by J. B. Hawker
“My office has received the report of a fatality today at the Royal Palace which seems to corroborate at least part of your story, signora.”
“I didn’t mean to knock him off the roof, officer, honestly. It was an accident. He grabbed for me just as I was picking up my tote bag and he just fell when I stood up. He must not have a very good sense of balance. I have good balance from my years of yoga, you see...”
“Yes, yes, I do not believe you will be charged in that incident. The man was a known member of the Camorra crime family. But, tell me, what about your friends? You say you were all three held hostage in a warehouse near a small airport. Were your companions still there when you were brought away? It is important we find them.”
Taffy told Officer Tamagni everything she could remember from the drive to the hotel, but it wasn’t very much. The street names and business signs had been simply a blur of foreign words as they sped by.
When she told the policeman about Anthony Parma and his death, the man jumped up and began to give directions to his men.
This was a good lead for the police.
The Parma’s were known to use a private airport near the docks. The nearby warehouse district was suspected of being a smuggling drop.
A squad of police was immediately dispatched to begin searching the warehouses nearest to the airport.
All of the Neapolitan police forces were also put on high alert.
The death of Don Parma could result in a power struggle within the Camorra organization, if the nephew wasn’t able to solidify his position as the new capo.
Taffy was about to go to the reception area to thank Luigi for calling the police, when an officer stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“You will come with me, per piacere, signora.”
“Where are we going?” Taffy asked in surprise.
She noticed another policeman was gathering up her suitcase and the rest of the luggage and personal items from the room.
“We go to the station, adesso.”
“But, why? Why are you people taking our things? We have an early morning flight tomorrow...or is it today? Oh, dear.”
“The polizia are leaving, Oriana. They tell me our guests are checking out and will not be returning.”
“Good. I am glad the turmoil is over and we can get back to bed for a few hours, at least. You have their credit card number, yes?”
“Certainly, but I am sorry to see the ladies go like this. I would wish to bid them farewell on their journey home. Ah well, we were able to be of some help, at least. The evil one did not have his way, after all, eh? These thugs will think twice before bothering Luigi Baccigaluppi!”
“They won’t try to get revenge, will they Luigi? These are very bad men, and powerful.”
“Pah! Not to worry, they will not dare. Now let’s go to bed and get some sleep. In the morning I will need to make repairs to that door and patch up the bullet holes in the wall or the room will be unfit for guests this weekend.”
Chapter 20
In my distress I called upon the Lord. 2 Samuel 22:7
After searching the surface of the water and around the wharf for more than an hour with no sign of Opijnen, Parma gave him up as a drowned fool.
In the early dawn Felice waited outside the Harbor Master’s office.
His man was around back breaking in to find the mooring records. They would soon know the name and berth of the Dutchman’s boat. Then they could find the money and put an end to this miserable business.
Those witches had cast an evil spell over everything.
He hoped their deaths were painful and slow. Parma only regretted he had not been able to handle the details himself.
At that moment, a waterlogged Tenny Opijnen slithered over the rail and flopped onto the deck of Zeemeermin.
He was shivering violently from his prolonged dip in the bay, but had not dared to come out any sooner.
Thanks to his years of snorkeling and free diving, he was able to stay underwater much of the time, only breaching the surface occasionally to catch a breath and check for the presence of the gangsters.
He waited in the water beside his sloop until he was certain no one was watching.
Dripping icy rivulets from every extremity and with frigid muscles quivering, Opijnen shuffled to the cabin to peel off his sodden clothing.
He would gladly give half the hidden money for a hot drink to raise his core temperature, but warmth, comfort and contemplation of the money would have to wait until he was out of the harbor.
With only a small pang of regret at the loss of the cash in the duffle bag, Tenny started the engine and the boat slowly chugged away from the dock toward the safety of open water.
Bunny stubbornly punched zero again on the phone’s keypad, but no matter how hard she pushed, nothing happened. She started over, this time pressing nine-one-one, in hopes this number combination might be recognized internationally, but the phone failed to respond.
“What is the emergency number for the police?” she asked the tied man.
Gino just looked at her dumbly.
The man didn’t speak much English, but Bunny was unconvinced he didn’t understand her question.
“Max, make him tell us. We need to know how to call for help. Those other horrible men might return at any moment.”
“What do you want me to do, Bunny? Shall I shoot him in the knee if he doesn’t talk?”
The Italian’s understanding of English suddenly improved.
“Uno-uno-due, one-one-two,” he mumbled.
“Why, thank you, kindly, pasta-boy,” Max said with a mocking bow, as Bunny quickly entered the correct digits.
“It’s ringing!”
“Hello, er, ciao. Non parlo italiano. Parla inglese, per favore? Oh, thank you!”
“Tell her where we are,” Max urged.
“We need help. My sister and my friend and I have been kidnapped by criminals. We are in a warehouse near a small airport...I don’t know the address. My name? Oh, yes. Bunny, that is, Leveline Elder. It’s an old warehouse...I don’t know. I didn’t see the street names when they brought us here. It was hours ago. We managed to get loose and now we are holding one of our kidnappers for the police. We have his gun...No, please, we need help, now, before the rest of them return! Oh, dear. She’s put me on hold.”
Parma and his companion stood at the mooring where the Dutchman’s boat should have been.
Empty waves lapped the dock. Only bits of trash floated on the surface of the water.
In the distance, several sails could be seen silhouetted against the pale sky as they headed out to sea
The boat with their money must be out there, well beyond the mobsters’ grasp.
Felice was in a very dangerous mood as he stormed back to the car and roared off with tires smoking, leaving his startled henchman, Stephano, in the parking lot gaping after him.
Early morning traffic was light as the car zipped through the narrow city streets.
“Perhaps that lazy Gino has taken his time obeying, as usual, and I will be able to kill those wretched women myself, after all,” Parma consoled himself as he drove furiously back to the warehouse.
“No! Now I’ve been disconnected! Oh, this is too awful!”
“Calm down, Buns, just call again. Maybe you will get someone more helpful this time.”
Max seemed relaxed sitting on the couch, but his attention on the mobster never wavered and his gun hand remained steady.
Bunny dutifully punched in the numbers for the second time and waited for the expected, “Pronto,” to begin telling her story all over again.
After waiting what seemed a terribly long time, the call was answered and she repeated her previous opening, asking for someone who could speak English.
She heard, “Aspetta un attimo...” and the line went dead.
With a low growl emitted through
clenched teeth, Bunny attacked the phone once more.
While impatiently waiting for a response, she was startled by a sound from the outer area of the warehouse.
Someone was opening the bay doors!
Max jumped up and looked through the doorway into the warehouse.
There was early morning light coming through the partially opened bay, but he couldn’t see if there was anyone in the dark warehouse.
“Bunny, we can’t just stay in here waiting to be tied up again, or worse. We’ve got to get away, now.”
Max looked at the office window.
It wasn’t very big, but the frame was the cheap aluminum kind.
They would have to chance it.
“Do you think you can climb out of that window, Buns?”
“I can, if you can,” she replied gamely, dragging a wooden chair under the window as she spoke.
Bunny climbed up and slid the window as wide as possible, but it was obvious she would never fit through the opening.
Max walked over and pulled her gently down from the chair.
He picked it up and slammed it through the window, knocking out glass, frame and all, before setting it back down on the floor and gesturing for Bunny to climb back up.
Stunned by this sudden violence, it took her a minute to respond, but then she quickly clambered back onto the chair.
Seeing the remaining shards of glass and metal sticking up dangerously, she hesitated only a moment before following Max’s example and kicking them out.
After a couple of false starts trying to decide how to insert herself into the opening, she finally simply sat on the rough edge of the sill and slid to the ground, with Max thumping down right behind her.
Bunny was trying to assess the damage done to the skin of her back when she was brought up short by a shouted, “Fermi, dove siete!”
A policeman approached the couple, grimly, with gun drawn.
“Mani in alto voi!" he barked. “Lascia cadere la pistola.”
Max put down the gun and he and Bunny raised their hands without needing to translate the command into English. It was obvious what the officer wanted.
“Thank goodness you are here, Officer!” Bunny exclaimed.
Seeing the policeman did not understand her, she attempted once more in fractured Italian, but failed to make any impression on him, as he spoke into his radio while keeping both his eyes and his gun pointed in their direction.
“Are we being rescued or arrested?” she hissed at Max.
He could only shrug because he wondered the same thing.
Taffy sat in an airless, unfriendly room in a Naples police station. The monochrome gray-on-gray room held only a small metal table, which was bolted to the floor, and two chairs; the one in which she sat and its mate on the opposite side of the table.
Except for the absence of a two-way mirror, she could have been in any interrogation room in any cop drama she had ever seen.
When the police arrived at the hotel, she thought she had been rescued, but it seemed she merely exchanged captors.
Taffy was furious.
There were no windows and no clock on the wall, but her stomach reliably informed her it was now well past the departure time of her flight home.
Those were non-refundable tickets and booking a new one-way flight home would be even more expensive.
She had been sitting alone for hours.
After the events of the day and night before, she was near to tears from exhaustion, frustration and hunger.
She hadn’t eaten since that disagreeable pizza for lunch before Bunny dragged her off to her precious rooftop garden and everything went crazy.
And she was terribly worried about Bunny.
That vicious goon was beating her when Taffy last saw her sister.
He had threatened to kill her if Taffy didn’t come back with the statue.
Was Bunny still alive? When would somebody tell her what was happening?
Officer Tamagni entered the tiny room, sat down and faced Taffy with a scowl.
“We are having some difficulty making sense of your story, signora. Perhaps you will be so kind as to tell me again just what you were doing with the stolen icons concealed in a figurine and hidden in your suitcase. It would appear to any reasonable person you were preparing to smuggle them out of the country.”
Taffy went cold all over, closed her eyes and slid gracefully to the floor in an old fashioned swoon.
Chapter 21
Why do the heathen rage and the people imagine a vain thing? Psalm 2:1
Parma was so infuriated at losing the money that he failed to make his usual discreet approach to the warehouse.
Screeching to a halt before the partially opened bay, he jumped from the car and dashed inside, shouting loudly to Gino as he approached the back office.
Noticing Lucca was still not back with the icons only fanned the flames of Felice’s rage, blinding him to the figures in the office.
He burst in to find himself confronted by a handful of police and the still restrained Gino.
Gino’s expression upon seeing his boss went from surly to dismayed.
He knew he would be blamed for the escape of the old ones. But who could expect such actions from gray-haired tourists?
Parma whirled around and found his retreat blocked by the policemen who had been searching the warehouse.
“What is the meaning of this?” he blustered. “This warehouse is private property.”
An exchange of angry Italian words between Felice and the officer in charge was interrupted when Bunny and Max were ushered into the office.
“These two were trying to get out the back window, sir.”
Parma was stymied.
He had been trying to act the part of injured property owner to the police, disavowing any knowledge of recent events.
The presence of Max and Bunny called for a change of tactic.
“That is the man who was holding us hostage!” Max pointed to Parma.
“Arrest him. He caused this woman’s injuries and threatened to kill us!”
Max addressed himself to the officer who seemed to be in charge, hoping the man understood English better than his underling.
“He’s insane!” snarled Parma. “I’ve never seen these people in my life.”
“Oh, you liar! How can you stand there and deny what you did? And where is my sister? What have you done with her, you monster?” Bunny chimed in.
Gino inserted his excuses to Parma into the babel of accusations and denials.
“Tutti in silenzio! Quiet!” commanded the senior officer.
“You will all come with us. We can straighten this out at headquarters. Avanti! Now, move.”
The policemen prodded them all into police cars, Parma and Gino in one and Max and Bunny in the other.
A short time later Bunny was seated in a room very similar to the one Taffy occupied earlier.
She was no happier than her sister to be once again held against her will.
The police were not likely to harm her physically, but in spite of that, her new situation didn’t make her feel much safer.
She had been separated from Max and felt very alone.
Unwelcome images of incarceration in foreign prison with no recourse materialized and lingered in her mind.
“I am a U.S. citizen, and I have rights,” she reminded herself, loudly.
At just that moment a police woman entered the room and quietly took the chair opposite Bunny.
“That is correct, signora. We are contacting your consulate at this time. A representative will be dispatched shortly, I am sure.”
“Oh, I wasn’t trying to cause trouble, or make demands. I was only reminding myself I’m not as alone as I was feeling. Please, can you tell me what is happening?”
Bunny lisped through split and swollen lips.
The adrenalin had worked out of her system while she had been quietly waiting and all of her
injuries were beginning to demand attention.
Bunny’s entire face hurt, from her swollen eyes to her bruised jaw and neck.
The scrapes on her back were stinging, too, the fabric of her shirt sticking where the blood had soaked through and dried.
Even the tape burns and chaffing on her wrists could no longer be ignored.
She was as near to a ladylike fit of the vapors as she had ever been.
“Sì. Vi dirò, I will tell you. Our investigatori are beginning to untangle the events of the past two days and we will soon know the truth of what happened. There are conflicting reports, lo sai? These must be reconciled before appropriate action may be taken.”
“But, we didn’t do anything! And those horrible men just pounced on us at the Royal Palace, chased us around the roof garden and kidnapped us! And they beat me and may have killed my sister!”
Bunny was close to tears from frustration.
“Ah, yes, your sister. That is signora Brackett, I believe. She is not killed, you may be assured.”
“Linda’s here? She’s all right?”
“Oh yes. She was here. She was taken to l'ospedale earlier.”
“The hospital? What happened? Where is she? Please take me to her!”
Hysteria was not in Bunny’s usual repertoire, but she was sorely tempted to give it a try.
“Signora Brackett is well. She merely fainted from dehydration. She is being given rest and fluids and will be returning soon. Please make yourself to be calm.”
Mention of dehydration seemed to remind the policewoman of Bunny’s own need for sustenance.
“Would you like for me to bring you something to eat or to drink while you are waiting?”
Bunny’s mouth was gummy from thirst, but, unusually for her, she had no appetite.
“Some water, please. Thank you.”
The policewoman left the room and returned quickly with a bottle of mineral water and a paper cup, then left.
For once, Bunny didn’t mind the taste of the fizzy mineral water.
She gulped down almost half the bottle and began to choke and sputter, finally catching her breath with a long sigh.
