by J B Raphael
“He’s been primed by the local ‘gentry’,” Mel said, “I’ll put next months salary on that.”
“Yes,” his wife agreed, “fancy a cappuccino?”
They walked to the huge al fresco cafe in the corner of the square, and sat, but not as close to Jon’s corner table, in fact they were about 20 metres away. Thirty minutes passed before Jon turned up, as he passed their table he nodded to Mary-Lou but ignored Mel. He sat at his usual spot, the waiter having seen him arrive was on on the ball and delivered his coffee and liqueur almost immediately. A few minutes went by and a young man walked past carrying a package. He went into the cafe for about a minute then walked out, as he did a powerful motor bike came into the square, the young man climbed on to the pillion, the bike did a 360 turn, as it went past Jon’s table the package was opened to reveal an automatic pistol which splattered Jon’s chest with at least four shots. He fell to the ground clutching his chest, with blood oozing through his shirt and blouson. The motor cycle did a wheelie of triumph as it left the square, locals dispersed very quickly, leaving only tourists to stand open-mouthed, like statues. An ambulance immediately arrived, and Jon was taken away. Mel’s trained powers of observation noticed that one of the ambulance men was also the pillion passenger, fuck he thought, where had they taken him?
Mary-Lou just sat open-mouthed, and then said, “Are we on a set of a James Bond movie, or did all that really happen?”
“It really happened,” Mel said, “but I don’t believe it.”
“What happens now?” his wife asked.
“I don’t know, I just don’t know, the only thing we can do is ask at the local hospital,” he added.
“Whoa,” Mary-Lou said, “I think we should just let it go.”
“I can’t,” Mel said, “he’s a murdering evil bastard, and I want him, if he lives.”
“Honey, they’re the rulers of Sicily, we don’t stand a chance, please don’t take this any further,” she begged.
“Okay, okay,” Mel said, “but we must contact NYPD and Scotland Yard and inform them.”
Back at the hotel bar, the couple watched the latest news on the huge screen, it appeared that ‘Keiron Pearce’ was still alive, but in a critical state in the local hospital. The ‘assassins’ had used small calibre and small load bullets, almost blanks, but enough to do a fair amount of damage but not so much as to kill. They wanted him to survive, this was the Russian directive! After a sort of recovery he was to be crated up and flown to Russia. But satan had a different idea!
Four days passed and ‘Keiron’ was moved to a day ward, having progressed well, but he was still unwell, with dressings from his waist to his neck. But he felt a lot better and just wanted to get out of the hospital as soon as possible. He remembered the inflatable boat down at the end of the quay, and planned his escape. He would go further down the coast and steal a yacht or some sort of boat, to get away from his enemies.
Mel and Mary-Lou had only five days left before they would have to fly back to London, and then home.
Jon found his clothes and his back-pack, that went everywhere with him, it contained his future. All of his cash and jewellery were in tact and where they should be. Honest Sicilian hospital staff, who would have thought, hundreds of thousands, untouched! Satan was working for him again.
St Petersburg
Vasili heard the news of ‘Keiron’s’ shooting, and sent two of his trusted men , his brother Mikhail and nephew Peter, to see to the transfer to Russia. They would fly there in one of the Lockheads and the crate with ‘Keiron’ in a seated position tied and drugged, would be brought back to be ‘dealt’ with, as Vasili put it. At least that was the plan, but Keiron’s mentor was in charge once again.
Palermo
Jon dressed slowly behind his drawn curtain at midnight, and waited until it was quiet. At 1 am, and painfully, he left by the stairs at the rear of the building, which also served as the fire escape, and led to the staff car park. Making sure that the coast was clear, he walked uncomfortably out on to the road and slowly down the hill towards the quayside where he hoped his inflatable would be. The wonderful thing about Sicily was that theft crime was low, as would-be thieves were worried as to who the property belonged to! There it was, including the outboard motor, wonderful! Satan was again at his side. He had no strength to pull the starter cord, his chest and upper arms were weak and painful, so he tried by wrapping it around his ankle and pulling sharply. It started on the 4th attempt, in the bottom, under the seat, was a twenty litre can of fuel, it was full. Good, he thought, that’ll get me well down the coast. At the first sign of dawn’s light, he re-started the outboard and cast off towards the open sea. The 200hp engine was fast and he was pleased to see the bow lift, he thanked the fisherman silently for providing him with the means to escape. He had no maps but he knew he was heading east, and keeping fairly close to the shore with lights in his sight. He kept going for about two hours, following the coast wasn’t easy as it was not a straight coastline, he had to turn in to the shore quite a few times. He was feeling cold and weak and very hungry. There was a deep bay with a village at the deepest point, he made for the dimly lit, small harbour and tied up on a metal, well rusted, ring that protruded from the ancient quayside wall. He sat, feeling un-well, he must find some food and sleep. With no shelter in the boat, he began to get colder. He managed to climb up the low wall on to the quayside, with a lot of pain. He noticed that his blouson had the blood stained bullet holes across the chest, he had to find something to warm him him and cover the holes. He wandered through the small hilly streets, and once again, Satan was with him. A fishermen’s sweater hung on a washing line, he just walked into the small cottage’s frontage and took it off the line, it was clean and dry! Who would steal a sweater on Sicily? he thought, and laughed. He now needed food, he was weak and in pain, but Satan was at hand to help. Even though his ward was carrying nearly half a million dollars in cash and diamonds he was almost a vagrant in a small fishing village on a secondary island in the Med, how did it come to this? he thought. But then the alternative was frightening, living off of his sister, slumming about in Camden Town, no, this would only be temporary. Two or three days at the most, he would rest up to get his strength back. He wandered down a narrow street and suddenly saw a sign ‘Appartamento’ in the window of a medium-sized house. He knocked on the door which opened quickly, “Si?”
“Appartamento, per favore?” Jon said. The woman looked him up and down, and started to close the door without saying a word. “American dollars,” he said.
She looked at the wad of dollars that he showed her, “Avanti,” she said, opening the door wider. She took him up a flight of stairs to two rooms which were comfortably furnished with furniture from the fifties, but it was very clean and would suit him for a week or so.
“Si,” he said, “quanto costa questa?”
“You are English?” she asked.
“Yes,” Jon said.
“I speak some English, for one week $100,” she announced.
“Okay,” said Jon, and peeled off two fifty dollar bills and gave it to the woman.
“Grazie,” she said, and showed him the shower room etc.
“Thank you,” Jon said “I need some clothes, you see my boat sank and I lost everything.”
“Si,” the woman replied, “I have clothes from my son who has gone to the Army on mainland at Salerno Training Camp, I will bring for you,” and she finally smiled.
“Thank you again,” Jon said, and thought, this is a piece of luck! I can stay here until I’m fit and well again. The clothes fitted him quite well and he gave the landlady $100 for them, which she declined, but he forced her to take the money.
“Molte grazie!” she said.
Over the next few days Jon was treated like his landlady’s long gone son, food, more clothes were supplied. He feigned gratitude, because when he left he would not be able to carry them. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t know where he was! “What is
the name of this village?” he asked his landlady.
“It is called Trepani,” she answered, “a very old fishing village from the days of the Romans,” she enthused, “but we have no tourists,” she said with her arms raised, “only fish. We don’t even have television, because of the hills,” she added. This was good news for Jon, at least he could walk around without being recognised.
Walking through the village was like going back hundreds of years, apart from the odd twenty year old tiny Fiat or Lambretta scooter. Shops were very rare apart from a grocer-come-delicatessen store that also sold licquor. He went in and pointed to a bottle of Italian brandy for 20 euros, the young girl had to stand on a chair to reach the bottle, her skirt, which was already short, rose to almost show her nicely rounded buttocks, and she knew it! As she turned, she smiled as she got down from the chair, “Si signore,” she said, flashing her eyes, “venti euros per favore.”
“How much for the arse show?” he laughed. He passed a 50 euro note, as she took the money she looked sexily into Jon’s eyes.
She was about 18-20, and very, very pretty, she gave him his change and said, “The arse show is free!” in almost perfect English.
“You speak English?” Jon said, feeling embarrassed.
“I am here on holiday from the Sussex University in Brighton, do you know it?”
“No,” he said, “but I’ve heard of it.”
“This is my parents shop, and I can’t wait to get back to civilisation, but that won’t be for another month. Do you want to take me out one night, you are very handsome?” she said, cheekily.
Jon laughed a very nervous laugh, and said, “Er, yes, but where is there to go?” he asked, he had to stand aside while two customers were served.
“There is a club down at Marsala where some tourists go, I have a Lambretta, it takes about 20-25 minutes, we could go there,” she said, once again flashing her eyes.
“When had you in mind?” he asked.
“Tomorrow night, perhaps?” she suggested, “Where are you staying?”
“At Signora Mantini’s house. My boat sank four days ago while I was out on a pleasure cruise from further down the coast. I lost everything because I had my suitcase in the boat to go to Tunis. Luckily, my back-pack with my passport and money survived, they were wrapped in plastic,” he lied. “These clothes belong to Mrs Mantini’s son,” he said.
“I thought I recognised that shirt,” she said, “he’s in the army now, in Salerno,” she said.
“Yes, his mother told me.”
He’d never ridden pillion on a scooter, it was a new frantic experience for him, especially on the mountain roads! But Naomi, as he now knew her, was a good and careful rider, she’d even provided Jon with a crash helmet, and went very slowly around the hairpin bends. It took exactly 30 minutes to get to the ‘Vegas Club’, they stopped outside then Naomi did something very unusual, she started to get undressed. She removed her jeans to reveal a little blue dress, then removed her leather blouson to complete a very sexy and attractive look. “Okay,” she said, as she locked her clothes in the under-seat locker.
“Is that safe?” Jon asked, “this is Sicily.”
“Believe me, it’s safe,” she answered as she took his arm and they walked in to the club. She paraded Jon around so that friends and acquaintances could see her with a handsome man. Fair enough, he thought, and started to enjoy the evening, he felt safe and stronger, the pains in his chest and arms had abated.
At about 1 o’clock, after lots of dancing, they had started to kiss while on the dance floor. Naomi was very willing to get passionate and Jon could feel it in the way she pressed herself against him. They left on the scooter after Naomi got dressed at the road-side. When they arrived back at her home she put the Lambretta at the back of the shop and then took his hand and led him to a door at the side of the building, this led to a small self-contained apartment with a very comfortable looking double bed. She was naked in less than a minute, and started to kiss Jon passionately as her hands undid buttons and zips to undress him. He winced as she pulled his shirt off to reveal the bandage around his chest, “Oh, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”
“No, I just cracked a couple of ribs when the boat sank,” he lied. He pulled her towards him, her skin was like silk, fresh, and smelled of a very exotic bath oil, it made his erection stronger and more rampant. Their lovemaking continued for at least two hours and they fell asleep in each others arms.
A distant rooster announced the dawn, Naomi awoke and immediately started to fondle ‘Keiron’s’ genitals. He woke and smiled at his gorgeous little lover. She rolled over to be on top of him, “I’m going to ride you, be the dominant one!” She gently lowered her straddled body on to his erection, and the lovemaking was something that ‘Keiron’ had not experienced for a long time. Her orgasm broke the sound barrier! Naomi’s parents were away on holiday on the mainland, visiting relatives in Naples. “I have to open the shop,” she said, “but I will make breakfast first.” She kissed him and then went into the shower.
Palermo
“How in the Lord’s name, did he manage to escape?” the Chief Inspector shouted.
“He went to relieve himself and when he returned the curtain was still drawn so he thought all was well,” Sgt Gambrelli replied.
“Okay,” the CI said, “check the airport and the harbour, I want him back here, SOON!” he screamed, his well-being depended on it. The ‘gentry’ had warned him that his safety was in question, not to mention a large cash inducement! He distributed photographs of Jon (Keiron) to every officer in the city and it was decided to put his picture on television news, but that was of no consequence in Trepani as it was a TV-free area.
Trepani
Jon still didn’t feel safe on Sicily, he would try to find a boat to take him to Tunis, the nearest point of the African coast, may be he would go down to the quay-side to see if any large trawlers were in. Walking down the hill he could see his inflatable boat bobbing about gently on a very slight swell. There weren’t any boats in the small harbour, but in the distance he could see a large boat, it was an ocean-going trawler. He waited, sitting on the wall, until the trawler came to the quay-side, it was big and to his surprise, had Arabic writing above the name ‘L’Ariana’. Satan was still helping. He waited until a crew mwmber had tied up at both ends and was leaning against the wall with a cigarette, “Buongiorno,” he said, “do you speak English?”
“Si, a little,” he said.
“Do you go to Tunis?” Jon asked.
“We are going tomorrow, it is our home country.”
Jon couldn’t believe his luck, “Could I pay you to take me with you?”
“I will ask my brother, he owns the boat.” He jumped aboard and went to the wheelhouse and spoke to a grey haired, brawny man who looked down at Jon and said something to the younger brother. His luck was in as the boy said, “Yes, it will cost 1,000 euros.”
Jon pretended to think hard about it, then said, “Yes, what time are you leaving tomorrow?”
“Six o’clock,” the boy said.
“I’ll be here,” Jon said.
He went to see Naomi at the shop, she ran around the counter, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him saying ‘Would you like an arse show?’ and before he could say yes or no she’d run back and was climbing the step ladder, this time however, she wore no knickers! She looked back at him, smiling and said, “How’s that?”
“Very nice,” he said, “now come down, I have something to tell you.”
Her smile disappeared, “What is it?” she asked.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” he said.
Naomi’s face dropped, and her eyes moistened, “Where are you going?” she asked
“I’m going back to the mainland, probably Rome,” he lied.
She started crying but soon composed herself when a lady customer came into the shop. Jon took the opportunity, and left the shop quickly, and as far as Naomi was concerned, was gone forever.<
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Jon left Mrs Mantini’s very quietly, leaving a 100 euro note on his bed. he took the minimum amount of clothing in his back-pack including his money and the diamonds, arriving at the quay at 5.30am. There was a single light on in the wheelhouse, but there was movement and the boy came to the side of the boat and lit a cigarette. Seeing Jon, he beckoned him aboard. He climbed on to the flat deck and went to the wheelhouse, “Do you have the money?” the boy said. He gave the lad a 500 euro note. “My brother said 1,000 euros.”
“Yes, I know, 500 now and 500 when we get there, okay?” Jon said.
“I’ll see what my brother says,” and went below deck. Jon waited, he had taken a large stout kitchen knife from the signora’s kitchen and had it inside his shirt, wrapped in a tea towel so as not to cut himself.
The fishing boat left at 7am, being a powerful ocean-goer Jon was pleased with the rate of knots that it made out of the harbour and in to the open sea, beautiful blue and flat. He looked at the sun and calculated that they were heading SW, good he thought. He asked the young fisherman how long the trip would take, “Two days,” he replied, “and my brother now wants 1,200 euros for keeping him waiting for the rest of the money, and food,” he announced.
“Okay,” said Jon, “when we get there,” he added. I hope they live to collect it, he thought with an evil smile, as he patted the package inside his shirt.
They did some fishing and the catches looked very good, a load with each trawl, Jon even helped to bring up the nets as best he could, he was now a lot fitter and stronger. The fish were dropped into steel-lined bins, still writhing and flapping around, then something happened that Jon didn’t expect, two dark Arabic girls came up to the deck and started to gut the catch. They worked at a furious rate, throwing the entrails overboard. From out of a clear blue sky, a huge flock of seagulls fell upon the flotsam of fish remains. The girls didn’t seem to notice Jon, they probably just thought he was a hired hand for the trip.
Russia
Both in St Petersburg and Moscow, the dogs had been called off, with high rewards being offered for Jon’s capture, but they were concentrating on Europe, they hadn’t thought of anywhere further afield, but that was to come. Jon Weston would always be top of their ‘wanted’ list and they had very long arms and informants everywhere. In every Russian Embassy there was someone on their payroll, ready to tell them any news of a sighting. It was a long way off, but he would have his day of reckoning, but who would it be, the NYPD, the UK Police or the Russians?
