"That's the impression I get," McCabe said. "How old was Carmella?"
"Twenty-two. And Joey, at the time, was twenty-five. The last night we were there he went to her room in the middle of the night and he forced himself on her."
McCabe said, "Why didn't you go to your uncle?"
"You would have to understand how they thought of him. Joey was their little prince."
"What did Carmella do?"
"What could she do? She was embarrassed. She was ashamed. Who was she going to talk to? What was she going to say?'
McCabe said, "Tell them what happened."
"Do you think my aunt and uncle would have believed her? Would have taken her word over Joey?" She paused. "I tell you this because Joey is not going to make it easy. I hope you know that."
"Don't worry" McCabe said. "I'll be ready."
Chapter Twenty-eight
Mazara said he'd go to the hotels in Viterbo, show the photograph of Angela, ask if anyone had seen her. Joey said, you kidnap someone you don't take them to a hotel. Was this guy playing with a full deck? McCabe had her someplace outside the city. Someplace quiet and secluded — a house in the country. That was the only thing that made sense, the only way he could've pulled it off.
Joey was sure McCabe had someone helping him too, another student maybe. How could he have done it by himself? How could he have gotten her out of the apartment without anyone seeing them? Joey and Mazara had knocked on every door in her building, and asked if anyone had seen Angela leave the night before, Mazara doing the talking, telling the neighbors Joey was her cousin from America, and he had come a long way to see her. One guy said he saw her walking down the stairs about 8:40 p.m., but didn't see her again. Nobody else could remember seeing her at all.
Joey had told Mazara if he did exactly what Joey said he'd help square things with the don. What could he say? Joey liked being in Italy now, liked the action, catching a buzz on what was happening.
Mazara had picked him up at the Excelsior, and now they were on the autostrada heading for Viterbo, Mazara driving, Joey relaxing in the front passenger seat, checking out the countryside, feeling good about himself.
He said, "Got my Unk's money?"
"There," Mazara said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the bag on the back seat. It was a white soccer bag that said Adidas on the side. Joey turned, got on his knees, reached over the seat, picked up the bag and put it in his lap. He unzipped it and saw banded packs of bright-colored bills that looked like play money.
"How much?" Joey said.
"Four hundred and thirty-seven thousand euro," Mazara said.
That's all that was left after paying the don?60,000, and he still owed him?90,000 more, thirty per cent. His crew had already spent three thousand from their shares, and Roberto said they were angry and didn't want to give any of it back. Joey wanted to count it, see if he was telling it straight, but it was too difficult to do in the car.
Mazara had gotten him a Beretta Nine and a fancy five- shot twelve-gauge with a walnut stock you'd shoot skeet with. He wanted something simple and sawed off, a sixteen-inch barrel he could carry under a coat.
The Beretta was in his belt under the Tommy Bahama, the gay shotgun was in the trunk. They were cruising past fields of crops on both sides of the highway that reminded Joey of the farms he'd see driving to northern Michigan. He saw stone farmhouses, and occasionally a little walled village in the distance. They were listening to Italian rock music that sounded like shit. "You call this music, what the hell is it?"
"Negramaro," Mazara said, "they are very popular in Italy. The singer, he was a plumber before he start the group."
"With a voice like that he should go back to unplugging drains. What else you got?"
Mazara handed him a CD, and flashed a smile. He said, "Eminem from Detroit."
Joey said, "I know where he's from. It doesn't make him sound any better. I can't listen to rap." He hated it. Joey imagined hell as a never-ending hip-hop concert. "You got anything good? Frank Sinatra, maybe." In his head he could hear Frank singing:
I get no kick from champagne Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all…
"Or how 'bout Tony Bennett?"
Mazara looked confused. "No."
"Why am I not surprised?" Joey looked out the window and saw a farmer on an old-fashioned tractor, dust trailing in his wake, looked over at Mazara and said, "How long you been seeing Angela?"
He ignored the question, kept his eyes straight ahead, two hands on the steering wheel, holding the Fiat steady. He zoomed in close to a semi, put his signal on and sped around the truck that was carrying pigs, a foul smell coming through the interior of the car. "Jesus," Joey said.
"Miale," Mazara said. "Porco," and pinched his nose with thumb and index finger.
"No shit," Joey said. The inside of the car smelled like a sewer.
Mazara looked over at him and cracked a smile.
Joey said, "You're banging Angela, aren't you, Bob? Scopatta.
"
Mazara's grin faded fast. He looked away from Joey, turned his head, staring straight at the highway again, the muscles in his face tightening.
"I don't blame you, she's a nice piece of ass even if she is my cousin." Joey saw an aqueduct in the distance. "You have any idea what the don would do, he found out you were knifing his little girl?"
Mazara kept his head straight, but Joey saw his eyes dart over at him. He looked nervous now.
"Listen, partner, I'm not going to say anything, okay? That's between you and Angela. But if the don finds out…" He didn't finish. It was more fun this way, let him imagine what would happen.
Mazara could not believe this situation he was in, the strange sequence of events that had him driving Joey, the loudmouth American, to Viterbo. First it was the don challenging him about the money. He remembered the man's harsh words and his angry expression, remembered being nervous, sweat rolling down his face.
Then Angela was kidnapped, taken from her apartment by the American student, McCabe. What kind of student was he? What kind of student did that? Mazara was concerned about him taking advantage of her. And although they were not married he wore the corno, the horn on a chain around his neck to prevent her from being unfaithful. He also gestured, making the horn sign, the mano cornuta, extending his index and little finger while holding down his two middle fingers and his thumb to repel adversity.
And then Joey coming to Angela's apartment while he was there. It was too strange. Getting the money back was another problem, telling his crew the don wanted a larger percentage of the ransom.
Sisto had said, "This is your problem. We did not negotiate with the man. You make the mistake, the money should be taken out of your share."
"I will go to the don's villa," Noto had said, "and cut his throat like a pig."
Mazara had considered the same course of action, but the don was the most powerful man in Rome, and if they did not succeed, and even if they did, they would be hunted and killed. He was thinking about this as he drove to Viterbo, listening to Joey taunt him, trying not to lose his temper, but it was very difficult. He grabbed his cazzo for good luck.
They drove into Viterbo through the opening in the wall that Mazara said was the Porta Romano, the door to Rome. Huh? The building above it looked like a castle, and reminded Joey of Epcot Center at Disney World, but it was real, built in the Middle Ages. When was that?
Mazara wound through narrow empty streets, the walls of buildings made of gray stone, rising up on both sides, making the streets seem even narrower. The town looked deserted. Then they turned a corner and wow, this street was wider and there was traffic, a lot of it, and people everywhere, like they'd just driven into a different town.
He could see distant parts of the city as the elevation changed, domes and towers, far and near, giving him a better sense of how big Viterbo actually was. Now in the hectic business center the buildings were fancier, painted yellow with green trim.
Joey said, "Kn
ow where you're going?"
"I think this is Piazza San Lorenzo," Mazara said.
He pulled over in a space on the street and parked. Joey got out and walked to this big open area surrounded by buildings, a church and bell tower on one side. This is where McCabe had told him to go, but why here? Not many people around, a few tourists taking pictures.
Mazara's phone rang. Joey opened it, brought it to his ear and said, "You better have Angela."
"You better have the money," McCabe said.
Joey said, "You really think you can pull this off?"
McCabe said. "I see anyone who looks familiar it's over, say goodbye to your cousin."
"Let's see how good you are," Joey said. So McCabe was somewhere close by, watching him. The phone went dead. He turned in a complete circle, looking for an American student. It was hotter than hell, Joey squinting, glancing around, the sun beating down on him. He'd already pitted out his shirt.
A fat blonde tourist eating an ice-cream cone walked right into him and got chocolate ice cream on the front of his teal Tommy Bahama Easy Breezer. "Why don't you open your fucking eyes," he said, trying to wipe the ice cream off with his hand.
The fat lady said, "Rude."
He said, "What's a big load like you doing eating ice cream, anyway? Seen a mirror lately?" Joey knocked the cone out of her hand and kept moving. The phone rang again. He took it out and brought it to his ear.
"We're going to take a walk," McCabe said.
"You want the money?" Joey said. "You better quit fucking around."
"I haven't even started," McCabe said.
Joey could feel the adrenalin pumping now, thinking what he was going to do to this guy when he caught him.
"Walk out of the piazza and head right down Via San Lorenzo," McCabe said. "I'm going to stay on the phone, keep you company till you get to where you're going. How's that sound?"
"You're pressing your luck," Joey said.
"You better get moving. You've got five minutes," McCabe said. "And you don't look like you're in very good shape."
"You'll see what kind of shape I'm in."
McCabe was going to run Joey around Viterbo, try to separate him from Mazara and his crew, knowing they were around somewhere. He watched Joey walk along Via San Lorenzo, the soccer bag angled across his right shoulder, cars cruising by, phone pressed against his ear.
Occasionally McCabe would say, "Joey, how you doing? You okay?" Or, "How about this weather? You believe it's late October? Or, how about those Lions? I hear they're o and 7, think they'll win a game this year?"
McCabe told him to go through Piazza della Morte, Death Square, with its spindle-shaped fountain, and take a left on Via Macel Maggiore and a right on Via San Pellegrino. He could hear him breathing hard, and could hear the anger in his voice when he spoke. He was in front of Joey, watching him come down the street, checking to see if anyone was following him. He appeared to be alone, but he knew Mazara and his gang were somewhere close by, he could feel them.
McCabe walked Joey all the way to Piazza San Pellegrino. Let him rest for a few minutes, McCabe standing out of sight on the side of the church. Joey shifted his weight and moved the soccer bag to the opposite shoulder again. It must've been heavy. He turned in a complete circle a couple of times, glancing around the medieval square. There were a dozen or so people scattered across the piazza, looking at places of interest and taking pictures. No sign of Mazara and his boys. McCabe said, "Joey, hey, you ready? Let's go."
McCabe guided him to Piazza del Plebiscito, a couple hundred yards back to the center of town, and watched him in the crowded square, drenched with sweat, Joey turning his head side to side, looking around like a penguin in an island shirt.
"Where're you at?" Joey said. "Where's Angela? Let's do it."
McCabe decided to make his move now and came out of the courtyard and headed into the square toward Joey, Joey with his back to him. As McCabe got close Joey must've heard him or sensed him and turned around. "You better have money in that bag." He looked exhausted, sweat streaming down his face, legs apart, hands on his thighs, breathing hard. "Where's Angela at."
McCabe said. "First let me see what you've got. You put phone books or newspapers in there, thinking you're clever, I want to know now before we waste any more time."
"First, I want to see my cousin and if she's got so much as a scratch — "
"Listen," McCabe said. "Nothing's going to happen till you open the bag."
Joey unzipped it and showed him a pile of banded, brightcolored euro notes.
"That's all you get, just a peek till Angela's standing here, I can see she's okay."
McCabe felt relieved now, thinking it was going to work out. He pointed to a second-story window in Palazzo dei Priori, the Renaissance building in front of them. "There she is. You see her?"
Joey was squinting, looking up, the morning sun hot and bright overhead.
"I don't see nobody."
"Right there in the window," McCabe said, pointing, assuming she was there because that was the plan, that's where she was supposed to be.
Joey said. "Is that her? Okay, yeah."
"Give me the money," McCabe said. "I'll bring her down."
Angela walked along the hall, looking in offices. She was on the second floor of Palazzo dei Priori, and she'd been right, all the municipal employees had gone for lunch and siesta. She had entered the building and walked up the stairs. No one had said a word or had given her a second glance.
She went into an office with a view of Piazza del Plebiscito. There was a cluttered desk with two chairs in front of it, and one behind it, the desktop covered with stacks of papers. There was a computer, an IBM, and a printer, an HP, on a credenza behind the desk. She looked out the window at the congested square. She saw a policeman at the far corner of the building, posing with two female tourists.
There were so many people it took time to locate Joey, but there he was with the soccer bag, standing in front of the building, talking to McCabe like old friends. Then she saw Mazara approaching, and Noto pushing his way through the crowd. She saw Sisto directly below her, moving along the front of the building. From this overhead angle she could see it all happening, three of them going toward McCabe, closing in on him, surrounding him, and she knew they had no intention of giving him the money.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Out of the corner of his eye McCabe saw someone come up behind him. He tried to move but he wasn't fast enough and now Noto's arms were wrapped around his, locking him in place like a human vice.
Joey looked at him and said, "You're in the wrong business. You really think I was going to give you the money?"
"No, I thought you might do something stupid like this, and you did."
Joey looked at Mazara, and pointed to the second-story window. "She's up there, go get her."
It was quiet in the Palazzo, the only sounds coming from Piazza del Plebiscito. Mazara gripped the Tanfoglio in his left hand as he moved up the stairway to the second floor. Checked four offices. No one in any of them. Looked in the fifth and saw Angela standing at the window. He watched her for a few seconds, wondering what she was doing. She turned and saw him, put her finger in front of her mouth, telling him not to say anything.
He went in, aiming the gun, checking the room. She seemed calm and relaxed, not what he was expecting of a hostage kidnapped for days. What was she doing in this office in a municipal building by herself? It was strange. Something was not right. He approached her and whispered, "Where are they?"
She looked at him and shook her head.
"Don't move," Mazara said in a quiet voice. "You are safe now." He walked out of the room, thinking Angela did not look as if anything was wrong, nor did she seem happy to see him. He moved along the hall checking the remaining offices on the floor. He saw no one. What kidnapper leaves their hostage before the ransom is collected?
When he went back to the room she was gone.
McCabe saw Mazara appear, com
ing out of Palazzo dei Priori, moving toward them. Joey turned and saw him and said, "Where the hell's she at?"
"She was in an office, right there," Mazara said. "And then she was gone."
Joey said, "What're you talking about?"
"Angela, she vanish like a ghost," Mazara said.
"A ghost, huh?" Joey grinned and glanced at McCabe. "Where is she, Slick? Still in the building?"
"Now you're starting to get it," McCabe said. "You want Angela, you've got to give me the money."
Joey handed the soccer bag to Mazara. "Hang on to this and keep an eye on him. I'm going in to have a look," he said, walking toward Palazzo dei Priori.
McCabe's mistake, he figured they'd do something, but didn't think they'd jump him in a public place, local police thirty yards away. But it wasn't over. The bag of money was right there and he was going to get it. Now a tour group, about thirty people, walked by them and stopped, crowding together in front of the arch that led to the courtyard behind Palazzo dei Priori, the mass of people separating them from Joey. McCabe lifted his heel and brought it down in the center of Noto's left foot. The big man grunted and let go of him, hobbling, trying to stay on his feet.
Sisto rushed him, and McCabe hit him with a straight right and he went down. Mazara came from behind, surprising him, almost knocking him off his feet. McCabe swung an elbow into his face and Mazara went to his knees. The strap slipped off his shoulder and the bag fell on the ground. McCabe went for it, picked it up, and took off running across the square, dodging people, trying to get through the crowd. He banged into a guy taking a photo and sent him flying.
He ran out of the piazza and down Via San Lorenzo to his car parked on the street, opened the door, threw the bag on the passenger seat and got in. He started the Fiat, put it in gear and saw Sisto and Mazara, coming toward him. He waited for an opening in traffic, pulled out and there was the little guy they called Psuz standing in front of the car, aiming a shotgun.
All He Saw Was the Girl Page 17
