by Ian Harwood
“Why? I haven’t heard anything. I don’t know anything. I’m not a threat to this household.” It’s not a whole lie. I don’t have a clue what Gianni Ali or Angelo and Clordina are doing here. I can just assume that the cop who is helping to rid this area of this particular crime family is not doing a bang up job!”
“No, but you’ve seen it, haven’t you? My idiot of a son with the policeman he has in his pocket; as well as that slut on his lap. That slut has ruined everything. Made Angelo question where he should only have accepted. Where once he had accepted. She made him jealous, angry, and possessive. He killed a policeman for her, mamma mia! Killed him because he dared look at Angelo’s woman and she dared to look back.” Her words roll into each other as though they’ve been pushed down and down until the pressure reached its current peak. Explosion!
And she’s just told me everything I hadn’t known for definite. Now, if the tables were turned, even I would shoot us!
“Why did you have to tell us that?” I groan out.
Her answer is not reassuring. “You’re going to die anyway.”
“Great,” Juliet grunts under her breath but I can hear the catch in her voice and know she’s an inch away from sobbing. Her clutch on my waist is tight, her fingers digging in but she isn’t trembling and her voice doesn’t transmit her fear, outside of the fact she’s on the brink of tears, that is.
In a way, it’s all very surreal. I’m having the same reaction. Almost as though this isn’t really happening and if it were happening to someone else, we’d both be laughing.
That makes us sound mean. But it’s a comedy of errors. The entire situation is and always has been. From the hand we received as a welcome gift to the gang-riddled work staff under Bernard’s employment. I hadn’t thought it could get much worse. Apparently, I was wrong.
“I want you to go in there and make them talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“About me, about Ali’s role in all of this.”
“You can’t be serious?” I ask, mouth agape. “The bad guys only tell you the whole tale in sleazy movies. Not in real life.”
She shrugs. “Angelo is my son, I love him but he has many faults. Vanity is one of them. You will say something to make him talk; if not, you’ll get a bullet in the back of your brain.”
“Why? Why are you doing this?”
“It has nothing to do with you. Just do as I say or your death won’t be quick and easy; but long, slow and painful.”
She means it. Her voice is hard, as frigid as ice. I always knew there was something strange about her; something detached and not there. I’m not saying she’s psychotic, because she isn’t. She’s there, just like I am and just like Juliet is. Oh, no, she’s one smart cookie but she doesn’t feel.
The minute I saw her glance at the hand Angelo shipped us on that first morning, I knew she was peculiar. My confirmation has been tied up in a pretty pink bow and delivered to me right this minute.
I rest one hand on top of Juliet’s and force the pincer-like pinch of her fingers about my waist to loosen. Quickly squeezing them, I say, “Brigida, I’ll go in but I want you to let Juliet go.”
“And why should I do that?”
That’s the million dollar question. Why should she do that? “If I’m worrying about Juliet, then I won’t be my most persuasive.” I almost groan at the weak answer, but what else can I say? Why should she let Juliet go? Any survivors of Brigida’s deadly intentions are only witnesses to her crimes. That will be the last thing she wants.
“If a gun to the back of your head is not persuasion enough, then I doubt your girlfriend will do much harm to your concentration.”
“Shall I take that as a no?”
Brigida hisses. “This is no time for levity. Get in there now and do as I say.” She waggles the gun at me and for a moment, I consider leaping forward and wrestling for control of the weapon. But in the dim light of the hallway, I can see her finger is resting on the trigger. If I make any sudden move, she’ll just shoot me and I’m too close to her for the aim to be anything but true.
On top of that, even if I do wrestle control from Brigida, the gun will likely go off in the struggle. If it doesn’t hit one of us, then it will alert the threesome in the gallery. Something that will push Juliet and I back into the mire.
I lift my hands and tell her, “I’m going.” To Juliet, I murmur, “Stay close to me and always at my back.”
I can feel her forehead brush against my back as she nods. She breaths heavily, and then releases both hands from my waist.
Edging towards the door again, I reach for my mobile and use the light shining from the gallery to cover the sudden illumination of my phone. Quickly, I search for Monica’s last text and hit reply, with just the one word. Or in this case, acronym. SOS.
Whether she’ll get my text in time, or if she’ll get it in the morning, I don’t know. But I’ve tried.
There’s no point in calling the police. Not when the head investigator is in cahoots with the local version of the Corleone family. Who the hell can I trust on the local police unit?
I figure there’s only one way that I might have a chance of getting us out of here without a bullet in an important organ. And that includes making Gianni think I believe he’s in the villa on business.
Christ, I’ll have to pull out all the stops on the acting front.
Good job I’m a great bullshitter.
Keeping my phone out, I press it to my ear and as I walk into the room, I say, “You get to bed, Monica. Big day tomorrow. No falling asleep on the job.” I chuckle and then stop, forcing a frown to my face as I let my gaze wander over Angelo, Gianni and Clordina, who all look as though they’ve been frozen into place. I let my laughter drift off, before I say, “I’ll have to go, Monica. Sleep well.”
Juliet’s intelligence has never been more appealing than at that moment, because like our thoughts are in tandem, she exclaims, “Angelo? What are you doing here?”
Her confusion has Angelo’s surprise disintegrating. “Brigida is my mother, Giulietta. While you were away, she invited me here for a family meal. I hope you do not mind.”
The way he says Juliet’s name always makes my skin crawl. Slimy bastard.
“Of course not. Why didn’t you tell me you were related to Marco and Brigida?” Juliet trills and steps further into the lion’s den; completely disobeying my order to remain behind me. Although, if we can pull this off, we might survive.
Almost as though she just recognized her, she stops in her tracks all of a sudden. With her voice as warm as the Arctic, she grits out at Clordina, “Oh. It’s you. What are you doing here?”
“The reason for the family get-together, Giulietta. Clordina has consented to be my wife.”
Juliet’s congratulations sounded surprisingly sincere and I interrupt, “Are they under arrest, Gianni? Is that why you’re here?” I make a show of looking down at my watch. “At three in the morning?”
Gianni’s ever stoic-face tightens a little. “Angelo is an old friend of mine.”
“Forgive me, but you’re a chauffeur, aren’t you, Angelo?”
“Si. I am. And does that prevent me from being friends with a member of the police?” Angelo chuckles. His frosty surprise of earlier dissipating as he thinks he’s in control of the situation. Neither Juliet nor I have leapt to the obvious conclusions so he must think we’re very stupid. Either that or he’s the dumb one.
But Gianni on the other hand isn’t stupid. He’s anything but.
Clever men never let themselves be caught and that is what is concerning me.
He’s saying very little. Allowing Angelo to take the centre stage and to do the talking. Even Clordina hasn’t recovered. She’s perched beside her supposed-fiancé, clinging to him and letting him be in the spotlight. A position she usually prefers to have to herself. She hasn’t even flashed a flirtatious look my way.
The situation is obviously murkier than I even imagined.
�
��You weren’t born a policeman, were you, Gianni?” Angelo asks, heartily jovial.
“No. I wasn’t. I think it’s time I made my leave. As I said, Angelo, you have my congratulations on your fine choice of a bride.” Gianni nods at the newly-engaged couple and then at Juliet and myself.
Each step that takes him closer to the doorway, I want to scream at him. Tell him not to move another inch, because if he does, then that’s Juliet and I done for.
But what can I say without this shitty situation deteriorating even more?
I say nothing; my eyes catching Juliet’s to warn her against uttering a word either.
The pair of us are stood frozen and the twenty-second walk from the centre of the gallery towards the doorway we just moved away from seems to take a lifetime. Each step of Gianni’s lasts a good thirty minutes and my heartbeat seems to pulse in time to his every movement. Nausea unravels in my belly, unfurling and uncurling to spread anxiety throughout my body.
He eventually makes it through the doorway. And what happened next, I would never have expected in a million years.
The sound of a gunshot ricocheted throughout the gallery. Angelo’s jovial smile disappeared in an instant. Clordina shrieked, jumping up and Juliet and I just froze all the more. Angelo ran from the sofa he’d been lounging on and sprinted down the length of the gallery, traversing the same path as had Gianni.
He passes Juliet and myself and I take the opportunity to rush to Juliet’s side and push her behind me. “What’s going on, Clordina?” I yell at her, even though I have a pretty good idea of what just happened.
Sounds of garbled Italian came from the hallway, where Angelo now stood and it poured free from Clordina’s mouth in a torrent of fear. We know who the person yielding the gun is… Clordina doesn’t and it’s obvious that she fears for herself. Probably believing it to be some rival group or one of Angelo’s enemies. And because he’s such a prick, I’d imagine he has many.
A part of me wonders if Gianni even had a chance. That single gunshot meant more than a shower of bullets, so I doubt that he had time to pull out his own weapon and aim at Brigida. Although, miracles can happen. But when they do, would they work with a bent copper?
I doubt it.
“What’s she saying?” I hiss down at Juliet, at Clordina’s ceaseless self-talk.
“Nonsense, mostly, Joe. She’s too young to die. Too beautiful.” Despite the seriousness of the situation, she snorts. “Have you heard of anything vainer? Christ Almighty.”
My eyes dart to the windows lining the wall. Each one is a sheet of glass, not with a hinge that would let us jump out of them. Probably because the gallery doesn’t lie flush with the ground and is on the second floor above the veranda to the back of the house.
I’ve never really been in here before. I popped my head round the corner at the beginning of my stay, but line after line of gloomy portraits, regardless of the pleasant views of the river and comfortable sofas dotted down the length of the long, wide passageway, put me off frequenting this particular area of the house.
But, if my memory doesn’t deceive me, at the very end of the gallery, there’s a patio door that leads to some steps and down to the veranda.
Using Angelo’s absence to our advantage, I grab Juliet’s hand and start to run down towards the doorway. Only the top part of the gallery is in light, the bottom half is in darkness and the moonlight slitting through the windows guides us around the furniture but it would also provide Gianni with a pretty nice shot if he wanted to kill us. I hear clicking heels behind us and know it’s Clordina, but it doesn’t stop me from increasing my pace.
When we reach the end of the gallery, I’m not entirely surprised that the door is locked. Juliet is panting behind me and Clordina’s heels are still click-clacking away. I wait for her to reach us and say, “I know why we’re running, but why are you?”
“I don’t want to be killed by some Russian hick!” she screeched and pushed against Juliet and myself. “Move out of the way. I have a key.”
“Why do you have a key and why would a Russian kill you?”
“I’m not married to him yet,” she mutters to herself in Italian and Juliet mumbles a translation. “And there’s no way I’m nursing him if they put a bullet through his brain and he survives.
“This was supposed to be easy. He said it would be easy. Get rid of the cop and then we’re safe. Safe, ha! I told him to stay away from the Russians. But would he listen to me? No! Of course, not!
“What do I know? I’m just a stupid woman.”
Her hands shake and her clutch on the keys isn’t the best. She whines as they tumble to the floor, the tinkle as loud as a crash in the otherwise silent gallery.
I swoop down and grab them before she can. I’m not feeling too steady myself but I’m faster than her and within ten seconds, the keys are in the lock and the door is open. All three of us run down the steps and towards the veranda. The only sound that punctuates our flight is the cicadas in the background, humping and buzzing away. Completely unaware of the peril we’re in.
I can’t believe our luck that Angelo hasn’t come after us; but whatever the argument he’s having with his mother, it’s quite obviously a doozy. Thankful for shit mother-son relationships the world over, I keep my sprint up and drag Juliet along in my wake.
Ten feet away from the car, another shot bursts through the sound waves. All three of us jump, but Clordina starts sobbing and for a woman in too-high heels does an Olympian proud as she sprints to her car. As the sound of her ignition vibrates through the yard, in the distance, the flashing lights of police are a welcome sight.
“Monica pulled through,” I mutter to myself, nearly collapsing on the hood of the car, grimacing as the wheels on Clordina’s car shriek and screech as she speeds her way away from the scene of a crime. “Christ, your father doesn’t pay me enough for this shit.”
Juliet tightens her grip on my hand and does the same; slump against the bonnet, staring at the house in front of us. “Who do you think’s dead?”
“Angelo and Gianni,” I make the comment with no hesitation. “Let’s hope Cass is safe and sound under duvet.”
“Christ, I forgot about Cass. Poor woman; she’ll be out of her mind with fright!”
“Well, I’d prefer to have been tucked under my duvet with you than have a gun pointed in my face.”
“When you put it like that, I agree.” Her laugh gurgles and I look down and see she’s crying. In the light of the moon, the tear tracks are clearly visible. With my thumb, I trace one of the moist lines and lean down to press a kiss to her temple. “We almost died in there. If you hadn’t pretended to just walk in…”
“You were smart enough to realize what I was up to. But, you’re not wrong…” I shake my head, feeling a little dazed at how close a call it was and I tell her as much.
“Too close for comfort for my liking.”
“And mine.”
“Do you think Gianni Ali was dirty?”
“Up to his neck in shit,” I remark and lift an arm to hook it around her shoulder as the police cars screech to a halt." And from what Clordina just said, he didn’t have long left on this earth anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“As she was mumbling, she bit out that Angelo said to get rid of the cop would be easy. That doesn’t sound as though their relationship was friendly. Something had gone sour; she mentioned Russians?” I shrug. ”Christ knows what was going on there. Maybe Angelo wanted to get in deeper with the Russians and Gianni wanted to back out. Either way, those bullets don’t bode well for either of them.”
Officers jump out of cars, guns out, already aiming. One runs to me and demands something in Italian. I shrug and point at Juliet. She explains and they rush off towards the villa, only to come to an abrupt halt as the front door opens. The loud click of the lock almost as loud as the earlier gunshot had been. We’re only able to hear it thanks to the slow, steady movements of the policemen.
Un
der the porch light, I can see Brigida now. Dressed in her nightgown, the white linen hovering an inch above her feet. Long salt-and-pepper hair braided into a neat coronet atop her head.
In one hand, she holds the gun loosely and when the police yell something at her, she calmly places it on the floor. Almost as though she isn’t handling a deadly weapon that has already claimed two lives, but as though it’s a plant pot. Inanimate. Unimportant. Unworthy of her attention.
She stands still and before our eyes, a copper runs forwards and handcuffs her.
A hand on my shoulder jerks me out of the focused concentration I’m aiming Brigida’s way. My nerves are shot and I nearly leap a foot in the air, only to realize that it’s Monica. Laughing at myself, I release my hold on Juliet and wrap Monica in a bear hug. “You just saved our arses.”
“I’m glad. You’re lucky I was working, when I received your text message.” She returns the hug, but her face is sombre. Sad. She pulls away from me and then bestows a similar embrace on Juliet. “I’m glad you’re both safe.”
“As safe as we can be. I don’t know what the hell she was thinking of, but Brigida’s just heaped a ton of shit on her head.”
“The end was near anyway. Angelo had none of his mother’s caution. He thought because Gianni was in his pocket that he was safe. You are never safe when you deal outside of the law.”
Despite myself, I’m shocked. “You knew Gianni was a dirty cop?”
“Not until I was kidnapped. Not for definite, at any rate. You were probably aware that we had a history?”
“I think anyone with eyes could see that.”
“In the past, when we were together, I became aware of the perks he was accepting. I didn’t approve, told him that it led to corruption and unfair behaviour towards the people who were effectively buying him with the things they were gifting him. He didn’t agree. We argued about it, but he promised to stop accepting the perks. The damage was done though. I couldn’t trust him. We broke up.
“I hadn’t seen him for a good year or so since that time and then, he was here. I hoped… but, when I was kidnapped, the police told me they had suspicions about his character again. In fact, it was more than suspicions. They had proof, but not enough to stand up in court. Everything was supposed to resolve itself at the factory tomorrow.
