Ded Reckoning

by William F Lee

  The O'Rourke lass can't stop and her uncle is not helping by prancing about the room, red-faced and swearing. Hurling threats aimed at the police, the Kerrigan man and whoever they are that took his brother. And also toward Muldoon for not killing everyone involved. Of course, that's not possible. Not yet. The news is fresh and unclear. Not absolute. A lot of speculation from the American press and that aspect jumped upon by some daily, scandal oriented rags here. But, no pictures of the Kerrigan man.

  In due course, Sean is successful in calming Mary Kate and guides her to her room to rest, perhaps sleep. He tells her, "I'll be back later to see you. I need to see my brother and my mum."

  Mary Kate sniffles, "Oh, Good Lord, your brother. I was thinking only of me self. I'm sorry, Sean. Oh Jesus, Joseph and Mary." Her sniffles start again and quickly turn into sobs as she mumbles, "Of course, me love, of course. Go."

  "Will you be okay?"

  "Yes, and no. I will be better when you return to me."

  Sean leans over as she lies on the quilted spread on her bed. Brushes his lips upon hers and says, "Rest. Sleep. I'll be back shortly, and before I leave I'm goin' let your Uncle Mike know where we stand. I stand. Is it right by you?"

  "Yes, Sean. 'Tis right by me."

  He gets up from where he has been sitting next to her on the bed and allows her hand to slip from his as he turns and leaves the room.

  In the living room, Sean says to the uncle, "Sir, it is perhaps the wrong time, but as I was going to ask Mary Kate's father, your dear brother, I'd be wantin' to court her, proper like. As a result I be asking you. But understand, first I must be with my brother and my mum. Then to see Muldoon. And then a duty to perform. Do you understand, sir, and do I have your permission?"

  "Aye, I understand and ya do. Now get along. I will be seein' you and Muldoon me self at the pub." He nods. Offers his hand. They shake.

  Sean nods and leaves. Once down the flight of stairs and onto the street, he begins to jog toward his home. Fists clenched, and his teeth not clinched only because of the need to breathe as he picks up the pace. However, the tears do flow now that he's alone.

  Muldoon sits at his usual table in the far corner of the pub. His massive hand wrapped tightly around his pint. His other forged into a fist. His pit-bull son across from him. Silent, brooding and beet-faced. Veins throbbing with every angry heartbeat.

  The father hisses, hatred dripping from every word like venom from an asp. "My source called again. The press is saying that this Kerrigan man chased and killed our own Paddy Shanahan. He says the police and Feds are saying nothing of much."

  His son, Conor blurts, "Let me go and ..."

  "Shut your face, Conor. I'll be doin' the talkin' and thinkin' here. Like I was sayin' ..."

  "Bellowing be more like it."

  Muldoon, the Irish father in him, and the PIRA leader as well, backhands his son across the face. Conor rocks back in his chair, tipping over his pint on the table. The empty pewter mug roles off the table and rattles on the floor.

  "I said shut your chops, and I mean just that, lad. Now then, as I was sayin', they found Mickey's body floating in the bay. In that filthy bay in that far away city. Damn. DAMN. There will be blood let for this, I swear on all the Saints."

  Conor is quiet, having been severely admonished. He recovers his mug but has no ale to cool his overheated radiator.

  Both turn and look at the same time towards the commotion at the door of the pub.

  The Shanahan brothers have arrived, along with Mike O'Rourke, and are stalking toward the table like hungry lions on the hunt.

  CHAPTER 15

  "Flank your adversary when possible

  and protect yours.

  Don't drop your guard."

  Two gunfighters' rules

  Rocco says, "Sweetheart, go soak in the tub and relax. I have another call to make. Then we will go out and splash some paint on this town. Show off another of your new outfits. We will have to leave tomorrow. The boss says."

  "Oh, Rocco, my love. I will do as you ask. But, I could live here forever." She raises her eyebrows, and smiles. "But only with you." She pushes herself off the bed and saunters, naked, to the bathroom. She dips her head and rotates it, eyes focused on Rocco's, and says, "Only with you. But, do what you must. I will soak until you call me," then after another two steps, again turns her head, peeks over her shoulder and smiles, "or until you come join me." She gives Rocco an inviting waggle of her hips, closes the bathroom door behind her.

  He stares at the closed door. Erotic visions racing across his mind. Then, when he hears the water running, it rinses him back to reality. He moves to the phone and calls an associate in Palermo telling him where this woman, Chiarin Romeo Russo, lives. Rocco informs his friend what he must know and instructs it done by this evening. His confederate on the other end of the line groans, and mumbles, complaining. Rocco interrupts the whining, "This is not a request. This is an order. Do it." Then in a warmer tone, Rocco closes by telling him not to call him, that he will call back this evening. Then adds, "You will be well rewarded, my friend. Grazie."

  When he finishes the call the water is no longer running. He can only hear Adrianna singing an aria from Puccini's, La Boheme. Her voice is strong and good. But, as in everything, there is a gap between good and professional. However, Rocco believes she is capturing Mimi's plight.

  He strolls out onto the balcony. Dwells a moment or two on what his boss, Roberto Catalano, might be up to, then dismisses the thought. I do what I'm told and what I must. Life is good for me. Not so for Bruno. He didn't listen.

  Then says aloud, "A soak will be good in the bath oils, and Adrianna will make it even better."

  Rocco knows the time in the bath will make him forget Pisces, but not for long. But for the moment to be sure.

  Dee arrives at The Cavendish and makes more of a splash than the front desk clerks bargain for, and they react by ensuring the dinner reservation and presenting her with a key to her husband's room. Anything to rid themselves of the "lady". They maintain their British reserve for longer than most, but the indignant Sally Hansford has gotten the best of their English steadfastness. When Dee, Sally to them, leaves the desk for the elevator, one clerk whispers to the other, "Poor Mr. Hansford. Seems like such a nice chap. A gentleman he is."

  The other replies, "She's a ruddy bitch."

  Once at the room, Sally Hansford inserts the key, unlocks the door and pushes it open. She picks up her briefcase in her right hand. Enters the room with her clothing bag slung over her left shoulder, bulky and heavier from her shopping trip. She feigns staggering under the load. Finds Hunter, or her husband for the moment, Ian, slouched in a chair next to the phone offering no help.

  He smiles, and carrying a grin says, "Ah, Lady Sally. Cheers. Rest your tush. Put down your bag and briefcase before you wilt. And relax your weary British bones."

  "Hunter, you ..."

  "Ta, ta. It's Ian, dear. Ian Hansford from Manchester. You need to remember that. Gad, we've been together for years. I take it this Hunter chap is your lover, or some such understanding?"

  "You wish, or better, we can start that arrangement here."

  "I knew it the moment I said it. My mistake. Again, not a chance. Now then, put things up. Sit. Would you care to have something sent up, or will water do?"

  "Water's fine. Give me a minute or two." Sally Hansford goes about emptying the outfits out of the bag and hangs them in the closet. Pushes his one suit, one shirt and slacks to the side, then kicks off her shoes and takes the briefcase into the bathroom. Within minutes she's back, a bit refreshed but still with a crabby look on her face. Her opening remark is a clear indication of her frame of mind.

  "Tell me again why we're here, and not where we were supposed to be."

  Hunter does. Same story about the tail.

  "Bull-pucky. If you're going to stick to that, fine. Okay. Here's one for you." She plants her hands on her hips and steps directly in front of Hunter. "Tell me what th
e hell my sister was doing visiting you at the guest house." She pauses, staring at him waiting for an answer. When one doesn't come immediately, she snaps, "Well?" Folds her arms beneath her heaving breasts. "This ought to be good."

  "Well, I was hoping you weren't aware of that. Embarrassing but innocent. At least on my part."

  "I don't care what's embarrassing and what's not. I doubt innocence on either part." She keeps her arms as is but now begins to rock back and forth. "What was she doing there? Better yet what were the two of you doing there?"

  Hunter says, "Dee, she came to make a pass at me. I wasn't having any of that and calmed her down and explained it had nothing to do with her. That I was on a job and didn't have time nor the longing to get involved. Same as I told you. It's no different. So, get over whatever is buggin' you. Besides, if you knew she was there, you knew she wasn't in the place long enough for anything to happen anyway."

  Dee, now having found a chair, shifts uneasily in the seat. She takes a long, slow drink of the iced water, glaring at Hunter over the top of the glass. Finished, she places the glass down wittingly on an adjacent table. Exhales audibly and says, "Well, okay. I suppose you're right. I mean about the length of time." She pauses, "But you give me twenty minutes alone with you in any room, much less a bedroom, something will happen." She looks intently at Hunter. "You're not that ... what was the word, innocent." She stands, then immediately plops back down in the chair. Tilts her head to one side. "Do you have an interest in her?"

  "No. Nor you. How many times do I have to tell you? This is business. A damn nasty business. You should know. If I hear this subject from you again, or anything close to it, I'm sendin' your butt back. And remember that, because we will be in this room alone, together, and perhaps others before this is over." He stands, then says, "Now let's talk about what we need to do. In London."

  "Fair enough. What?"

  He tells her that they will check out Pisces' former flat, and also talk to the other tenants if possible. And to the leasing manager if he's about. He tells her the next step will depend on what, if anything they find. If nothing, he explains they will eat dinner here, or leave and go elsewhere but will make enough of a scene to be noticed and remembered. Lady Hansford and her timid English husband. Then says, "Later you make arrangements for us to depart for Pisa, via Geneva and Rome."

  Dee nods. "Is that it?"

  "Yep."

  They finish their water and leave together after each makes a quick wardrobe change. One in the bedroom, one in the loo. A couple, visiting London. The English gentleman and the proper bitch, accents included.

  Agent Ryder, sits on the edge of his desk, glances at Detective Bradovich, then stands and walks behind his desk. Takes his habitual warm and friendly stance by thrusting his hands into both pockets, back to the window that overlooks downtown San Diego with the bay in the background. "I've been ordered to conduct this press conference and level with these folks. More or less level. Facts as we know them. Your people okay with that, Gene?"

  "Yep. I'm not going to add anything. Stickin' to the same story, if asked, that you guys are running the show. We're helping where we can." Bradovich scoffs, "It appears that we didn't do such a bang-up job of that." He gives a short kick in space, "Cripes, a perp being kidnapped from a patrol car." He sighs. "Sorry."

  "Okay. Let me throw on my coat and we'll face the vultures. Let them pick at our bones."

  "Your bones." Bradovich laughs.

  Ryder grins, "Yeah, my bones. But after my bosses finished with me earlier there isn't much left."

  The press conference doesn't go well. Agent Ryder makes an announcement and answers only two questions, one reluctantly, and then he simply leaves. Before going he told the gathering that a woman was murdered, identity known but being withheld until next of kin can be notified. The assailant was a Patrick Shanahan, a visitor from Ireland. He placed a bomb in the woman's car and detonated it in front of the lady's boyfriend's home. Shanahan was chased by the lady's boyfriend but not caught. Running from the scene and from the boyfriend, Patrick Shanahan jumped or fell over the edge of the ravine and tumbled to his death. His body is being retained at the city morgue until an autopsy is completed and all forensic evidence collected. Later that same day, the lady's boyfriend was paid a visit by a Mr. Mickey O'Rourke, an Irishman, now a U.S. citizen, living in Boston and ostensibly a friend of Shanahan. O'Rourke was arrested for breaking and entering, and while en route to this office was kidnapped by two armed men. The car involved has been found and impounded. O'Rourke's body was found in the bay hours later, close to the ferry landing. The kidnappers have not been identified, and consequently not found. The investigation is ongoing.

  At the end, Agent Ryder is asked if the Irish authorities have been notified. He answers, "They have." Then he is asked for the boyfriend's name. He replies, "A Mr. Hunter Kerrigan. A former Marine and now an unpublished author, or more accurately, a writer." He holds up both hands, announces, "That's all for today. Thank you." And he turns and gets on the waiting elevator that will take him to his office and a scheduled meeting with his staff.

  The abrupt departure after only two questions causes a rash of shouting and other commotion. The local media and press begin shouting questions, then complaints. No one sees Detective Bradovich slip away. Not to his office. There would be no sanctity there. Knowing that and with thoughts of his Marine buddy on his mind, the detective slips behind the wheel of his car and drives. Nowhere in particular at first. Then after a few blocks he swerves onto Pacific Coast Highway and heads for the Marine Recruit Depot. And the Officers Club to have a drink in solitude, or better yet with a few fighting hole buddies.

  Back in his office, SAC Ryder while conducting a meeting with his agent force, says to the group, "You know, those kidnappers were way too good. Knew too much. Experts at the craft as well as leaving not a trace of evidence. Anywhere. Car. Body. The clothes are missing. We got zip. Nothing."

  The group nods in agreement. A few mumbled comments are uttered. Then Ryder says, "Except, however vague the descriptions are, something is nagging at me. One of the artist's sketches. The nose?" He pauses. "Can't get a handle on it."

  He slaps his hands together, says, "Okay, let's get to work and go through this again. Piece by piece. Second by second ..."

  "Nose by nose," interrupts one of his agents.

  "Yeah, and go to all those dank, dark," he pauses, "that's it!"

  "What?"

  "Later. You gents go. I have a call to make."

  Rocco telephones his source. The information on the woman, Chiarin Romero Russo, is straight forward. His man tells him that the lady is a widow. A wealthy one at that. Her husband died two years ago. She still runs the remaining two shops, both of which are up for sale. One near closing and the other has an offer. She is off-the-page gorgeous, mid-forties, and an art enthusiast. She loves this region but prefers a different location. A cleaner city. She is looking to move and in fact visited a town of interest lately. Her home is also for sale. She has no lovers but does have one suitor, a prominent politician in the city. Except he is married and the rumors are that is a problem with the lady. Rocco asks, "How wealthy?"

  The voice on the phone replies, "Net worth, several million. These last sales will be more than supplemental aide."

  "Is she truly beautiful, or just so for her age?"

  "Stunning, for any age. Tall, slender, nicea body. Dark hair and eyes. Looksa like a model. Momma mia, if my wife looka like her I would not waste my time on the phone with you in the evenings. I woulda be home."

  Rocco laughs, then says, "Grazie. Buono sera."

  After hanging up, Rocco pauses for a few seconds with his hand on the receiver as it rests in the cradle. Takes in a breath, then dials his boss, Signore Roberto Catalano. When Pisces answers on the first ring with an impatient tone of voice, Rocco feels a pinch in the pit of his stomach. Nonetheless, he passes on all the information about the Russo lady. Answers a few questions. The conversa
tion has the tone of a business transaction. But then, it is. Near the end, Pisces asks, "When can I expect Rizzo out of my life?"

  "As soon as I find him. Tomorrow or the next day. I've been informed that no one has seen him but his apartment is still rented. He's not in it. Hasn't been there since ... since the accident, and the landlord has three months advance in his hand. So, I guess he intends to return when he thinks things have cooled down."

  "Don't get informed. Get him. I want him cooled down. Cold. I don't want him running loose. Now go fuck your lady and go kill Rizzo. Quickly. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir, bossa. Yes."

  "Well, good. We're on the same track as usual. That's why we're so good together. Now then, you have a nice evening. I'll be leaving on the Sorridenta for several days." Click.

  Rocco stares at the phone. Mutters, "Nothing changes ... except the women, and the villas." Slams the phone back in the cradle and returns to the bedroom to finish dressing for the evening, muttering along the way, "but it is to be hoped for the last time."

  Adrianna is dressed, in an all white slacks and jacket outfit. With one button too many undone in the front of the jacket, it displays her bountiful cleavage. The snow white of her pants suit shows off her complexion, now darkened by the sun here in Rapallo. She says to Rocco, "Pleasea hurry. You have given me an insatiable appetite."

  His frown is replaced with a wide grin, "For what? Dinner or me?"

  "Both. Dinner first to satisfy one. Dessert to tease the other. And a hastened walk back here to warm me for my playtime. I will have all there is to have this evening." She pauses, then, "The sound of the telephone slamming tells me we are leaving in the morning. So I must make the most of this evening. Yes?"

  "Yes. I have work to do."

  "And?"

  "We will see. Possibly I will have to leave Pisa."