Morning Colors

by Sharon Timm

  She stared over the bow of the boat at the darkening shapes of the city of Venice against the golden tapestry of clouds, painted by the setting sun.

  "Scendo qui" the Maresciallo said to the pilot.

  "What did you say?" Sam asked.

  "We will be getting off here." he replied.

  Sam looked around at the long pier lined with shops and bridges. She wasn't sure where she was. She felt her slight advantage slip away. "Where is here?" she demanded.

  "Relax!" he said holding both palms up in a gesture innocence. "You haven't eaten in hours. I have ruined your day. I am going to buy you dinner."

  "First. You could ask!" she ticked each statement off on her fingers. "Second. I'll buy my own dinner, thank you! Third...." she stopped and looked around. "Where is my bag?" She realized with horror that she hadn't seen her bag in hours. Everything was in there, her money, her ID card, her keys.

  "Your bag is safe back at headquarters. It is less than two blocks from here and if you insist, we can go there first, but I feel I owe you dinner. Will you accompany me?"

  He had turned on that prom-date charm again. As the boat bumped gently against the pier, he stepped ashore and offered his hand.

  Sam refused his help and pulled herself onto the landing. He turned and offered her his arm. She hesitated, but this time she took it. She was too tired to fight with this man any longer.

  The Chief of Police called out to the waiter at a restaurant. They were ushered in and seated before Sam could protest. The waiter offered espressos and Sam nodded gratefully. Coffee would help her collect her thoughts.

  She was determined to get some control back into this nightmarish relationship. She flashed her steely blue eyes at the handsome man across from her. "You obviously know my name," she said evenly. "What do I call you? I've thought of a couple of names but I'm sure you would not appreciate them."

  "Luca Danieli," he said ignoring her tone and the remark. He reached his right hand toward her.

  She shook his hand, noting its strength and warmth again, and chastising herself for noticing. "Samantha Logan." she said grudgingly. "Call me Samantha."

  "Samantha." He said it out loud and smiled. "It’s the perfect name for a no nonsense woman like you. It is simple. Nice."

  She felt herself begin to flush and reached for the menu. If he noticed, he didn't mention it. He read his menu silently and she held hers up in front of her face. Several moments passed before she put the menu down on the table.

  "It's in Italian," she said.

  Luca smiled and replied with disdain. "We are in Italy,"

  "Oh! That does it!" Sam was on her feet and heading for the door.

  Luca and the waiter chased her out front. People on the street stopped to gawk as the two men tried to coax Sam back inside.

  "You arrogant, Bastard!" she yelled. "You incredibly pompous, nauseating beast of a man!" His apologies were no use. He said something to the waiter and followed her as she marched away up the wide, flagstone quay.

  Two uniformed police officers emerged from an alley to her right and angled across to intercept her. One of the men carried her bag in his hand. She paused when she saw them and turned to look for Luca. He was leaning against a building half a block behind her, watching her walk away. He motioned to the men and one of them approached and handed her the bag. The officers made their delivery, and retreated hastily back down the alley. Sam held her bag in her hand and faced Luca. Her shoulders slumped and her head bowed.

  Luca, walked quietly toward her. "Do you need a place to stay?" he asked.

  She followed him dumbly, holding her bag in front of her like a shield. He held her arm gently and guided her like a child down an alley, across a bridge and into the lobby of a nice hotel. He talked to the man at the desk. "I still have questions to ask, Samantha Logan, but they can wait until morning."

  Sam nodded.

  "Tomorrow then," It was another order. He turned and walked into the night.

  Sam took her key from the concierge crossed the courtyard and shuffled down a long corridor to room 17. She entered, slung her bag on a chair by the door and collapsed on the bed. She stared at the ceiling and recapped the events of the day in her mind.

  It seemed like a year had passed since she woke up that morning, at sea. How could all of this have happened so quickly? She thought about Maresciallo Luca Danieli. She thought about the Navy. She thought about the dead time ahead. She reacted to her thoughts in her normal way. She pushed them from her mind and found something to do with her hands.

  She dumped her bag contents onto the bed and quickly made an inventory. Satisfied that nothing was missing she began to refold every item of clothing. She carefully organized the drawers in the hotel dresser and hung some blouses and sweaters in the closet. She arranged her things in the bathroom, undressed and took a shower. She did all of this methodically and with exaggerated concentration. When she'd finished she crawled into bed and flicked the remote control button, switching the television from station to station. All of the programs were in Italian. She remembered Luca's snide remark. "We are in Italy!" She switched the television off.

  With nothing left to do but wrestle with her demons, she turned off the light and tried to sleep. The large bed was strange to her. Most strange was the lack of motion. The hotel room didn't sway gently like her tiny Navy rack. The double bed seemed huge by comparison. Huge, empty and lonely. She tossed and turned and fell into an uneasy sleep. Her dreams were hurried, strange and unsettling. She hovered on the verge of waking.

  Flames licked at her as she fought to keep the fire at bay. She was trapped in a burning dungeon with steel walls, standing on a wooden chair while a screeching woman with the career counselors face asked time and again, "Are you going to stay or not?"

  The flames kept advancing but the tall man at the door blocked her escape. "Yes or no!" he thundered. "Answer, yes or no!"

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sam awakened to find the dark sky was softening into dawn at the edges. Morning colors, she thought. Pink and yellow clouds were visible through the thin curtains of her window. She heard the staff of hotel begin to move about preparing for another day. In the distance diesel engines growled and a constant creaking and bumping sound she could not identify. She tried to go back to sleep but her mind began to replay the events of the day before. She thought of Luca Danieli and sat up in bed. She would get control of this runaway train today, she decided.

  "Saturday," she said as she pressed her bare feet to the cold tile floors. The habit of tracking the days of the week was still with her.

  Saturday is my day, she decided. This was the kind of challenge that made Samantha Logan tick. Once she set her mind to accomplishing something, she could concentrate almost obsessively on that goal. Her drive to overcome obstacles was her trademark. When she said she would do something she followed through; it was this commitment which had brought her this far. It was this obsessive drive that won her the rank of Chief Petty Officer with less than nine years in the Navy. It was this foolish, obsession to a promise that had goaded her on, only to leave her empty, restless, and losing interest, after reaching that lofty goal.

  She brushed her soft, straw colored hair and carefully applied the very smallest amount of makeup. A gentle eye liner accentuated her ice gray eyes. They looked gray today.

  Sam held several sweaters up to the mirror. She regretted having left all of her uniforms on the ship. She had not planned to wear a uniform. She was ordered to take some time off. She'd only packed jeans and sweaters, but she selected a pair of light blue jeans that flattered her figure and a sweater that flattered her figure and brought out the color of her eyes. She wore no jewelry on the ship, and hadn't thought to bring any with her. A necklace would have added a nice touch to her appearance. Maybe she could pick one up at a store later in the morning.

  She strode into the hallway with a bounce in her step. She almost looked forward to meeting the arrogant Chief of Police. Today was ano
ther day, a better day. "Today is my day", she thought again as she walked through the courtyard and searched for the Hotel restaurant.

  She was guided by the smell of rich morning coffee and fresh bread. She followed the scent, realizing suddenly that she was famished. She hadn't eaten lunch the day before, she hadn't been fed in jail, then she'd walked out on Luca at dinner. Her last meal had been breakfast with Doug on the ship.

  She entered the small, tidy dining room across from the lobby of the hotel. Bright, white linen tablecloths covered tables in neat rows. Each table had a small bouquet of flowers and place settings were tastefully arranged at an odd angle to each matching wooden chair. A large chandelier was centered in the vaulted ceiling. It was, she noticed, a nice hotel. Not too expensive, yet neat, clean and orderly. It was the kind of Hotel she would have chosen herself.

  A man was seated at a table in the corner by the entrance, reading a newspaper. As she passed him, he cleared his throat. "I took the liberty of ordering a Cappuccino for you," a voice said. It was a familiar voice. She whirled and faced the gently smiling, breathtakingly handsome face of the most vexing man she had ever met. Staring at her over a folded, morning edition of La Stampa, was Maresciallo Luca Danieli.

  She just stood there for a moment, a battle raging inside her. Her hunger won. She pulled out a chair and was just sitting down when the waiter set a steaming hot cup of rich creamy coffee in front of her.

  "How did he know I was awake?" she wondered. "How did he know I would come down for breakfast?" She was determined not to let him get to her today. She was going to get control.

  She smiled at Luca as she spread her napkin in her lap. "Hello," she said lightly. "You're up early this morning."

  He folded his paper and put it away. "I did not want to tie up any more of your time than necessary." He stirred a spoonful of sugar into his tiny cup of espresso coffee. "After breakfast, if you don't mind, we can walk to the station and clear up yesterday's little incident and you will be free to go."

  A feeling swept over her that took her completely by surprise. It was almost a feeling of regret. She froze, her cup of coffee half way up to her lips. For some reason she wasn't ready for this "little incident" to be over with. Why did this man complicate her life this way?

  Sam nodded and sipped her cappuccino. She savored the exquisite flavor and looked directly at Luca. He was staring at her. She couldn't read the look, exactly, but it wasn't hostile.

  He looked away first. "I am worried about this case." he stopped abruptly. "You don't mind if we talk about this now, do you?"

  It was the first considerate thing the man had ever said, but Sam was careful not be seduced by his manner. She didn't trust him. He was a smooth operator. He had manipulated her expertly before. He always got the upper hand. She was wary.

  She conceded to herself that he had been polite to ask if she minded discussing the case. She was inwardly curious, but she'd already been maneuvered into having breakfast with the man. She reminded herself to stay in control.

  She shook her head. "I don't mind discussing the case." she said coolly.

  "We have a problem," he continued. "The man whose life you saved yesterday doesn't exist."

  "What do you mean he doesn't exist?" Sam was baffled.

  "His passport is not on file. There is no record of him in his presumed country of origin. He had no wallet, no other identification papers, no money, no keys... We have no explanation why he was attacked and none of the witnesses saw the actual attack. The few who saw anything at all, told us you were the attacker."

  Sam began to protest, "But..."

  Luca had his hands up again, gesturing for her to calm down. "I know! I know!" he said preemptively. "We don't suspect you anymore. It's just that we have no leads, no clues and we don't even have a description of the attacker."

  Sam spoke quickly in a detached clinical voice. "Dark brown, greasy, shoulder length hair; brown, almost black beady eyes; round wire rimmed glasses; a missing, left upper lateral incisor; bushy eyebrows, crescent shaped scar over left eyebrow, five foot, six or seven, dark olive complexion, home-made tattoo on back of left hand; it looked like a star, I think." Sam gloated as Luca's mouth dropped open. "Is that the assailant nobody saw?” she asked facetiously.

  Luca's coffee cup clattered onto the saucer. He fumbled in his pocket for a hand held radio. "You saw him?" he asked incredulously. He keyed the button and spoke rapidly in Italian, "Centrale, centrale da Danieli." His conversation was brief his voice excited.

  He returned the radio to his pocket, and reached across the table for Sam's hand. He squeezed it gently, still shaking his head. "You're beautiful!" he said excitedly. He looked down at his hand on hers, and pulled his hand away quickly. "I mean, ah... I didn't mean beautiful, like.... I mean, you are beautiful, but...."

  He laughed. He stumbled over the words and for an instant his guard was down. Sam smiled a satisfied smile and reveled in the moment. She had finally won a round in the endless sparring match with this handsome, impossible brute. She pressed her advantage.

  "Thank you," she said. "I'll take that as a compliment."

  "No. Thank you!" he said. His composure was regained and he was back to business. "With your description we can probably catch this guy. I just hope it's not too late."

  Sam suddenly realized how badly she may have damaged this case. "I owe you an apology," she said. "I didn't realize you had no witnesses. There was a whole crowd of people at the landing, I just assumed..."

  "I assumed, too. First I assumed you were the attacker. Then I assumed you had come by after the attack and saved the victim's life. I never thought you might have actually been there and saw it happen. If the mystery patient wasn't under sedation, he may have told me about you last night. I may have been able to question you sooner and...."

  He glanced up at Sam. She looked away, embarrassed.

  "I mean...." he tried to continue. "No," he acknowledged, "that probably wouldn't have worked either."

  "About last night," She mumbled, "thanks for getting me a room here. I was frustrated, confused and.... well, thank you."

  "You are welcome. My cousin is the manager of this hotel," he said. "I hope it is okay." He tapped his head with the palm of his hand. "Your bag. I was going to ask you about your bag. Was everything there? Nothing missing?"

  "My bag was fine," she said, "but speaking of bags. Did you find the victim's bag?"

  "What bag?"

  "The man who stabbed him stole his bag. It was a big black leather bag on a thin strap. It looked like a purse. Let me guess. No one saw that either."

  Luca stood up and reached for his folded newspaper. "I don't mean to rush you, but we must get to the station and take your statement."

  "I understand."

  He was pushing her again. This time, Sam cooperated. The delays in the case were largely her fault. She finished her coffee and rose to follow the Chief of Police. She handed her key to the man at the desk and stepped out into the bright morning sunlight. Luca held the door for her and guided her gently with a hand on the small of her back. His pace was brisk, but Sam kept up with him well. They crossed a bridge over a canal. The dank, foul smelling water was a dull brown shade. Pigeons, basking in the sunlight took flight and scattered to the rooftops, dragging their reflections across the murky water. Their wings made a whistling, flapping sound and they voiced their incessant gurgling complaints as they flew. Sam looked up and saw them land, high up on the architecture of the buildings. Luca rushed on.

  They ducked down an alley and crossed the open piazza in front of an elegant, towering church. A wider street opened before them and they stopped at the third door down. Sam noticed a sign out front. It had that "C" word on it. "Ca-ra-bin-i-eri" she sounded the letters out as Luca pushed her gently through the door. She had not used the front door before. She had come and gone by the back door; the one reserved for suspects, assailants, criminals and the like.

  She was ushered into Luca's office. H
e was barking orders and his men were scurrying about. A small group assembled around her, a large book was placed on the desk in front of her, and a chair was slung behind her legs. She sat. She had no choice. One man flipped the book cover open and pointed to row upon row of rough looking men and women.

  "Look through the book," Luca said. He was putting carbon paper between legal-size sheets of paper. He didn't ask, he ordered. This was the Luca Danieli she knew; arrogant, bossy and impossible. She threw a mock salute in his direction and began to study the pages of the book.

  "Passaporto," one of the men asked brusquely.

  Sam understood. She didn't have a passport. Her military identification card was adequate identification for all NATO countries. She handed her green card to the officer who passed it to Luca.

  Luca began asking questions in a monotone voice and typing rapidly on an old typewriter. Between questions she turned the pages of the book of mug shots and looked for the man she could picture so clearly in her mind.

  Luca typed her full description of the bag that had been stolen from the victim, paused and read what he had put into the report to himself.

  "Chief Logan," he said, without looking at her. "Give me his description again, slowly."

  Sam gave her clinical, detailed description once again. Luca wrote each item down after translating it into Italian. He looked at up at her, "Cosa vuol dire left upper lateral incisor?"

  Sam looked at him in confusion. He tapped his head with his palm when he realized he'd asked the question half in Italian. He chuckled and his men laughed. Even Sam had to smile.

  "What is a left upper lateral incisor?" he asked.

  "A tooth. This one." She bared her teeth and pointed to the correct one."

  "You know teeth, too." he asked in awe.

  "I'm an Independent Duty Hospital Corpsman. I'm trained to handle whatever emergency comes up in the middle of the ocean. Sometimes, I have to play dentist."