The Ortega Gambit: A classic crime thriller

by J. Palma

  After ten minutes, Charles returned and found three of the five garage doors open.

  In his hands, he held three comic books.

  "What is this?"

  "For the trip."

  "I gave you one thing to do. One thing. What about pajamas? What about a toothbrush? What about underwear? I gave you one thing to do and this is what you give me?" Furious, she snatched the comics from his hand. "Go get your things."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "THE BLUE ONE. Who owns that one?” In the farthest stall sat a blue MG convertible, out of place from the others, which included a Range Rover, a vintage blue gray Silver Shadow Rolls Royce, and an emerald green Jaguar XKE.

  "The cook. Once I overheard him arguing with Dot about it."

  "I wonder where he is. Maybe learning how to cook."

  "I dunno."

  "What were they arguing about? Dot doesn't want him to keep his car here?"

  "I dunno. I guess. She wanted him to move it. And he said he never had to move it before."

  "Typical. He lives over the garage, no?"

  He grunted his approval.

  "We must find the keys."

  She marched back into the garage and returned with a sledgehammer over her shoulder and approached the front door to the servant quarters. Improving on her door opening technique used to open the wine cellar, she only needed a single blow before the door burst open. She dropped the sledgehammer at the front door and raced up a steep flight of stairs. There was a small kitchen with a table, a living area with a large TV and three small bedrooms. She found the keys hanging on a hook in the kitchen. She went through his mail and found letters from a law firm. Another from an accountant.

  In the garage, she commanded Charles into the small convertible, threw their stuff in the small trunk, and a few minutes later, they were on the road.

  She took 95 North to 287 West, then took the exit for Tarrytown and drove along Route 9, paralleling the Hudson River. The weather was glorious and she drove with the top down. She wondered if Charles thought she was crazy. This was probably nothing. The poor kid put up with so much and now he had to deal with a paranoid nanny. As she drove, she checked her rear-view mirror, not sure what she should be looking for. She had no idea what kind of car her pursuers might drive, but she didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

  The little blue MG came to a stop in a motel parking lot in Peekskill with the Hudson a few blocks before them. This would be as good as any place to lay low for the night. Nothing special. Wood paneling, two beds and a TV on the opposite wall. Charles channel surfed using a remote control mounted to the bedside table, never staying on a program for more than seven seconds at a time.

  In her double bed, Lucina again Googled Long Island Electric on her phone but didn't find anything. Afraid to reach any false conclusions, maybe, just maybe it was possible Dot was simply confused. Perhaps Dot meant to say electricians not plumbers had a scheduled visit. But no, Dot went into detail about a leaky pipe. A terrible lie. But if the man Lucina saw was indeed carrying a gun, they had bigger problems. The police were not an option. Without any identification or papers, she would be treated as a criminal. Where she came from, people said the only thing separating the police and the criminals was the cost of their cologne.

  "Can you turn that off?"

  "But I'm bored. There's nothing on."

  He went to the windows and pulled the blinds closed, then lowered them. His restlessness went on for a few minutes until Lucina lost her cool.

  "Stop," she roared.

  "How long are we staying here?"

  She didn't answer.

  "You're still thinking about those people at the house. Do you know what they are? Maybe they're from a government agency. I saw that on TV once where…"

  "Enough," she said, raising her voice. She sounded more frightened than stern. "Just shut up and be quiet. Can you do that for me?"

  He stuck his tongue out at her.

  "You keep sticking your tongue out and I'll cut it off."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  LUCINA LEARNED TO shoot from a kid with bushy hair like Jim Morrison. His name was Emilio and he paid with his life for it.

  “The hell with going to school today,” was what she wanted to tell her father. Instead, she and Carlotta, her only friend at school, hid their school books beneath Carlotta’s front step and boarded a westbound bus, leaving behind the sun-scorched town of Casa di Mora. As they bundled into their seats Carlotta asked Lucina, "Where we going?"

  With a straight face, she told Carlotta, "The coast."

  For sixteen years she'd been confined to Casa di Mora, never venturing more than a few miles from her town. For sixteen years, the sea existed as both myth and dream, a place reserved for those with means. How would she pay for her desire? She had saved some money and her wits. Today she decided, she would taste the salt water with her tongue and feel its coolness against her skin. Instead of the nearby community pool where she learned to swim. There, the chemicals in the water left her skin irritated and her eyes reddened.

  After a heated debate, a trip to the coast was ruled impossible. Time, not money became the largest expense. With transfers, it would take at least three hours to get there, one way. They settled on Lago di Conza—only about 40 minutes away with no transfers. Lucina put her fantasy on hold.

  Early sunlight streaked through the windows of the bus and warmed the girls. A few seats before them, an infant wailed and a mother gave her breast to quiet the child.

  When the road descended through a wide valley into the green fields of the lower plains and turned from dirt to asphalt, she began to think of leaving Casa di Mora for good. She wanted to leave the layers of dust that came with the winter winds from the north and the endless dry heat in the summer. Soon the rocking of the bus lulled the girls asleep. When she awoke, rows and rows of peach and apple trees populated either side of the road. Mount Vesuvius was in the distance, a near-perfect cone.

  "You know what Papa says? That Naples is the asshole of Italy and Casa di Mora is a hundred kilometers up it."

  Carlotta snored.

  "Papa loves Naples. He loves the people. He says they don't know peace, only controversy, conflict, and suffering. He blames their problems on the State. The government. He's a Communist. Everyone knows that. Did you know that?"

  Carlotta did not wake.

  Lucina drew her legs up on the seat and drifted back to sleep.

  When she awoke, the bus had stopped and was empty. Beneath the propped-open hood, two men argued loudly about how to fix the engine. The situation looked disgraceful.

  Behind them, the passengers flocked towards the previous bus stop. Carlotta, now fully awake, stretched and swore. Both girls exited the bus.

  Lucina shouted, "How far to Lago di Conza?"

  One of the men, his shirt smeared in oil, spun around, a wrench in his hand, seemingly surprised to see them and said, "It's the next stop. Maybe thirty minutes on foot." He pointed in the general direction down the road.

  After walking for an hour, they came to the bus stop, surprised to learn the area was nothing more than an eerily abandoned industrial park. Lucina didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't a series of unused massive warehouses huddled against a network of freshly paved roads. Beyond the buildings, the lake glistened like a shard of wet mirror. The girls wandered from warehouse to warehouse, testing locked doors. Carlotta had a pack of Kools which they smoked while they explored.

  "A boy asks you out, how you going to say no?" Carlotta asked, shoulder to shoulder with Lucina. "You don't know what you're talking about."

  "I told you already," she whispered in Carlotta's ear.

  Their path brought them to a warehouse near the lake's shore. Close now, the waters appeared muddy, even polluted. A lone figure stood in the parking lot, shabby and disheveled as if he bathed in the lake. Lucina stopped listening to Carlotta. She gestured to the figure that stood with his hands on his waist, just as surp
rised to see them as they were to see him.

  Lucina whispered, "I think he's been following us."

  "Stop. You always worry."

  They approached. About thirty feet away, the boy stood motionless. He seemed harmless, about their same age. Lucina only anticipated the worst case and hadn't thought of what to do if the boy proved kind. Wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt, mismatched sandals, and pants with one leg shorter than the other, he smiled at both girls.

  Carlotta said, "You live around here?"

  Lucina said, "Are you a pervert?"

  "No. I just thought maybe you're lost. No one comes here. No one."

  Carlotta said, "Lucina, you're always so uptight. Look at him. He's not going to hurt us." She faced him. "What's your name?"

  "Emilio."

  "I'm Carlotta."

  Looking at Lucina, Emilio asked, "What's your name?"

  Lucina didn't answer.

  Carlotta said, "That's Lucina. She's a pain in the ass."

  "Where are you from? I saw you come off the road."

  "You have been following us! Spying on us! Pervert."

  "Lucina. Please." Carlotta said, "We're from Casa Di Mora."

  Carlotta pointed to his shirt and asked about the Rolling Stones, and for the next few minutes, the three stood there, talking about their favorite Rolling Stones' songs.

  Lucina asked, "Do you have anything to drink? We thought there would be some place to buy water or something to eat. Anything."

  "Not here. This place is abandoned."

  "We noticed. Do you know why?"

  "No. But you want to see something cool?"

  Lucina said, "Not really. Carlotta, let's go."

  "And go where? Look where we are? In the middle of nowhere. Where will we go? Back to the bus?"

  Emilio said, "I have a friend, he comes by at 3:00 every day. Maybe you can ride with him. He can at least take you to a bus stop."

  The girls looked at each other.

  "So, you want to see something cool?"

  Was he serious, thought Lucina. And before she could protest, Carlotta agreed and followed Emilio into a nearby warehouse, leaving Lucina alone in the abandoned parking lot.

  Lucina listened to the echo of Carlotta's voice in the warehouse, taking forever to fade. Inside, it was empty and as cavernous as a cathedral on Friday night, echoing every noise the trio made.

  "Stay here."

  Emilio disappeared through a back door.

  "We should head back. This is crazy."

  "Lucina, I'm tired of walking. And I'm tired of listening to you. We stay. He's a nice boy."

  "He's fucking homeless."

  "Don't be stupid. No he's not."

  "Then he's Romani."

  Emilio took a few minutes. When he returned, he had a shotgun over his shoulder, a revolver shoved in his waistband, and a half bottle of limoncello.

  He smiled. Choose one of the three he meant to say. Carlotta was so infatuated with any boy regardless of their true motive, and seemed fine with the situation. She relieved Emilio of the bottle, uncapped it, and took a healthy pull. Her hand lingered on his shoulder as she drank.

  "Do you think that makes you a man? Where did you get those?" Lucina asked, pointing at the guns.

  He said, "I found them."

  Lucina's expression turned skeptical. "How? You don't just find guns like this."

  "I just do."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Why do you ask so many questions."

  Carlotta said, "Yeah, Lucina. Why do you ask so many questions?"

  "Where did you find them? You can't just find a gun.”

  "Asking questions, this is a sign of intelligence. But Princessa, you have to know where to look. Once you know where to look, you can find anything.”

  Hearing Emilio call Lucina “princess,” Carlotta could do nothing but frown and endure Emilio’s obvious interest in Lucina. Carlotta said, “Are they loaded? I'm tired of talking." Perhaps jealous, mostly resentful.

  So now when Lucina should be sitting in history class, she watched Carlotta fire round after round into a concrete wall, pausing only enough to giggle under Emilio's encouraging words and clumsy touch, wondering how a dream trip to the coast ended here. The gun report sounded loud and echoed like a firecracker.

  "Princessa, please try. Very easy. Look at how good your friend is doing? See how she narrows one eye? She's a natural."

  Carlotta giggled again.

  Lucina sat with her back against the wall, watching Carlotta fire the pistol. Overhead, sparrows darted through broken windows. She was watching the bird nests, set in ledges barely visible, when Carlotta stopped firing long enough to taunt Lucina. "Princessa, you want to try? Are you afraid of getting your hands dirty?" She laughed and fired off three shots in rapid succession.

  "Ok, I try."

  Carlotta seemed surprised by her friend's decision.

  "You don't think I can do it? Is that why you laugh?" Lucina rose and clapped her hands against the side of her jeans. "I want to use the rifle."

  "It's a shotgun," he said, delighted at Lucina's decision. In a serious tone, he explained the mechanics of the gun and the basics of marksmanship.

  They spent the next two hours shooting guns at the walls of the warehouse, drinking, and laughing. Lucina calmed, enjoying the moment.

  Emilio said, "You two are like a couple of gangster bitches."

  "Don't call me that. Don't you ever call me that." Lucina turned suddenly and so did the gun. Entrails of smoke rose from the barrel. She gave him a searing look.

  "I'm just saying you two are a couple of badass chicks."

  Lucina gritted her teeth and pressed her cheek against the stock and aimed. Before she fired, she said, "You taught us well."

  With the ammo finished, they sat in a triangle, cross-legged, smoking the rest of the Kools and drinking from the bottle of limoncello. They talked about movies and comics and music the way only teenagers could.

  "What's Casa di Mora like?"

  Lucina answered first. "Boring. The most exciting thing that's ever happened in Casa di Mora was when they blew up the movie house."

  When the bottle emptied, the conversation became ill tempered.

  Carlotta said, "My father says there are more pigeons than people."

  "What does he know? He's drunk and asleep on the sofa almost every day."

  Carlotta scowled. "He works the night shift. So what. At least my dad has a job."

  "I told you. Papa cannot find work that lets him visit Mamma as much as he likes."

  Emilio said, "Is your Mamma sick?"

  Carlotta smirked, knowingly.

  Lucina stammered.

  Carlotta said, "Tell him. Go ahead. If you don't, I will."

  "She's in a hospital."

  The boy's dark eyes sharpened with concern.

  Laughing at her friend's grief, Carlotta said, "A hospital for crazies. She's in a nuthouse. And her dad's a Communist. How about that?"

  Lucina stood up and said, "Take it back." Her arms straight at her side. Her hands squeezed into fists. “Mama can leave the hospital whenever she wants. Now you take it back before I bust your lip."

  "Which one? The one about your crazy mother, or your Commie father? I should be careful. This one's just as crazy as her mother." She ignored Lucina's threats with her insolence and rough cackle.

  Lucina stormed out of the warehouse and Emilio's voice followed with calls of "Princessa."

  Eventually, Emilio and Carlotta caught up to Lucina and just in time. As promised, he took the girls to meet his friend. The sun had moved behind the mountains and the industrial park was cast in a great shadow. The air became cool and dry, the lake waters dark and forbidding.

  Emilio had not lied. A pickup truck stopped and an old man named Sergio got out. The girls learned that Emilio worked as a metal scavenger, collecting pieces of metal from the warehouses and turning them over to Sergio. In turn, Sergio would take the metal to a scrapyard at t
he coast. Sergio agreed to take the girls to Casa di Mora. As luck often plays a role in these things, that day he was headed to Casa di Mora to pay another scavenger. But they'd have to sit in the back of his pickup with a goat he was slaughtering in a few days’ time.

  Later that night at home, Lucina felt strange. A mix of excitement and delight kept her from sleeping. She usually had no trouble, but in her head, she fancied herself a gunslinger like in the old Westerns. In that single afternoon she had learned much about guns and herself, and she wanted more.

  About a week later, Carlotta apologized. But Lucina wasn't interested in her apology. Lucina asked when they could return to Lago di Conza and find the boy Emilio and his guns. But Carlotta had bad news. She heard from her aunt who had read about Emilio in the paper.

  Emilio's body was found on the south shore bus stop near the industrial park. Tied upright to the bus stop bench, his eyes and tongue were cut out and he had multiple gunshot wounds to his chest. Around his neck hung a sign with words printed in red: “Thief. I stole from the Lazzaroni.” Lucina wondered about Carlotta's timing of such news. She had waited until Lucina expressed an interest in returning to see the boy so she could be the one to kill her plan.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  LUCINA AND CHARLES ate ice cream sandwiches sitting outside a convenience store a few blocks from the motel, the afternoon summer sky a mixture of haze and disorganized clouds. She could sit here all afternoon eating ice cream sandwiches and listening to the calming sound of the Hudson River just across the street. Even Charles allowed himself to relax. Together they shared a moment of solidarity, like they were getting away with something. She shifted in her seat, and suddenly jumped to her feet and screamed at the top of her lungs in Neapolitan. Her hand dropped to her thigh, the source of her pain. The corkscrew point had ripped through her shorts and stabbed her upper thigh. Standing, she yanked the corkscrew from her front pocket. It gave her some relief, her fingers running over the silver handle and the sharp corkscrew tip. Thoughts of the peaceful river gone, she now just wanted to return to the Larchmont house and put this entire endeavor behind her. Somehow the damn corkscrew symbolized that and prevented her from hurling it into the river. She moved the treacherous device to her rear pocket.