The Mafia Emblem

by Michael Hillier

  - 13 -

  Ben settled himself into the gangway seat on the plane and took out his paper. However he found he wasn’t reading the words. His mind was racing ahead to his meeting with Alfredo. Language would be a problem. He didn’t think that Alfredo’s English was very good. Probably it was similar to Ben’s Italian. Perhaps they could find someone to act as an interpreter.

  Suddenly his paper was pushed to one side and he found his nose was only a few inches from one of the most spectacular cleavages he had ever encountered. The bursting brassiere was a deep pink with maroon embroidery. The blouse, which was a lighter pink, was made of a kind of rough silk and didn’t seem to have any buttons to hold it together. The throat above the splendid chest was long and white and seemed to go on forever. Above it the full red lips were smiling tolerantly.

  “Excuse me, could I make my seat?”

  The woman’s voice was deep and throaty; the accent East Coast American. The question was full of amusement.

  Ben pulled himself upright in the confined space. He was covered in confusion. “I – I’m sorry. I was deep in my paper.”

  “So was I for a moment,” she chuckled.

  She squeezed herself past, apparently in imminent danger of bursting out of her tight clothes. As he breathed in to give her more room he swallowed a lungful of a deep, rich scent more suitable for evening wear than morning air travel. He helped her to settle into her seat, put her bag in the overhead locker, and found the end of her seat belt for her, playing the perfect English gentleman. Of course she was the sort of woman whom every man would want to help.

  Then it was time for them to strap themselves in while the aircraft taxied out for take-off. Busy with his thoughts, Ben didn’t notice that his neighbour had fallen silent.

  The aircraft turned on to the runway and rolled to a halt as the engines were run up to full power. Then there came the rising crescendo of furious noise, the lurching rush along the tarmac, and the sudden swooping sensation that seemed to leave the stomach behind as the nose came up and the aircraft took off.

  He watched out of the window as they climbed into the low cloud and found themselves wrapped around with cotton wool. It was then that he became aware that his hand was being gripped with a passionate strength. Long fingernails were digging into the flesh of his wrist. He turned to look at the lady next to him and was surprised to see that her face was a deathly white and her eyes were closed. For a moment he wondered about calling a stewardess.

  “Are you all right?”

  The blue eyes opened and gazed at him. They were dark with fear. The pale lips were slightly parted. The stomach was drawn in and the splendid chest was rising and falling tremulously. “Wouldn’t you think, the thousands of miles that I’ve flown, that I’d be used to it by now,” she whispered, “but every take-off still terrifies me.”

  “Do you think a drink might help you relax?”

  She smiled hesitantly. “Why, thank you. A straight scotch would go down very well.”

  At that moment they broke through the heavy shroud of cumulus masking Southern England into a brilliant pink and blue world. The sun burst into the cabin, putting colour into the drab faces. As far as one could see out of the windows on each side was a magnificent cloudscape stretching away like some massive, boiling sea which had been frozen into inactivity.

  Ben’s eyes strayed back to his companion and he smiled. “If you’ll release me for a few seconds I’ll call a stewardess and see what they’ve got.”

  She dropped his hand as if it had been red hot. “Gee, I’m sorry. I hadn’t even noticed what I was doing.” She looked down at his wrist and picked it up again, massaging it like a bruised apple. “Oh, look what I’ve done to you with my nails. I’m so sorry. What must you think of me?”

  “Don’t apologise. It hardly hurts at all,” said Ben gallantly. “I’m very pleased to have been of service.”

  He was rewarded by another smile and a little shake of the blonde curls. “Oh, you English. You’re so polite.”

  That was the beginning of what Ben decided later was a most enjoyable flight. His companion began to relax when she had a drink in her hand. The colour came back into her cheeks. He discovered that Donna Carter was a ready talker. He soon heard about her job in New York as an advertising executive and her love of travel. She had been all over the world and “done” Europe on several occasions.

  “It’s the best way I can think of spending my alimony.”

  “You’ve been married?” Ben thought she didn’t look old enough to have finished a whole marriage.

  “Uhuh. My ex was called Joseph A. Carter, Junior - the creep. It lasted fourteen months and three days. He was a sod. Each day of those fourteen months I promised myself I’d take him for every cent I could grab.” She smiled at him rather bitterly. “I reckon I’m now costing him at least the profits of a small oil well every year.”

  Ben kept quiet on this topic. The morality seemed a little strange, but then this was the first time that he’d had such a frank conversation with a woman about her marriage. Soon the talk passed on to other things. As they drank and chatted together Ben forgot all about the problems facing him in Italy and those waiting for him at home when he returned.

  By the time a late breakfast was served by the stewardess, Donna was back to her former cheerful self as she told him what society was like in New York. She exchanged her bacon for one of his tomatoes. She was enthusiastic about English breakfasts.

  “Except when they give you that skinny bacon that dries and curls up.”

  Her manner of speech amused him. But although her language might be quaint her views were very mature.

  As the flight and the friendship progressed she began to coax him into talking about himself and his life in England. “I declare that London is my favourite city after New York. So much always seems to be happening there.”

  Almost without his own volition, Ben found he went on to discuss his business problems and the reason for his flight to Naples. He told her of his determination to fight every way he knew to retain his hold on the business.

  “You’ve done just the right thing,” she agreed. “You go straight in there and hit ‘em. Don’t you let the bastards force you out.” American women were certainly more willing to say just what they thought than the demure English.

  She nodded at him earnestly. “Have you noticed how your problems start to get littler once you get stuck into them? I always say that to myself. That’s how I got rid of Joseph Carter. Boy - was he pleased to see the back of me at any price by the time I’d finished with him.”

  Ben sipped his coffee in acquiescence.

  “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t come away from Naples with their full backing.” Donna waved her plastic knife at him to emphasize her point. “You’re a young chap. All they really want to know is that you’re going to stand up and fight for your business. Once they can see that they’re not going to walk off easily with all the money you’ve earned for ‘em in the last few years, they’ll soon step into line.”

  Ben was a bit shocked to realise that he’d divulged rather more than he’d intended of his own none-too-legal plans to this warm, garrulous American. Luckily she already seemed to be a whole-hearted admirer of his aims.