by G M Eppers
There was a clanging of chain and then Billings was hanging crooked, still attached to the framework, which was now partially separated from the wooden beam where it had been clamped and screwed. Butte turned around in the rafters to address the other side. Billings had his head tilted back, watching his father work, but his head wobbled and his eyelids fluttered.
Thug Two had Avis by the hair and was trying to grab Agnes’ hair as well, probably to force them to head butt each other, but Agnes was avoiding him easily, even yawning as she ducked left and right. “Hair pulling isn’t very sportsmanlike,” Agnes said. “Wouldn’t you rather fight nicely?”
“I never fight nicely!” growled Thug Two.
Avis savagely scratched the back of the hand tangled in her hair, causing the Thug to withdraw it, taking some visible strands of hair with it. “Well, you are now!” she said loudly. “Let us introduce ourselves. Avis and Agnes Nicely,” she said.
“At your service!” finished Agnes, swinging herself around. Thug Two was now trapped between them in a thug sandwich. He was still trying to figure out the recent bit of conversation while the twins faced each other, passing wordless messages about which move to use next. Agnes tugged her left ear and hooked her right leg behind the thug’s leg from the inside. Avis did the same thing in reverse and they both pulled their legs at the same time, taking the thug’s legs out from under him. They spread out enough to let him fall then closed in on him to keep him down. Avis gave him a nasty rabbit punch in the throat and the thug’s eyes bulged out of their sockets as he coughed and gagged, grasping his throat and trying to roll onto his stomach to protect his soft parts. The three of them became a tangle of arms and legs for a while, and I saw the thug land a glancing blow to Agnes’ shoulder, which she shrugged off easily. She responded with a kick to his butt, pushing him to a prone position, then produced her set of handcuffs. She got one around the thug’s right wrist and clicked the other shut around one of the unused rings in the floor.
Dante had managed to retrieve his knife and Sylvia was having a difficult time dodging him. Her focus was on his knife hand as she watched for an opportunity. She backed away from the blade an inch at a time, glancing up in very brief spurts, and once she was in position she leaped up and grabbed onto an unused set of chains, starting herself swinging. Without her legs secured to a ring like ours were, she could swing really high, giving herself plenty of momentum. She succeeded in kicking the knife from his hands once again. Dante growled. Sylvia swung higher and her next kick landed squarely in his face, breaking his nose. Blood spurted and his hands covered his injury automatically. But he’d gotten used to broken noses, apparently, and didn’t nurse it very long. When Sylvia’s next swing completed, he grabbed her legs, which is exactly what she had wanted him to do. I’d seen this move before and it was always a pleasure to watch. She let go of the chains and launched herself over the thug’s head. He overbalanced and went over backwards and Sylvia landed on her knees with her crotch at his chin. Splatters of blood from his broken nose were spotting her olive green shirt, giving it the appearance of camouflage. Thug One bucked under her, making grabs at her arms to push her off, but she pushed his arms down and shifted so that her knees trapped his elbows to the floor. His little arms waved uselessly like a downed T-Rex. Sylvia pulled out her set of cuffs and snapped them on him. His hands were cuffed in front which is not a very debilitating position, but as she lifted herself off of him, she grabbed the chain connecting the cuffs and pulled him up. He smiled as she released her grip. He appeared to be ready to wrap the cuff chain around her throat, until the stun gun to his groin made his eyes cross and his knees buckle. Sylvia kissed the stun gun in appreciation, then pocketed it and dragged him by the chain over to another ring in the floor next to his colleague.
Sir Haughty was still standing over a whimpering Gacha. I couldn’t see them, but I heard the whimper. And I also heard a sound that could only be Haughty tapping his foot impatiently on the wooden floor. “Are you going to let me help you now or shall I shoot the other leg?”
“This is brutality. I’ll walk by tomorrow night,” I heard Gacha say. He meant he’d get out of jail on a technicality, but it still sounded idiotic. A moment later he screamed in pain and I knew it was because Sir Haughty had tied his cravat around Gacha’s leg very tightly.
“Don’t be too sure about that. The Limburger is in this building and we’ll find it. Look up.”
“Why? What’s up there?”
“The last sunlight you’re going to see for a good long while.” There was grunting and scuffling and a moment later Sir Haughty was leading Gacha past me for review. With a firm hand on Gacha’s arm, he saluted me. “Ms. Montana, would you like to interrogate the prisoner?”
“No, thank you,” I said, unable to properly return the salute. I gave a single nod instead. I needed a deep breath, but I didn’t dare take one. I wouldn’t be able to hide the pang in my side. I was barely hanging on, as it were.
It looked like all the criminals were accounted for, so I looked up to check Butte’s progress. He was holding onto a support beam with one hand and had the last chain holding Billings up wrapped around his other arm so he could control Billings’ descent. He let the chain drop one or two links at a time and finally my son landed back on the floor, collapsing unconscious, as the twins gathered around him. “Find the belts!” Avis shouted. “We need the handcuff keys!”
“Never mind,” said Ms. Vertucci, back from wherever she had deposited Thug Three. She now held a large hacksaw and tossed a second up to Butte. He didn’t catch it the first time, or the second, or even the third, but eventually he did and it was short work to cut through the frames after that. As my feet touched the floor and my arms lowered, the relief was incredible. There was so much of it I just couldn’t stand it and I blacked out.
The last thing I heard was Avis whispering into Billings’ unconscious ear. “Happy Birthday, loverboy.” At least, I hoped it was Avis. If it was anyone else, I’d have to have a talk with them.
Chapter Five
I woke up two days later in a nice, comfortable bed in Sento Fortunato Ospedale, a hospital in Messina, Italy. I had a semi-private room, which I was sharing with Billings who was also still recuperating. My head and feet were both slightly elevated, I had a hugely fluffy pillow under my head, I was clean and dry and cozy under light linen sheets, and thinking it just couldn’t get better than this. My hands and wrists were lightly but thoroughly bandaged and I could feel that my midriff was tightly bound. There was some pain in both areas, but it was just a low throbbing. Nitro, Roxy, and Badger had all been treated and released, although they and the rest of the team were crowded into the room to watch me come to. Everyone was there except Butte. I saw all of them before I even saw Billings in the next bed. He did look far better than when I saw him last and was probably close to getting released himself. His hands and wrists were bandaged like mine in large white cotton mittens, but he was now clean-shaven again. I could see some small cuts on his arms that weren’t covered by the hospital gown, but his color and energy were back. Everyone rejoiced when they saw me open my eyes. Nitro, ever the optimist, welcomed me back to the land of the living.
I saw Roxy move into the corner and make a phone call. She was wearing a shimmering gown, with a green and gold bodice and a full-length green skirt. It had a sweetheart neckline and a slit up the side partially hidden by ruffles. Her bright red hair cascaded down her back. I couldn’t hear what she said, but it was safe to assume she was informing Butte that I’d awakened. She kept the call short and a moment later the phone was hidden away.
Nitro had my chart in his hand, even though he was obviously not the doctor of record. He wasn’t even wearing his lab coat. “So, you want the damage report?”
“Sure.” I knew it wasn’t going to be good. And it gave me something to listen to as I drifted slowly into full wakefulness.
“Several blisters on the palms of your hands, welts on your wrists and ankl
es. Twelfth rib on the left broken, eleventh cracked. The broken rib fragment was pushed upward, puncturing your left lung and causing internal bleeding. You were in surgery for four hours, but the surgeons noted that everything went well and it should be about six weeks for a full recovery.”
“Six weeks!” That seemed like an eternity. I did not want to be out of action for six weeks. “Don’t you have a magic wand? I can’t be out for six weeks!”
Nitro looked down his nose at me. Billings pointed at me and did the universal ‘naughty naughty’ gesture. Finally, Nitro raised a calming hand. “Don’t get too upset. I’m going to recommend light duty in ten days. But you can’t rush a broken bone. You’ll still need several days of physical therapy to build up your strength again. I’m sure I can count on you to stick to the regimen I work out.”
“Absolutely!” Sticking to it wasn’t a problem. Not going overboard, that was the problem. We all had one deep-rooted fear -- losing our flexibility and stamina. Our jobs depended on us staying in top physical shape and we all wanted to keep our jobs. I’m not sure why, what with the threat of death and all, but we did. There were a number of pages on my chart and Nitro kept flipping through them, looking for anything else of interest. Somewhere on the third page, he let out a little laugh, then closed the chart and wiped the smile from his face. “What was that about?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nitro?”
“It’s temporary. Don’t worry about it.”
“What’s temporary?”
“It means it’s not going to last.”
“Nitro!” I looked for something to throw at him, but the way the bandages were applied it would have been impossible to pick anything up. Meal time was going to be very interesting. But right now I wanted to know what on my medical chart had made Nitro laugh. “If you don’t tell me right now, I’ll put you on KP—“
“You keep saying that, but you never do it,” he said with a grin. I was busted, but he still relented. “Remember at your physical when I said you’d gained a few pounds?”
“Mom, you gained?” Billings asked from the other bed. We normally don’t share the results of our physicals. Naturally, those kinds of things are private, and I imagined that’s what was holding Nitro back. But I really felt very comfortable with all of these people. Billings, of all of them, knew my history. I’d barely gained any weight for the last twenty years. Measured in ounces, if that, and easily explained as water weight. The others were getting the gist from Billings’ question, and looked appropriately mystified.
“A couple of pounds,” I admitted defensively. “Let me guess, I lost everything I gained. That’s to be expected. I didn’t eat for about fifty hours. That’s what made you laugh?”
“Um…no, not exactly. It’s the other thing.”
“What other thing?” Remember, I’d been unconscious for two days and just short of hysterics for longer than that. I hadn’t a clue what he meant.
Nitro acted like I was going to hit him. “You regained the quarter inch,” he said quickly, wincing.
“Inch?” asked Sylvia. “As in height? You lost height?”
Can’t get anything past her. I sighed, “yes.”
“I didn’t think you could lose height,” she went on. “Is it all that relish?”
Now I was getting embarrassed. “I don’t think so.”
Nitro came to my defense as he rehung my chart on the foot of the bed. “It’s not caused by relish. It’s just a natural part of the aging process. Evidently, hanging for so long like she did stretched out her vertebrae. Once she starts walking around they’ll settle again. It’s temporary.”
Badger was punching the screen on his phone. Not an unusual sight by any means. I’m not sure I’d recognize the man if I met him on the street without a phone in his hand. “A quarter inch per year,” he muttered. “You have 248 years to live!” He made it sound very dire, and wiped an arm across his forehead in a mock swoon.
“Oh no, say it isn’t so,” I said dully. “I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves. Let me know when you reach maturity, will you?”
Sir Haughty, standing behind Badger, obliged me by giving Badger a playful whap upside the head. Badger grinned and ducked, but some of it did connect and everyone got a laugh.
“How’s Billings?” I asked Nitro.
“He won’t even have a scar. Rest and fluids and he’s good as new. You got the worst of it, Helena. Don’t worry about us.”
“That’s good to know.” At that point, my stomach woke up and growled audibly. “What time is it? Can I get something to eat, or am I on a liquid diet?”
Nitro jumped up from the chair he’d been sitting in and went out the door. Roxy immediately took the seat and propped her feet up on the end of my bed. “I called Butte. He should be here soon.”
“Thank you, Roxy.” I glanced at Billings to see how he was taking it. “You okay with a visit from your father, Billings?”
“He saved our lives, Mom,” said a newly accepting Billings. “He can move in. I’ll give him my room. I’ll cook him breakfast. I’ll darn his socks and underwear. Whatever he wants.”
I sank a little more into my pillow, tension leaving my body like rats from a sinking ship. “So, while I have all of you here,” I said, “what happened after I got taken? What did I miss by being inconveniently unconscious?” I loved having them all here. For a while, in the storage building, I’d thought I might never see them again at all, let alone all together, smiling and chatting. It was perfect just settling back in my overstuffed pillow and listening to them, while waiting for my hospital meal to arrive. Avis and Agnes had taken seats on the edge of Billings’ bed and Avis was even now holding a cup of water with a bendy straw in it for Billings to drink from. I looked around for my water glass and spied it on the bedtable that divided our beds. “Hey, could I get a drink?” They were close enough, so Agnes was able to get up and reach it for me. There we both were, Billings and I, being given drinks of water by the twins at the same time as they stood between our hospital beds. The water was crystal clear and ice cold, with small chips of ice still floating in it. I drank until it made a disgusting noise, then thanked Agnes. She put the cup back on the table and sat back down next to her sister, who was still holding the cup for Billings. Billings was only sipping a little at a time, and I suspected it was so Avis would have something to do.
Sylvia said, “Actually, that would be better told after Butte gets here. But we can fill you in on the Pappardelles.”
“Sounds good. Did we get Gacha?”
“Oh, we got Gacha. We got Gacha big time. First, some background. Badger?”
Badger was mostly hidden from view by Sylvia and Sir Haughty, but they politely moved out of the way to let him through. “Turns out Gacha was on a legitimate mission. The President herself sent General Gacha to infiltrate the Mafia in hopes of taking the organization down from the inside. He got in with Rico, so in that he was engulfed by the favors and luxuries that Rico Pappardelle could supply. Rico managed to stumble on Emilio’s major weakness.”
“Collectible spoons?” I asked, remembering the conversation I’d had with him just before we were rescued.
“Nope. Worse. Snowglobes. Unfortunately, the snow in the globes was actually heroin. It was apparently a hugely successful smuggling campaign thanks to the Southeast United States. Anyway, Gacha became so enamored of the snowglobes—not the heroin, just the snowglobes-- that he wanted it all and threw Papa under the bus.”
I didn’t know any more about Gacha than what I’d seen in the storage building, but I could see that scenario play out. “So he turned state’s evidence against Papa and sent him to prison? Where, I suppose, he got shivved five minutes after he got locked up. Papa was that kind of guy.”
“Surprisingly, no. I mean that Gacha literally threw Papa under the bus. Gacha confessed everything and is trying to make a plea deal. They were arguing about how far Gacha could go in the organization at the corner of Via Roma an
d Via Aldo Moro when a city bus came down the street doing 80 kph. Gacha saw his chance and pushed Papa in front of it –“
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Wasn’t Papa his father-in-law?”
“Not at the time.”
“You mean, his daughter married Gacha anyway?”
“No, I mean his daughter married Gacha because of it. She hated her father. She thought Gacha had done it as a sign of his love for her. Gacha wanted access so he married her. The truth is, she eventually figured out Gacha’s motives and now hates him, too. She’s agreed to testify against him. Also, two of the three thugs agreed to testify in exchange for reduced sentences.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Dante is the hold out.”
“Yes,” Badger confirmed. “He has elected to exercise his right to remain silent. Probably not a bad idea in his case. He’ll be facing a few charges of his own. The Italian AG believes that with the testimony from the other two they can link Dante to the two deputies. Murder and mutilation should put Dante away whether he rats on Gacha or not.”
“Wow, that’s quite a story. What was up with the Limburger?” I was enthralled by now and wanted all the answers.
Roxy took over the story. “We found the Limburger in an aging room near the main bank of freezers. It tested positive for Uber and was confiscated. About 250 kilograms of Uber Limburger are now secure in the Italian police’s evidence locker, under direct control of Ms. Vertucci, I might add. Gacha’s plan was to sell it in Germany and the United States. It would generate enough income so that he could quietly restart the snowglobe venture, just snowglobes, though, which was his real love, no heroin. Kind of ironic that his final goal was totally legal, and only his method of funding it was against the law. He’d already lost a batch of Limburger, even though it wasn’t traced to him, trying to export it by ship, so he really wanted to open up a land route at least to Germany. Then he figured the security might be more lax at Ostend, Belgium and tried to set up something there to arrange a route to the States. All while taking out as many Chembassies as he could to open up the land route. When the media let out that the meatballs were explosive, it spoiled his plan. He still hadn’t removed the nearest Chembassy in Austria or taken out the one in Switzerland. He couldn’t get past the Alps without clearing those countries, and it’s really hard to go around them. He was hoping for a more direct route to avoid having to blow up so many Chembassies.”
