by Ian Harwood
“According to my MD, he fully believed the Italian government had eradicated any threats to the factory’s stability and manageability. Are you telling me the government lied?” Lifting my coffee cup to my mouth, I take a sip and jolt at its strength. An adrenaline kick from caffeine was not what I needed. Not at the news I believe Ali is telling me.
The other man’s mouth twists and he jerks a shoulder. “Who am I to say if the legal representatives you dealt with lied or not. I cannot clarify this situation to you; I do not have the pertinent facts at my fingertips, as it were.
“It was believed, that for a time, the illegal activity at the factory had run to a halt. With the original owner behind bars on a reduced sentence thanks to his revelations about the group he worked for, as well as a massive overhaul of the staff thanks to those revelations… we were confident that the Mafia’s influence in this area had been dramatically reduced.” Ali’s lip curled. “Unfortunately, for every man my agency takes down another takes its place. Almost like Hydra; they are an unworthy but stalwart force. And they’re not to be underestimated.”
“Was this Calvetti undercover?”
Ali nods. “Yes. On your staff as a member of the delivery bay. We were not aware that his status had been compromised; if we had, we would have removed him from the situation. As it is, his life has been taken, his wife is now a widow and his sons will grow without a father. There is more to this than business, Mr Steel.”
Disliking the reprimand in his tone, I lean forwards, a frown puckering my brow. “Did I say anything to the contrary? I’m merely trying to ascertain the facts, Signor Ali. I think that I’m allowed to be aware as to what is happening in my company’s own place of business. Especially when we should have been made aware from the very start of the real situation at the factory.”
Monica rises from her seat to stand. “Can you explain why my clients weren’t made aware of these facts as soon as they set foot on Italian soil? Their company ought to have received prior warning of an undercover investigation weeks before your agents even entered the factory!”
Gianni shrugs and for the most part, ignores Monica’s question. “We intended to contact you soon. As we might require your cooperation in the future. We will also need to put more men into your factory. If you could create a new department; something that is merely to paper over the fact that you have a deluge of undercover policemen coming to work in the factory, it would be most helpful.”
“It doesn’t seem like you’re going to apologize, Gianni,” Monica chides.
“What have I to apologize for? If Mr Steel’s company has been sold a dud, then that is the fault of the person behind the company’s purchase. The requests I’ve made are of an informal nature, but they can become very formal, very quickly. If I need help, then it would behoove you to aid me. Things can get very nasty where situations like this are concerned. It is only natural when dealing with gangsters with fewer morals than the devil.” While he was answering Monica, he spoke to me. His eyes on me. They were tired and too knowledgeable but there was amusement there. As well as tolerance. For Monica. Not for me or Cass or the company.
It was a strange connection; that clashing of our eyes. Had one of us been a woman or gay; the poets might have waxed lyrical about the joining.
As it was, it was a visual declaration. He was telling me he tolerated Monica’s bitchiness and that he was aware I could see his dampened down reactions. He also told me that I should not mistake this for weakness.
This morning was just getting weirder.
As soon as Cass had told me about this deal; yet another that Bernard had made without proper research, I’d had a bad feeling. Bernard’s instincts are good; on the whole. He could spot a winner. But often turning his instinct from potential into reality was an expensive matter.
Expense is not of too much concern to Bernard. He likes things done his way and the majority of the company are willing to ensure that happens. Cass spearheads that campaign and woe to anyone who fails to act as she deems imperative.
No matter how accustomed I am to clearing up Bernard’s messes, I’m mad at being dragged into an active case. Dealing with the police is one thing; having to hide them in plain sight on the factory floor, all the while looking out for knife wielding maniacs… I’ve more important things to do with my time.
Unfortunately, my hands are tied. Firstly, by loyalty. I love the old bastard. My dad was a decent dad; always there for me, loved me as much as he was able and provided for me what he could. But Bernard showed me the stars and taught me they weren’t all that far away. Had I never met Bernard, had he never seen the spark in me, then I’d still be on minimum wage on the factory floor back in Peckham. Just like my father; holding down a dead-end job that I hate, all to provide for a family that I didn’t really want.
My loyalty to Bernard will see me through. Even if the second reason behind seeing this through doesn’t.
If I handle this situation; turn the factory into a decent investment; completely turn its fate around and singlehandedly, then when Bernard passes me his mantel, there won’t be too many titterings on the board of directors or with the stockholders.
I’m well aware that my position in the company is far from concrete. As good as I am, better than a lot of the executives I share a floor with; my lack of a degree perturbs a lot of people. The higher I climb, the further I reach, the more doors wobble in my face. Only Bernard keeps them open. With his belief in me.
If and when Bernard retires, be it soon or in the future, that support will no longer be there.
I need to prove myself and this is the perfect opportunity.
Such a shame that involves me running with the bloody mafia!
I might sound big-headed; believing that I’m Bernard’s ‘heir’. But there’s no arrogance to it. It’s a fact. His daughters aren’t involved in the business; one isn’t interested in the corporate world and Juliet could be but she doesn’t have the experience to hold such a mantel. On top of that, she’ll have a struggle to maintain any position in her father’s company while he’s at the helm. Bernard is extraordinarily traditional. He’ll give her a menial job with a lofty title and an even better salary. Juliet won’t be pleased, but there’ll be little open to her to change.
Cass is the obvious candidate, but she’s clerical, administrative. Her talents lie there. She’s one of the sharpest women I’ve ever known; her eye for detail and for maths is immense and awe-inspiring, but she’s not a business woman. She’s the person I’d want at my back; because she’s in control of her environment and everything that touches it.
She doesn’t have the ingenuity for trouble shooting or spotting potential investments.
“Is there a new head of the firm?” Monica asks, more or less ignoring the whole of Gianni’s words and butting into my thoughts.
From the looks sent my way by the room’s occupants, my absence of mind has been noted and thought of as being odd.
“We believe so, but there are many variables that make that question difficult to answer.”
Monica nods and says, “You have a photograph of this man?”
“Of course.” Gianni reaches into his pocket and pulls out a smartphone. My eyes widen at the possibility that he keeps vital and potentially secret information on a mobile, but he surprises me by correctly interpreting my shock and grinning at me. “It’s encrypted. Fear not.” He passes me the phone; I study the picture, trying to keep my face bland and expressionless and hand it to Cass.
I notice her freeze for a second, but the others didn’t. She’s been doing a good job of playing an icicle so a bit more frost passes them by.
Monica looks at the photo and aims at Cass and me, “I would advise that you cooperate with Gianni, Joe. Cass. He is incredibly good at his job and his high position in the force is not only accounted for by his language skills.” The compliments are grudgingly given. “He can access court orders that will freeze your company’s bank accounts; or force you into c
ompliance. And that is the legal side of what he is capable of. Illegally, he can destroy any potential the factory has for making a profit.”
“You didn’t need to tell me any of that, Monica. Of course, we’ll cooperate with the local police forces and the Guardia di Finanza. It’s a given. We want our staff to be safe. If anything goes wrong, we will not take responsibility or liability for it. And I would like that in writing. Monica, can you arrange that?”
“Of course. Would you be agreeable to signing such a statement, Gianni?”
Gianni shrugs. “It would be worth as much as a blank sheet of paper, but if it makes you and your stockholders feel better, then please, be my guest.”
Sighing, I raise a hand and rub my forehead. “Look, this is a potentially dangerous situation. I don’t want the factory or my company being liable or being blamed for a shootout or a drug’s raid! Surely, you can understand that?”
“Naturally, we will keep your company away from the spotlight. We do not go around shooting innocent people; it is the bad guys who do that, Mr Steel.”
Certain that everything I say will be misconstrued; I shake my head and simply ask, “Is that all? You have my agreement. I’m assuming that you’ll need me to sign a consent form, which will be held up in court unlike the one I ask you to sign.” At his nod, I shake my head again. “Fine. Send it over to the house or the factory. Whichever. Can we go now?”
Ali nods and feeling immensely irritated, I stand and reach over for Cass who looks as though she’s had one too many brandies. Her face is still pale as I grab her hand and support her slightly, as we walk out of the room and into the vestibule. Marco and Brigida are nowhere in sight. Either they’ve gone, because we were over an hour in that pokey side room or they’re just being dealt with now.
“I flirted with him,” Cass whispers to me, her voice appalled.
“I know. Be grateful you didn’t fuck him.”
“He was so charming. How was I to know he was a mafia boss?”
“You weren’t. That’s why you should be grateful nothing developed.”
“Of course, it didn’t. He was a chauffeur. I was only flirting!”
“Why, Cassandra! I didn’t realize you were a snob.”
“I’m not, but I have my position to maintain. I can’t be seen to be shagging the staff, Joe.” Cass huffs and pulls away from my supportive grip. “I’m all right. I’m going back to the house.”
“We need to go to the factory and finally have a look around.”
“Tomorrow, I’m too tired for that now.”
How she can be tired when she’s been in her room for the last twenty-four hours, I don’t know. But I refuse to argue with her. Especially in front of the police station.
I say nothing as she hails a taxi and climbs into it, leaving me to wait for Monica to appear.
“Is he always like that?” I ask, when she pops up beside me. I recognize her perfume before I actually see her and she frowns at me with surprise.
“How did you know it was me?”
“I used my nose.” When she still looks confused, I merely sigh and ask, “Is there nothing we can do to protect the company or the factory?”
“Very little. Of course, there is procedure, but in this region, we’re renowned for the criminal underbelly. The government is determined to wipe it out and will do anything to assure it.”
“Why did they sell the factory then? If it’s so bloody vital for their plans, why involve an international company?”
She shrugs. “Why do they do anything? I cannot say; perhaps Gianni knows. Although he will not say. It could be for the simple matter of money. As you know, Italy is not weathering the financial storm hitting the world’s economies. These cases, these investigations cost. A lot. Selling the factory could be for expediency. But I cannot give you an accurate answer.”
“I appreciate your honesty.”
“Honesty is free,” she retorts with a faint smile.
“How busy are you, Monica? Bernard hired you for today? Or did he put you on a retainer?”
“I’m on a retainer. My law firm has placed me on your case for the foreseeable future.”
“Good. I’ll need your help at the factory. Cass is going to be as much use as sponge hammer.”
At her frown, I shake my head again. I get the feeling it’s going to be one of those days. Head shake, after head shake, after head shake. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll need a translator; the one I have is sex mad.” And if Gianni was right, if Angelo our chauffeur is the new head of this local gang of mafiosos, Clordina is in league with the devil.
“Sex mad?” Monica asks, a grin creasing her lips. “Really? She came on to you?”
“Did everything but climb into my trousers.” With a sigh, I tuck my hands into my pockets and say, “I need someone I trust at my back. I’d appreciate it if that’s you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, what’s going on between you and that guy in there? When it boils down to it, whose side are you on? Ours or his?”
“My client’s, of course. My relationship with Gianni Ali does not come into the equation, Joe. Of that I can assure you.”
Humming under my breath, the sound distinctly disbelieving, I make a choice. It’s either stick with Clordina or switch to Monica; a woman with legal know-how and experience. The choice isn’t difficult to make.
“May I ask you a question?” Monica butts into my thoughts.
“Why not?”
Tucking her briefcase beneath her arm, she purses her lips and says, “That photo; both you and Cass reacted to it. Do you know the person?”
“Yes. He was our chauffeur two nights ago. He collected us from the airport.”
“He chauffeured you?” Monica asks, astounded.
“Yes. Cass is feeling a bit sick, because she fancied him. Apparently, blood thirsty boyfriends aren’t hot this year.”
“Why did he do that?” The question is aimed inwardly and she ignores my blithe comment.
“I don’t know. I don’t like it; I don’t like being inveigled in something that has nothing to do with us, but apparently, that choice is being taken out of my hand.”
“There is always a choice. We always have a choice.”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
My choice is either take the step that will give me security upon Bernard’s retirement, or retreat home.
Victor?
Or loser?
I’ve never been the latter and refuse to start now.
Chapter Eight
I’m tired. Really, really tired. Bone deep exhaustion might be a bit of an exaggeration, but I’m well on my way there and finding myself in the last place I want to be, is hardly a mood improver.
The reason for my exhaustion is twofold. Firstly, I’m working my ass off because Cass still isn’t up to par. The second reason behind my lack of sleep rests with my colleague too. Cass is still in the midst of some psychotic episode. Her bedroom is down the hall from mine and I can hear her crying in the middle of the night. Her sobs wake me up and it takes me an age to fall back to sleep.
That sounds selfish, doesn’t it?
Six weeks after we discover a mutilated hand, my colleague is still feeling the trauma of it all and all I care about is my own beauty sleep and not her distress.
The truth of it is, I’m perplexed by Cass. I never realized there was this side to her; this emotional creature that could be so affected by what had happened to her here in Italy. I saw the hand too; was repulsed and horrified by it, but life goes on.
Except, at this moment, it isn’t for Cass.
And because of that, I’m taking up the majority of the slack.
Selfish, again, I know. But I’m knackered and the last thing I need, first thing on a Monday morning, is to deal with Gianni Ali from the Guarda di Finanza. Again.
I’m seeing more and more of this guy; or should I say, I’m being summoned more and more often to the police station to see him. Apparently, to meet a
nywhere else is dangerous. Quite frankly, I’m getting sick of battling the traffic that clogs the town to reach the station. I’m sick of fighting for parking spaces. And I’m sick of knowing the desk sergeants by name.
That alone tells you how often I’m here.
“Look, for the last time, how long are you going to be undercover at the factory? It’s a business; and I’m just an employee. I have to answer to a boss too. This new department of ours is somehow draining the factory’s efficiency rate. I don’t know how, considering that they’re not actually doing anything. I need to make huge infrastructural changes to the premises, something that you’re preventing me from doing; I know you’re the police, but something has to give. You have to cut me some slack!”
It’s unfortunate that Monica has taken up a position beside me. Like a sentinel of old. Her presence isn’t exactly warming Ali to my argument. His eyes are hot with jealousy every time he rakes them over her and then they turn to ice as they approach me. I’d go as far to say that the guy hates me for my proximity to his ‘one that got away’ but in this day and age, I’d hope that we’ve managed to contain our baser instincts.
Almost as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I have to stop myself from snorting. Ha! If any guy was drooling over Juliet, would I take it lying down? I sincerely doubt it. And that’s the God’s honest truth, so why should Ali be any different?
Especially because he can sense that I’m attracted to her and that attraction is entirely mutual.
That’s another reason why I want this police investigation wrapped up. I need to get away.
Six weeks of close proximity, six weeks of hard slog with me relying on Monica more and more as Cass sinks even deeper into a depression I can’t understand… I need to get away. Cowardly? Maybe. Brave? I think so.
