by Alan Lee
The clerk nodded politely to Manny and said, “Señor Garcia, it has been a bloody night. We’ve lost twenty-six guests so far, and therefore we have a more appropriate room for you.”
“Twenty-six?”
“A common occurrence when housing many of the world’s most…passionate guests.” He leaned closer, as if sharing confidential information. “Which is why we require payment upfront, sir. May we move you to your new accommodations? It is only around the corner.”
Twenty minutes later the four insurgents settled into a much larger suite, with two bathrooms and two bedrooms and a mattress for all. Despite Veronica wearing a relatively modest nightie, each time the men glanced at her their spines naturally straightened and their shoulders pushed back, an involuntary response at being in the same room with a sun goddess.
She set her toothbrush down, came out of the bathroom, perfect teeth sparkling, and said for the third time, “How confident are you that Mackenzie did not have enough time to be seduced and coerced into sex before his escape attempt?”
Manny grinned in the doorway, where he was using a washcloth to clean his knife. He was bare chested, in the process of changing shirts. He had nothing on Mackenzie, Veronica thought to herself. But still. The man was not unpleasant to look at.
“I was with big Mack in Los Angeles, señorita. Even during his wild years, his single years, if he was with a girl? He was faithful,” said Manny. “Trust me. He didn’t…follarla the girl.”
“Follarla means screw?”
“Close enough.”
“I have no right to be jealous,” she said, rubbing the flat of her hand along her neck. “But I am. He’s the only thing in my life worth being jealous of.”
Typing on his laptop and yawning from his bed in the next room, Marcus asked Manny, “The hell happened to you in Los Angeles, marshal? Why’d you move here and start hanging out with August?”
“A long story,” said Manny. “None of it good. I never met a good man, ’til Mack. Being around him, it helps.”
“I know the feeling.” Veronica went to her heirloom bed and slid under the covers. “We’ll get him back. Right, Manny?”
“No doubt. My bet, soon enough he’ll get out without our help. Almost did tonight.” He finished with the knife and slid it into a hidden slot along the belt line. “What about you, pana? The hell happened to you in that train yard last year? Why didn’t you kill Mack?”
Marcus stopped typing. Leaned back against the wooden bed frame and removed his reading glasses and sighed.
“Should have. I be a dead man, the Kings knew the truth. But I think, when I looked at him, I saw myself, if I’d grown up with parents. A man with violence in him, but…tryna do right. Because that’s a hard thing, fighting against the desire to hurt. And August’s got the fight. But he’s a good dad, a good man, a believer in the Almighty, and I couldn’t pull the trigger. Maybe August is authentically the man that I’m pretending to be. You know?”
Carlos was almost asleep. He mumbled, “Didn’t know you could talk so much, jefe.”
“Still waters run deep, boy. Tomorrow, Carlos and I gonna find out more about the anti-Rossi sentiment in Naples. We wanna crack this fortress? Might need to coordinate with the local militia. Loyalty can be bought with enough ice,” said Marcus, and he slid his reading glasses back onto his nose. They were, of course, black and silver.
Veronica yawned and stretched. “I’m going sunbathing tomorrow. There’s usually gossip at the pool and I need to discover the dirt on the black bracelet he wears.”
Manny pulled a t-shirt on, clipped the Beretta pistol to his belt, and shrugged into his sports jacket. A more dashing figure would be hard to find.
Veronica asked, “Going somewhere, handsome?”
“Out. Wanna go?”
“Absolutely not. I’ll be asleep in seconds.”
He grinned and gave them a quick salute. “The night is young. I’m loaded and the casino might still be open.”
34
Veronica woke and found herself lying next to Manny. She hadn’t heard him return last night, yet here he was—on the bed with her. He’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, still dressed, a crime considering the value of his clothing. His mouth hung open half an inch and he breathed slowly and deep, creating a faint rattle. She slid out of the covers and went to the ladies room. Only when she returned did she notice the cargo Manny had returned with.
Lying on the floor between the two queen beds was an ugly machine gun, a rocket launcher, and two backpacks. One backpack was full of cash in euros. Sticking out of the second backpack was what appeared to be four rockets.
Her eyebrows lifted. The casinos in Naples paid out differently than those in Vegas. Did this hotel have any rules?
She tiptoed around the ordnance like it might blow, and she picked up a phone and ordered room service.
“Portami due di tutto,” she said.
Bring me two of everything.
Soon, guest servicemen wheeled in four carts of prima colazione—caffè latte, biscuits and butter, cornetto, bacon, eggs, fette biscottate, and a fruit salad. She helped herself to coffee and bacon and invaded Manny’s bed to eat, since he still occupied hers.
Marcus returned from wherever he’d been. Without speaking he crouched between the two beds and picked up the rocket launcher, inspected it, and set it down. Did the same thing with the machine gun, and then he opened the first backpack farther.
Manny rolled over, yawned, and sat up, instantly awake.
“The rich gamblers at the casinos in Naples?” he said. “They have no idea how to play a hand of poker.”
“Three more diamonds here,” said Marcus, holding the red-tipped jewels in his palm. “You steal more aurum?”
“Steal? You offend me, señor,” said Manny. “They were given to me.”
“By a dead guy?”
“By a guy who needed killing.”
“Rumor in the hallways, the American champion killed a Gurkha last night,” said Marcus, standing up with a slight grunt. “That you?”
“Again, migo, a guy who needed to be dead.”
“Six aurum you taken since you arrived. And killed a mafia special forces soldier,” said Marcus. “By now, you a wanted man.”
Manny rolled out of bed and took off his fortune in wrinkled fashionable clothing. Veronica didn’t watch. Much. He said, “Always been a wanted man. Otherwise, what fun would life be? I live with inexhaustible joie de vivre.”
“August teach you that?”
“Of course.”
Veronica smiled. “Sounds like him. Don’t you love watching his lips as he speaks?”
Manny and Marcus looked at her. Didn’t answer.
“Oh,” she said. “No? That’s just me?”
She and Manny found the pool on the roof of the eastern wing. Most of the patrons sat on chairs in the shade under a portico, their feet set in a shallow cool stream intended just for that. The younger and more athletic guests lay in the hot sun.
Veronica chose a chair near a small pool inlaid with smooth river pebbles, set on either side with tuberose planters. Manny tried to take the chair next to hers but she shooed him several chairs down.
“I need information,” she explained. “Which is easier to do when single.”
She slid Dior sunglasses into her hair and let the cover-up slip from her shoulders. She wore a string bikini, the color of saffron. The top was decorated with aqua blue polka dots and the bottom tied at the hips.
Wearing that, Manny thought, she’ll get all the information she needs. Looked too small.
Two pool attendants came running. They smoothed out the towel for her on the luxury chair bed, adjusted the chair’s reclining back, and opened her umbrella. Offered to help with suntan lotion. The more fortunate of the two was tasked with fetching her a chilled white wine at a bar inside the portico.
Manny laid out his own blanket and no one offered to get him a drink for several minutes.
Over the next hour, rich and powerful denizens of the Teatro di Montagna flowed by. So many men brought Veronica drinks that she began placing them behind her chair, barely touched.
She was good, Manny thought as he watched her charm all suitors. The way she smiled and used her hair and turned her body, you’d never guess she had a law degree from William & Mary, graduating Order of the Coif.
He’d learned from Mack that she’d been forced into prostitution by her father and fiancé. Witnessing the men salivate over her, he understood—what lonely man wouldn’t pay a fortune?
He ordered lunch, finished, grew bored, and got up to walk the shallow pool. The smooth river stones massaged his feet and he fondly reminisced over the previous night’s victories. Manny was a man unafraid to part fools from their money.
Veronica found herself alone, finally, and joined him. As she arrived, as if waiting, her favorite fabulous Chinese women came quick-stepping in her direction.
Veronica smiled at them but they were more interested in Manny. Each woman grabbed him by the ears and kissed him on the mouth.
“You know we did?” a woman asked Veronica between high-pitched bouts of laughter. “We go casino with Manuel!”
Somehow he managed to fit his arms around all three women and they walked up and down the wading pool, laughing and talking. Veronica bit her lip to keep from laughing when Manny caught her eye. It had been quite the night, and she blushed listening to the sordid details. When the party broke, they each kissed Manny again and petted Veronica.
“We love you, so pretty!”
Then they were gone, like a tornado evaporating.
“I like your friends,” she told Manny.
“Billionaires,” he said. “From Singapore. Three single señoritas who love watching men kill one another.”
“Billionaires? Really?”
“So they say. I took a fortune from them at the card table and they only laughed. They rented a room at the casino for their own private party. Some wild women.”
“Is Duane at the pool? Do you know what he looks like?”
“Never met the man. His wife isn’t here.”
“She’s the woman in the hallway who captured Mackenzie,” said Veronica.
“Yes.”
“I gleaned some information about the black bracelet. It’s activated by remote control, delivering a powerful sedative. High-tech handcuffs.”
“A handcuff from hell, ask me.”
“I’ve lost track of the human rights violations at this hotel. And another piece of juicy gossip…” She pointed surreptitiously at a saloon over the bar, a shady area with fans and gauzy flowing curtains. “That’s the VIP lounge. The holy of holies, home of the ‘It’ crowd. Well guarded. And I’m going up.”
“How you doing that?”
“Easy.” She smiled and reached a hand behind her back and undid the knot of her bikini top.
Manny gulped. “Don’t think this is a pool for nude sunbathing, mamí.”
“It is now.” She raised her arms and drew the strings over her head and laid the bikini top in Manny’s hand. “Be careful, please, Manny. This suit cost five hundred dollars.”
“Don’t see how,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on her Dior sunglasses. “Like you’re wearing napkins. I think maybe you should start sporting one-pieces. Or scuba diving equipment.”
“Also.” She took off the glasses and gave them over. “These too.”
“Why?”
“Men are idiots. They get scared by women wearing them. Isn’t that silly. Wish me luck.” She slowly cat-walked to the deeper pool and waded in, up to her thighs.
“Simon,” Manny said to himself, his throat a little dry. “So silly.”
Veronica strolled topless through the water, letting her fingers graze the surface, moving her hips in a swiveling motion. She had all the subtly of fireworks. Poolside conversation died down and necks craned. Was this some angel descended from the sun? Sól herself, perhaps?
Manny wished he’d brought a gun—first gringo touches her gets shot.
He examined her waist and then his own. It wasn’t often someone else made him feel insecure about his midsection. Did she ever eat?
One of the beautiful Chinese women hurried to Manny and whispered in his ear.
“Pretty lady, she friend yours?”
Manny nodded. “Sí, we’re amigos.”
“She have surgery? How she look like that?”
“Surgery?”
“You know!”
“You mean…?”
“Yeah, you know? How she do? Real? Fake?”
Manny pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Made a sighing sound. This had grown weird. “I don’t know. You ask her, not me, mamasita.”
“No, can not! So pretty!”
It didn’t take Veronica long to get the attention she needed. Manny watched as the tournament’s ring master, Ferrari himself, silver hair glinting with sunlight, came down from the private lounge and beckoned for Veronica.
She shook her head and waved for him to get into the pool, a playful move.
Girl’s a pro.
Ferrari blushed and said something in Italian. He took off his loafers and waded down the ramp to his ankles, holding his linen pants up. He and Veronica spoke and laughed, and a moment later she was walking up the stairs to the private lounge.
Now that the sun goddess was out of sight, a few other girls followed her example, disrobing and getting into the water. If any rule about it had existed, it had been shattered by a woman daring them to resist.
Veronica Summers, trend setter.
Hopefully, thought Manny, not to her detriment.
35
That night, Manny, Carlos, and Marcus sat at the central hub on the fifth floor of Teatro di Montagna, alternating glances between the television and the updating betting lines. On screen was a live feed from the rooftop—Mackenzie was being forced to sit on a floating platform inside the pool on the roof with the other three remaining champions.
The throbbing music couldn’t be heard from inside the air-conditioned and cushy bar and the three men preferred it that way at the moment.
Marcus took a sip of Macallan scotch, and with his other hand he kept the radio’s earpiece firmly pressed into his ear. Manny drank limoncello.
Mackenzie pumped straight into their ear canals through the radio, saying, “And then there were four.”
Another voice replied in a thick Italian accent, “Ah, the American Yankee. Good of you to join.”
“The hell is going on?” asked Mackenzie.
Safe on his barstool, Marcus murmured, “That’s the Prince. Even I heard of him. International hitman for the Camorra. Does this shit for fun.”
Carlos made a humming noise somewhere deep in his thick chest. “The Prince. Killed El Salvador’s don, last year.”
“This is bullshit,” said Marcus. “Us sitting here. Hiding. And the man we came to get in the same damn building.”
“Sly like serpents, though,” said Manny.
The feed on the screen switched to a better view of Mackenzie drinking a beer, and Manny pointed at a bar in the background. “There. The lounge is above that bar. See? That’s where Veronica is.”
“By herself,” said Marcus. “With the richest and most dangerous perverts on the planet.”
“You’re angry tonight, amigo.”
“Tired of sitting.”
The four of them had hotly debated Veronica’s acceptance of Ferrari’s invitation for tonight’s Bunga Bunga party. She’d eventually resorted to aggressive profanity, insisting Mackenzie was worth the risk, and stormed out, carrying her high heels and wearing a leather skirt and a scandalously tiny top called a bralette that was “fashionable as fuck, you backwards idiots.”
Manny drained his glass and waved for another. Though it wasn’t hot, he wiped his forehead with a napkin.
Something happened to Veronica in that lounge, Mack would kill him. Maybe twice.
&nbs
p; One of the bartenders set another glass of the lemon liquor in front of him and said, “You have the bar to yourselves, signori. You don’t fashion a dip?” He nodded at one of the screens where partiers were jumping into the pool, splashing the floating platform.
The truth was, they didn’t want to be seen by Duane or anyone with him, whom they knew would be in attendance.
Manny, acting as the frontman to their entourage said, “I do not swim with petty rabble-rousers, mijo.”
“Very good, signore. Any money on the line tomorrow night?” asked the man.
Manny drained half the glass. “Betting it all on the American.”
Marcus said, “You ain’t getting odds. Even money at the moment.”
“Easiest double up I ever made. The American, tough gringo. He won’t lose.”
The bartender bowed and moved to wash glasses.
On the bar, Carlos’s phone buzzed incessantly.
He glanced at it and said, “Gonna be trouble tomorrow, Señor Morgan. The clans say Rossi is here.”
“What’s their plan?”
“The clans, they’re too unorganized. They don’t have a plan. They love Mackenzie, though. Say he’s here to kill the Prince and then kill Rossi.”
“Hmmm,” said Marcus. “Maybe they’re right.”
In their ears, the Prince was addressing Mackenzie. He said, “Then it is you who are playing the loser’s game, my American friend.”
36
The three men were pacing their room when Veronica finally returned at midnight. She stepped quickly in and closed the door. Leaned against it and took a deep breath.
Smiled. “That was close.”
“Qué?” said Manny. “What was close?”
“Rossi sent men to follow me.”
Manny’s hand reflexively settled on the butt of his Beretta at his hip. “Why?”
“Because, Manny, he wants sexual congress and I slipped away when he wasn’t looking. He doesn’t know my name or my room number so he issued his stooges, but I eluded them, because I am mistress of sneakiness. There are very few cameras.”
