by Jack Barnao
"Good. I'd like a Campari and soda and Herbie will have a Coke, please."
For the next couple of minutes I did my aged retainer act, phoning the desk and signing for the drinks when they arrived. Then I nodded to them and went out, locking the door behind me. I didn't want any sneak moves while I was sitting downstairs over a bottle of Peroni.
I had my book of crossword puzzles with me and I nursed a couple of beers all afternoon while I battled with clues like "Quiet hymns for goddesses." I was congratulating myself and penciling in "Nymphs" when Capelli arrived. He looked laid back this time, his off-duty demeanor, I guessed. We shook hands and the waiter hustled over. He ordered scotch and water, unusual for an Italian. Either he had spent time overseas or he was modeling himself on cosmopolitan cops.
He raised his glass and I lifted mine. "Thanks for coming, tenente. Did you bring the picture?"
He pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to me. "Is this the woman?"
I opened the envelope and slid out the picture. It showed Carla sitting at a restaurant table with a fifty-five-ish sugar daddy type, mustache, bald head. She was laughing and had one hand on his arm. The implication was all there.
"Yes, that's the girl, is this the man you mentioned?"
He reached for his picture, put it back in the envelope and back into his pocket. "Yes, that was taken by a woman who works for us in Milano. She is very interesting, your friend."
"What do you know about her?"
He sipped his scotch. "Twenty-seven years old. Born in Chicago. Her father was a prominent Mafia man. He was killed last year, shot in his car. The girl was by then married to another Mafioso and a week later he died also. A bomb in his car. She left Chicago, lived in New York for a few months and came to Roma. She met Scavuzzo and moved with him to Milano. He keeps her in an apartment and they are together often."
"And he's with the Mob?"
Capelli nodded, an almost imperceptible shift of his eye level. "Sì. He is connected to the Paolone family in New York. We believe he is their contact here for drugs. They do not come into Italy but the shipments are arranged by Scavuzzo."
"Any record of kidnappings, extortion, the usual rackets?"
"Extortion, yes. It happens everywhere. Kidnapping, no."
I took a mouthful of beer. "That's interesting. It seems to me that the only reason for getting next to Ridley would be kidnapping. His father is rich and maybe he expects trouble of this kind, otherwise he wouldn't have looked for a bodyguard."
Capelli shrugged. "Kidnapping is not common any longer. In Corsica it is still done, but not here. I think the Getty boy stopped it."
I remembered that one. Getty's grandson kidnapped, his ear cut off as warning and still no ransom paid. If a guy that rich won't play ball, it's going to make this kind of crime unpopular as well as unprofitable.
"Well, I can't think of any other reason why she would have put herself in our way," I said.
"And in what way was that?" He seemed amused. "She came up to you and said, I am a guide, I would like to work for you?"
"Not exactly. She had her purse snatched by a kid on a Vespa. It happened across the street from us. I helped her and we got friendly from there."
He looked down into his drink like a witchdoctor examining chicken entrails, stirring the ice cubes with his swizzle stick. "That would be more like Scavuzzo's plan," he admitted. "You feel like a hero. She is beautiful and you do not question anymore."
"That's the way I read it."
He looked up again. "And what arrangement did you make with this woman?"
"I asked her to show us around. I figure that if they're after the kid they'll work through her, try to get her to distract me and put the snatch on the boy. At least I'll have an idea what I'm working against. I imagine she will try to separate me from the kid, then arrange for him to vanish while I'm off with her somewhere."
He nodded. "Exactly. You are good at your job, signor."
"I'd be even better with my gun," I tried but he shook his head.
"My maggiore himself told me to get your gun."
"Where did he hear? The airline knew about it, would they have reported the fact to the police?"
He shrugged. "The maggiore does not tell me who tells him. Only I know it must be someone important. He does not have his ear in ratholes like me."
"And can you do anything for me?" I wanted some backup. It would be good to know somebody was watching us, in case Herbie got sidetracked while he was on his way to the washroom or a store and I was expected to stand and wait with Carla. Not that waiting around her would be a hardship.
Capelli said, "I can spare a man, one man, for daytimes. You understand we cannot do more. But my man will follow you, as long as you walk. He will stay behind you while you are with the girl."
"That would be fine. If it is a setup, she might try to send him off somewhere, if your guy stays with him, I'll act normal."
"Good," he said and finished his drink. By now, people were coming and going, mostly Americans, the women lusting for the moment when all the leather stores would be open, the men O.D.'d on churches, looking for a bourbon if they could find one. One or two couples came into the bar, but mostly they went right upstairs. At seven o'clock Capelli drained the last taste of scotch from his melted ice cubes and stood up. "My man will be outside the front door tomorrow. Just walk where you are going and he will follow. Do not look around, ignore him."
"For sure. And thank you, you're being very good to us."
He grinned sourly. "Good to me also. What do you think would happen if the boy is kidnapped? I would be working day and night."
"It won't happen," I promised and we shook hands. He left and I went back to the elevator, tossing the room key lightly in my right hand. Like most European hotels, the Rega attached its keys to great brass ornaments. This one was a chess knight and it must have weighed half a pound. No way you'd walk off with it.
The elevator was at the far end of the floor from our suite and I paced quietly down the corridor and listened automatically at the door. I heard nothing for a moment and was about to put the key in the lock when I heard an unmistakable whimper. Somebody was hurting Kate Ridley.
Chapter 8
Silently I took out my Buck claspknife and flipped it open, turning away from the door to muffle the click as the blade set. Then I put the key in the door and turned it. I tried to be silent but the mechanism clattered so I flung the door open and leaped into the room. There were two men there. One of them was holding a gun on Herbie who was sitting far back in the armchair while the other man was trying to mount Kate Ridley who was lying on the floor with her mouth taped and her arms tied behind her.
I flung the heavy key at the man with the gun and he fired wildly once before I drove stiff fingers up his nose, tearing it half off his face. He screamed and dropped the gun, grabbing his face. The other man was scrambling to his feet, pulling another gun. I kicked him on the point of the elbow and he roared but changed hands with the gun. Before he could complete the move I slashed him above his good elbow, cutting the tendons to his hand. He dropped the gun and tried to run but I kicked him again under the left buttock where the sciatic nerve crosses the bone and he collapsed.
Herbie was bawling like a calf. "He was going to rape my Mom."
"It's okay. She's not hurt." I flicked her dress down over her loins and rolled her over to cut the rope off her wrists. She stood up quickly, tearing the tape off her mouth. She was trembling all over, shaking like a car running on one cylinder.
She tried to speak but no words came. I took hold of her and held her close, bumping her back softly. "It's over and they're both going to jail for a long time," I said. "Call the police."
She picked up the phone and dialed and I went to examine the first hood I'd attacked. He was moaning and I bent and took his hand away from his nose. It was flapping back from his face and streaming blood. I told Herbie. "Bring a towel for this bastard, Herb, he'll dirty up the
carpet."
I glanced at the other man. He was sitting up, rocking gently, his arm bent tight to control the bleeding. He was no threat any more.
While Herbie went into the bathroom I picked up both guns. Both were Berettas. I slipped the magazines out and worked the action on each to take the last shell out of the chamber, then I set them aside and listened to Kate. She had her composure back now and was speaking rapidly on the phone. She was speaking Italian so I gave up trying to follow and sat and watched while Herbie gave the towel to my first victim. He buried his face in it, sobbing.
"Serves him right," Herbie said angrily. "Serves them both right. I hope they die."
"They'll probably wish they had when they get in jail." I imagined Italian prisons were as bad as those anywhere else, worse, if you include the big underground pen in Naples.
"What happened?" I asked him.
Herbie turned away from the man, frowning, trying to concentrate on my question. "We heard the key in the door and we thought it was you coming back," he said. "Then they came in, with their guns out."
So they'd had a key. I made a note to tell Capelli that. It made it sound like they'd had inside help. "What did they say?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. It was in Italian."
His mother hung up the phone and sat down in an armchair, keeping a wary eye on both men. They had given up struggling and were sitting quietly, nursing their hurts. The man I had cut was bleeding badly but he had pressed his handkerchief into the cut so I ignored him. I noticed that he had closed his fly as well. He would regret that rape attempt all his life. If he hadn't stayed for that, they could have got away.
Kate Ridley spoke. "They told me, 'don't move lady and you won't get hurt, we want the boy.' So I sat still and then that one—" she indicated the man who had tried to rape her—"he got some rope out and the tape and tied me up. While he was doing it I could see in his eyes that he was getting excited and he told the other one that I was a good-looking woman and he was going to have some fun. Then he tore my pants off and then you came in."
"They're amateurs," I said. "I was afraid that the Mob was trying to snatch Herbie but Mafia soldiers wouldn't have done what they did, they would have taken Herb and gone. These are amateurs."
Capelli said the same thing twenty minutes later. "Neapolitan pigs," he spat. "This does not happen in Firenze, Signor Locke. We are a good town, a peaceful town. These two are southerners. We will find out who sent them."
"Whoever it was, they used a key."
"Did they?" He frowned. "I will ask them where they got it."
I didn't envy either one of them the next four hours in his company but I didn't say anything. He went on. "You are a remarkable man, two banditti with guns and you stop them." He shook his head in disbelief and made the quick little shaving motion of the hand down the chin that means "shrewd move."
"I need my gun," I told him. "We've been in town six hours and this happens. I must have my gun back in case it happens again."
"That is not possible," he said.
His detectives were clearing up the mess. Two neat plainclothes men, handcuffing the two prisoners and looking to him for the next order. He waved them off and spoke to them in Italian. They nodded and left, marching proudly behind their prisoners. Cops everywhere love a good clean crime with all the ends tied up tight.
Capelli picked up the guns from the couch. He examined both of them without speaking. Then he looked up and said, "Of course, if you should happen to find a weapon and then forget to give it to me until you leave Firenze, that would be different." He put one of them into his pocket and stood up, leaving the other gun and magazine lying on the couch. "For now, I will take away the gun that was used in this crime and I will call you tomorrow and tell you when we have to ask you to come to the court."
Herbie looked at the other gun and blurted, "They both had guns, both of them," but the tenente ignored him. He bowed formally to Kate Ridley. "Signora, on behalf of the people of Firenze, I offer my apologies for this. Good night."
He went to the door, nodded again and left. I went after him and put the chain on the door. Then I came back and picked up the gun. It was the better of the two. The other one had been dirty, the one the first man had fired. This one was bright and properly oiled, a good working piece. I slipped the magazine into it and went into the bedroom to try it in my holster but the Beretta was too small to fit properly so I slipped it into the right pocket of my jacket and brought the jacket and the bottle of Irish back into the sitting room.
"Would you like a drink?" I asked and Kate Ridley nodded. Then suddenly the dam burst and she collapsed into herself, sobbing helplessly. Herbie stood and looked at her, his own eyes filling with tears, then sat on the edge of her chair and put his arms around her. "It's okay, Mom. It's okay. Nobody's going to hurt you. John's here. You're safe."
I let them hug and rock and weep for a minute or so while I built a couple of solid drinks then took one over to her. "Here's what you need," I said.
She sat up and Herbie let go of her. She dashed at her eyes with her arm but took the drink. I gave her my handkerchief and she wiped her face and sniffed and handed it back to me. "Thank you," she said.
From the face she pulled at the taste I guessed she was no whisky drinker but it helped calm her. "I think you should stay here tonight," I suggested. "I'll get them to put a cot in here for me."
She looked at me, not focusing properly but she answered at once. "Yes, please. I would like that."
I sipped my drink and put the same question to her that I had put to Martin Cahill in Toronto. "If I may ask a personal question, just exactly how rich is Mr. Ridley senior?"
She shook her head, a tight little motion, almost a shudder. Her color had come back, full and high in her cheeks. She looked beautiful enough to bite. Hell, she couldn't be that much older than I was.
"He controls the company holdings. They're mostly in real estate these days, shopping plazas and office buildings across Canada and the States. I guess the value would be around five hundred million altogether, but I doubt if he could round up half a million dollars of his very own. He's on salary, plus bonuses and so on, but it's all family money. He doesn't own that much."
"Then why is Herbie so attractive to kidnappers?"
She frowned and formed her sentence slowly. "In the past he had some dealings that I didn't like. It's part of the reason I left him. I'm wondering if he is involved with someone, owes them money or whatever and they're out to punish him."
"That would explain the attack on you. A couple of hired hoods wouldn't know that you weren't the current Mrs. Ridley. Maybe they were trying to hurt him through you."
She laughed, a short angry bark. "Fat chance," she said. "He'd love to see me humiliated. Even my little success in business annoys him."
I glanced at Herbie. He was watching her as she spoke. If there was any respect in him for his father it didn't show. We could have plotted his assassination without Herbie's lifting a finger.
I checked my watch. It was eight o'clock. "Listen, it's getting on to dinner time, could you eat anything?"
She shook her head, then stopped. "I'm sorry, you two must be famished. Why don't I order something up?"
"That would be good. And have them bring your things down here while you're at it. If that's possible."
She managed her first smile since the incident. "I have to get my toilet things, they'll mix everything up. I should go down to the room."
"Well let's do that now. Herb, you can come with us and make yourself useful." After the attempt to snatch him I wanted him in my sight, full time. He stood up at once.
"Yeah, good idea."
We went down to her room and waited while she put her things in her bags. There wasn't any clutter in her room. She seemed to be one of those efficient women who manage to stay attractive without making it their life's work. We waited for a bellboy to come and move the bags then rode up with him. He was small and cheerful but he loo
ked at me with great respect. I imagined I was famous downstairs. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and at Kate, then back at me, maybe figuring I was going to get a warrior's reward. He didn't know I was hired help, like him.
Kate ordered for us from room service. It wasn't the dinner we would have got in any of the restaurants within a block of the hotel but she was still shaky and I was tired, not as sharp as I should be. The wine was good and we had a glass each with our meal and then the bellboy brought in a cot for me. We watched in silence as the housemaid made it up for me then I tipped her and she left.
After that we talked for half an hour or so about the next day. Left to me, Herbie and I would have left right away. I would have hired a car and driven to Rome, or maybe Venice. We could have sunk out of sight in the sea of tourists, coming back to Florence later, quietly, checking in to some other hotel. But his mother's presence changed that. He was so childishly glad to see her and she was in town for only another week. We had to stay.
"That's it, then," I said at last. "We'll do the sights tomorrow, whatever's open, a lot of the museums are shut on Mondays. Then we'll meet you for lunch and take it from there."
"Fine," she said. She looked at Herbie, whose eyes were drooping shut. "Time for bed, Herbie. You've got a lot to see in the morning."
He stood up at once, docile as a kitten. "Okay, Mom. G'night."
She kissed him and they hugged and when they let go of one another he surprised me. He came over and stuck his hand out, awkwardly. "G'night John. An' thank you."
I stood up and shook his hand heartily. "You're okay, Herb, and you're welcome." He ducked his head in clumsy acknowledgement and went through the door that divided the sitting room from the bedrooms and bathroom, closing it politely behind him.
"He's a good kid," I said and sat down again. The jetlag was catching up with me and I was tired but she was the boss.
She said, "He hasn't been, not recently. He was telling me. Joyriding in other people's cars, ducking school."
I wondered if he had mentioned the other activities, probably not, a boy wouldn't talk sex to his mother. I shrugged. "I was much the same at his age. Worse, I think. I got away with it for the same reason he has, my father was loaded. But I pulled a lot of stunts in my time. I didn't straighten up until I was in my twenties. He's ahead of schedule."