See Naples and Die

by Ray Cleveland

  “Drop your weapons or I kill the girl,” he shouted, and then added, “Vialli, you look ridiculous anyway.”

  Roberto thought about it and then, along with Chrissie, dropped his gun.

  “You’re getting soft,” spat Luca. “Why should you bother about this girl …? You stupid man … Now I can kill you all.” And he put the gun to the back of Megan’s head. She felt the barrel against her skull and closed her eyes, waiting for the end.

  A loud crack rang out across the field, echoing as it drifted away. It was the sound of a single gunshot, and Chrissie’s heart stopped beating and time stood still. She felt gravity disappear, and her limbs lose their substance. She saw Megan still standing with eyes squeezed tight, and she saw Luca Scarpone fall to the ground.

  It was all too much. Her mind couldn’t comprehend what her eyes were seeing. She was going into meltdown when walking towards them – only twenty feet away – was Elliott Chan, a rifle by his side. Megan ran to him and they embraced. A crescendo of sirens hit the air. They were coming from every direction, as if the entire English police force was en route.

  Chrissie was slowly coming out of shock, and saw Roberto sitting on the floor frantically trying to pick up his gun with hands that wouldn’t work. His eyes were burning as he looked towards the aeroplane. Zico Scarpone was already there. He rushed up the steps and then, after throwing his gun to the ground, he used both hands to topple the steps and close the aircraft door. He saw the pilot – who was waiting, as he had been told to do.

  “Take off, quickly,” shouted the panting Zico.

  The aircraft remained still.

  “Get this thing in the air. Now.”

  The pilot turned and took his cap off. The face of Luigi stared back at the wild Mafia don.

  “Do you remember the Multari family?” he asked.

  “What?” said Zico.

  “Do you remember the Multari family?” Luigi repeated.

  Zico went for his gun, but he’d let it drop to the ground as he heaved the steps away. No matter: he would simply break this little man’s neck. He took a step forward, and was halted as a bullet hit him in the stomach. He staggered backward, and Luigi stood up and advanced towards him.

  Once again he asked, “Do you remember the Multari family?”

  Zico looked puzzled, as if he was trying his best to remember, but the name meant nothing. Then rage took over and adrenalin temporarily conquered the pain. He surged forward, but Luigi shot him twice more in the stomach and the chest. Zico fell backward and crashed to the floor. Luigi stood over him. He was about to ask the question again, but he knew it was futile. This crazy, mad dog before him couldn’t even recall his victims: they were of so little significance. Well, at least Luigi could remind him.

  “Seventeen years ago you murdered an entire family: the family Multari. My brother was a construction worker who wouldn’t sell you his business … and for that you shot his wife and children, and crucified him in his own back garden.”

  Luigi saw a glimmer of remembrance in Zico’s tiny round eyes and a frown cross his furrowed brow.

  “You remember, don’t you?” he softly asked.

  “Yes,” said Zico, and spat out in scorn.

  “It’s good that you remember,” said Luigi, and carried on shooting at point-blank range until no more bullets were left in his gun – and even then he pulled the trigger a dozen more times.

  Outside the police had arrived, over a hundred of them, and Elliott Chan was about to enter the underground bunker.

  “You’ll find a dead body in there,” said Chrissie. “I saw Zico shoot the man in the head.”

  Elliott nodded and slid down the dirt slope, followed by a horde of officers. With dozens of torches the bunker was brighter than daylight. Elliott almost ran to the end of the room and opened the door, and there was the gold … sparkling bars, neatly stacked. It was an exhilarating sight.

  He returned to the larger room and looked around the floor. The place was wall-to-wall policemen, but he was sure there was no body lying there. Chrissie must have been mistaken.

  Roberto’s hands had been freed, and he’d been kissed several times by Chrissie. Brenda had been lifted on to a stretcher. She’d been hit in the shoulder and had passed out as she fell. Armando was also still alive, but in a critical condition. Beppe was dead – along with the two Armenians, Caesar Magri, Carlito Chiellini, three enforcers, and Luca Scarpone. Claudio would also later be found dead, lying on top of another Armenian assassin.

  It turned out that Megan had been keeping in touch with Elliott Chan almost from their first meeting. She’d trusted him when everyone else had decided he was up to no good, and they had developed more than a professional bond. That he had proved to be her saviour was a fortunate touch that cemented her already nurtured feelings, and she wanted to be with him more than anything.

  She had given him the location of the meeting, and he was already hidden in the trees when they arrived. The police cars had to be some miles away in case they were spotted by the approaching plane, and only when the Scarpones landed did he make the call to bring them in. His heart was in his mouth as he witnessed the gun battle, and his relief was transcendental as he saw Megan dive into the Mercedes – his pain only to return as he saw the girls go back to help Brenda. That’s when he made his way across the field to be on hand when Luca Scarpone was about to take everything away from him. He knew he would only have one shot and he dropped down, rested his arm on his knee, and steadied the rifle. His aim was true, and good triumphed over evil.

  The ironic tragedy of the day was known only to Roberto. Against the Armenians and the Scarpones they had no chance, but the fact that Caesar had believed Tigran Sadorian had been responsible for the attempt on Angelo’s life had turned them against each other – so inadvertently Tigran had, ironically, been their saviour.

  The tragic part was that he really didn’t have anything to do with it. When visiting Angelo in the hospital he had told Roberto that he’d seen the face of his attacker, but it was not the Armenian. It was Roman Vasalknis, who was the lover of one of their hits. He hated Angelo, and had stalked him until the moment was right. Then he probably ran in terror, and is still running now.

  It had been a bloody day, but for those who survived there was at least some blessed relief and even reward.

  Elliott was already looking ahead to a future with Megan, and had the added bonus of being the hero who found the gold and would forever be remembered for it.

  Luigi had taken his revenge and could go back to living a normal life. He had freed the souls of his departed family from their chains of injustice, and nirvana beckoned.

  Roberto had details of every aspect of the Scarpone empire, and that was unbelievable knowledge. The possibilities were immense.

  The girls had been set free from their nightmare and, although nothing would ever be the same again after being part of so much death, they’d come through it. But they’d been shown another world, and being normal again was going to be hard. Chrissie knew that Roberto was going to ask her to go back to Naples … It was something she was seriously considering.

  To be saved from the insane schemes of Zico Scarpone and his assassins would ultimately save hundreds – if not thousands – of innocent lives. Some good men had been lost, but freedom always comes with a price. It could even be said that the greatest winner in all of this was humanity.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Four days later Chrissie, Megan, and Roberto were sitting at Brenda’s bedside. She was well on the way to a full recovery, and was to be discharged later that day. She wouldn’t play tennis for a while, but other than a painful shoulder and a graze to her forehead she was as good as new.

  Armando was in the next room, and out of the worst of it. He had been hit three times: one bullet lodged in his rib cage, which had caused internal complications, and he had two more injuries that had broken bones and torn flesh. But he would live, and this would become just another line on h
is CV.

  They mourned the deaths of Beppe and Claudio but, as Roberto kept reminding them,

  “This was the path they chose. The Mafia lose men every year. It was the nature of things, and everyone accepted the risks. They will be honoured, and their families looked after. In war there have to be casualties, and this war had been a long time coming … but now it is over, and a period of peace will follow.”

  As Chrissie suspected, Roberto asked her to accompany him back to Naples. She reminded him of his ongoing rhetoric about wanting to be a legitimate businessman … How he would like nothing better than to be free of the shackles of crime … And although she knew deep inside what his answer would be it still disappointed her.

  Roberto had pleaded with her to understand. He had been entrusted with this incredible opportunity to take the Scarpone businesses and manage them in a better and more just way. Angelo Tardelli was to become his chief executive in England, and would indeed run things in a right and proper manner. Other interests, however, were still very much outside of the law. Someone had to keep them going. The structure of things had to be maintained: the status quo could not be tampered with.

  If he didn't do it then another Zico Scarpone would emerge. And that could not be allowed to happen. He felt trapped once more – this time because of the knowledge he had been given. If only he wasn’t the only one with the Scarpone data stick … Then he would become legitimate, for sure …

  Chrissie listened to all this with a sad heart. She kissed his forehead, and along with Brenda they made plans to return to Liverpool. Megan was remaining in London with Elliott Chan, so only the two of them would walk down the steps from Lime Street station – just as her vision had shown.

  Roberto tried once more to convince her to go with him, but it kept coming back to his role in overseeing the huge Scarpone crime syndicates. He was earnest enough in his desire for a lawful side and the arrangements with Angelo would be 100 per cent above board, but he couldn’t step away from the unsavoury element. As he kept repeating, it was a curse that he was the only one who had this information …

  Chapter Thirty

  It was a glorious day in Wimbledon. The ladies were in summer dresses and the men in shorts. The high street was still polluted, but the sun lifted everyone’s spirits and cheery smiles abounded. Mrs Grimshaw came out of the post office and felt the warm rays against her face. How best to spend the day? She would go to the park, she decided. That would be nice … feed the swans and relax. It had been a funny few weeks with the girls and their mysterious activities. Then just as she was beginning to get used to having them around they disappeared. They hadn’t had much luggage, but what they did have was just left in the rooms. She wondered what on earth they had been mixed up in. It had to be something. Well, at least she’d kept to her side of things. She lifted the small postage receipt and read it one more time:

  To the Chief Prosecutor of Naples – first class.

  She knew it contained a USB data stick but had no idea of its significance, only that she was keeping her promise. The girls had said, “If you don’t hear from us within seven days, post the envelope,” and that’s what she’d done. She wondered if it would change things for anyone and hoped with all her heart that if it did, it would be for the good – especially for Chrissie McGuire, Megan Penhaligon, and Brenda Smith.

  Epilogue

  Twelve weeks after the shoot-out in the Lincolnshire field a truck carrying refrigerators waited at the cross-Channel checkpoint just outside Folkestone. The driver was biding his time and waiting for his turn. He was experienced enough to know that you can’t rush these things. It was a little uncomfortable in the heat but he had air-con, and the CD player was halfway through The Best of Talking Heads, so he was happy enough. He was happier than his cargo – not the refrigerators part of the cargo, but a man he’d brought into the country almost a year ago. Now he was returning, in the same cramped space in the false floor of the truck.

  “It must be hell in there,” thought the driver, but the man looked like he could survive anything. He remembered him well. He was a rough character with an air of menace, and the driver shuddered. He didn’t know why he was going home, but he was sure that England would be better off without him. A man like that would always be a problem, so let him be someone else’s problem … But as this thought flashed across his mind he knew it was wishful thinking, and that England had not seen the last of this man they called Sadorian.