by Jack Barnao
He didn't answer and I cranked up the pressure, not to the breaking point, but just inside it, where he could feel the joints stretching.
"I'll take you there," he sobbed.
"Good." I let go of him and he collapsed full length on the floor, rubbing his fingers with his other hand, holding back his tears. I threw him his pants. "Get these back on, I don't want any bare-assed clown driving me around."
He scrabbled himself back into his pants, not looking at me until he was dressed again. I'd been right. His suit was his authority. He was calm again now, taking big slow breaths to overcome the fear he'd suffered. He glanced at Savario who lowered his eyes. I wondered if he would survive, knowing that the boss man had been humiliated. Pride is the biggest motivating force in Italy. It would be cheaper to shoot Savario and hire another soldier than rebuild a shattered image.
"Where is the boy?" I asked again.
"I will take you there," he repeated.
"You will tell me first." I drew back my hand lightly and he flinched and covered his face. "I want some of my friends there when we arrive."
He grinned, an ingratiating little flick of the corners of his mouth. "Then they will say that you did not find him, that they found him," he said.
"No matter." I wondered why he was playing games. The most obvious reason was that he planned to lead me into an ambush. Handling him was like milking a cobra.
"He is here," he said slowly. "Now will you believe me?"
"I will when I see him. And he had better be unharmed." I waved my gun towards the door, "Unlock the door with your left hand, keep your other hand on your head."
Savario was still sitting on the couch. I looked at him, debating how to keep him quiet. Even if we locked him in this room he would go out of the window, or just shout. He looked at me, fearfully, then away. I hit him, with the butt of the gun, in the temple. It's the only knockout place on the head. Miss that one spot and you could beat a man's head to mush without putting him to sleep. I was right on. He groaned and collapsed. I laid him flat on the rug and waved the gun towards the door again.
"Let's go."
He opened the door and I stepped behind him, crouching, in case some family retainer was waiting outside to nail me with a bullet. None was. We went back along the hall, past the broken knife and up the stairs. He stopped in front of the door of one of the bedrooms and pointed to it, silently.
I made a turning gesture with my free hand but he didn't touch the door knob, he tapped, three times, then a pause, then twice.
There was a rustling inside and the door opened. I grabbed my man by the hair, stuck the gun into his neck and pushed him forward, through it.
The man inside gaped at us and in the moment of his surprise I hit him with the gunbarrel and he fell down. Herbie was lying on the bed, his hands and feet tied, his mouth taped. His eyes were huge, almost bursting out of his head as he wriggled, trying to attract my attention.
I let him wait while I checked the room, behind the drapes, in the cupboard, making sure there was nobody else there. Then I kicked the senior hood in both collarbones. He screamed but muffled it by burying his face in the carpet, thankful that I hadn't shot him.
Now, with no threats to worry about I shoved my gun back into its holster and pulled out my knife, slashing the ropes on Herbie's hands and feet. He pulled the tape off his mouth, weeping with relief and excitement. "Oh, John, I was scared."
I bumped him on the shoulder. "You were entitled, Herb. But it's over now. I want to take the old guy here with me, then we'll head for the hotel." I pulled my gun again and led the way downstairs. Herbie came behind me, silently, moving like a soldier on patrol, checking around with every step. I wished I'd given him a gun.
At the bottom of the stairs I stepped over the wreath I'd delivered and turned to the back of the house, Herbie behind me. I reached the door of the office and was about to turn the key when I heard a woman's voice say, "Freeze, Locke, or we kill the kid."
I turned around, very slowly. Carla was standing in the front doorway, between two men, one of them holding a shotgun trained on Herbie. The other one was a middle-aged man with a gun and a grin. I recognized him immediately from the photograph Capelli had shown me. It was her boyfriend from Milan. Scavuzzo.
Chapter 18
The gun was trained on Herbie, not on me. Carla said, "Drop the gun or he dies." She knew I would have gambled if it had been just my neck on the line, but I couldn't be sure that the guy with the shotgun wouldn't pull the trigger reflexively, the way Savario had. And if he did he would tear Herbie in half.
I dropped the gun and said, "Okay, now what?" still watching the shotgun, waiting for the guy holding it to get careless and lower the muzzle. I could have dived for my gun and put a hole through him before he could lift his aim again. But I didn't get the chance. Scavuzzo said something in Italian and Carla translated.
"Try anything funny and we shoot you. You got that?"
"Yeah. I've got that. But what about the boy?"
She smiled, first at Scavuzzo, who looked at her like a proud father watching a bright two-year-old, his ugly face splitting in a grin. "We want to thank you for getting him back for us," she said.
"You mean you knew he was in here but you didn't come in for him?"
"We had no way of getting into this place without starting a small war. So we waited around and when you came in, I used my key and saw what you'd done. You're good. D'you know that?"
"Thank you fair lady. Now let me take the kid and go home."
I don't know how much English Scavuzzo spoke but he heard that. He dropped his grin like a dirty handkerchief and clattered out a quick sentence in Italian that Carla didn't need to translate. But she did. "He says you can go when the ransom is paid, not before."
I felt a little surge of relief. I didn't believe my survival was high on their list of priorities, but at least they weren't going to kill me out of hand. I had the chance to come up with something between now and zero hour.
Scavuzzo put his own gun away and spoke to Carla again. She answered in Italian then told me. "Come on. Come with us. Do as you're told and you live."
"That sounds like the kind of offer you can't refuse," I said and nodded to Scavuzzo to let him know I was knuckling under. If I was really lucky they wouldn't frisk me and find Carla's gun.
She pointed down the hall to the office. "Come on in, both of you and we'll make that phone call."
"What phone call?" I was acting dumb, waiting for the shotgun to waver, but it didn't. If I stepped out of line, Herbie was meat.
I unlocked the study door and went in. Savario was coming around, holding his head with both hands. The others came in behind me and he straightened up when he saw Scavuzzo, trying to stand up but passing out again with the effort. Carla stepped over him and picked up the phone. She held it for a moment and then turned and looked through me, her focus far away as she worked out what she wanted me to do.
"I'm going to ring the Rega and get through to the room. Then you take over. You tell them you've found the boy, then let the boy speak to them for a moment, then you ask for the ransom. Tell them to hold off on any arrangements they've made so far and wait for more instructions. You got that?"
"Sure. You want it to look as if the new ransom demand is my idea. You want me pegged as the kidnapper, right?"
"Now you're catching on," she said. "But remember, if you do anything cute like telling them where we are right now, we shoot the kid, then you. So don't try anything." She waited for my nod before she began to dial.
My head was racing. I knew that incoming calls would be taped. Any clue I could give would be analyzed and used. But how far could I go? I would have to say something Carla didn't understand but which was obvious to Capelli and Kate Ridley. I had to translate the words "Fifty-four Via dell Angelico" into a code they could work out before Carla did.
Carla spoke into the phone then handed it to me. Kate Ridley answered, speaking Italian. I cut in, as b
reezily as if I'd bumped into her at a party. "Hi, Kate, John Locke here. Good news. In fact this has been a good day all around, hasn't it? I mean, did you see the paper? The Blue Jays clobbered Los Angeles 5-4 yesterday." I hoped I'd put enough emphasis on the score to catch her attention. I was hoping Capelli would be well enough trained to analyze every word I said. An anti-terrorist agent would have been—but maybe not a city cop. And I already knew they weren't as sophisticated as they are in the States—there they would have used a computer phone that printed out the number from which every incoming call was dialled. Capelli didn't have that kind of backing—but could he take a clue when I gave him one? We'd see. In any case, my words sailed right by Kate Ridley.
"For God's sake John, what are you talking about?" Her voice was ragged with tension. My code had whistled over her head unnoticed.
"Oh, well, more important, I have someone here to speak to you. Herbie, say hello to your mother."
He took the phone and said, "Mom?" and then the tears gouted from his eyes and he chattered like a child for ten seconds before Carla pulled the phone away from him and handed it back to me.
Kate Ridley was saying, "Herbie, Herbie, are you there?"
"He's here and he's safe and sound. I'll have him back to you very soon. But there's just one holdup. The people who have him want the cash."
"The cash? You mean the ransom?" Her voice ran up the scale almost to a scream. "You said he was safe, that you had him."
"I do. The only problem is, some people have me and they want the money. They said you were to discount any instructions you've had already and to wait for new orders about the money. In the meantime, don't worry, I'm with Herbie, looking after him."
Carla's hand reached out and depressed the button on the phone. She was looking at me carefully. "What was that about baseball?"
"I'm a Blue Jays fan, so is Kate Ridley. I just wanted to act natural, that's all."
She looked at me carefully, the ice in her eyes thick enough to sink another Titanic. "Just don't screw me around, Locke," she breathed, "or you're a dead man."
I held both hands up, palms towards her. "Believe me, I want to get out of this alive and well." Nothing like the truth for sounding sincere. I just didn't bother adding that I wanted to see Scavuzzo and the rest of his scumbags in jail first. And it still might happen, if I was lucky, if we would stay put, right here, and Capelli could work out my code and come riding to the rescue. I wasn't holding my breath but I'd tried. They could put that on my tombstone.
Scavuzzo spoke to his gunman, then took the shotgun off him, still training it on Herbie. Carla told me, "Turn around and put your hands behind your back." I did it, there was no arguing with her tone. The gunman moved in and clicked a pair of cuffs on my wrists. Then he patted me down, gingerly as if he didn't want to offend me. That was a bad sign. It meant my reputation had gotten around. He was scared and he would be extra careful. Careful enough to find Carla's gun and my knife.
Carla took the gun back but he kept the knife, playing with it happily. It's a good Buck clasp knife with a catch you have to depress before the blade will open. It impressed the hell out of him and he chuckled to himself and played with it, like a kid on Christmas morning.
I smiled at him and said, "Take care of it, I want it back later." Carla looked at me disbelievingly and laughed. It was my death sentence. There wasn't going to be any later for me, I had to get out of this as best I could. I guess my part was over. I'd rescued Herbie for her. Now I had to die. It made me wonder about the way she had savaged me all night in that farmhouse. Did she get a charge out of making love to condemned men? Had she been as violent with her husband, the night before his car blew up?
Scavuzzo ejected the two shells from the shotgun and broke it down into three pieces. That meant we were leaving. More bad luck. I might have had a chance if we'd stayed here. Capelli might just have cracked my code. Now it wouldn't help. I watched as Scavuzzo handed the pieces of the gun to the man who had been holding it on Herbie earlier. He went outside to the hall, coming back with a briefcase. Marvelous, just the present for the hood who has everything. I wondered if it had a calculator and a calendar built in.
Carla said, "Listen up, Locke. We're going out the back door. All three of us will have guns trained on you. If you try anything fancy one of us will kill you. If the boy runs we will shoot you first, then him."
Herbie said, "I'm not going to run. You don't have to shoot John."
I turned and winked at him, it was all I could do. He looked grim but not afraid. I think his terror had burned itself out over the last twenty-four hours. He was a soldier, milk-faced and untried but angry enough to be an ally if we got the chance to do something. I hoped they put us together, without company. I had an idea.
In the meantime I played dumb. "Look, I'm not going to try anything. My job's done, I've found Herb, he's all right. As soon as you get the money we go home. Right?"
Carla glanced at me, then away quickly. "Of course," she lied.
She led the way, out of the office and down the hall.
Carla turned at the back door. "You're going outside now, Herb. I'm going to walk behind you, I want you to go nice and easy and get into the red car that's parked right ahead of the door. Get in the back seat and sit in the middle. Okay?" He nodded.
Now she turned to me. "You're going to sit in the front where I can keep my gun on the back of your head. One move I don't like and I'll blow it off, you got that?"
"Is it my mouthwash? What?" I asked her but she swore. I checked over my shoulder. Scavuzzo and his soldier had guns in their hands, Scavuzzo's under the flap of his suitcoat, the soldier's under the briefcase. Both guns were cocked, both pointed at me. That made the odds too long. I would have to wait for a better chance. Maybe in the car. I might be able to roll out of it, especially if we went through the middle of town. In heavy traffic I could maybe attract some cop's attention. Maybe.
And maybe I would win the lottery. The odds were no longer. This bunch was taking no chances on losing me, or Herb. Their car was right against the door. They kept me covered all the way. Carla concealed the fact that I was handcuffed by pretending to lean against me, one arm around me, the other down low, holding the gun in my ribs. She was smiling and talking. We looked like a lover and his lass. With a hey-nonny-no. Hah!
They moved out and into the car like soldiers carrying out a drill movement. Herbie in the middle at the back, Scavuzzo on one side of him, Carla on the other. The gunman got in the driver's seat with me beside him. Just to put an end to my daydreaming he pulled the seatbelt across me and clunked it in. I was trapped until he decided to let me go.
Carla leaned over the back of my seat, craning around the neck rest, one hand holding her gun in my temple. I wished she would take it away. Perhaps I would have a chance to goose the gas pedal in traffic and get us into an accident. It would give Herbie a shot at freedom. If there were enough cops around, I might even make it myself. I tried to talk her down. "You can put that gun away, sweetheart, the name is Locke, not Houdini."
"Let's say I feel happier like this," she said. "Just so that you don't get any ideas."
"Spoilsport," I said and sat quiet, waiting for us to get started. Only we didn't. Scavuzzo spoke to the gunman and he nodded and went back into the house. I wondered what he was planning to do. Then I heard the first faint bang, the flat authoritative bang of my Walther. Then there was the sound of a man's voice shouting and a second bang, and a third. Then a thirty-second pause, and a fourth.
"Now you're really in trouble," I said but Carla laughed shortly.
"Not me, you. That was your gun he used. You'll have some more things to explain now, won't you?"
"I look forward to getting the opportunity."
Herbie said, "What's going on, John? Please tell me." His voice was hoarse and strained as if he had sung too many verses of "ninety-nine bottles of beer" around the camp fire. I hoped he would get to do it some time. Right now I didn't like his
chances.
"You have to learn from this experience," I told him. "Never judge a book by its cover. This pretty lady with her gun in my ear isn't a movie star. She's a hot-pants Mafia princess."
That was as far as I got before she rammed the muzzle of the gun into my ear, trying to force it all the way through my thick head. Then Herbie said, "Stop that. Stop hurting him," and the pressure came off my ear as he tugged at her gun hand. I just hoped he wouldn't squeeze the trigger for her.
I craned around as far as I could in my harness and saw Scavuzzo holding his gun silently to Herbie's head. No wrestling, no sweat, just the immediate promise of death if he didn't stop fighting. He did.
"Nice going Herb," I told him and Carla rewarded me with another jab in the head. It hurt but I only said, "All right Carla, I promise I'll take you to the school formal."
"You bastard. I'm going to smash your teeth out," she promised. Then their boy got back into the driver's seat. I noticed that he was wearing gloves. Damn. My gun would have only my prints on it. And its bullets were in three dead men. How do you explain this, Signor Locke? Drink your nice castor oil and let's go over it again.
The driver backed out of the alleyway, moving very slowly, doing everything with pinpoint precision, like a man who has just realized that he is drunk; I knew what was happening. His memory was playing back the images he had created inside that house, men pleading, cursing, dying, rolling away from him with their mouths round with surprise as their lives seeped away.
He drove by the book, giving way when he had to, going for the breaks when they came. We stayed away from the center of town, out among streets of low houses, as ordinary as they get in Florence, which means they've been around for only a few centuries. For about a minute I watched every move, checking for street names, landmarks, directions, anything to guide me. Then Scavuzzo said something to Carla and she took off her scarf and flipped it around my eyes, doing her best to crush them out of the sockets. I didn't say anything. The mood she was in she could have blinded me without a second thought. I just hoped Herbie would keep looking. He was coming out of this a better, tougher guy than he had gone in.