I Contadini (The Peasants)

by Lester S. Taube

  “Perhaps he did. Remember, we overshot the turn, and it took a good fifteen minutes to get back to it. He could have left one of his men behind to see if they were followed, then figured they were safe when nobody showed up. Stay here, I’m going to scout the area.” Using extreme caution, he wormed his way to a position where he could see the cottage more completely. It was well constructed of split logs, containing five or six rooms. Bonazzi and Franko were seated in straw chairs on the wide porch, drinking bottled beer. The binoculars brought everything into sharp focus, even the name Molson printed on the bottles.

  Bonazzi was exactly like his picture once the wig had been removed. In a holster attached to the left side of his belt was a snub nosed revolver. He was talking animatedly to Franko, motioning frequently with his hands. Rising from his chair, he went to the edge of the porch and called out to the man in the boat. The words were distorted by the breeze, but the gist could be made out. He was asking how the fishing was going. The man called back that it was great. Bonazzi resumed his chair and opened another bottle of beer.

  Dominic now turned his attention to Franko. He wore a long sleeved shirt, and carried a flat, heavy calibered pistol in a shoulder holster. His eyes never seemed to rest, but roved over the lake, back into the woods, up to the tops of trees.

  Dominic made a detailed inspection of the cottage, memorizing the location of the rooms, the windows, the door, then looked about for other people who might also be living there. There did not seem to be any. It was seven o’clock, the sun beginning its downward fall, when he returned to Michael.

  They started back to their car, elated by their fortunate discovery, but still taking precautions by remaining close to the tree line as they walked down the road. It was after eight o’clock when they reached the car and climbed inside.

  The moment they arrived at their hotel in Quebec, Michael was on the phone to Ettore to report the presence of Bonazzi. Ettore received the news with equanimity, but his son could tell he was as excited as they. “Get everything organized,” he told Michael. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  The two brothers ate a late supper, then went right to bed, worn out from a day of tension and effort.

  The following morning they were up early to go shopping. Their first stop was a department store where they bought dark, outdoor clothing, soft field boots, and thin gloves. Their second stop was a sporting goods shop. Here they selected two automatic pump shotguns, a large bore rifle, shells, three long flashlights, and batteries. Buying hunting weapons there was as uncomplicated as in the United States. Just before lunch, they drove to the Ste-Anne-de-Beaupré city hall to secure large scale maps of the area where the lodge was situated.

  Vincent accompanied Ettore that afternoon on Vito’s plane. Dominic and Michael drove them from the Quebec airport to the rooms they had wisely kept at the hotel. Enroute there was an argument among the brothers about Vincent’s role in Canada. His left clavicle had healed satisfactorily, but his arm was still too weak for any heavy effort. Not that they wouldn’t have felt more secure with him along, for Vincent was smart as a whip. He had also taken exercises during his recuperation which cut his weight fifteen pounds. Michael, especially, still remembered what happened to anyone Vincent hit when he was in proper shape and became angry. But he wasn’t yet in shape, and they told him so.

  Ettore and Vincent had brought along dark, outdoor wear, so there was no need to shop for more supplies. In the hotel, Dominic and Michael went over several times exactly what they had seen at the lodge, how the rooms were positioned, where the men probably slept, what the woods surrounding the area looked like. Ettore studied the maps obtained from the city hall then asked a few questions about the lake.

  “If they are security conscious,” he said, “they will be watching the road. So we must fool them. I want you boys to buy or rent a canoe long enough to hold three of us. Then have a carrying rack put on the roof of the car.”

  Michael suddenly recalled that Ettore had made large sums of money during the depression by running whisky from Canada. He had owned a couple of boats during that period. One tended to forget that a man seventy-five years old might still have more savvy than a son half his age. He looked at his brothers; they were thinking the same thing.

  “We’ve gotten your idea, Papa. But the big question is how far do we go with the men guarding Bonazzi?”

  “We have no quarrel with them, but we must assume they will try to protect him. If so, we will kill them all.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “That must be the road,” said Vincent, seated next to Dominic driving the car. Dominic slowed down and turned onto a narrow, black-tarred road that ran into the woods. It was rutty with potholes trailing wide cracks that extended to the shoulders, like tadpoles with long tails.

  “Good Lord!” exclaimed Dominic, as the Dodge winced from a sudden blow to springs and shock absorbers. “It seemed like such a nice road on the map.”

  “It breaks up during the spring thaw,” explained Vincent. “They probably cut logs and pulpwood up ahead during the winter, and the loaded trucks hauling them out in the spring tear up just about everything. The powers-that-be usually repair them during the summer, but I guess they decided no sane person would use this road until next fall.”

  “No wonder you know all this,” said Michael, seated in the rear beside Ettore. “You’ve fished often in these parts, didn’t you?”

  “Not around here, but about twenty-five miles due north of Quebec. The countryside is pretty much the same, though.”

  Dominic continued driving slowly, carefully, over the road. The men inside the car wore dark, outdoor clothing. A bark canoe was tied to a rack on the top. After fifteen or twenty minutes, the headlights picked up a trail on the left side leading into the forest.

  “Hold up,” said Vincent. When Dominic stopped the car, Vincent snapped on a flashlight to study a map lying open on his knees. “I think we should be in line with the lake now.”

  “Okay,” said Dominic. Flicking off the headlights, they sat quietly until their eyes became adjusted to the dark. Dominic and Michael got out, each carrying a shotgun and binoculars slung over one shoulder, Dominic with a walkie-talkie hooked to his belt, Michael with a roll of toilet paper in his hand. They started walking down the trail, Dominic in the lead. Flashes of moonlight filtered down to the forest floor in areas where trees grew far apart. After a quarter of a mile, the path became obscure. Dominic motioned to Michael, who tied a length of toilet paper between two trees standing by the side of the path. It marked the position as clearly as if a light had been lit there. They marked two more places during the next quarter mile, then the trail narrowed to a footpath.

  Dominic checked his watch; it was shortly after 1 a.m. He took a compass from his pocket and waited for its luminous arrow to stop moving. “We’re still okay,” he said. They continued through the woods, halting more often to tie toilet paper to trees and bushes to guide them back.

  Then, without warning, they came upon the lake. Slipping off their binoculars, they studied the opposite shore.

  “There it is,” said Michael. “Over to the left. The moon is shining on the Buick. Can you see it?”

  Dominic trained his binoculars over the four hundred yard expanse of water. He located the cottage and car sitting in an opening with moonlight reflecting from them. “Perfect,” he said. “We struck it just right. But that car means we’d better count on four men or more.” He unhooked the walkie-talkie from his belt and signaled for Ettore. His father answered immediately. “We’re at the lake,” he told him. “A little to the right of the lodge. But the Buick is there.”

  “That’s bad news,” said Ettore. “How wide is the lake where you’re at?”

  “About four hundred yards.”

  “Are there lights in the lodge?”

  “None that we can see.”

  “Well, let’s go ahead with our plan.”

  “Before we do, Papa, perhaps we should talk it out a bit
more. There may be women in the cottage now.”

  “That makes sense. All right, we’ll meet along the trail and talk there.”

  Dominic shut off the walkie-talkie as the two brothers started back. Traveling was easier now; the toilet paper markers stood out clearly. Halfway to the car, they came upon Ettore and Vincent carrying the canoe.

  “Hey, Papa, why didn’t you wait for us?” asked Michael, taking hold of the boat.

  “This is good exercise,” said Ettore.

  Dominic took Vincent’s side and lowered the canoe to the ground. Vincent’s face was flushed but smiling. “That was great,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “If we weren’t hell bent on shooting up the neighborhood, I’d take a fishing vacation right now.”

  The family squatted on the trail. “I’ve been thinking over what you said, Dom,” said Ettore. “About the possibility of women being there. We’ll go into position and look things over before we decide what to do.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Vincent. “If they don’t know we have spotted them, another few hours or a day won’t make much difference.”

  Ettore stood up. “Well, let’s get started.”

  Vincent got to his feet quickly. He placed his arms around Dominic. “Take it easy, buddy.”

  Dominic smiled. He hadn’t heard the family nickname since he turned sixteen. He tightened his arms around Vincent. “Sure, Vince.”

  Vincent put his arms around Michael. “You too, Mike.”

  “Okay, Vince. We’ll take care.”

  Vincent turned to Ettore and embraced him. “Watch yourself, Papa. We’re all relying on you.”

  Ettore patted his shoulder. “We’ll be all right, Vince. Don’t forget to turn the car around and have a good story prepared in case someone comes along the road.”

  Michael and Dominic picked up the light canoe and started down the path, Ettore following with his rifle slung over his shoulder. In fifteen minutes they were at the lake. It was a sweet, cool night, the rays of the moon rippling on the calm water, a restless trout rushing up to snap at an insect. Sounds from the forest rode on a gentle breeze, crickets, a weasel lunging for a croaking frog, the play of an owl’s wings as it swooped on an unwary mouse.

  They slipped the canoe quietly in the water and stepped inside. Dominic paddled it towards the far shore.

  “Bear a little to your right,” whispered Ettore. “Places look further away at night than they really are.”

  Dominic angled off, plying his paddle noiselessly, straining his ears for any sounds of discovery. It was 3:30 a.m. when they landed on the other side. Lifting out the canoe, they hid it among the bushes, then began walking along the shoreline towards the lodge, Dominic in the lead. After two or three hundred yards, Dominic gave the signal for them to stop.

  “We’re almost at the edge of the clearing,” he whispered. “Wait here. I’ll look things over.”

  Shotgun in hand, he padded silently into the clearing straight for the cottage. Every few yards he stopped to listen; there were only the noises of the forest to be heard. Each nerve in his body was attuned to the sound of men. His eyes darted about for the form of a guard, the glowing tip of a lighted cigarette, a cough, a yawn. Nothing.

  He reached the side of the cottage and flattened himself against the wall. Still no noise. He crept to the front porch, then to the door, and cautiously tested the latch - it was locked. Down on hands and knees, he started around the cottage, checking the windows. All were screened. At one room, he heard loud snores. Circling the building, he returned to Ettore and Michael.

  “Nobody is awake,” he told them. “It’s amazing.”

  “Someone could be watching down the road,” said Ettore in a low voice. “That would be the direction an attack would come from.”

  “Perhaps,” said Michael. “But I think we’ve achieved complete surprise.”

  “I hope so,” said Ettore. “But I’d rather not wait for dawn. Bonazzi’s men will be able to react quickly once they are awake. We must move while they are asleep. Dom, go through the window of the snoring man. If there are women inside, come right back. We’ll take our chances in the daylight.”

  Dominic nodded and slipped off at once, his father and brother directly behind. He led them around the rear of the building to the window he planned to enter. The man was still snoring loudly. Drawing his switchblade from a pocket, Dominic quietly sliced into the screen. The snores concealed the slight scraping sound. He angled the cut to make a hole large enough for his body. Michael cupped his hands for Dominic to step on. With a smooth, silent movement, Dominic was quickly inside the room, his shotgun at the ready.

  The room held two beds, a man asleep in each. Dominic crossed over to the door on tip toe. He drew it open and stepped out into a hallway. Padding to the right, he came to a living room. It was empty. Across the hallway was a kitchen with a table large enough to seat eight people. Also empty.

  He stole to the front door. With extreme caution, he unlocked it. Ettore and Michael were waiting directly outside. He motioned them to come in. He pointed to the room of the snorer, held up two fingers, then signaled for Ettore to guard them. For a moment his father almost rebelled, but finally nodded his head in compliance. Backed by Michael, Dominic padded to a door at the far end of the hallway. It gave way under the pressure of his hand. Moonlight filtered through a window onto the body of a man asleep in a double bed. It was Franko.

  Dominic gestured for Michael to take him. His brother nodded. Dominic turned towards the last door. His face had tightened to a grim mask, the breath was knotted in his chest. He turned the handle and pressed. It was locked!

  Ettore came to his side. He motioned for Dominic to go outside the cottage and come through the window. Dominic nodded, and walked softly towards the front door.

  Outside, he crept to the window. With his switchblade, he carefully cut open the screen. He lifted himself on the sill to slip inside.

  Suddenly, a bright light struck him full in the face! Instantly, he started dropping to the ground. A revolver shot rang out. Splinters from the window pane flew through his hair.

  “Franko!” came a yell from within the bedroom. There was the noise of a man jumping from the bed.

  The deep boom of a shotgun sounded inside the cottage. Then the sharp crack of a pistol. Another boom of the shotgun resounded.

  There was no reason to be quiet any longer. Dominic rose up and fired towards the bedroom door. He heard a sharp cry. A moment later bullets struck the window by his head. He ducked, pumped in another shell and fired again.

  The barks of Ettore’s rifle came from the far bedroom. It fired twice more in quick succession.

  He heard the bedroom door being pulled open.

  Michael shouted, “Watch out, Papa!” The revolver cracked.

  Immediately, Dominic was through the window. He crouched on the floor, his eyes darting about the room, his shotgun poised for action. It was empty. He leaped up and ran for the hallway. As he charged out, he tripped over a body. It was Michael.

  “Bonazzi!” cried Michael, pointing towards the front door.

  Dominic kneeled beside him. He snapped on his flashlight. Michael was lying on his back, a hole streaming blood from his chest.

  “Franko?” asked Dominic sharply.

  “Dead,” said Michael. “Go after Bonazzi.” He began coughing.

  Ettore staggered out of the dark hallway. He came over to Michael and fell to his knees beside his son. A gash in his head oozed blood.

  “Papa,” said Dominic, grasping his arm. “Are you badly hurt?”

  “I’m all right. Get after Bonazzi.”

  “The men in your room?”

  “They’re dead. Go! Go! I’ll take care of Mike.”

  Dominic jumped to his feet and rushed out the front of the lodge. He looked about. No one was in sight. He started racing down the road. That would be the logical place for an undressed man without shoes to go. Shotgun in hand, feet pounding the uneven surfa
ce, he turned a bend. Down the road a figure wearing only shorts was running. Sudden joy gave Dominic’s lungs a lift. He increased his speed. The figure looked back and tripped. At once he was on his feet again, running with desperation. Dominic closed the gap to fifty yards, then to forty. Soon he was within shotgun range, but kept running.

  The man looked over his shoulder again. The nearness of Dominic startled him. He tripped once more, this time falling heavily. He made no effort to get back to his feet. Instead, he fired. Dominic felt the bullet fan his face. The man fired again. A hot poker stabbed into Dominic’s side, bringing him up short.

  Yelling at the top of his lungs, Dominic flung the shotgun at the figure on the ground and dove for him. He heard curses as the revolver clicked on an empty shell, then watched him throw, almost in slow motion, the revolver at him.

  Deflecting the gun with his shoulder, Dominic was on the man, his hands seeking his throat. A finger was suddenly thrust into his eye. Flashes of purple exploded in his head. He crashed a fist into the face under him.

  The man grabbed his hand and sank his teeth into it. Dominic let out an animal shout of exultation. That was all he needed. Grasping the man by the throat, he rose and jerked him to his feet. He shook him back and forth like a rag doll, then threw him against a nearby tree. Diving at the body, he pounded him with punch after punch until the man was unconscious. Then Dominic sat back, his lungs pounding in his chest, sweat pouring down his face into his eyes and open mouth. With trembling hands, he took out a cigarette lighter and snapped it on. He lowered it to the man’s face. It was Bonazzi.

  Running feet sounded up the road. Snapping shut the lighter, Dominic rolled over to his shotgun. In a few moments, he recognized his father. Ettore came to a stop, breathing heavily. He took a quick look at the situation, then his shoulders drooped.

  “He’s dead,” he said with a catch of horror in his voice.

  “Mike?”

  Ettore nodded.

  “Oh, dear God,” cried Dominic, sinking to the ground. He sagged back against a tree, tears filling his eyes.