Ded Reckoning (22 page)

"Yep.  I'm not going to add anything.  Stickin' to the same story, if asked, that you guys are running  the  show.  We're helping where we can."  Bradovich scoffs, "It appears that we didn't do such a bang-up job of that."  He gives a short kick in space, "Cripes, a perp being kidnapped from a patrol car."  He sighs.  "Sorry."

"Okay.  Let me throw on my coat and we'll face the vultures.  Let them pick at our bones."

"Your bones."  Bradovich laughs.

Ryder grins, "Yeah, my bones.  But after my bosses finished with me earlier there isn't much left."

 

 

The press conference doesn't go well.  Agent Ryder makes an announcement and answers only two questions, one reluctantly, and then he simply leaves.  Before going he told the gathering that a woman was murdered, identity known but being withheld until next of kin can be notified.  The assailant was a Patrick Shanahan, a visitor from Ireland.  He placed a bomb in the woman's car and detonated it in front of the lady's boyfriend's home.  Shanahan was chased by the lady's boyfriend but not caught.  Running from the scene and from the boyfriend, Patrick Shanahan jumped or fell over the edge of the ravine and tumbled to his death.  His body is being retained at the city morgue until an autopsy is completed and all forensic evidence collected.  Later that same day, the lady's boyfriend was paid a visit by a Mr. Mickey O'Rourke, an Irishman, now a U.S. citizen, living in Boston and ostensibly a friend of Shanahan.  O'Rourke was arrested for breaking and entering, and while en route to this office was kidnapped by two armed men.  The car involved has been found and impounded.  O'Rourke's body was found in the bay hours later, close to the ferry landing.  The kidnappers have not been identified, and consequently not found.  The investigation is ongoing.

At the end, Agent Ryder is asked if the Irish authorities have been notified.  He answers, "They have."  Then he is asked for the boyfriend's name.  He replies, "A Mr. Hunter Kerrigan.  A former Marine and now an unpublished author, or more accurately, a writer."  He holds up both hands, announces, "That's all for today.  Thank you."  And he turns and gets on the waiting elevator that will take him to his office and a scheduled meeting with his staff.

The abrupt departure after only two questions causes a rash of shouting and other commotion.  The local media and press begin shouting questions, then complaints.  No one sees Detective Bradovich slip away.  Not to his office.  There would be no sanctity there.  Knowing that and with thoughts of his Marine buddy on his mind, the detective slips behind the wheel of his car and drives.  Nowhere in particular at first.  Then after a few blocks he swerves onto Pacific Coast Highway and heads for the Marine Recruit Depot.  And the Officers Club to have a drink in solitude, or better yet with a few fighting hole buddies.

Back in his office, SAC Ryder while conducting a meeting with his agent force, says to the group, "You know, those kidnappers were way too good.  Knew too much.  Experts at the craft as well as leaving not a trace of evidence.  Anywhere.  Car.  Body.  The clothes are missing. We got zip.  Nothing."

The group nods in agreement.  A few mumbled comments are uttered.  Then Ryder says, "Except, however vague the descriptions are, something is nagging at me.  One of the artist's sketches.  The nose?"  He pauses.  "Can't get a handle on it."

He slaps his hands together, says, "Okay, let's get to work and go through this again.  Piece by piece.  Second by second ..."

"Nose by nose," interrupts one of his agents.

"Yeah, and go to all those dank, dark," he pauses, "that's it!"

"What?"

"Later.  You gents go.  I have a call to make."

 

 

Rocco telephones his source.  The information on the woman, Chiarin Romero Russo, is straight forward.  His man tells him that the lady is a widow.  A wealthy one at that.  Her husband died two years ago.  She still runs the remaining two shops, both of which are up for sale.  One near closing and the other has an offer.  She is off-the-page gorgeous, mid-forties, and an art enthusiast.  She loves this region but prefers a different location.  A cleaner city.  She is looking to move and in fact visited a town of interest lately.  Her home is also for sale.  She has no lovers but does have one suitor, a prominent politician in the city.  Except he is married and the rumors are that is a problem with the lady.  Rocco asks, "How wealthy?"

The voice on the phone replies, "Net worth, several million.  These last sales will be more than supplemental aide."

"Is she truly beautiful, or just so for her age?"

"Stunning, for any age.  Tall, slender, nicea body.  Dark hair and eyes.  Looksa like a model.  Momma mia, if my wife looka like her I would not waste my time on the phone with you in the evenings.  I woulda be home."

Rocco laughs, then says, "
Grazie. Buono sera."
 

After hanging up, Rocco pauses for a few seconds with his hand on the receiver as it rests in the cradle.  Takes in a breath, then dials his boss, Signore Roberto Catalano.  When Pisces answers on the first ring with an impatient tone of voice, Rocco feels a pinch in the pit of his stomach.  Nonetheless, he passes on all the information about the Russo lady.  Answers a few questions.  The conversation has the tone of a business transaction.  But then, it is.  Near the end, Pisces asks, "When can I expect Rizzo out of my life?"

"As soon as I find him. Tomorrow or the next day. I've been informed that no one has seen him but his apartment is still rented.  He's not in it.  Hasn't been there since ... since the accident, and the landlord has three months advance in his hand.  So, I guess he intends to return when he thinks things have cooled down."

"Don't get informed.  Get him.  I want him cooled down.  Cold.  I don't want him running loose.  Now go fuck your lady and go kill Rizzo.  Quickly.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, bossa.  Yes."

"Well, good.  We're on the same track as usual.  That's why we're so good together.  Now then, you have a nice evening.  I'll be leaving on the
Sorridenta
for several days."  Click.  

Rocco stares at the phone.  Mutters, "Nothing changes ...  except the women, and the villas."  Slams the phone back in the cradle and returns to the bedroom to finish dressing for the evening, muttering along the way, "but it is to be hoped for the last time."

Adrianna is dressed, in an all white slacks and jacket outfit.  With one button too many undone in the front of the jacket, it displays her bountiful cleavage.  The snow white of her pants suit shows off her complexion, now darkened by the sun here in Rapallo.  She says to Rocco, "Pleasea hurry.  You have given me an insatiable appetite."

His frown is replaced with a wide grin, "For what?  Dinner or me?"

"Both.  Dinner first to satisfy one.  Dessert to tease the other.  And a hastened walk back here to warm me for my playtime.  I will have all there is to have this evening."  She pauses, then, "The sound of the telephone slamming tells me we are leaving in the morning.  So I must make the most of this evening.  Yes?"

"Yes.  I have work to do."

"And?"

"We will see.  Possibly I will have to leave Pisa."

"Well, then, let us make the most of this evening.  It may be the last."

Rocco, who has finished dressing, puts his arms around Adrianna and says, "Don't say that."  And they leave their suite for another evening of dining on the hotel's patio overlooking this tranquil town and sea.

Marnee and Reis will be overlooking as well.  At least the on dining.  They will not be watching the seascape.

 

 

Roberto Catalano and Gina Pappalardo stand snuggled together at the helm as he guides the
Sorridenta
clear of the harbor and out to sea under the watchful eye of the craft's crew chief.  Gina is breathtaking on the flying bridge with her hair blowing and twisting in the incoming sea breeze.  She asks, "Roberto, darling.  Will we be safe going out so far this evening? "

Pisces squeezes her strongly around the waist.  "Of course, love.  I'm an expert seaman, but the crew chief has his eye on things and he and the crew will be taking over momentarily.  Then I can spend all my time on you."

She giggles, "On me?"

"Well, most of the time.  We will cruise.  Visit ports.  Eat wonderful fresh fish that I will catch.  And we will make love whenever and wherever the urge overpowers us, and we'll do it to the rise and fall of the swells.  To the rhythm of the sea.  And your energetic hips."

"You make it sound so wonderful, Roberto.  I am a lucky woman.  But what of the crew?  Won't they ..."

"No.  They will be out of sight and minding their business.  It is wonderful, or will be."

She sighs, "And how long is ... will it be?"

"Forever."

Gina laughs, tilts her head, "And when is forever?"

"When it ends."

Gina stands motionless, except for the gentle rise and fall of the
Sorridenta.
  After a few moments she mutters, "When it ends.  That doesn't sound so romantic."

Roberto stiffens slightly, but not enough to be noticed by Gina.  He responds in a warm, loving tone, "It is both romantic and poetic."  Pulls her close and whispers, "At least I mean it to be." Kisses her on the neck, then nuzzles his face in her blowing hair.  Then in full voice, "How 'bout we go below and have an apricot brandy or and two."  He pauses, "We will sip as we slip out to sea.  How's that for romantic if not poetic?"

"Bravo, Roberto.  Bravo," and she grasps his arm nudging him on the way.

He gently pulls free, moves close to Gina.  Kisses her tenderly and whispers, "You go ahead.  I'll be down in a few minutes.  I need to have a few words with our helmsman here.  Go.  Pour the brandy and get comfortable."

She returns his gentle kiss, smiles and slithers away toward the ladder way and salon below.  

Pisces' eyes follow her, or more readily her hips.  Then he motions his crew chief to him.  Says, "We're past the point but take a little more northward, then come hard a port and parallel the coast."

The man answers, "Yessa, sir.  We got it, sir."

Pisces nods, then checks the barometer.  All is fine.  Tunes the radio to a weather channel.  Listens.  Is fine as expected.  He claps his hands together, rubbing them and sternly orders, "I want to be alone.  Keep the crew out of sight and taking care of business.  Tell the chef I will let him know when I want dinner."  He strides away, not waiting for an affirmation for there is no otherwise response to a Pisces' wish, order.

At the ladder way he pauses.

All is well and will be better soon.  I'll have another artist in the family.

He strolls down to the salon.

 

CHAPTER 16

"Only hits count.  The only thing

worse than a miss is a

slow miss."

 

A special gunfighter's rule

 

 

Hunter and Dee, as Ian and Sally Hansford, hike to Pisces lease property on Cork Street.  As Hunter had done before, both now observe the flats for a good thirty minutes.  Hunter enters the vestibule of the flat as he did earlier in the day.  This time he waits before picking the lock to the inside door as Dee continues the vigil from across the street.  She sees nothing stirring as a result of Hunter's movement and entry.  After a final glimpse about, she follows him.  

Hunter whispers, "See anything?"

"No."

"What about the windows in the other flats?  Anything odd?"

"Nope.  People doing what people do, move about."

"Okay, let's go inside.  No security system out here and nothing out of the norm with the door."  Again he picks the lock and they both enter the flat.  Hunter acts as if it is the first time here and checks for security measures inside and is careful of his footfalls.  He warns Dee to stay on the carpets and throw-rugs.  Dee nods and does as instructed.

After both search the flat and find nothing except a well-furnished apartment for lease, Dee whispers, "Zilch, except the smell of cigarette smoke.  Is strong, especially here in the living room."

"Yeah, the guy must have been a chain smoker."  Hunter shakes his head and whispers, "I hate the smell of nicotine.  We'll have to take a shower when we get back to get rid of it."

"Together?"

"Dammit, Dee," he hisses.

She smiles, shrugs her shoulders.  They leave as quietly as they came in.

As it appeared from the outside, the other three flats are occupied.  Hunter and Dee ring each flat.  They talk to the occupants, one is the property manager.  He is having tea when they arrive. The others are preparing to do the same when Dee and Hunter ring.  Afternoon tea is truly more than a ritual here, conceivably a sacrament.  At the least a tradition and as steeped as the Dover Cliffs.   Dee and Hunter get no information of value from this group, to include no invitation to tea.  None have ever seen the man in Flat One.  The Property Manager is more talkative than the others, but still curt.  He informs them early on, "I'm only the PM.  Didn't know the chap.   Receive my check for my labor every month and happy for it.  He pays me handsomely to mind the flats and to mind me own business.  I do that."

Hunter asks, "From whom?"

"Meaning what."

"Who pays you?"

"The bank."

"Can I see a stub, or a deposit slip?  Something?"

The PM hesitates, then says, "Are you and the lady with Scotland Yard?"

"No."

"Then who?"

"Private investigators."

The PM pauses again, then says, "My.  I say.  Well, sir, and madam, you will have to bring the gentlemen from The Yard with a warrant or something.  I only manage the property and do not have a ghost of an idea about the person of whom you ask.  Anything else, sir?  Madam?"

"No. Guess not," Hunter moans, then adds, "Anything more you can tell us?"

"It is for lease.  Interested?"