The footsteps stopped by the door, and he could imagine his son shaking. His eyes fixed on the entrance in anticipation … and then the stranger strode towards him. He had no time to register shock or surprise before a cold, steel object was pressed against his temple.
He looked up at the intruder’s eyes, and they terrified him. Unaware that he was even doing it, he dropped the wine glass and gripped the side of his chair. He was about to speak when the stranger beat him to it.
“Don’t say a word.”
Walter closed his mouth quickly.
“It’s very disappointing that your lover boy can’t make it. I had a good ending planned for both of you. And it wasn’t much fun waiting in the hall closet for the past two hours listening to you torment the boy, but at least that showed me what kind of man you are and that I am going to enjoy this night. You know, at one point I thought the boy was going to do it for me … but I’m glad he didn’t.”
Walter knew what was coming, and forced himself to scowl into the face of his assailant. Tigran Sadorian scowled back, and then pulled the trigger.
Chapter Eleven
Brenda Smith sat up in bed and stretched. She glanced around the room. It was all decorative curtains, flowered wallpaper, ornate furnishings, and thick patterned carpet … and she loved it.
They had booked into a small guest house in a tree-lined cul-de-sac about half a mile outside of Wimbledon centre. It was a detached four-bedroomed property that had been converted into a business to make two double rooms, one twin room, and one single, with the doubles having full en suite facilities. Chrissie and Megan had taken the twin, with Brenda having one en suite double and Bruno the other. The single room was being refurbished and so between them they were occupying all the available space, which was perfect.
The guest house was run by a Mr and Mrs Grimshaw, who had decided to transform their home fifteen years ago. The plan was for Eric Grimshaw to take early retirement from his job in the City, and then supplement the household income by letting out the bedrooms. They built an extension on the back of the house which became their living quarters, and all in all it had worked out fine.
Everyone met downstairs for breakfast at eight, and it felt like home from home. Sitting in someone’s dining room eating a hearty breakfast and listening to Capital Radio made all this Mafia madness seem like a bad dream.
Chrissie picked up the teapot and, as she pointed the spout at Bruno, said, “More tea, vicar?” Bruno didn’t answer, so she poured him a cup anyway. “I feel like Mrs Fancypants, coming down from the Cotswolds for Wimbledon fortnight … here to see our brave boys and girls go out in the opening match – then spend a few days shopping and sightseeing until it’s time for the ladies’ and men’s semi-finals and final … super!”
“I’ve been thinking,” said Brenda.
“Oh, have you, darling?” said Chrissie, still in character. “Why, that’s absolutely spiffing. Well done.”
Brenda held up the USB stick. “We still don’t know exactly what’s on this thing. So I suggest we go to the nearest library or Internet cafe and have a good look and make a few copies, because I hate being the only keyholder.”
“Oh, but you really are such a brilliant keyholder,” said Chrissie.
“Give it a rest,” snapped Brenda.
“Okay, Mrs Trumpington,” said Chrissie in her normal voice. “That’s a good idea, by the way. Only I think the copy we make shouldn’t be the whole thing. We should take off a few files that give a flavour of what’s on there, and show this version to Vialli. It’s too early to be giving everything away. If he clears off then we’re left up the creek without a paddle – or memory stick. We give him a taste to whet his appetite for more, and then somehow make sure he keeps his side of the bargain before we part with the original.”
Megan leant forward. “And we should put the original in a safety deposit box somewhere. It’s crazy to carry it around. That way, even if we are captured, they can only find a key – and will still need us. Until they actually get their hands on the entire data we are still alive.”
“Good one, Megan,” said Chrissie. “What do you think, Bruno?” She was deliberately trying to bring the priest into the conversation because he appeared troubled, and she needed to know what the problem was.
“Um … sorry, what did you say?” he stuttered.
“What’s the matter, Bruno?” asked Brenda.
Bruno looked at Brenda with sad puppy dog eyes. “I’m leaving,” he said. “I can’t help you any more. You need to do the deal with Vialli, and save yourselves. To be honest … they won’t pursue me, as they will you. I only betrayed them by helping you, which means I’m on the death list – but I don’t possess the memory stick, and so I have a chance. Your way out is to negotiate. My way out is to go to Ecuador.”
“Ecuador?” they all said.
“Why not? I have a friend there, and he will hide me. If you are successful in bringing down the Scarpones then I may be able to return – but if not, South America is not so bad. Better a life in Ecuador than a grave in Milan.”
They could see his point. “We’re going to miss you, Bruno.”
“And I am going to miss you,” he said. “We will split the money. I will take one quarter, and you have the rest.”
Chrissie looked at Brenda and Megan and they knew what she was thinking, and nodded. She held Bruno’s hand. “You take the three-quarters. You’re going to need at least that much to start a new life. We’ll have plenty with what’s left. This is all going to come to a head in the next few days – and we’ll either get our old lives back or we’ll be brown bread, so as long as we’ve got enough money until then … In any case, this money did belong to the church – so call it redundancy pay. In fact, if you think about it, it does actually belong to you.”
Then they held hands in the centre of the table until Bruno got up and left. They waited in the dining room until he came back downstairs and walked him to the door. Last hugs and kisses were exchanged, and he set off down the cul-de-sac. When he got to the end of the road he stopped and looked left and right. Chrissie shouted his name, and he turned. “Ecuador is that way,” she said, pointing to the right. He waved, and then he was gone.
They closed the door and sat in the small front room, which was now a guests’ lounge area. The leaded-glass bay window looked out on to the road outside, and then beyond that on to the rows of never-ending rooftops that stretched across this part of South West London. The cosy armchairs were better than a Thai massage, and Mrs Grimshaw’s guest house felt like sanctuary. It was a big scary world out there, and it had become a whole lot scarier in these past few days.
They were all lost in contemplation when Mrs Grimshaw popped her head around the door.
“Hello, there. Would anyone like a cup of tea? I’m just going to make one.”
“No, thank you,” said Brenda. “We have to go out soon. Would you happen to know if there’s a library or cafe nearby that has public computers we can use?”
“I do,” said Mrs Grimshaw. “Of course, you can always use that one.” And she pointed to an office desk in the corner – and there, plain as day, was a twenty-inch monitor with tower and printer underneath.
“How come we didn’t see that?” Brenda said to no one in particular.
“It’s because she’s really Mary Poppins. Isn’t that right, Mrs G?” said Chrissie.
Mrs Grimshaw laughed. “Far from it. It still takes me four hours a day to wash and clean everything around here.”
“Trouble is,” said Brenda, “we need to copy something from a USB stick, and we don’t have any new ones. So we’ll have to go and buy some before we can even use the computer.”
“That’s all right, dear. How many do you need?”
“Two would be enough,” said Brenda.
“Well, if you look in that drawer I’m sure there’re three or four. I think they were £5.50 each. Take what you need, and I’ll add it to your bill.”
&nbs
p; “That’s great. Thank you very much,” said Brenda sincerely.
“That’s what we’re here for. Now, then, if you don’t have to go out … would you like that pot of tea?”
“Yes, please,” they all said, delighted that they didn’t have to venture back out on to the mean streets just yet.
Brenda booted up the computer and waited for everything to load up. She put the USB into its slot and waited. The options came on screen … Would you like to view the files? She clicked, and dozens and dozens of files came into view … Trouble was, they were all in Italian.
“Oh, shit,” said Chrissie. “Quick … let’s run after Bruno.”
“He’ll be well gone,” said Megan.
“What about Mary Poppins? She’s magic. I bet she speaks Italian.”
Chrissie seemed serious, and they were beginning to have concerns about her. At that moment Mrs Grimshaw came in with the tea. “You can speak Italian, can’t you?” said Chrissie confidently.
The proprietor was taken aback. “No, sorry. I’m okay with French, if that helps.”
Chrissie looked incredibly disappointed, and simply shook her head. The tea tray was put on to a narrow coffee table, and Mrs Grimshaw left to begin her daily cleaning regime.
“We could google the words,” said Megan.
“That will take forever,” replied Brenda. “And we’ve got maybe two hours before we need to leave.”
“Then we’d better get on with it,” said Chrissie, coming out of her Mary Poppins bubble. “We can’t read the actual files, but we can try and work out the file names. We pick a few at random, and then at eleven o’ clock we decide which ones to copy and just pray they contain the information Roberto is looking for.”
For the next two hours they scrutinised the different names, some of which had words they recognised – but mostly it was a painstaking exercise in Internet translation, word by word.
Eleven o’clock arrived and they’d only managed to decipher fourteen folder names, half of them simply saying ‘number one’ or ‘amended’, and the date. They could contain masses of relevant information but, then again, it could be a Christmas card list. They had no way of knowing. The memory stick held over 400 folders, so what they’d achieved was only a drop in the ocean.
They copied the whole fourteen and threw in another one for the pot. Without any knowledge of what the folders actually contained they were taking a massive gamble. If Roberto decided they had nothing to offer then he would return to Italy, and they would lose the only chance they had of getting out of this. On the other hand, if they gave him all the data – and even if it was exactly what he wanted – he could still leave them alone, and at the mercy of the Scarpone hit men. It was best to keep to the plan. As long as they held on to the original they still had something to bargain with.
Before logging out of the computer Brenda found one more name and address. It was the address of the chief prosecutor of Naples. She wrote the address on an envelope taken from a stationery pack in the desk. Then made a copy of the entire data and placed it inside. “I’m giving this to Mrs Grimshaw with instructions to post it if she doesn’t hear from us within seven days. If we’re still around we’ll come and get it back … If not, then at least we might get some revenge and put a nail or two in the Scarpone coffin.”
Then they hurriedly put a few things together and ordered a taxi to take them to the station. Chrissie tucked a bundle of money into the snakeskin-effect shoulder bag she’d bought the previous evening, and Brenda put the two USB sticks into a small zip pocket in her denim skirt.
As the taxi manoeuvred its way along the busy streets Chrissie, Brenda, and Megan gazed out of their respective windows at the cross section of people passing by: thousands of individuals, all with their own stories to tell and crosses to bear. Sometimes life can be harsh and fate has a habit of putting you in the wrong place at the wrong time – they certainly knew about that – but even though it’s a crazy mixed-up world they still wanted to be a part of it. They didn’t want to die on some dirty London street. They didn’t want to die at all. To try and mask these thoughts they each focused on a happy occasion from the past – a good memory they could take with them if all this went wrong.
The journey on the Tube was just as surreal. It was as if they were ghosts walking among the living, unable to communicate or ask for help. People entered and left the train, and station names flashed by like a dream sequence from a Fellini movie.
They arrived at Victoria, and it was an effort to stand up. They went into the main-line station and looked for left luggage, then bought a safety deposit key. Maybe it was talking to the customer services person or perhaps it was the cooler air around the station, but that weird feeling was leaving and they could feel the floor beneath their feet and the oxygen in their lungs. They felt whole instead of fragmented, and solid instead of transparent. They had the strength of mind and body back again – and that was good, because they were going to need both very soon.
Thirty-five minutes later they were exiting the Tube at Piccadilly Circus. Chrissie remarked how her granny used to say that if you stand in this part of London long enough, sooner or later, everyone in the world will pass by. How some Papua New Guinean pygmy saved up enough money to get here is mystifying – and why he would want to even more mystifying.
They walked down Shaftesbury Avenue like any other tourists and paused at the KFC as if contemplating whether to eat in or cross over the road to Chinatown and have an oriental version of Chicken Zinger. Then they checked out the Queen’s Theatre and paused to look at photographs of the cast.
“I remember him from Home and Away,” said Chrissie. “He’s come a long way from Summer Bay. Maybe there is something in this Piccadilly Circus thing after all.”
They turned into Wardour Street and then right into Old Compton Street. The bar Chrissie had suggested was on the right, and as they walked past the gay sex shops and bondage clothing displays it suddenly crossed her mind that perhaps this wasn’t the best place to meet with the head of a Mafia family. They didn’t like to be disrespected, and this could be interpreted as a slight on Roberto’s masculinity. These were touchy people, and had to be handled carefully. Plus they were foreign, so who knows how they think?
They arrived at the bar with its black and pink facade and stepped inside. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust and when they did it was only a slight adjustment, because the exterior decor had been carried on in throughout the interior. The entire room was black walls, black ceiling, and black tables and chairs, with a few pink scatter cushions thrown about and hundreds of tiny lights everywhere. It was like gazing from the window of the starship Enterprise or stepping on to some cheap stage in a northern social club, depending on your point of view.
The place was deserted, except for a tall muscular man in tight black trousers and pink T-shirt behind the bar. Seated in a booth along the far wall – near the Andromeda Galaxy – was a tall, suave Italian. Standing one on either side of him were Armando and the man with no name. The girls made their way across the darkened room until they were three feet away, and then Armando frisked them. It was done quickly and expertly, and Brenda felt him pause slightly as he felt the USB in her skirt pocket. She was relieved they had decided to only bring the short version.
“Please sit,” said the Italian, and he motioned to the chairs around the table while he sat against the wall facing them. “Would you like a drink? Armando will be our waiter for the day.”
They didn’t want alcohol so asked for coffee, and Armando went to the bar. The man with no name moved to a table by the door and sat where he could see everyone as they came in. Armando returned with the coffee and two glasses of water. Chrissie looked at the water, and the Mafia man felt the need to explain. “The coffee in this country is shit.”
Chrissie looked up at him. “Like the ice cream.”
Armando narrowed his eyes and sat by his boss’s side.
“My name is Roberto Vialli,”
said the good-looking Italian. “And you are Chrissie, Brenda, and Megan.” As he said their names he looked each one in the eyes and smiled. He had a voice like hot chocolate, wholesome and warm, and it was easy to forget he was head of a deadly Mafia family.
“I know the story the priest told me, and I know what you said to Armando – and at first it all seemed intriguing, yet unlikely to be anything other than a trap. However, I know now for a fact that you are being pursued by the Scarpones and that you must have something very valuable that Zico wants back.”
“Does that mean you believe us?” asked Chrissie.
“It means I believe you 75 per cent,” said Roberto.
“And what can we do to convince you 100 per cent?”
Roberto looked at Brenda. “You need to give me the data stick,” and he held out his hand.
“Before I do that, Mr Vialli, you need to understand that we don’t completely trust you either. So the data I’m letting you see is only a small part of what we have. The original is locked in a deposit box. You can look at this, but we need guarantees of our safety before you get the rest.”
Then she took the USB from her pocket and passed it over. Roberto handed it to Armando, who produced a laptop from under the table and switched it on.
“While we wait,” smiled Roberto. “Tell me what you were doing in Naples.”
“We were on a cruise and spent a day there. That’s it, really,” said Chrissie.
“But I knew I would see you again,” he said.
Chrissie was confused. “Again …? I’ve never met you before.”
“We did not meet, but I have your face in here,” and he tapped his forehead. “You were in a car near the Port of Naples.”
See Naples and Die Page 8