Ded Reckoning (17 page)

 

 

Hunter stands dumbfounded as he is introduced to the DeLuca family.  Dee's grandmother is picturesque.  Tall, slender, shapely and regal looking.  Hair silvery gray but she's still agile, graceful and light in her movements.  Her husband, Signore DeLuca, is also tall, distinguished looking with a grey mustache and a mischievous smile.  Cunning might be more accurate.  Dee's father is taller and also thicker than his father, and has a tanned, leathery look from his work and movements about the vineyards.  The sister Maria is more like her grandmother than Dee, but only in height.  Both she and Dee have robbed the breast pool and long, shapely leg pool of possibly billions of genes.  Hunter smiles.  
There must be at least twenty short-legged, flat-chested Italian gals walking around angry and lonely in the Tuscany countryside.  
 

In a maddening tangle of bodies they all shake hands, smile, utter "hello's" and "good to meet you's".  For Dee, and hugs and kisses.  Maria asks, "And what is it you do, Mister Hunter Kerrigan, that requires my sister to travel clinging to your side?"

"I'm an author, or, would-be author, Ms. DeLuca.   Dee is my editor and assistant."

"Are you published?"

"No, ma'am, not yet," says Hunter politely.

Dee admonishes, "Maria, please."  

Hunter adds, "Hope to be soon."

Maria runs her hands through her long, black hair.  Shakes her head and hair.  "Interesting.  Interesting indeed."

The grandfather, Signore DeLuca edges forward, and slowly asks, "Mister Kerrigan, if you are not published, how is it that you can travel with a ... what was that?"

Maria says, "Editor and assistant, Grandpapa."

"Yes, yes.  That sounds expensive to me for a writer that has not, ahhh, written anything as of yet."

Hunter although uncomfortable, smiles, says, "Yes, well, in light of the fact it's your granddaughter, you have every right to ask.  To be concerned."

"I do, and I am, sir."

"Well, to keep it simple, I'm a former Marine officer who has left the service to write.  I have an extensive background in language and grammar.  Have traveled extensively and lived in Europe.  And come from a story-telling family.  I happen to have a large retainer from my employer and I have funds that I have saved.  I'm unmarried, thereby unattached with no debt.  I also have some family wealth. And ..."

"Employer?"  Maria interrupts.

Dee's father, Benito Antonio DeLuca, adds, "Good point, Maria.  Employer, not publisher.  That sounds suspicious to me, but then I'm only a poor old winemaker."

Maria shakes her head.  "Poor you are not, Papa.  Old, only chronologically; certainly not in spirit.  And wise.  And a father, and a damn good one."

Hunter injects, "I meant publisher, but it looks as if they treat me like an employee.  Just a slip of the tongue."

Maria with a sister, cat-like grin mutters, "I wish."

Dee  smiles, "Me three."

The grandfather who has been shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable, cuts off his granddaughters verbal foreplay with a harsh glance, then to Hunter, barks, "And, you have no attachment to my granddaughter, nor intentions?  This is all business?  An unpublished author, traveling to, wherever, with an assistant, to write a novel with no title and you are an unknown.  I don't think so.  I have a lot more ..."

Maria interrupts, "Grandpapa.  Later, please. Now we should let Mister Kerrigan get settled in the guest house.  Then you can take him on your motorbike for a tour and grill him at length.  I'm sure he will be most willing to spill the beans once you get him in that sidecar.  Or torture him in your cellar."

"No, I want ... Ahhh, yes. Yes."  Signore DeLuca pauses.  Then, "It's not a motorbike," looking at Maria.  Continues, "And, yes, we may go for a tour.  But first, I live a long time in the old country.  I smelled Mussolini and his Black Shirts long before others.   I can smell ... smell, what you say, ah ..."

"Bull shit, Signore DeLuca, bull shit," says Hunter.

"Yes, thatsa right.  Bullshitta.  I smell the Agency again, Antonelli Teresa DeLuca."

Senora DeLuca gasps, pushes her husband on the arm.  "Such language.  In front of ladies."

Benito DeLuca, silent for most part, again asserts himself.  "Pop, you're right.  As usual as a matter of fact, and this I know from experience.  I don't like the look of this."

Dee shakes her head, "You're right, Pop.  And Grandpapa, you're right as usual."

Hunter shoves his hands in his trouser pockets, drops his head to his chest.  Slowly brings it up and says, "You're correct, Signore DeLuca, and Signore Benito DeLuca.  Signora.  Ms. DeLuca."

"Maria will do."

"Yes.  Maria. Anyway.  All of you.  Yes, I work for the Agency as does Dee once again.  We have a simple job to do. Gather some information and make some observations.  We'll be traveling together.  My disguise is that of an author, traveling with his editor.  Writing a story.  It will appear to others that we are professionals in our trade, nothing more.  For now we need to have an excuse for Dee leaving her home in San Diego.  This is it.  She is on vacation here, visiting family and her children."  He pauses, and looks at Dee with a smile.  She nods approval.  Then he goes on,   "Later, Maria goes to Capri and Dee joins her there.  All cover-up."  He stops, looks around confused, asks, "By the way, where are the children?  Dee, you haven't said a word."

Signora DeLuca says, "They are in town with friends.  At the movies.  Escorted, of course.  They will be home shortly."

Dee smiles.  Hugs her grandmama, "That's fine.  Go on, Hunter."

"Oh, okay.  Backing up, what we need is an alibi for Dee.  If anyone should call, someone here, Maria, Dee's father, or grandparents can simply say 'Yes, she's here, but not at the moment.'  Then take a message until we return or call."

"More bullshitta," says the grandfather.  Then, "Teresa, are you working for that man, DeBeard, again?  I no like him.  And you know I always believed there was something strange about the way Angelo just ..."

"Grandpapa, it's Mr. MacBeer.  And, yes, I am in a way.  Actually though I work directly for Mister Kerrigan here.  And, you always let your old way imagination go too far."

Hunter is frozen in his place.  Stance and face readable.  It's gone in a nanosecond.

Signora DeLuca steps forward. Claps her hands, getting everyone's attention.  Says, "Papa, quiet for now.  You take Mister Kerrigan on a tour.  He is our guest.  We will have someone put his things in the guest house."  She pauses, then, "Teresa, you come inside.  Put your things away and visit with your Grandmama, and father, and sister.  Anna and Dino will be back inside the hour.  Come now, everyone be nicea and I have dinner to prepare."  She claps her hands again, only this time in glee saying, "Gooda, I'm again surrounded by my whole family." Hunter says, "Thank you, Signora."

The old man says, "Come, I give you a tour but first we visit my wine cellar.  I need a brandy after all this."

Hunter smiles, says, "I hope that's apricot brandy because I love it," pauses a moment and asks, "Is this in the torture chamber?"

The Signore grins as wide as the Grand Canyon, says, "Ohhhhh, yes.  Possibly both, but first my own apricot brandy.  I've been making it for years.  Long before the wine.  Come."  The two leave, the old man's arm draped over Hunter's shoulder.  There is nothing like something in common to put aside a problem.  At least for the moment.

Dee's father and his mother, the Signora, walk together toward the house.  Maria and Dee follow with arms around each other's waist.  Dee carrying the clothing bag, Maria the briefcase.  A vineyard worker hustles toward the guest cottage with Hunter's bag.

Maria says, "Your Mister Kerrigan is a hunk, sister dear.  You will remember since we will once again be rooming together this evening, that I am a light sleeper.  Incredibly light."  She giggles.

Dee gives her a squeeze with the arm that is on Maria's waist, "As I am, sister dear. I would not want to find you tip-toeing to the guest cottage in the wee hours."

They both laugh.  Then Maria says laughing, "Maybe we both should."

"Perhaps."

Maria bumps her sister with her hip.  Shrugs.  Smiles.

Dee is not smiling and her jovial mood fades into an all-business mask.

 

 

As Hunter sits in Signore DeLuca's dark, dank wine cellar, waiting for his brandy, he's taken with a flashback.

Unbelievable.  It is a premonition.

 

CHAPTER 12

 

"If you are not shooting, you should be

communicating, reloading  and running."

A gunfighter's rule

 

 

Neither was correct.  Neither could go on.  With both appetites satisfied they collapsed in each other's arms and slept until mid-morning.  Not wanting to lose control, and control and bravado is everything with Rocco, he says, "Adrianna, darling.  I look forward to Rapallo.  We can swim and walk, and you can shop while I fish."

Adrianna squeals in delight from the tub where she is soaking in lavender scented suds born of perfumed soaps and bath oils.  Rocco continues his shaving.  She sits upright in the tub, picks up the spray shower head and pulls the bath plug as she stands.  Says, "I feel good this morning.  This was what I needed to recover from last night," she smiles as the suds wash away from her breasts, and down her long legs still knee deep in tub water.

Rocco is pleased with himself over her coy remark.  She knows how to please a man in every way.  Now finished shaving and having showered earlier, he leaves the bathroom saying, "Let's hurry.  We'll drive.  It's a little over a hundred kilometers and will take but a few hours.  We'll keep this room.  Travel light.  Take what make-up you need and what you wear. You can shop there for whatever else you need."

"More new outfits?"

"Yes.  And whatever else you want."

This is music to Adrianna's ears.  
Shop.  The drive will be scenic along the coast.  The restaurants in Rapallo and nearby Portofino and Santa Margherita Ligure with their fresh seafood will be a gourmet's delight.  Romantic scenery.  And Rocco each night.
 

Rocco adds to Adrianne's thoughts by shouting from the bedroom, "We'll be staying at the Palace Hotel.  Our room will over look the town and the Tyrrhenian Sea."

She gasps, "The Excelsior Palace Hotel?"

"Yes, it's over seventy years old.  Warm and comfortable like old slippers, like you and me. He pauses.  "I have stayed here before, on business, of course," pausing and catching himself.  He laughs, then pretends to clear his throat.  "This will be romantic.  Who knows where it will lead?"

"How longa we stay?"

"Ahhh, I don't know.  A day or two, perhaps more.  No real hurry.  But I do have to return here.  Have a routine task to do for Roberto."

Adrianna comes into the bedroom from the bath.  She is not dressed and prowls to the closet mirror.  Stops, examines her body in sensual moves and poses, first cupping her breasts with her hands, and turning slightly in each direction.  First holding them, then not.  Then facing the mirror again she glides her hands down her body.  Initially over her abdomen and continuing down each leg, as if smoothing silk, as far as she can reach without bending.  She turns slowly, facing Rocco, her head canted to one side.

Rocco groans, "Momma mia, Oh ... ohhhh, if we only had time."

Adrianna crooks her finger motioning to Rocco and murmurs, "Take the time.  We have some of that for all this."

Rocco slips out of his loafers.  Says, "I called Roberto this morning.  He is home.  He has met the staff and is pleased.  Told me not to hurry but to finish my work before I leave."  He is hurrying and fumbling his words that have nothing to do with the moment or his humid feelings.   In his haste he clumsily steps out of his slacks.  "Oh, Momma mia.  Adrianna, you are a goddess."

Adrianna finishes Rocco's struggles by taking off his boxer shorts as he closes with her, ready.  He mumbles, "You smella good, likea ahhh ... ahh..."

"I am good, and it's hungry," as she rubs her palms up the inside of her thighs, then her forefinger and middle finger of her right hand continue up to where she pleasures herself more, groaning.  She continues the stroking, picking up the temp.

Rocco's eyes have followed her hands.  Now, his lips follow the path.  Then him.

 

The tour goes well.  Signore DeLuca is pleased that Hunter is an apricot brandy enthusiast.  Dee's children, Dino and Anna, arrive back from the movie.  The choice turned out to be interesting and perhaps appropriate.  It was a Disney movie,
Smoke
, with Ron Howard as a fourteen year old boy mourning the loss of his father and not happy with his mother's selection of a man to marry.  The boy finds the dog, a German Shepherd, and later the owner is found.  Dino and Anna are not caught up in the story as much as they are interested and excited to meet Hunter.

After the tour and brandies, and before dinner, Hunter takes Dino and Anna swimming.  Signora DeLuca shoos her daughters out of the kitchen.  They leave more than willingly, change, and join the children and Hunter in the pool.  After many dives from the board, most of which are refined common ones the three adults sit on the pool edge watching Dino and Anna swim with an occasional annoying diving board cannon ball from Dino.  Hunter is surrounded.  Children in front; Dee sitting on one side of him; Maria on the other.  Both of the women in one piece white swimsuits, in preference to bikinis, an acquiescence to their father and grandparents.  Nonetheless they are hip and thigh to hip and thigh with Hunter.

Dino swims up to the three and asks, "Mister Kerrigan, are you married?"

Anna treading water next to Dino offers, "He's not.  Mom told me."  She ducks under the water, bobs up and says with a broad grin, "How 'bout my mom and Aunt Maria?  They're both beautiful, huh?"