Dangerous Games

by Gillian Godden

  ‘Why?’

  Eddie shrugged. ‘Just doing what I was told.’

  Why isn’t Eddie coming in? Tony wondered, as he entered the hotel lobby. Is a set up? Am I walking into a trap?

  He found the bossman waiting for him at the bar, a large whisky in his hand. He didn’t offer Tony a drink. Tony looked around and saw Joe was there, as well.

  So much for trust. Joe was there to keep an eye on him, to make sure he told the boss everything. Because he spoke a little Italian, Tony realised, he would be able to interpret some things, at least. Joe wasn’t fluent, by any means, but he could tell the bossman if Tony was lying.

  ‘You ready, Tony?’ The bossman put down his glass and walked to the lift. Tony nodded and followed, and Joe fell in behind them.

  They travelled up several floors, got out and walked along a corridor. The bossman was just about to knock on a door, when he turned to Tony and pointed his finger in his face. ‘No tricks, now, you tell me everything, okay?’

  Tony nodded. Inside the room, he looked around and took everything in. He hadn’t known that hotel rooms could have large sofas, occasional tables and lamps. It looked like someone’s lounge.

  In the room were four extremely well-dressed men, three young and one who was a little older. Tony couldn’t help but admire their suits; they were jet black, well-tailored and shone like silk. These men had money, and lots of it, by the look of them. What the hell were they doing mixing with a scumbag like the bossman?

  The bossman shook hands with the older man, then sprawled all over one of the sofas, making himself at home. Tony and Joe stood behind him, in the same fashion that the other three men stood behind their boss.

  ‘Please, will you have a drink?’ said the Italian. ‘Some brandy, perhaps.’

  The bossman nodded, and one of the younger men poured him a large brandy and placed it on the coffee table.

  Tony felt embarrassed because in front of them was an immaculately dressed middle-aged, dark-haired man. His very presence spoke of authority and elegance.

  This man clearly looked after his employees, and it seemed he demanded perfection and style.

  The bossman was trying to display the same level of authority, but he failed miserably. His well-worn black suit, complete with cigarette ash stain near the breast pocket, made him look cheap, and his once-white shirt was dulled by constant washing. He had made no effort to look the part to meet this man.

  Tony felt he had done his best, he had put his suit on, and one of Elle’s fresh, starched white shirts, but he still felt underdressed compared with the other group. At least, he thought to himself, I have enough respect for these men to feel humble before them.

  At first Tony didn’t realize why he was there, as they were all speaking in English. He looked at Joe quizzically; he looked confused as well.

  They were discussing diamonds, uncut ones that were to be picked up. Tony found it interesting.

  ‘I want fifty diamonds, that’s my share,’ said the bossman.

  The Italian man sitting opposite shook his head and held up three fingers, then spoke to one of the men behind him, in Italian.

  The bossman turned to Tony, waiting for an answer.

  ‘He said thirty is his best offer,’ said Tony. The bossman looked at his Italian counterpart.

  No one was saying anything about how they were going to get these diamonds; it seemed to Tony that all those arrangements had been made. This was just the final discussion, about the payment.

  The Italian man smiled, and excused himself. He was all flattery to the bossman, and very gracious. He apologized for his poor English and said he hoped the bossman, in his obvious wisdom, could understand him.

  Tony felt a little disgusted, why was this well-turned-out man apologizing to the bossman?

  The Italian then looked at Tony, knowing now that Tony was there to interpret, and spoke to him.

  Tony relayed his message to the bossman. ‘He says he has been instructed by his boss to offer thirty diamonds, and that’s his best offer.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said the bossman. ‘For a moment, there, I thought this greasy Italian was only going to offer three.’ The bossman carried on smiling at the Italian; he was treating him like a fool.

  The Italian man was all apologies, and kept making mistakes. Tony interpreted, and Joe spoke up now and again, to make his presence known and to earn his money.

  A couple of times, Tony smiled to himself and corrected Joe; he was a decent enough guy, but his Italian was atrocious.

  The other three Italian men in the room stood poker-faced, like statues, behind their boss.

  The bossman had been kept supplied with brandy throughout the meeting. He gulped back the one he currently had and waited for more hospitality to be offered. Tony noticed the Italian man wasn’t drinking. He had a small coffee cup on the table at the side of him, and that was it.

  He had apologised to the bossman about not having a drink with him. He had rubbed his stomach and blamed an ulcer.

  The bossman nodded and smiled; he was feeling a lot more relaxed and brave, now he had a few large brandies inside him, and knew these Italian men could hardly speak any English.

  ‘Ignorant wops, all that bloody pasta has given him a bad ulcer,’ he muttered to Tony and Joe, then carried on smiling and nodding at the Italian. ‘All those swanky suits don’t impress me. They’re greasy Italian monkeys and I’m the zookeeper, eh, lads? I’ll show them who’s boss. Bloody foreigners, no wonder they need a professional, like me.’ He laughed at his own joke. The young Italians kept their poker faces and their boss smiled back.

  Tony felt his face burning with anger. The bossman was drunk and insulting, and making a fool of himself. ‘Greasy Italians’; so that was what this man had always thought about him, the racist bastard!

  The bossman agreed to the thirty diamonds, shook hands with the Italian in charge, and left. He walked back to the lift, with Joe and Tony beside him, and once inside, he rubbed the hand he had shook the Italian’s hand with down his suit trousers. ‘Greasy Italian bastard,’ he said.

  Tony felt insulted and humiliated, he was a greasy Italian bastard, wasn’t he? Well, he would soon sort that out.

  The bossman reached into his pocket and took out the five hundred pounds promised. He was a little drunk, and swaying. ‘You did okay, Tony, I’ll be in touch,’ he said, as he handed it over.

  Tony was fuming, as he walked back to where Eddie waited with the car. How could that Italian man sit there while the bossman spoke about him like that? Where the bloody hell was his boss?

  ‘Well?’ said Eddie, when Tony got in the car. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘All right, I think.’

  ‘Who was there? What happened?’

  ‘Four Italians. It was just an introductory meeting, I think. Lots of flannel, you know the kind of thing.’

  Eddie kept on asking questions all the way back to Elle’s. Jake had been right; Eddie was fishing for information. Fishing! It was more like the third degree! Luckily, Tony had learned that silence is golden.

  A CHANCE ENCOUNTER

  Once Eddie had dropped him off, Tony waited until he saw his car turn out of the road, then hailed a passing black taxi. He instructed the driver to take him back to the hotel he’d just come from.

  When Tony came up with his plan he had been angry, which had fuelled his bravado. As he got closer to the room, his courage was ebbing away. He knew he was taking a risk; still, he was there, so he knocked on the door.

  One of the younger men opened it and looked at him curiously; he turned to look at his boss, who was still sitting in his chair.

  The man, knowing Tony spoke Italian, asked him if he had come back with a message.

  Tony replied in Italian. ‘No,’ he said, ‘but I am Italian, too, and that man you’re doing business with called you a greasy Italian bastard. I would have liked to have told you earlier, but the other guy was there to make sure I didn’t speak out of turn. He
can speak a little Italian, as you know.’

  Tony had blurted out everything he felt, in one breath.

  ‘I know what he said,’ the Italian man said, in perfect English. He started smiling at Tony. ‘Tell me, do you always show such disloyalty to your employers?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  Tony blushed. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, he was just being hot-headed. He was out of his depth with this man and he knew it. Whatever he said, this man had his own thoughts about him. Tony pushed his hand through his hair and looked at the man before him.

  ‘He was my boss, once upon a time. He offered me money as a one-off to come and interpret for him, today, but you obviously didn’t need me.’ Tony paused, then said, ‘May I ask, why did you pretend not to understand him?’ Tony couldn’t understand why the man had played the fool.

  ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, that’s what I always say, and so does my good friend, Ralph Gold, who put me on to your one-time boss.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I shouldn’t have come back. This is none of my business. I just didn’t want your boss doing business with a man who doesn’t respect him.’

  ‘There is no boss. I am the boss, I make the decisions. So, if not to your one-time boss, who has obviously done you a great wrong in the past, it seems you have a loyalty to the flag. Why is that?’

  ‘I’m Italian; well, half, anyway,’ Tony stammered. He felt stupid in front of this man. Embarrassed, now ... All the time the bossman had laughed and called this man names he had kept his stupid innocent, poker face in place, and yet he had understood every word.

  ‘Please,’ take a seat,’ said the Italian.

  Tony sat where the bossman had been sitting, less than an hour before.

  ‘And will you take a whisky?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Tony, and a glass appeared in front of him almost immediately.

  Tony watched the Italian pick up his own whisky glass and drink from it. He couldn’t help but smile; he didn’t know this man but he felt, somehow, he could trust him.

  ‘What about your ulcer?’ said Tony, pointing at the whisky tumbler in the Italian’s hand.

  ‘Take a tip from me, never drink when you’re discussing business, you make yourself look like a drunken fool.’ He cocked his head to one side and looked at Tony, smiling.

  Tony put his glass down and thanked him for the drink. ‘Sorry, I underestimated you, I shouldn’t have come. I just felt I should tell you that the bossman isn’t to be trusted. I know, I’ve been to prison as one of his goodwill gestures. Sorry, and thanks for the drink.’

  The Italian held his hand out to Tony and shook it. ‘A blonde Italian with blue eyes, that’s unusual. Thank you for coming back. Honesty is a rare thing in our business. Tell me, what’s your name?’

  ‘Tony,’ he said. Again, he felt awkward, so was about to walk away.

  ‘Your full name. You say you’re Italian, what is your full name?’ The man waited for an answer.

  ‘They call me Tony, but my name is Antonias, Antonias Lambrianu.’ Tony laughed nervously. ‘Is that Italian enough for you?’

  The Italian man’s head shot up and he looked Tony directly in the eyes. He stared at him for a moment.

  ‘Antonias Lambrianu.’ He nodded to himself and looked at one of the other men in the room. He held out his hand again to shake Tony’s. ‘Nice to meet you, Antonias Lambrianu.’

  He took another drink from his glass as he watched Tony leave the room. This really was a strange encounter. It couldn’t be, could it?

  Tony walked to the lift and got in. It was a strange look the man had given him, almost spooky. Wait till Jake hears all about this, he thought to himself.

  Back inside the hotel suite, the Italian man turned to one of his men and waved him forward.

  ‘See that Mr Antonias Lambrianu gets home safely. Do it without being seen. You never know, seeing as there is so much bad blood between himself and that bossman, it wouldn’t surprise me if he is having him watched.’

  He was right, of course; Eddie had been warned by the bossman to keep an eye on Tony’s activities, where he went and who he saw. Thankfully, Tony had left straightaway, when he saw Eddie drive off, and so hadn’t been followed back to the hotel.

  ***

  Tony went straight around to Jake and Sharon’s flat. It was late, but he knew they wouldn’t mind. Jake probably wouldn’t be asleep, anyway, he would be waiting for Tony to get home to tell him what all this cloak and dagger business was about.

  ‘For God’s sake, Tony, where have you been?’ said Jake, when he opened the door. He had stayed up and waited by the window, looking for him, and he was agitated. He feared something had gone wrong; Tony had said two hours, maximum, and it had been much longer.

  ‘Don’t panic, I came as soon as I could. I had some extra business to take care of.’

  Jake hugged him; he had never been so relieved to see his brother, he was sure something had happened.

  Jake made them both a cup of coffee. ‘Well, what’s it about?’ he said.

  ‘Diamonds. I’m not sure exactly what, but it’s something to do with uncut diamonds. The bossman wants thirty as his share, so God knows how many more there are. I don’t know any more than that.’

  ‘Who the hell would discuss diamonds with the bossman? He’s as cheap as chips.’

  ‘I don’t know, I’ll tell you about all that in a minute. There was an Italian guy there who was in charge, and he said a guy called Ralph Gold had put him on to the bossman.’

  ‘Shit, Tony, Ralph Gold? That man’s into everything, very well-to-do and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Done all kinds of things. He used to supply guns to some Irish terrorist lot, a real mean bastard by all accounts. Supposedly, he’s gone all legitimate now. All his friends are important people, judges, lawyers, members of parliament, you name it.’

  ‘Ralph Gold, really? I’ll remember that name, it might come in useful one day. Anyway, this Italian guy I was telling you about …’ Tony told Jake all about his evening.

  Tony spent the night on the sofa at the flat, as it was so late. He hardly slept, though; he was still thinking about that Italian man and how much he admired him. He was in a league of his own.

  MIRIAM

  The vineyard operation was now a multi-million-pound business. It supplied all the major supermarkets, restaurants, and professional wine sellers.

  Miriam wanted for nothing; she had an excellent team of loyal workers and managers running the business. Fredo had died two years ago. He had a massive heart attack one day, and it had all been over so suddenly, they hadn’t had a chance to call the ambulance. Since then, she had shared the house with Rosanna, who had first been her maid, then her companion, and now was a dear and trusted friend.

  Miriam had everything she needed and more, but money couldn’t buy family. There were days she felt she had everything, and yet had nothing.

  For eighteen years she had done her very best to find out some kind of news about Annette and Antonias, but there had been nothing. Annette had covered her tracks well. Private detectives had been hired, against Fredo’s wishes; he thought it would seem as though Miriam was hounding them in their new life. But she needed to know if they were both okay. She still felt part of what had happened that night had been her fault.

  Time and time again, she had cursed herself for not giving Annette all the money she had wanted. What did it matter now? But Miriam had been stubborn and felt bitter when she had realised Annette had been prepared to sell her own son, for financial gain.

  Antonias was her only grandchild and she wasn’t prepared to wash her hands of him; he was out there, somewhere. He would be a man now, in his twenties. Since Marias and Fredo were both dead, all of this now belonged to Antonias. Before she died, herself, she wanted to see him one more time.

  Each Christmas and birthday, Miriam had bought Antonias a present and put it in his bedroom. It was to give herself hope that one day Annette would come back
, with Antonias.

  In the end, Fredo, had stopped her obsession, there was no point to it.

  ‘If it makes you feel better, Miriam,’ he said, ‘just put the money that you would spend on his presents into a bank account for him. He is all grown up now, what does he want with toys?’

  So that was what she had done, because if you didn’t have hope, you didn’t have anything. Besides, it salved her conscience.

  Each day, she would visit the little church she had married Fredo in. It was part of the vineyard, dating back to when it had just been a farm and the workers would visit every Sunday to pray. It was a special place. She always lit a candle and prayed, and asked God to keep Antonias safe, wherever he was.

  Time and time again she had cursed herself for not understanding Annette better. She feared she would never have peace of mind.

  As Miriam sat in her lounge, resting, she heard a car pull up outside the house. That was very unusual; people normally went to the factory or the offices to discuss business.

  Rosanna came running into the lounge; she looked panic-stricken. ‘Miriam,’ she said, ‘there’s a large black car outside, and Don Carlos is getting out of it.’

  Don Carlos was a well-known Mafia boss, and he didn’t do social calls. He owned everything, and everyone. Many people owed him favours. His family had helped them all, one way or another, and owing him was like selling your soul to the devil himself.

  Don Carlos was the grandson of their friend, Alfonso, who had lived and worked with Miriam and Fredo many years before. They had given him and his family refuge when they fell on hard times, and then Alfonso had left and gone into some kind of import and export business, with his family. This business was Mafia-orientated.

  Alfonso had always insisted that whatever businesses they had taken over or taken a commission from, the vineyard was to be left alone. But now that both Alfonso and Fredo were dead, Miriam feared the agreement was at an end.

  ‘Open the door, Rosanna,’ Miriam said. ‘Show him full respect, and bring in some coffee. Let’s find out what he wants … or how much.’