earnestly as they could back. He was giving his opening line the full build-up. All it needed was a drum roll. He put his hands on his knees and said, “Tomorrow it begins.”
“Thank God for that,” said Chrissie.
Luigi continued. “You will have three meetings. I will tell you who these people are. Firstly, at 10 a.m., you will meet with Del’Amoro.” He paused. “You do know who Del’Amoro is?”
His question was met by three blank expressions.
“I am in disbelief,” cried Luigi. “He is the biggest recording artist in Italy. For ten years now he has been having hit records and TV shows. Mama loves him. Don’t you, Mama?”
Mama put her hand on her heart and closed her eyes. This was a definite yes.
“Del’Amoro will give you a briefcase. Simply take the case and leave.”
“And I suppose this case is full of money?” said Brenda.
“Exactly,” smiled Luigi.
“Shouldn’t we give him some sort of receipt?” asked Megan.
“Our word is our receipt. Men of honour are not bound by pieces of paper,” Luigi spat in disgust.
“Okay,” said Chrissie. “So what kind of questions are we likely to be asked?”
“There should be no questions – but if there are, then they will be things like, ‘Will you want any more money?’ To
which you answer, ‘No. This is the agreement, and we keep to it 100 per cent.’ He may say, ‘What guarantees do I have?’ Again you reply, ‘Our word is our guarantee.’ If he persists, look him in the eye and say, ‘It’s up to you. You know what is at stake here. Do you want to give us the money or not?’ And I promise you he will hand over the briefcase and there will be no more questions.”
“It’s going to be that easy?” Brenda asked dubiously.
“Yes,” said Luigi.
“Then I keep coming back to the same thing. Why do you need us? A trained monkey could do it. Salvatore could do it.”
“A trained monkey, maybe. Salvatore … no,” said Luigi. “And do you know why? Because we humans talk too much. Once someone says they want to buy, shut up and do the deal. Every word spoken from that moment is a negative. You will know when the deal is done. You are easy on the eye and you don’t need to sell. Del’Amoro will be captivated. He will want to do business. He will thank you for taking his money. So, take the money, say thank you, and go.”
“Okay,” said Chrissie. “Who are the other two investors?”
“The second is Signor Franco. He is a plastic surgeon. He has private clinics in Rome and Milan, where he performs cosmetic operations for the very rich. He will also have a bag, and the procedure will be the same. The possible questions and your answers will be the same. Then lastly we have a priest, Bishop Alselinus. He is representing the church.”
“The church invests in movies?” asked Megan.
“The church has great wealth, and fingers in many pies. Do not be reluctant to take money from them,” said Luigi. “After each meeting you will walk away to a designated Tube station. Do not detour or pause. You will make your way to the platform for your next destination, and Salvatore will be on that platform. Do not acknowledge him. As you are about to enter the train let him take the bag from you, and then move away.”
See Naples and Die Page 3