Ded Reckoning (25 page)

When the younger of the Shanahan brothers arrives at the O'Rourke door and rings, it is opened a crack by Mary Kate.  The lass peers out, smiles, clad only in a light flannel robe with its untied cloth belt dangling.  She opens the door wide for Sean and with the suction of the door, her robe as well.  She makes no effort to grasp the robe closed as she gently pulls Sean inside by his belt buckle.

As they climb the steps to the flat above the cobbler shop, she murmurs, "Wonderful of you to come, Sean, love.  I was prayin' you might would, 'though a Hail Mary or two I was sayin' for my father."  They stop and face one another at the top.

Sean hesitates as his eyes scan the gap in her robe.  "I only stayed for the one pint."  He shilly-shally's for a moment, then adds, "Your Uncle Mike says he will be along in due time and for you to make me a cup of tea."  He receives no immediate reply only a gentle tug on his arm.

Now, the robe more than slightly agape, Mary Kate inches closer to Sean.  She hooks her finger over his belt buckle and pulls him close, nestles soul-deep, rubbing her body wantonly on his.  She whispers, "Tea it will be, but in due time."  Brushes her lips across his and takes him by the hand.   "Come with me," and leads him down a narrow hallway to her room at the rear of the flat.

Sean murmurs, "Do ya think it's a good idea what with your uncle comin' along be ..."

"I do," as she pulls him along with one hand and sheds her robe with the other.

 

 

The sea is like an enormous pool of ink.  There are gentle swells but no whitecaps.  The sky is bright with stars but moonless.  The
Sorridenta
slips along at less than cruising speed, rocking gently with its running lights and mast lights hinting at its presence.  Below in the master lounge, propped up by pillows with their backs against the headboard, Roberto Catalano and Gina sip brandy.  Clothes strewn from the door to the bed.  One chair toppled over after its use as a prop.  A venturesome night of love-making, ended.

Gina sips the last of her brandy.  Slides down from the pillows and slithers fully onto the large bunk-style bed.  Sighs, "You are too much for me, Roberto.  I dreamed of it being so ... I am worn out and sleepy ... and drunk."  She feigns a kiss, "I am sorry.  I can't ..." her voice trailing off in drowsiness.

"You have only whetted my appetite, and we have barely begun, sweetheart.  Let me pour another brandy for us.  A booster shot."  He sits more upright and turns to the bed table, reaching for the crystal brandy decanter.

She sighs, voice more or less inaudible, "No more, please.  I cannot stay awake.  I've had much too much already."

Pisces turns while still seated and stares at Gina.  Her eyes are closed.  He leans over and whispers, "Sleep tight.  I'm going to have one more topside.  Then I'll be back to join you."  He leans over and kisses her forehead.

She murmurs an unintelligible response as she pulls the bed sheet to her neck.

Pisces watches another few moments, then stands and slips into his cotton khaki shorts that are part of the foreplay debris on the carpet.  Steps into his slippers, more of the same, checks Gina again, and saunters out.

He sits on the  after-deck, leaning back, absent-mindedly naming constellations.  "Orion.  Chair of Cassiopeia.  The Big Dipper."  He leisurely sips his brandy between mutterings and allows the night to slip by.  Several miles ashore there are lights flickering from a small rural and nameless coastal town.  At sea, not a boat in sight save a cruise liner on the dark, indistinguishable horizon.  His crew in their quarters except the helmsman on the bridge, out of sight.

After another brandy, Pisces takes in a deep breath and exhales warily.  Stands, opens the top of a bench seat and takes out a roll of gaffer tape.  Much like duct tape, only it doesn't leave a sticky residue when it's removed.  He quietly moves inside and to the master lounge where Gina is not only sound asleep but has rolled onto her back with the sheet having fallen away slightly.  He stares at her half-naked body.  Shrugs his shoulders.  Exhales thoughtlessly.

Pisces tears off several pieces of the gaffers tape.  Leans over and pulls the sheet the remainder of the way down so Gina is entirely uncovered.  Then scrutinizes her for a moment as he sits.  She hasn't moved, nor does she now.  He softly grips her ankles, pauses, then pulls her legs together.

He mutters, "A first for her," and grins.  She is unconscious.  Too much brandy late tonight, and too many vodka martinis before and after dinner.  Pisces grasps her two wrists and folds them over her abdomen.  No hint of a reaction from her.

He quickly tapes her ankles together, then her wrists.  Then carefully the same with her knees.  Pisces dwells a moment, watching.  Next he manages to work another piece of tape under her waist and up and over both arms slightly below her elbows.  He does the same across her chest.  She takes on the appearance of a mummified Cleopatra.   Gina stirs, but only with a slight movement of her head to the side.  He takes another piece of the tape, quickly and tightly places it over her mouth and nose, and pinches it tight at her nostrils.  Then quickly presses the tape securely in place with both hands.  Hurriedly pulls the sheet up, clamps it down across her breasts, and pins her shoulders to the bed.  He leaps on top, straddling her at the thighs.

Her eyes snap open as she turns her head from its side.  Tries to raise it, and does an inch or two, neck straining.  She can move nothing else.  Eyes bulge in terror.  She thrashes like a hooked carp on a dock.   Knees violently attempt to move but can't.  Her head snaps from side to side. She gasps for air that won't come.  The struggle devours her oxygen and drains her allowable time to remain breathless. Then abruptly the struggle stops.  Eyes go blank.  Her body no longer straining.  It's limp.   A patched and taped rag doll.

Pisces holds her in this position.  Sitting, insensitive as a giant boa squeezing the life from its prey.  After several minutes he slides off Gina, pulls the sheet down, stares at her, then checks for a pulse.  There is none.  He stands, wipes his brow with his forearm.  Takes a few steps backward and sits in the now righted chair, to collect his thoughts.  
That was easy enough
.

Miles later, Gina lays lifeless.  Skin tone and texture changed to resemble a porcelain figurine.  Pisces stands, moves to the bed, and carefully pulls off the tape.  Picks-up his once gorgeous maid and foolhardy lover, carries her to the after-deck and unceremoniously drops her into the deep.

He mutters, "Sleep well.  Nothing personal."  Expressionless he watches her body slip ghost-like beneath the surface, drifting with the unseen current.  If found, a nameless, intoxicated, careless yacht traveling beauty.

Pisces rushes below and gathers up all Gina's belongings from every boat space where she might have left some personal article or a piece of clothing.  He carries them from each closet, drawer, cabinet and shelf to her suitcase laid open on his bunk.  When done he takes it to the after-deck, makes several gashes in the leather with a galley knife and drops it over the side.

Roberto Catalano saunters into the master salon.  Has another brandy, lights a cigar and thinks of the woman of his dreams.
Chiarina.
 

 

CHAPTER 18

 

"The faster you finish the fight,

the less shot you will get."

A gunfighter's rule

 

 

After another tour of the alley and the back of the hotel, Marnee doesn't find Reis or a clue of his whereabouts much less existence.  During her search she checked the dumpster knowing it would be empty, but longing for some shred of evidence.  Only in its emptiness was there hope, but in reality it was dark.   Marnee returns to her room and calls Itzak Levi and Namir Dayan, her two Mossad compatriots in Pisa.  After explaining the entire course of events, including the dumpster facts, she is told by Itzak, the Team Leader of the group, that Reis is most likely dead.  Further that before his body turns up, she needs to be gone.  

She is instructed to check out of the hotel.  Take everything belonging to Reis out of the room and return to Pisa immediately.  Itzak tells her that he will take care of notifying headquarters, and they will deal with the consulate in Rome.  Further, if per chance Reis is alive, he will find his way back here or home.  Itzak adds, "Unfortunately, I don't believe that to be the case.  Mossad Headquarters will get some people out to the dump and throughout Rapallo."

Marnee listens, and after a few more questions of her by Itzak she moans, "I cannot make myself believe I should leave without Reis.  Either alive or with his body."

Itzak sighs, "Marnee, Reis is dead.  And Rocco DeStefano also made you.  Reis' body has been dumped, probably in the dumpster, and it has been emptied.  This is not a first for us.  DeStefano killed him, then got rid of his body.  If he had the time he would have killed you as well, or tried.  He didn't for whatever reason.  He fled.  You need to get back here.  We need to find Rizzo, get what we need and put him to death if necessary."

"Yes, yes.  I agree."

"Good."  Then in his native language,
"Savlanut."
  Continuing he says, "As the proverb tells us.  'The only truly dead are those who have been forgotten.'  Reis is not forgotten."  Then back in Italian, "He will lead us to Rizzo, and then to Pisces.  We will find Pisces and kill him for what he did in Jerusalem, and we will kill Rocco for what he did to Reis.  Understand?"

After a pause, she responds.  "I do. Yes,
savlanut
, patience. You are right.  I will be out of here shortly.  In Pisa in a few hours.  
Shalom.
"

She places the phone in the cradle and goes about packing.  Everything.  Hers, his, and all in her bag to include his knapsack.  Looks around the room, checking.  Itzak's quote reminds her of another.  
When you have no choice, mobilize the spirit of courage.
  Her thought fades and she retreats to the lobby and checks out.  The clerk is different, but it looks as if the chatter about her has at least made the rounds of the help, if not management.  It makes no difference.   

The valet brings the car.  He is an older man but it is obvious the lady is known  curbside as well.  The man is all polite smiles, knowing or otherwise.

Marnee climbs into the rental car, screeches and bumps away on the cobblestone street, her mind on Pisa.  
Will do it myself
.

 

 

It's early morning, much before dawn when Rocco and Adrianna return to Pisa and the hotel.  They go immediately to their suite seen only by the night clerk and a half-asleep bellhop.  The latter is summoned to carry Adrianna's bags, crammed full from her shopping in Rapallo.

In the suite she does not unpack.  Simply has the half-awake bellhop drop the newly purchased suitcases on both bag racks at the foot of the bed.  Rocco tips the bellboy as Adrianna dashes to the bathroom.  As the young man leaves, Rocco hangs the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the outside handle, closes and latches the door.  Then, pulling off his shirt he saunters to the bathroom as well.  Both freshen up and when finished, come out together, stripping off clothes and dropping them on top of the bulging luggage on the racks.  They clamor into bed, Adrianna's insatiable appetite needing nourishment.  For her, everything is like it's a finale, or the first time after an enforced prolonged absence.

Adrianna knows nothing for sure, but suspects something.  For her, life simply goes on and she must have Rocco.  And hold on to him.  To her, he is whatever he is.  For her, he is life, a good one at that and she's aware her sands are ebbing.

Finally, with both appetites feverishly nourished, they turn onto their backs content and exhausted.  Both pull up the sheet.  One knows what is ahead; the other does not, but is buoyant.

For Rocco, everything is clear.  He's on familiar terms with his job and goes about it without emotion.  He always has ever since he's been with Pisces, or Robert Camack, or Roberto whomever, to include, now, Catalano.  It's his only life.  Before his home was in the streets and alleys of Rome and Calabria.  Now his home is in villas and on verandas, however the nature of his work is in and about the social cesspools of the world. Today he will find Antonio Rizzo, deal with him, and go home to Pisces.  Adrianna will be left behind with promises of his return and money to spend.  He will have her dealt with in time if necessary, and who knows, back at the villa perhaps Pisces will be occupied with this new woman and leave his scraps, Gina, to him.  Willed so to speak.  Certainly nothing akin to what Bruno discovered.  Only if Pisces makes her his gift.  If not, there are always others.  Something new from Taormina.

 

 

Hunter pays the tab at the
Cecconis,
leads Lady Sally outside and hails a taxi.  Says to the cabbie, "Heathrow.  Air France terminal."

Dee responds, "Heathrow.  Where the ... what the hell?"

"We're going to Geneva," in softer tones so the driver can't hear, "and we'll travel separately but on the same flight."  He turns his head quickly to check behind the taxi.  Nothing.   "We'll stop long enough there for me to get some more ID's and money.  Also I will take you to the Rue du Rive.  Great shops, best in Europe.  Hell, window shopping there is practically an international sport."

"Shop for what?"

"Clothes.  Surely you've guessed?  We're not going back to the hotel.  For both of us, but particularly you."

"Then what?"

Hunter, keeping his voice low, says, "Take the next step.  We'll talk about it later.  First things, first.  Get out of London without our two friends having a clue.  Nor anyone else.  The Israelis lost us and are probably back at The Cavendish.  And there was someone else.  Looked like one of our assets.  They'll realize in a few hours that something is awry, but it'll be too late.  We'll be gone."