The Recipe Cops

by Keith Weaver

  Maria watched Julia closely. “Do you read, Giulia?”

  “Yes”, Julia said somewhat absently as she continued her perusal.

  Maria looked at Sanford and raised an eyebrow. “Yes. I’ve taught her to read over the past couple of years … when I was allowed to visit or have her at my place … but we’ve done a lot more over the past few weeks.”

  Julia ran her finger along the books. “The words are funny”, she said in disappointment, but then smiled brightly.

  “Pinocchio!”

  She drew the book from the shelf, opened it, and then her smile collapsed once more.

  “Let me read you a bit of it”, Maria said, and she began reading in slow, clear, lilting Italian. Sanford looked at Julia. Although she didn’t understand a word, the beauty and the cadence of the language clearly was not lost on her.

  Maria stopped reading near the end of the first page.

  “Is that the same Pinocchio?” Julia asked.

  “Yes, but in my language”, Maria said through a small proud smile.

  While Julia and Maria looked at Maria’s copy of Pinocchio, Sanford had moved to the bookcase, and was scanning the titles. There were Italian classics he recognized, particularly by Manzoni, Nievo, di Lampedusa, but he was surprised at the number of what appeared to be children’s books. Mi piace il cioccolato by Davide Calì, Il piccolo Alpino by Salvator Gotta, Il romanzo di Cipollino by Gianni Rodari. Sanford looked across at Maria, who was paging through Pinocchio with Julia.

  “I like that”, Julia said, a strangely serious expression on her face. “Could I learn that too?”

  “Of course you could”, Maria said.

  “Would you like to learn Italian, Julia?” Sanford asked.

  “Mmmm”, Julia said, nodding.

  Children’s books. Their mere presence here in Maria’s flat spoke poignant volumes, and Sanford realized suddenly how much catching up there was to do, how much Julia had to learn about the three extraordinary people in Sanford’s past – and necessarily in her past as well – and how much Maria had to learn about Sanford’s past. Joe would have told her quite a bit, but there was a lot that not even Joe had known. There was also a rich future, to be crammed into the time left to Maria, and that future involved the three of them. It all seemed now to Sanford so clear and so urgent and so important.

  “Excellent! Then I teach you Italian, Giulia”, Maria said. “But not before we have dinner! Please, sit. The focaccia will be warm. I go and get it.”

  And so they began a long, relaxed, delicious meal. Maria retreated to the kitchen at strategically chosen times, so that the passage from course to course was leisurely but seamless. Julia had never had olives or focaccia before, and had never had fresh olive oil, and her expressions reflected what were to her new and exotic tastes. Pasta with a walnut sauce followed, and this was new to Sanford as well. Maria had prepared the stuffed chicken herself, and had made the pesto as well, and Sanford exclaimed involuntarily at the first bite.

  “This really is delicious, Maria. It looks simple as well, but I’m sure it’s not.”

  “No! It really is easy, Gianni. Tomorrow we go and buy you a book of ricette italiane.“

  The last of the wine was poured, they finished the chicken course at a stately pace, and Sanford opened a bottle of sweeter wine in preparation for the dessert.

  Maria carried in a handsome-looking lemon cake and a bowl of fresh figs, pears, and apricots.

  “Maria! This is fantastic! Look at the colours, Julia!” Sanford exclaimed, but Julia needed no prompting.

  Maria was about to sit down again when there was a knock at the door. She cast a puzzled expression at Sanford, glanced toward the clock on the wall, and rose to see who it could be.

  “Sì?” Maria began as she opened the door a crack, but then the door flew open violently, and she was pushed back into the room.

  Behind her, standing in the doorway, was a man whose face Sanford recognized. It was the face of a man who had been dead for almost a month.

  Twenty-nine

  It took a few seconds for Sanford’s mind to begin working again, and the trigger for that was Julia moving behind him and grabbing his arm. He didn’t need to see her face to know that she was terrified.

  Maria was the first to respond.

  “Chi sei? Che cosa vuoi?” she demanded.

  “Cut the babble lady”, the intruder barked. “My business is with him”, and he nodded at Sanford.

  “This is my house”, Maria screamed. “You can’t just –”, but she was cut off by a blow across the face, using whatever it was the intruder held in his hand, causing her to stumble and fall in the doorway to the kitchen.

  Sanford began to rise, but the intruder said “Stay where you are Sanford”, while waving his arm, and making it clear that what he held in the hand doing the waving was a pistol, a pistol that had a long silencer. Sanford sat back down slowly.

  Cold, dark fear gripped him. But the fear was for Julia’s safety, and it was fear like he had never known before.

  “That’s better”, said the intruder. “You probably didn’t expect to see me, did you?”

  “It’s not a question of expecting to see you or anybody”, Sanford said quietly after a short delay. “I have no idea who you are.”

  “Oh, yes! Go ahead, then. Play the innocent if you want. And it’s just possible that you don’t know me, although I doubt that very much. I’m David Jeffers, my brother is Charles, the man that bastard Joe Stanton probably killed.”

  Sanford sat there, mute.

  Jeffers stood glaring at Sanford, and nodding in an odd and vacant way. “Charles and me had a good thing”, he said, at last. “But I haven’t seen him or heard from him for almost a month, and he would never do that. Unless he was dead. And that’s very likely the case. And it could only have been Joe Stanton.”

  Jeffers hesitated. He said, not looking at anyone in particular “We had a very good thing. Charles was the brains, but we’re identical twins.” A pause here. “I really don’t exist – no driver’s licence, no cards, no government ID, no property, no income. So I could easily alibi Charles whenever he needed it. It was almost impossible for the police to make anything stick, because we were always careful. We never went anywhere together. And nobody could ever tell one of us from the other.”

  The look in Jeffers’ face was strange – distant, disconnected, confused, angry. It occurred to Sanford that Jeffers was close to being unhinged. His pistol hand waved about slowly, ominously, like a cornered snake, and Sanford realized that he was facing a threat that was real, barely rational, and exceptionally dangerous. Don’t do anything to tip him over the edge. Get Julia someplace safe. How? Clamp down on the rising panic. Think! Think! Think!!

  Jeffers suddenly refocused, looking directly at Sanford. “But that’s all gone, and now I want what’s mine. Your old man, Harold Sanford, screwed us royally, a real first-rate bastard, he cleaned out all the money we had worked together with him to get, and then he pinched a lot of stuff that was ours as well, stuff he had no claim on. Now I want it back. And you’re going to tell me where I can find him.”

  Sanford shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to Harold Sanford for more than thirty years. I have no idea where he is. Or even whether he’s still alive.”

  “Nice try, Sanford. But I know that he shifted a large sum of money to you recently. Probably told you it was saved from his sales income. Hah! Just so much bullshit! It was syphoned from me and Charles, that’s where it came from! And he still has more! Lots more! So, if I was you, I would decide to tell me what I want to know, and I’d start talking soon.”

  “I don’t know what to say”, Sanford began. “I have no connection to Harold –”

  “That’s the way you want it?” Jeffers shouted, waving the pistol in agitation. “Okay! Maybe if I do a little work on your daughter you might change your mind!”

  Jeffers began moving toward them, and Sanford’s blood froze. He reached out and push
ed Julia gently so that she was further behind him. Sanford tried to keep his facial expression neutral, and he began to rise slowly as Jeffers approached. Jeffers’ expression was crazed. His eyes were wide and they burnt brightly, a conduit to the outside for some ferocious inner fire. Sanford looked into a personal abyss as it became clear that there was no way he would ever convince Jeffers that he had absolutely zero information on Harold, and realized, as a result, that if Jeffers got his hands on Julia, there would be nothing Sanford could say that would get her back. Other thoughts rushed through Sanford’s brain, but one that he recalled vividly later was the question Why would Jeffers come all the way to Italy to confront me and what possible workable plan might he have in mind? All at once, it became blindingly clear to Sanford: Jeffers had nothing one could call a plan. No longer having a rock-solid brother to lean on, he wanted some kind of revenge, wanted to be freed from his present intolerable situation, wanted to be able to hide behind a pile of cash, wanted Sanford to wave a magic wand and make it all go away. Jeffers was indeed mad.

  The only weapon in front of Sanford was the table and what lay on it, virtually useless, since Jeffers could fire two shots in less than a second, and Sanford, or worse, Julia, would be history. What to do? How could he possibly protect Julia? He had nothing to tell Jeffers, no knowledge whatsoever of Harold, so Julia was in extreme danger. In fact, when it came right to the wire, they were all in extreme danger, and it was probable that Jeffers would kill them all. So, a heroic measure might be the only option open. Sanford’s logic was barely afloat on a heaving sea of panic and despair. What to do? What to do?

  A movement just caught Sanford’s eye. Suddenly there was a loud clang, and Jeffers leapt sideways, falling in a heap on the floor. His pistol clattered on the tiles and skidded down the hallway. Maria’s face had a long, open cut down the left cheek, and she was holding the large black skillet she had used to strike Jeffers on the side of the head. Jeffers moaned, and Maria made to move toward him.

  “No! Maria! We have to get Julia out of here!” Suddenly energized, but still deathly afraid, he grabbed a petrified Julia, took Maria by one arm, and rushed toward the door. Maria halted briefly, dropped the skillet, grabbed a cellphone from the small table next to the door, and then they were running down the hallway. Behind them there was a loud roar, Jeffers voicing the anger of a wounded animal. Julia tripped and began to sob. Maria was jabbing desperately at her phone, but Sanford was focused on picking up Julia and getting to the end of the hall, where there was a door that appeared to be an exit.

  “Sanford!” Jeffers roared from within Maria’s flat. Maria now was speaking into her phone in rapid Italian. All Sanford could pick out was “Ha una pistola! O mio Dio Silvio! Fa’ presto! Fa’ presto!” but then the phone slipped from her hands. She looked down at it, and began stooping to pick it up, but Sanford grabbed her roughly.

  “Leave it Maria! Go! Go!”

  “Sanford! You bastard!” Jeffers roared again.

  The end of the hallway was like a faint galaxy: distant and receding. Maria was now running, although she appeared to stagger occasionally, probably still woozy from being struck. Sanford tried to reach out and support her, but doing so made them bump together and jostle one another, causing them to bounce lightly off the walls, slowing them down. He kept saying to Maria “Go! Go! Faster! Faster! He’s right behind us!” Maria did everything she could to slide her hands along the walls, support herself, maintain balance, and continue running. Julia was sobbing now, terrified out of her wits, and Sanford realized that she was running almost alongside him, a target if Jeffers came into the hallway and began firing. Sanford pushed Julia in front of himself. “Grab Maria’s dress!” he said to Julia, as calmly as he could, but he felt that despite his effort it still came out as an eldritch screech.

  They were almost at the door now.

  “Sanford! You’ve just made this a lot worse for yourself!” The change in his voice told Sanford he was now at least partly in the hallway. Maria slammed into the door, it opened, and she and Julia were through into a stairwell.

  It was then that Jeffers fired.

  Phht! Phht!

  A piece of the door flew away, and Sanford was showered by wood splinters, but then he too was in the stairwell. “Down! Down!” he shouted, but Maria was already descending as fast as she could, almost tripping at every step, and dragging Julia behind her. Another roar of rage from Jeffers was cut off as the door closed slowly behind them.

  One flight down. Then another half flight.

  “Sanford!”

  Jeffers was now in the stairwell.

  They continued stumbling down the stairs, Julia was sobbing continuously, Maria was muttering something to herself. Sanford tried to look ahead, to see where the exit was from the building, but his view was cut off by the tight corners in the narrow stairwell.

  Sanford could hear Jeffers stumbling down behind them. He had no idea how far they were ahead of him, and prayed that Jeffers’ line of sight down the stairs to them was as obscured as his was of the exit somewhere below.

  Phht!

  The bullet struck the wall ahead of and above them. Chunks of plaster and construction block pattered down the stairs, and bounced off Maria and Julia. Julia wailed loudly.

  “Keep going!” Sanford shouted ahead to them. “I’m right behind you!”

  And then, there it was, less than one more flight down. The exit from the building. Jeffers was stumbling behind and above them, and Sanford choked off the fear that he was catching up to them, by focusing on that exit door. Somewhere outside, the distinctive tones of an emergency vehicle were rising in the distance. Please God, let it be the police, Sanford said fervently to himself.

  There was a clatter behind them in the stairwell, and a lot of loud cursing from Jeffers.

  “Sanford! You bastard! You’ve had it now!”

  They crashed through the exit door and into the night. Maria collided with a large waste bin, and would have fallen had Sanford not grabbed her by the arm and hauled her back up fully to her feet. Julia was sobbing in panic, but Sanford’s other hand had her arm in an iron grip, despite the fact that he seemed strangely to have lost feeling in that hand. He looked around frantically. To their right was just an obscure darkness that could have concealed anything, including a dead end. To the left was open space, but at least a car was parked there.

  “This way!” he shouted, and dragged them both forcibly toward the car. The emergency vehicle was very near now. The three of them rounded the front of the car.

  “Sanford!” Jeffers roared. He was now out in the night with them.

  Out of what he later realized must have been pure instinct, Sanford dived behind the car, dragging Maria and Julia with him. They all struck the ground heavily.

  Phht! Phht!

  Two windows in the car suddenly crazed. Splinters of glass showered down onto them.

  Headlight beams swung past, illuminating the car they were sheltering behind and reflecting off the windows of nearby buildings.

  “Sanford!”

  Then a challenge was shouted in Italian.

  Phht! Phht!

  There was a groan and the sound of metal striking stone.

  Four loud rapid-fire barks from a service Beretta reverberated around the closed space among the buildings. Then silence, apart from the sounds of Maria and Julia weeping as they lay on the ground.

  “Maria? Dove sei? Sono Silvio.” There was more rapid Italian, sounding like Silvio speaking into a cellphone.

  Silvio said something else rapidly and they heard a faint murmur in reply. Someone began walking in their direction.

  “Maria?” Silvio’s voice was very close now. And then he was rushing toward them, the word Polizia clearly visible across the front of his vest.

  He knelt by Maria, spoke to her softly, and then helped her to her feet.

  “L’intruso?” she asked, in a quavery voice.

  “Morto”, Silvio answered.

&nbs
p; Sanford got to his feet, pulling Julia up, but she clutched at Sanford ferociously. In what Sanford saw as a response to the extreme stress of the situation, Julia struggled to say something through spasmodic sobs.

  “Da-Daddy. You, you’re not going to d-die, are you?” Sanford looked at her and realized she was wide-eyed, but not focusing on his face. It was then he saw that his left hand, his entire left arm was covered in blood, and that there was a large flap of skin hanging just below his shoulder. One of Jeffers’ shots as they were entering the stairwell must have grazed his arm.

  Another emergency vehicle was sounding through the night, quickly coming closer. Silvio said something more to Maria. “Sì”, she answered, and Silvio moved away as an ambulance came to a stop next to the police car.

  The lights from the ambulance flickered around the space enclosed by the nearby buildings. Faces had appeared at windows, and there was muffled conversation. Another police car pulled in, just as the ambulance was leaving. Sanford leaned against the car they had sheltered behind, and he was now shaking from shock. He picked up a sobbing Julia, held her to his chest, and felt her tears trickle down his neck. Even years later, that image stayed with him.

  Sanford had suffered just a light flesh wound, but it looked far worse than it was. Silvio’s partner had been first out of the police car, even before it had stopped, and although both Jeffers’ shots had hit him, the wounds turned out not to be a threat to his life. The ambulance had come at Silvio’s request to rush his partner to the hospital. Silvio was known as a crack shot at the police firing range, and all four of his shots had struck Jeffers in the chest. Most likely, Jeffers was unconscious before he hit the ground, and dead only moments later.

  Using the first-aid kit in his squad car, Silvio put a temporary binding on the wound on Sanford’s shoulder until it could be treated properly by a doctor. A second ambulance arrived, but when the attendants had determined that Jeffers was dead, they waited until the necessary forensic work had been completed before loading the body in the ambulance and driving off. By eleven o’clock, the two police officers from the second car had taken statements from Maria, Sanford, and Silvio, and had shot what seemed to be hundreds of photos of the scene. By midnight, Sanford had left the hospital along with Maria and Julia, Sanford’s shoulder having been stitched and properly bandaged, and Maria’s face bandaged.