Ded Reckoning

by William F Lee

  "Well, then, let us make the most of this evening. It may be the last."

  Rocco, who has finished dressing, puts his arms around Adrianna and says, "Don't say that." And they leave their suite for another evening of dining on the hotel's patio overlooking this tranquil town and sea.

  Marnee and Reis will be overlooking as well. At least the on dining. They will not be watching the seascape.

  Roberto Catalano and Gina Pappalardo stand snuggled together at the helm as he guides the Sorridenta clear of the harbor and out to sea under the watchful eye of the craft's crew chief. Gina is breathtaking on the flying bridge with her hair blowing and twisting in the incoming sea breeze. She asks, "Roberto, darling. Will we be safe going out so far this evening? "

  Pisces squeezes her strongly around the waist. "Of course, love. I'm an expert seaman, but the crew chief has his eye on things and he and the crew will be taking over momentarily. Then I can spend all my time on you."

  She giggles, "On me?"

  "Well, most of the time. We will cruise. Visit ports. Eat wonderful fresh fish that I will catch. And we will make love whenever and wherever the urge overpowers us, and we'll do it to the rise and fall of the swells. To the rhythm of the sea. And your energetic hips."

  "You make it sound so wonderful, Roberto. I am a lucky woman. But what of the crew? Won't they ..."

  "No. They will be out of sight and minding their business. It is wonderful, or will be."

  She sighs, "And how long is ... will it be?"

  "Forever."

  Gina laughs, tilts her head, "And when is forever?"

  "When it ends."

  Gina stands motionless, except for the gentle rise and fall of the Sorridenta. After a few moments she mutters, "When it ends. That doesn't sound so romantic."

  Roberto stiffens slightly, but not enough to be noticed by Gina. He responds in a warm, loving tone, "It is both romantic and poetic." Pulls her close and whispers, "At least I mean it to be." Kisses her on the neck, then nuzzles his face in her blowing hair. Then in full voice, "How 'bout we go below and have an apricot brandy or and two." He pauses, "We will sip as we slip out to sea. How's that for romantic if not poetic?"

  "Bravo, Roberto. Bravo," and she grasps his arm nudging him on the way.

  He gently pulls free, moves close to Gina. Kisses her tenderly and whispers, "You go ahead. I'll be down in a few minutes. I need to have a few words with our helmsman here. Go. Pour the brandy and get comfortable."

  She returns his gentle kiss, smiles and slithers away toward the ladder way and salon below.

  Pisces' eyes follow her, or more readily her hips. Then he motions his crew chief to him. Says, "We're past the point but take a little more northward, then come hard a port and parallel the coast."

  The man answers, "Yessa, sir. We got it, sir."

  Pisces nods, then checks the barometer. All is fine. Tunes the radio to a weather channel. Listens. Is fine as expected. He claps his hands together, rubbing them and sternly orders, "I want to be alone. Keep the crew out of sight and taking care of business. Tell the chef I will let him know when I want dinner." He strides away, not waiting for an affirmation for there is no otherwise response to a Pisces' wish, order.

  At the ladder way he pauses.

  All is well and will be better soon. I'll have another artist in the family.

  He strolls down to the salon.

  CHAPTER 16

  "Only hits count. The only thing

  worse than a miss is a

  slow miss."

  A special gunfighter's rule

  Hunter and Dee, as Ian and Sally Hansford, hike to Pisces lease property on Cork Street. As Hunter had done before, both now observe the flats for a good thirty minutes. Hunter enters the vestibule of the flat as he did earlier in the day. This time he waits before picking the lock to the inside door as Dee continues the vigil from across the street. She sees nothing stirring as a result of Hunter's movement and entry. After a final glimpse about, she follows him.

  Hunter whispers, "See anything?"

  "No."

  "What about the windows in the other flats? Anything odd?"

  "Nope. People doing what people do, move about."

  "Okay, let's go inside. No security system out here and nothing out of the norm with the door." Again he picks the lock and they both enter the flat. Hunter acts as if it is the first time here and checks for security measures inside and is careful of his footfalls. He warns Dee to stay on the carpets and throw-rugs. Dee nods and does as instructed.

  After both search the flat and find nothing except a well-furnished apartment for lease, Dee whispers, "Zilch, except the smell of cigarette smoke. Is strong, especially here in the living room."

  "Yeah, the guy must have been a chain smoker." Hunter shakes his head and whispers, "I hate the smell of nicotine. We'll have to take a shower when we get back to get rid of it."

  "Together?"

  "Dammit, Dee," he hisses.

  She smiles, shrugs her shoulders. They leave as quietly as they came in.

  As it appeared from the outside, the other three flats are occupied. Hunter and Dee ring each flat. They talk to the occupants, one is the property manager. He is having tea when they arrive. The others are preparing to do the same when Dee and Hunter ring. Afternoon tea is truly more than a ritual here, conceivably a sacrament. At the least a tradition and as steeped as the Dover Cliffs. Dee and Hunter get no information of value from this group, to include no invitation to tea. None have ever seen the man in Flat One. The Property Manager is more talkative than the others, but still curt. He informs them early on, "I'm only the PM. Didn't know the chap. Receive my check for my labor every month and happy for it. He pays me handsomely to mind the flats and to mind me own business. I do that."

  Hunter asks, "From whom?"

  "Meaning what."

  "Who pays you?"

  "The bank."

  "Can I see a stub, or a deposit slip? Something?"

  The PM hesitates, then says, "Are you and the lady with Scotland Yard?"

  "No."

  "Then who?"

  "Private investigators."

  The PM pauses again, then says, "My. I say. Well, sir, and madam, you will have to bring the gentlemen from The Yard with a warrant or something. I only manage the property and do not have a ghost of an idea about the person of whom you ask. Anything else, sir? Madam?"

  "No. Guess not," Hunter moans, then adds, "Anything more you can tell us?"

  "It is for lease. Interested?"

  "Not really."

  The gentleman smiles, nods his head toward the door, and extends his hand in that direction as well. "Pleasure. Have an agreeable day. What's left of it. I'll be back to me tea. Cheers."

  Hunter and Dee half-smile and leave. She murmurs, "Madam, my ass." Glances over her shoulder, hisses, "Ta, Ta, arsehole." Hunter grasps her elbow and hurries Dee along.

  Once outside they look about, see nothing suspicious and move down the block to Brewster, then quickly to Old Bond Street. Hunter hails a passing taxi. Asks to be taken to St. Martin's Theatre. There they stride energetically several blocks to the tube station at Covent Gardens. Take the underground back to Green Street and stroll separately the four or five blocks to Jermyn and The Cavendish Hotel where they join forces again having not spotted anyone tailing them. As they amble through the hotel's lobby, Hunter whispers, "My paddy instincts tell me eyes are on us."

  Inside their room Hunter immediately takes what he needs to the loo, showers and dresses. When finished he tells Dee that while she's getting ready, he's heading to the lobby for a drink and will wait for her in the bar. She agrees, adding, "Have mine ready, please."

  Hunter nods and leaves, each have unwittingly satisfied a need of the other. Such is deceit. It is what it is.

  He takes the fire stairs to the bottom floor, and leaves through a back entrance into the mew and hurries to the nearest of two cigar shops in the Regents Park area. The first yields nothing. At the
second he finds that a Robert Camack of Cork Street has been ordering special cigars for years. The brand name, Joya De Nicaragua, in particular the Antano. The wrapper is identical to the one Hunter found in the hearth at the flat. Several questions provide little else of value except being shown a receipt signed by Camack from the last order in June of this year. The owner has no other addresses nor forwarding information. Hunter rushes back to the hotel. Selects a seat at the open-end of the bar, orders two scotches, neat, and sits surveying the lobby.

  He spots a set of eyes and is relieved to some extent knowing his paddy instincts are alive and well. The man is reading a newspaper, legs crossed, ankle over knee, and occasionally turning a page with a glance around the lobby along with a fleeting peek at Hunter.

  Another sip of the scotch and Hunter detects a second set of eyes. These entering the hotel. The woman glances quickly at the first set of eyes then moves to the far corner of this ornate lobby. She sits. Orders. Minutes later a pot of tea, cup with saucer, and a small plate of powdered sugared sweets are served by a proper looking uniformed gent.

  Hunter sips his scotch, catches the eye of the woman and nods with a contemptuous smile. Turns his head quickly and holds the eye of the young man reading the paper. Nods. Then glances back to the woman.

  Black hair, dark eyes, tan complexion. Fine-looking honey. Mid-thirties. He notes her long legs, crossed lady-like with a foot bouncing nervously.

  Their eyes meet again over Hunter's glass as he takes another sip of scotch. He tips his glass. Israeli's. The Stassi don't have any woman that sexy. If they did it would be a Warm War.

  As soon as Hunter leaves, Dee streaks to the room door, steals a look out the door peep hole, then presses her ear to the door. Opens the door and peeks out into the hallway. Confident he's gone, she scurries to the telephone, dials a number, and drums her fingers on the small desk top, waiting. Hears the ring. And a second time. A third, then.

  "Hello."

  After a momentary pause she says, "It's me. We've changed hotels. We're at The Cavendish St. James, I believe it's called. "

  "Why? Is he suspicious of something?"

  "Don't know. Although he believes he's being followed."

  The voice on the other end says, "He is."

  Dee pauses. Then, "That means me as well."

  "Yes, but they will stick to him. Or if they lose him for some reason, follow you back to him. Either way, we win."

  Dee hesitates, "Why am I here?" Then, "Never mind. We went to the flat. Nothing. We're leaving tomorrow for Geneva, then Pisa via Rome. At least that's the plan."

  "Good, okay. Listen, this is a quick update. O'Rourke is dead. Shanahan is dead. No one knows who. Well, I know, of course. And people who need to know, will know. The Irish will be looking for Kerrigan 'jolly' soon."

  "He's not using that name."

  "What name now?"

  "Hansford."

  "Okay. Sure, that figures. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I know all the ID's he'll use and I'll get them known. He won't use any twice that's for sure. But, keep me informed each time he changes nonetheless. Let me know ahead of time if you can. And be careful."

  "I will. Are you okay?"

  "Fine." A pause, then in a hushed tone, "Cover your pretty ass."

  She too pauses, then also whispers as if someone is listening, "I wish you would."

  There is no sound for several seconds, then, "I will, soon." Click

  Dee stands holding the receiver. After a few seconds she places it back in its cradle. Saunters to the closet. Disrobes deliberately. Naked as she steps out of her panties, she gazes at herself in the full length closet door mirror and mutters, "How could anyone not want this?" Turns, takes another look over her shoulder at her butt, whispers, "Nice. Still tight," and wiggles to the loo to prepare the bitch, Lady Sally Hansford, for the staff of the restaurant.

  After an obligatory amount of time for a proper Lady to prime, Sally Hansford arrives at the lobby bar to collect her drink and husband, Ian, exactly in that order. After finishing the drinks Ian and Sally Hansford drift to the hotel's restaurant under the watchful yet obviously uncomfortable eyes of the Israeli couple, now together, sipping tea. Dee and Hunter wait to be seated, and order two more scotches after another short delay. When the drinks arrive after a bit of a time lag, Lady Hansford complains of the service. Too long to be seated; too long to take the order; and too long to wait. She makes a scene, her voice becoming more shrill with each complaint. For her finale she takes the napkin from her lap and slings it at the frustrated and defenseless waiter. She stands, hands on hips, toe tapping, glaring at Ian. He shrugs, fumbles with his pocket and places the exact amount between the untouched drinks under the lady's watchful eye. Sally Hansford, in a huff, prances out, pleased with herself. Ian glances at her, and as he steps away he drops two one-hundred pound notes on the table. He looks about and trails meekly behind his wife.

  The waiter mumbles, "Ruddy bitch." and after a darting glance around, furtively pockets the bills.

  Outside, Hunter turns to the doorman; however, Dee is already off the curb and on the street. He hastens to the curb and hails a taxi for the two of them. Inside, he gives the cabbie the only direction he needs, "Annabel's." It's a fashionable and popular restaurant, bar and hangout in Berkeley Square. After several minutes, Hunter is not astounded to see they have a tail. In fact, two. Working in singles and no doubt the two from the lobby. Israelis can be good but these two might get momentarily enamored with Annabel's and get careless again.

  Hunter laughs softly at his thoughts.

  Dee says, "What?"

  "We're being followed. Don't look back now or when we get there. Just hang on my arm and drool."

  "I'm not allowed to drool."

  "Figuratively you do around me all the time."

  She hisses softly thus the cabbie can't hear. "You're an egotistical bastard."

  "Play nice."

  They arrive at Annabel's on Berkeley Square. As soon as they enter, Hunter whispers to the hostess and presses a wad of cash into her hand. He whispers in her ear again. She smiles. Gives Hunter's hand a playful squeeze and leads them through the crowded room, past the loos and to a side entrance. Hunter whispers to her again, kisses her on the cheek. Her smile is warmer and returns the peck on the cheek and says, "Anytime, killer."

  Dee scowls at the woman but says nothing.

  Hunter and Dee hasten along Hill Street. He whistles down a passing taxi. Hunter directs this one to Cecconis, a restaurant in the Mayfair District. It's a place to see, and be seen, by those in the rarefied social atmosphere of the city. Those not stratospheric go unnoticed although in this venue it's possible to be thought as somebody. One would think it's not a place to hide, but then again, it is. People on the run would more likely adorn a pub stool.

  At a table inside sipping what he prefers, an apricot brandy, Hunter is sure the tail has been waggled free. He is also positive they'll encounter them again. Most likely at The Cavendish which prompts Hunter to devise an alternate plan.

  Dee is nursing another scotch, neat, having taken to the Lady's taste, when Hunter asks, "Sally, my darling. Do you have all your ID's in your purse?"

  "Yes, why?"

  "Good. We'll finish these and leave."

  Rocco and Adrianna enjoy a serene evening before ordering. They sip more than one glass of wine on the hotel's restaurant patio that overlooks Rapallo and the sea beyond. They finally order and take pleasure in a Caesar Salad made at tableside, then both have freshly caught Alletterato, Bonita for dinner, with a mixture of fresh sautéed vegetables and buttered pasta. When the meal is over he sips brandy and she Limoncello until darkness intimidates this seaside resort town. Rocco decides to forego the walk to and from the Bar Pasticerrcia Salza for their dessert. Adrianna doesn't resist. She is anxious for more love-making. An art form for her, and besides she is aware of Rocco's growing restlessness.

  Rocco is anxious to return to the room. For the first time he has become
aware of a particular young couple in the restaurant, pretending to dote on one another but not able to act as if watching Rocco and his lady without pretext.

  He and Adrianna nonchalantly leave the restaurant but stride urgently to their room. At the door, he tells her to go inside, pack everything. His and hers. Adds, "Don't ask me any questions. Do it, now. And, wait here. Make no calls. I will be back."

  Adrianna nods. She is a woman in love, but not a fool. She has known Rocco a long time and is aware of his menacing circle of friends. Neither he nor his associates are keen on questions.

  Rocco takes the elevator to the lobby. Sits at the bar, orders a brandy, lights and smokes a cigar which the barkeep offers only to special guests of the hotel. He has another drink, pays the tab leaving the man a generous tip, and strolls outside. He stands beneath the broad awning over the entrance. More a canopy. He inhales the fresh sea air feigning to relax and benefit from the joy of a typical Rapallo evening in August. He draws on his cigar, watches the smoke twirl and dissipate quickly while he's rocking back and forth on his heels. Drops the half-smoked butt, crushes it with his foot. He takes a step to the side and speaks to the valet who listens intently, nodding his head. It is an intense conversation. Rocco presses money into the valet's palm, then strides to the side of the hotel. At the corner of the building he darts into the now pitch-black, cobblestone alleyway. Ducks into a shadowed architectural crevice and waits for his prey as still and quiet as a leopard in tall grass.

  The Israeli, Reis, opts to follow Rocco. He tells Marnee to remain behind but move to a corner of the lobby where she can see both the entrance and the elevators.

  Marnee complains, "We should stay together. Act as a team. Not separate. Remember our rule."

  "Something is up. You watch for her. I will follow him." Reis adds, "And I'm not unarmed".

  She stares at Reis. And I am a Jewish girl. She says instead, "And?"

  "He is not leaving but is up to something. Either way, he won't leave her behind but she is involved in some manner."