David Wolf 01 - Foreign Deceit

by Jeff Carson

  The short guy kept his hand on Wolf’s chest and laughed. He patted it a couple times, pushing Wolf back further with each smack. The guy looked Wolf up and down, like he was creepily sizing up a woman, then launched into an amused conversation, looking over his shoulder to speak to the man behind him.

  Wolf snapped his hand forward in a blur, landing a knuckle punch to the man’s temple, and followed with a right elbow to the middle of the man’s face a fraction of a second later. The first punch had been enough, knocking the man out instantly. The elbow was just to make sure the man wouldn’t be getting back up, and to serve as a lifelong reminder to be more wary of men bigger than him.

  The taller guy spit out his cigarette with wide eyes and ripped his hands from his pockets.

  Wolf stepped over the still crumpling body straight toward him. Wolf could see that he was weighing fight against flight. Flight won out, but not nearly fast enough.

  Wolf, in full stride, easily closed the distance between them. He put his shoulder down and tackled him from behind, just underneath the waist, landing on him hard, driving the man’s chest and face into the smooth concrete floor with a slap. Wolf bounced up onto his knees, grabbed two fists of the man’s greasy hair and slammed his head down. The man went limp beneath him.

  Wolf turned and looked back into the alley. The first man lay motionless with his legs twisted underneath him.

  Wolf got up and pulled the man he was on top of out into the dark, leaving a long red smear on the smooth concrete floor. He flipped him over onto his back to remedy the situation, feeling a slight twinge of pity for the man as Wolf studied the damage he’d done to his face.

  Within a minute he had both guys stowed up against a dark doorway in the alley.

  He hurried back into the open garage and began rummaging. Boxes – some open, some shut – were filled with electronics. A stack of the white EAC logo boxes was piled along the right wall. He lifted one. They felt the same as the night before, heavy and packed densely.

  Clipboards hung on the wall. He pulled down the first board and studied the papers clipped to it. It was an original Bill of Lading from an Italian shipping company. The dark print was all in Italian, making it illegible to Wolf, except one line that said Genoa, Liguria, Italia. Wolf recognized it as the port city of Genova on the west coast of Italy. The line before it read Tenes, Algeria.

  A shipment from Algeria? North Africa?

  Sheet after sheet was the same. Genoa, Liguria, Italia and Tenes, Algeria. Another line item on the paper stood out, being that it was the same on each and every sheet. Fratelli Importatori.

  A loud clang of a pot or pan from inside the door jolted him into quick action. He set the clipboards back on their hooks and ran out of the garage, careful to step over the darkening blood streak on his way out.

  As he turned the corner he heard the door inside the garage open with a squeak.

  He ran quietly down the road and around the bend.

  Chapter 42

  Wolf ran down the alley, to the right, to the right again, and up to the front of the pub. He walked inside, nodding to the man he had bummed a light from earlier.

  The man nodded with a resentful eye as he sucked on his cigarette.

  The pub thumped with dance music, too loud for anyone to speak over. The televisions were all on the same channel, playing a soccer match that drew the eye of every male in the room. It was hot and steamy and smelled like he was wading in a soup of cologne and sweat.

  Wolf looked for Cezar, but didn’t see his head towering above the crowd anywhere.

  Wolf weaved his way to the counter and found the stalky guy with the tattoos was alone behind the bar.

  He nodded and leaned an ear to Wolf, looking with beady pollution-brown eyes.

  “Stella Artois!” Wolf screamed over the 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 behind a line of standing patrons to the right side of the bar, which gave him the best view into the back hallway.

  The hallway ended in a kitchen where two employees were pacing back and forth. Beyond them was a brightly lit doorway, wide open to the rear garage.

  Wolf watched as Cezar appeared in the open doorway and then stepped into the kitchen. He slammed the door and leaned against it, then turned and marched through the kitchen toward the bar. He was gritting his teeth and flexing both fists as he glided forward on his long legs.

  Wolf grabbed his beer and threaded through the standing patrons, wincing at the various cheap colognes and bodily emissions as he made his way through the room. There was an open small table next to the front window, so he took it.

  The waitress was quick to arrive. She had a half circle piercing dangling from the center of her nose, a couple lip rings, and three neck tattoos. Her blue spiky hair was shaved on the sides with stripes exposing the white scalp underneath, much like a nineteen-eighties NFL football player, Wolf thought.

  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,” he said.

  She looked him all the way down and up, then left with a mischievous smile.

  He watched her shapely body go for a second, and then took a sip of his beer. Tipping the mug back, he watched Cezar, who was now behind the bar and bending in toward the thick-necked guy’s ear. He was yelling over the music, snapping his head sharply as he did so.

  The bartender nodded toward 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 and breathed out his nose, hoping the mug of beer was concealing his face from recognition. Then he realized they were looking at the front door as a warm, smoky breeze hit his face and a fully clad Carabinieri walked in.

  Wolf set the beer down on the table and bent down to his boot. He fondled his laces as if tying them and looked sidelong toward the red stripe of the Caribinieri uniform pants. They were poised right inside the door for a few seconds, then turned and stepped away from him.

  Wolf straightened in his seat and strained to see through the throng of people. He spied Cezar, who was wide eyed and looked to be turning pale. His Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down fast as he swallowed, like he desperately needed a drink of water.

  Cezar seemed to be shitting himself, and he should have been, Wolf thought, with the stuff he had sitting a few feet away in his garage.

  Wolf stood and shuffled through the crowd to get a better look, his curiosity piqued. Had the Carabinieri begun their investigation into the shady dealings of The Albastru Pub?

  The waitress 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, and then stopped abruptly, accidentally juking the waitress into bumping straight into him.

  She laughed excitedly, placing her tiny hand on the small of his back. “Oh, sorry!” she giggled, pressing into him a little too hard.

  He ignored her, because he was still looking at Cezar, who had made a subtle move that didn’t make sense. Cezar had just nodded of his head toward the far end of the bar.

  Wolf looked to the Carabinieri officer, who changed the direction of his approach, 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 too familiar a 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 leaned down, launching into a conversation in the officer’s left ear. The Carabinieri officer turned his head to his right, revealing the unmistakable pro
file of Detective Valerio Rossi. Cezar gestured behind himself with a thumb, and 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 something. Then he looked around, down the length of the bar, then at the mass of people.

  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. As she shuffled past, Wolf twisted away from the bar to follow her, then gently pulled on her arm.

  She turned back with a puppy dog look of curiosity.

  He bent and kissed her, and she returned the gesture eagerly, clicking her tongue piercing against his teeth. Wolf opened his eyes and searched the reflection in the front window while they kissed. Rossi was walking straight toward 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 right up against him, and out the front door.

  Wolf stood and watched Rossi leave out the door. Rossi walked out in a fast march, took a left down the road, and went out of sight.

  Looking in the window reflection again, Wolf saw Cezar turn the corner back into the rear of the pub.

  Wolf pushed past the waitress and walked to the door.

  “Fucking American piece of sh—” the waitress’ voice was snuffed out by the door as it shut.

  “Later asshole,” the soccer fan with a lighter raised his beer to Wolf as he walked past.

  Chapter 43

  Wolf drove the scooter back to Cristina’s parking spot and headed into the loud piazza. He threaded his way into the crowd, all the while keeping an eye on his brother’s apartment balcony. The lights were blazing inside, and an officer stood on the balcony looking over.

  Wolf stopped and watched. The officer looked to the northwest corner of the piazza, then, raising a radio to his mouth, turned to look directly at him.

  Wolf flinched as static erupted just a few feet away, and a tinny voice spoke through a radio. Wolf hadn’t seen any Carabinieri uniforms, and he now realized plainclothes officers milled with the crowd.

  Wolf ducked and moved to his left, suddenly very conscious of his conspicuous height.

  He slalomed through the piazza crowd and made his way to the side shops, then ducked into a narrow side street. He lit a cigarette and puffed, surveying the piazza from behind the thin smokescreen.

  Wolf scanned the crowd, and shuffled the events of the last week in his mind. He was beginning to see the clear picture.

  Rossi was everything. And Wolf needed to be careful, or surely he’d be spending the rest of his life in an Italian prison for the murder of Ferka Vlad. Either that, or going home in a box right behind his brother.

  Wolf dropped the cigarette and walked downhill along a side street, working his way right, then right again, into a pulsing artery of people that flowed back into the piazza.

  Wolf centered himself within the flow of people and shuffled forward, surveying ahead as he walked back toward the piazza. He saw the familiar face of Tito, just inside the entrance to the piazza along the left side, talking conspiratorially on his cell phone. Wolf shuffled through the people toward him.

  …

  Wolf held back in the crowd and watched Tito, waiting for the right moment. When the young officer finally ended his phone call and was pulling out a cigarette, Wolf approached him. “Can I get one of those, Officer?”

  Tito’s eyes shot open in surprise.

  Wolf nodded and stepped close. “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 talking when Wolf walked around him and applied a sharp pressure at the small of his back. Wolf waited patiently for Tito to fumble at his empty holster, look down, and finally realize it was his own Beretta held on him.

  “Don’t you dare make a move or a sound,” Wolf said menacingly in Tito’s ear. “I’ve got nothing to lose here. If I have to kill you to get away, that’s no problem with me.”

  People streamed by, each person 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 it. Capitano Rossi was displayed on the screen as the last call made.

  “What was Rossi telling you?”

  Tito arched his back at the gun’s pressure and winced.

  “Relax, Tito.” Wolf stepped in front of him and removed the radio from Tito’s chest clip. “Just relax. You stay right here as if all is fine.” Wolf put the radio and phone in one of his sweatshirt pockets, and pointed the gun at Tito’s belly through the fabric of the other. “Otherwise, I’m going to shoot you.”

  Tito’s went pale and his arms went limp by his sides.

  “Good. Now tell me. What did Rossi just say?”

  “He wanted to know if I had seen you yet.”

  “Yeah? And what did you tell him?”

  “I said I had not.”

  “Okay, and what did he say?”

  “He was angry, 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. I’ll be watching you, so stay here.” Wolf smiled. “We’ll have a laugh about this someday, I promise.”

  Chapter 44

  Wolf walked briskly away from the piazza against the flow of traffic, sure that Tito was already running for help. Wolf took one random turn after another, making his way downhill.

  He searched the phone contacts and dialed a number. The long tone rang against his ear as he walked.

  “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 one of the best acting jobs of his life, and hung up with a spark of hope.

  Wolf continued walking and scrolled through the phone contacts, and finally found Lia’s phone number under Tenente Parente.

  The phone rang unanswered, and then cut out with a rapid beeping noise.

  Wolf cursed and looked at the phone. The reception bars were gone, a dashed line in their place.

  “Shit.” He backtracked his route, keeping his eyes on the reception bars and the people around him. As he turned a corner, the reception came back.

  He dialed again, and pressed the phone to his ear, listening to it ring a full thirty seconds. His stomach sank. He hadn’t thought of the simple fact that Lia would probably screen Tito’s calls at all costs.

  Wolf ended the call and exhaled. He stared up, pleading to a higher power for another idea. He saw a swarm of huge insects clouded around the lights along the tall walls of the surrounding buildings. He shook his head. There was no other plan.

  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
.

  “How’s the surveillance coming?” Wolf asked.

  There was silence for a second. Wolf looked back at the phone reception. “Where are you David?” She asked.

  “I’m near.”

  She stayed silent.

  “I didn’t do it,” he said.

  “Didn’t do what?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Vlad. I didn’t kill him.”

  She exhaled loud into the phone.

  “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 John’s 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. There he stood and had another cigarette in a dark alleyway, for no other reason than he was getting used to the vile things once again, and he needed to kill time.

  After watching the thin stream of people walk by for ten minutes, he walked out of the alley and headed downhill again. He went a block and took a right at the next corner, and straight into a pistol pointed in his face.

  Chapter 45

  Behind the sound suppressed pistol was the now familiar tiny smiling mouth of Cezar. “Don’t move.”

  Wolf didn’t move as he stared at the pistol in front of him. It didn’t waver a centimeter, and Cezar’s knuckle was white with tension on the trigger.

  Wolf wondered just how fast Cezar was.

  “I said don’t move,” Cezar 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,” a husky voice said behind him. It was Rossi. “Let’s go,” He shoved Wolf on the back.