by Rich Allen
Again, Inspector Pio examined Jack over his pince-nez. “Important appointment you say. Would you care to elaborate, Mr Holden?”
“Not really. Look, you can’t keep me here any longer. I know my rights.”
Pio laughed. “Oh, you know your rights do you? How does possession of crack cocaine and a stolen bank card sound? I’ve spoken to the authorities in the UK and they seem to think you’re clean, but there’s something about you that worries me. Something you’re not telling me, and I don’t like secrets, Mr Holden. So…who are you meeting tomorrow? Is it your drug dealer? Or maybe it’s the owner of this card. Mr Book.” He produced the plastic card from his pocket and placed it on the table. “If you tell me the truth, I might let you go free.”
Jack shook his head. This guy needed bringing down a peg or two. He’d be well suited to a career in radio; a programme director.
“I don’t have a drug dealer,” Jack said. “I don’t even do drugs - although I’m seriously thinking about starting up if I ever get out of this dump. Like I told you before, I have no idea who Mr or Mrs Book is.”
Officer Neri chipped in again: “We have been researching this bank card you say you found. Our I.T. experts are bewildered by it. It’s like nothing they’ve ever seen before. Are you sure there’s nothing more you can tell us about it?”
“It’s just a card I found on the pavement,” Jack said. “Look, you keep it if you want it. Reunite it with its owner or cut it up and put it in the trash. Frankly, I don’t care. Just let me go!”
“We can keep you for another thirty six hours without charge, Mr Holden,” said Pio. The inspector took his glasses off. His eyes looked bloodshot and tired. Jack imagined him hitting the bottle every night. The guy probably smoked a couple of packs of cancer sticks every day as well.
Jack sighed. He was tired of these games. “Like I said before, I have an appointment which I need to keep. The crack pipe wasn’t mine and I found that card on the pavement, not far from the Vatican. Have you asked if it belongs to them?”
“Yes,” said Officer Neri. “They know nothing about it.”
“Nor do I,” Jack said as he watched Inspector Pio shuffle a cigarette free from a packet. He thought he noticed Officer Neri scowl at the impending pollution.
Pio lit the cigarette and immediately released it from his lips without inhaling. The smoke spiralled up at ninety degrees towards the ceiling fan. “I’ll ask you one last time Mr Holden,” he said whilst staring through Jack. “How did you come across this card? It’s not a bank card because there’s no account number. A far as we can tell, it’s not for any security box either. What is it for? Because I don’t think Mr or Mrs J.M.H. Book exists. You’re hiding something and I don’t know what.”
Jack smiled at Inspector Pio. “Ok,” he said. “You’re right, I am hiding something.”
Pio nodded approvingly and Officer Neri narrowed her eyebrows.
“Tomorrow morning,” Jack continued, “I’m meeting a fictional movie character. Will that do you?”
Inspector Pio purposefully exhaled his toxic smoke into Jack’s face, forcing him to cough it out. Officer Neri merely shot Jack a disapproving glance. They both stood up and Pio picked up the plastic card and placed it inside his jacket pocket. “If you change your mind about the card, you let me know,” he said to Jack.
The door closed and Jack sat there waiting for a guard to take him back to his holding cell. He felt a bit like Steve McQueen heading back to the cooler in The Great Escape. He smiled to himself as he suddenly remembered a line from Frost / Nixon. ‘Sometimes, being out of your comfort zone is a good thing.’ Was this a good thing? Holed up in an Italian jail, his freedom dependant on the whim of some grumpy old cop.
Five minutes later and Jack was back in his cell, his hands un-cuffed. He sat down and tried to make sense of it all, spending the hours in between meals drifting in and out of consciousness. Quint popped into his head from time to time. “Don’t do it, chief.” Then he heard Quint’s voice paraphrase the bible verse: “For I know the plans I have for you chief, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.”
The movement of the top grille woke Jack from his half-sleep. He glimpsed across at a pair of dark eyes staring back at him. For a hopeful moment he thought they might be Agente Lombardi’s, but he recognised the crow’s feet belonging to Inspector Pio.
“Did I wake you?” Pio inquired from behind the door.
Jack stretched. “What do you want, Pio?”
“I thought you might be ready to talk. Ready to tell me about your friend, Mr Book.”
“How many more times? I don’t know any guy called Book.”
“It’s him you’re going to meet tomorrow isn’t it? Why don’t you tell me about it?” Pio asked.
Jack etched away some sleep from the corner of his eyes. A hot shower would be lovely right now, he thought. “Look Inspector, I’ve got nothing more to add to my previous statement. I’m sorry that you don’t believe me, but that’s your problem not mine. Who I meet in my free time is none of your business. Now, unless you’re going to release me this very minute, I would like you to piss off and leave me alone.”
Jack heard Pio laughing behind the door. Then he heard the inspector’s voice say: “I think we need to; as you say In England, wash your mouth out with soap and water.”
What was that supposed to mean? Jack heard the grille close, followed by the sound of Pio’s heavy footsteps walking down the corridor. He’d only just settled himself horizontally once more when he heard the door unbolt. In walked two surly looking guards. Jack shot upright and then flinched as the guards approached him. “Whoa, what’s going on?” he shouted as they grabbed him by the armpits and then frogmarched him outside into the corridor.
The guards didn’t say a word. They just dumped him in a much smaller cell at the end of the hallway. Jack’s fingers touched the stone wall as he was pushed to the back of the cage, which he extrapolated as being no more than two square metres. He heard the key turn in the lock then watched the guards walk away whilst laughing to themselves.
Jack looked down at the stone floor. A metal grate covered what looked like a drain. Drainage? What was he doing in here? Why had they moved him? The answer to that question became apparent when Jack spotted the two guards heading his way again. It looked like an anaconda because of its width, but no, it was definitely a water hose they were carrying. Inspector Pio walked behind the two guards. He lit a cigarette and smiled as they pointed the beast at Jack.
Staring down the barrel of the gun, or in this case – hose, Jack remembered what Pio had told him about washing his mouth out with soap and water. Shit. He’d wanted a hot shower - not this. “Wait!” he shouted. “What do you think you’re playing at?”
“It’s washy time, Mr Holden,” Pio said before taking a deep drag on his cigarette and standing back.
“At least let me take my clothes off!” Too late. The jet of ice cold water hit Jack’s torso, forcing him flat against the wall. He felt like he’d been thrown into an icy pond. The guards directed the stream between the metal bars and all over his body, making sure to soak every inch of him. In the midst of his anguish Jack heard Pio’s laughter. How long the drenching went on for, Jack had no idea, but it felt like an eternity. The guards toyed with him; at one point turning off the hose, allowing him to catch his breath, only then to turn the beast back on. There was nowhere to hide. Like shooting fish in a bowl. “You bastards!” he managed to scream a few times.
By the time the punishment stopped, the cell looked more like a swimming pool. A vortex of water swirled around the gulley, like bathwater travelling down a plughole. Jack stood, ankle deep in the diminishing pond, watching the water run away under the metal grate. For the first time since the ordeal had begun, he felt the dampness of his clothes against his sodden frame. His whole body shivered down to the bone as he watched the two guards remove the hose.
Inspector Pio remained. He thr
ew his cigarette butt inside the cell where it floated on top of the water before journeying down the drain. “I hope that’s cleaned up a few things,” he said before pausing for dramatic effect and then walking off.
Jack stood there shivering, too cold to think, let alone speak. His body battered and bruised from the force of the icy blasts. As the water drained away, he could feel the water sloshing about inside his trainers. In the end he managed to take them off and tip the water out into the drain. It would take forever to dry them out.
After about five minutes, Jack spotted the two surly looking guards. Fortunately, they didn’t have the hose with them this time. They shared a joke with each other in Italian before opening the cage and directing their sodden prisoner out of the cell. Jack dripped water like a leaky radiator as the guards carried him by the armpits and deposited him from whence he originally came. After hitting the deck with a thud, he clambered to his feet and watched the smirking guards exit. Jack heard the key turn as the door locked from the outside.
They stuck to his frame like glue, but Jack finally managed to get out of his sodden clothes. He stood there naked, wringing his top and shorts out over the basin. His blue trainers would have to fester on the floor. He checked the pocket in his shorts. You bastards! The scripture which Agente Lombardi had written out for him had turned to pulp. He stared up at the ceiling. Time to get busy with those plans, please !
Chapter Fifteen:
Jack waited for food to arrive but none came. It had been hours since the soaking and even longer since breakfast. He tried to work out the time; probably somewhere around seven or eight pm. With the blanket wrapped around him, he stood and banged his fist against the door. Nothing. Pio had probably ordered the guards not to respond.
Walking around in circles whilst clinching himself seemed to be the only way that Jack could generate any warmth. He’d be lucky not to die of pneumonia. After exhausting himself wandering around the cell, he finally settled down on the bench. He felt angry at Pio for humiliating him, but he would take it on the chin so long as the bastard released him first thing in the morning.
Jack looked longingly at the food hatch, but none came. He took a drink of water from the basin tap and then lay down on the bench, using the blanket to cover his shaking frame. As he stared at the cobwebs covering the stark light, his mind drifted back to his original mission; his Suicide Vacation, which had begun only four days ago when he’d boarded the flight from Newcastle to Barcelona. So much had happened since then. He’d been contacted by someone who shared the name of his favourite movie character and under this person’s direction he’d travelled to Rome where he’d fallen for a beautiful American girl. It sounded like the stuff of a Hollywood movie. Not to mention the Michael Stipe incident or the weird bank card that nobody seemed able to make neither head nor tail of.
The light went out and Jack heard a commotion from the adjacent cell. It sounded like wailing. The poor tortured soul. He wondered what the man’s crime might’ve been. Probably just a petty thief kept locked up for Inspector Pio’s amusement. Jack lay there in the darkness listening to the man’s screams and shrieks. Eventually a guard shouted something and the fellow piped down.
The welcome peace and quiet had a soporific effect on Jack and he found himself drifting off. He was on board Orca, heading out to sea with Chief Brody, Hooper and Quint. Jack climbed up to the crow’s nest but saw no sign of the great white they hunted. Night fell and they all retired to the cabin and drank whiskey. They each compared scars and Quint told them about the shark attacks and the men he saw die in the water when the USS Indianapolis went down. Then they sang “Show Me the Way to Go Home” before the boat rocked and the shark’s massive face appeared through the hull. Jack woke up in a sweat. Just a dream.
He gripped the blanket and covered it around himself. What he really needed was his comfort blanket of movie trivia. He searched his database for Jaws facts. Well…Robert Shaw hadn’t been first choice to play Quint: Lee Marvin had been Steven Spielberg’s favourite, but Marvin had told the novice director that he’d rather go fishing than take the part, leaving the door open for Shaw. Likewise with the role of Chief Brody. Charlton Heston had wanted it but was turned down, Robert Duvall was then offered it but declined before Roy Scheider finally landed the part. Even Richard Dreyfuss had initially turned down the part of Hooper before changing his mind. Jaws author Peter Benchley had wanted to cast Robert Redford as Brody, Paul Newman as Hooper and Steve McQueen as Quint. Now, that would have been interesting. Shaw’s portrayal of Quint stole the film in Jack’s view. The Shark, beset by mechanical failings had been nicknamed Bruce, after Spielberg’s lawyer. The young director had wanted to film more scenes featuring the shark, but, because it malfunctioned so much, he ended up shooting most of the intended shots from the shark’s point of view. A stroke of luck, as it added to the film’s sense of menace.
Jack turned onto his side and imagined himself drinking coffee with Quint in Café Santiago.
Chapter Sixteen:
What was that clattering noise? Jack opened his eyes and recoiled at the bright light. It had to be Monday morning. Turning over, he saw a tray by the food hatch. Anticipating its first feed in twenty four hours, Jack’s stomach made a hollow rumbling noise which continued for approximately twenty seconds. He got up and grabbed the tray, took it back to the bench and set about devouring the hot buttered toast. There was more of it this time and he greedily shovelled it in, stopping only to wash it down with orange juice.
He checked his clothes but they hadn’t dried out as much as he’d hoped. What time was it? He had his rendezvous at Café Santiago. Taking the empty tray back to the hatch, he covered himself up and knocked on the door. Footsteps approached and the top grille opened. The friendly face of Agente Lombardi stared back at Jack. “Good morning, Mr Holden. Did you enjoy your breakfast?”
Jack smiled. “Yeah, give my compliments to the chef. What happened to lunch and supper last night though?”
The young guard sighed. “I’m afraid that Inspector Pio gave orders not to feed you.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Jack said.
“Some good news though,” said Agente Lombardi. “Inspector Pio is not coming in today.”
Jack felt his spirits lift. “Nothing trivial I hope.”
“It’s how do you say…gallstones. Very painful.”
Jack nodded. Maybe that explained Pio’s unfavourable demeanour. More likely, the guy was just a bastard.
“So,” Jack said, “are you going to release me?”
“Yes. Officer Neri has given her approval. We just need to sort out the paperwork.”
“What time is it?” Jack asked.
Agente Lombardi checked his watch. “Eight forty five.”
“How do I get to the Vatican from here? Is it far?” Jack asked him.
“About twenty minutes on foot. I’ll give you directions before you leave.”
“Thanks, Paulo. I mean Agente Lombardi. I need to be there for ten o’clock.”
“I’ll see what I can do to get the paperwork sorted out.”
Jack smiled. “Thanks.”
The grille closed and Agente Lombardi opened the hatch and took away the breakfast tray. Jack set about putting on his damp clothes. He hoped it was hot enough outside to dry him off. He waited patiently for twenty minutes before he heard the welcome sound of the key turning in the lock. The door creaked open and Agente Lombardi walked in and said: “You’re a free man, Mr Holden.” Jack could have kissed him, but instead squelched over in his sodden trainers and shook his hand.
“Would you like to use the washroom?” Agente Lombardi asked? “You don’t look too presentable if you’re meeting someone.”
“Yeah thanks,” said Jack, “I’d like that.”
Jack waited inside the washroom while Lombardi sourced some toiletries. It gave Jack a chance to dry out his socks and trainers under the hand dryer. The guard returned after five minutes with a towel, some sham
poo, a razor blade, a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. When Jack left the washroom twenty minutes later, he looked and felt like a different man.
Agente Lombardi was waiting for him outside the door. “Yes, much better I think; almost presentable,” he said. “Your clothes will soon dry out in the heat.”
Jack nodded. “Thanks for letting me get cleaned up. I’ve left the towel and stuff in there.”
“Ok. No problem.”
“By the way,” said Jack. “I want to thank you for translating that Bible verse for me.”
“Don’t thank me, thank Google Translate. I’m curious, though,” said Paulo.
“What about?” said Jack.
“This dream of yours and the bible verse. What does it all mean?”
Jack smiled at the young guard. “I wish I knew. I really wish I knew,” he said.
Agente Lombardi raised his eyebrows and led Jack to the front desk. Jack signed several forms before being presented with a clear plastic bag. He checked the contents: passport, iPod, the scallop shell, eleven euros in change, his front door key and the white plastic card. Jack examined the card. “So you’re letting me take this,” he said.
