Ded Reckoning (33 page)

Drago sighs.  Stares at his friend and many-time confederate, and labors through his questions.  "Do I understand you correctly?  You want me to kill, or help you kill some people here?  Then we leave quickly and quietly for Sicily.  There it will only be security?  Bodyguard?  Working for your employer?  And I have your word, that once home, the killing is over?"  

"Yes.  That is it.  You have my word.  And you will be richer than you can imagine."

"Imagine?"

"Well, perhaps not imagine.  But richer than you are, or can expect in your lifetime."

Drago pauses for several moments.  Looks around his small house.  Smiles.  "I will do this for you, Rocco.  Done.  Tell me who, where and when."  He smiles, "Soon I would imagine."

"Yes, soon and, ahhh ... more than a few.  Good, Drago. Downright good.  First, another glass of Chianti to wash the taste and smell of Antonio from me.  Then my plan."

The man rises, grunts, "Yes, Bossa."  

 

 

After her arduous and nerve racking trip, Maria DeLuca arrives at the La Palma Hotel on Via Vittorio Elmanuele III on Capri.  The one that Hunter told her about in his dream.  "Nightmare," she mutters.  "But real now, and gorgeous."  The flights were long.  The meeting with Zachary seemed longer but was brief, succinct and cool.  The flight from Rome to Naples, was a puddle-jumper or more apropos, a vineyard-jumper.  The forty-minute ferry ride across the Bay of Naples was beautiful and refreshing.  Mind clearing in a fashion. The hotel she has learned was first established in 1822, modernized and added to several times over, but its distinctive trademark symbol, the palm tree, remains in front.

The view from her room is breath-taking.  The old town and the sea.  The room like the hotel is grand, and she has been told by an eager Desk Manager of its clientele over the years.  Royals, such as King Constantine of Greece, if one has an interest in such things.  She thinks,
the stars that visited here such as Sophia Loren and Gina Lollobrigida would be of more interest to Hunter than the good King.  
She laughs softly at the thought, then sighs at the reason she is here, Dee, her family.  The man, Hunter, will destroy all that, and yet maybe, possibly provide salvation and restoration in some strange unforeseen way.  

Unpacked, showered, and dressed she again reads the message given to her when she registered.  "Maria.  Don't try to reach me.  I will call late tonight.  Have a nice dinner.  Try Mamma Gemma's.  Ask for directions.  H."

She places the message on the small desk holding the telephone and leaves for da Gemma Ristorante on Via L'Abate.  When she asked of the ristorante Maria was informed by the gentleman at the desk that Mamma Gemma and her husband, Raffaele, started this now famous eatery in the early 1950's.  It's in the historical center of Capri. Its walls are adorned by dozens upon dozens of photographs of famous people, and many not so famous, but all have visited and eaten at this ristorante.  And all have for sure seen the most famous of the photos, that of Mamma Gemma in her famous red apron.

Maria is ushered to a small table in the corner with a wonderful view of the town and the entire room.  When the waiter arrives, Maria asks in her best Italian, "Would you have by chance an American Wine from the DeLuca Reserva?"

The waiter's eyes brighten, pleased with the native language from this new stranger, but more so by the request.  "Oh, yes, of course.  The only one we have.  The family was originally from the Tuscany area and had a wonderful winery there.  We like to think of them as one of our own, or at least Momma Gemma did."  He pauses, then, "You know of this wine?  This family?"

"Yes. I am the granddaughter of Signore and Signora DeLuca.  Maria DeLuca."

The waiter bows graciously, rises, looks around, arms spread palms up and smiles, "Then your first night will be as our guest."  He smiles, shrugs, "I am family.  May I suggest a bottle of the Chianti Reserva?"

Maria nods her head, smiles demurely, and murmurs, "Thank you, Signore.  It will be my pleasure, and the Chianti will be an excellent start to this evening."

The waiter takes Maria's hand, brushes her fingers with his lips, and scurries away to get the wine and notify others of their special guest this evening, and of course bring the Ristoranti's photographer back for a picture of him and Maria DeLuca, for the wall of course.

Maria relaxes, smiles and nods to a few tables of guests who have overheard the waiter's remarks and certainly observed his flamboyant gestures.  Her turmoil hidden in a tourist moment.

I'm here.  Should have brought the escort.  

 
 

CHAPTER 24

 

"Anyone worth shooting

is worth shooting more than once.

Ammo is cheap."

 

A gunfighter's rule

 

The ring of the telephone is a shrill interruption to the peacefulness of the Russo villa.

"
Salve,"
the woman continues in her native language and dialect.  "Signora Russo's residence.  This is Estella."

Rocco replies in same.  "Estella, is Signore Catalano present, please?"

There is a pause, then the soft voice says,
"Questo dipenda?"
 

"Il mio name a' Rocco DeStefano.  Io sono suo amico.  E molto importante."

Another pause accompanied with a sigh.  Then in a husky whisper,
"Attendere un momento."
 

Standing at the wall phone, Rocco drums his fingers on Drago's kitchen counter as moments that seem like hours drag by.  The hurried tedium is broken by Roberto Catalano's harsh voice.  "Rocco, speak to me and be quick."  Then in a bit warmer tone, "I am pleasantly occupied."

"Si. Ciao."  
Rocco continues in his native language.  Easier for him; about the same for Pisces although irritable.  "Antonio and his unfortunate girlfriend are no longer here.  And better, they spoke to no one."

His tone of voice back to harsh and brisk, Catalano replies, "Yes, I know.  Although I have little time to myself here, I have heard the good news on TV."

"What isn't on the news is that the clans have gathered here.  All looking for Antonio, or perhaps me, to lead them home."

"You will not let that happen.  Understood?"

"Yes, it will be so.  To assist I have hired an old friend, the 'Silent One'.  You remember him?  He will help me dissuade the clans and he can be trusted."

"Ahhh, yes. Awfully good, but he's a bit soft in the jowls and more grey in the temples these days.  Yes?"

"Si.
But still excellent and most important, trustworthy."

Roberto Catalano pauses.  One can all but hear his mind shifting through the gears, Low-Low, Low, and finally, Drive.  He asks in a whisper but maintains his coarseness, "And who are these interested clans?"

"The same.  From the north and both dressed poorly.  And of course the constant companions from the Middle East.  They have never forgotten your trip to Jerusalem."

"
Si.
They never forget.  Shit, from the beginning of time they remember." He pauses, then, "But I heard something on the news about them."

"Yes, they are one less.  Now three, at least here.  Probably more coming."

"You have a plan?"

"
Si.  
We will dispense of our friends this evening.  All of them.  And the extraordinarily beautiful lady who is also here.  The mistress of your close friend."

Another pause from the villa on the west coast of Sicily.  Longer than before.  Long enough to cause Rocco to utter, "Bossa?"

"Yes.  I'm here.  The lady.  Ahhh, yes.  Okay.  Do it.  Put an end to all this.  For all time.  Everything to bed, finally.  Then, come home.  Bring the silent one with you, and we'll let him settle in peace and comfort.  With the two, or three, or four of us."  Pisces laughs, then, "And, I have something special for you."

"I will do.  Our friend will be pleased."  A short pause, then, "What is special?  Did it answer the telephone?"

"You will see."  Click

Rocco has learned from experience that Pisces' surprises can be either colossal or fatal.  Most have found the latter to be the case.  Bruno certainly did.  As did Anna.  And before her, many.  He mutters to himself, "And now Gina, I'ma guessin'.  Well, I too have surprises."

Drago comes into the kitchen and grunts, "All finished?  When do we get started?"

"Now."

"Tonight?"

"Of course.  The night is always kind to the silent and the deadly."

"And the swift?" grunts Drago.  He pats his belly.

"Swift enough, and remember, ammo is cheap."

"Yes, a common law in the trade."

 

 

Hunter walks the town.  A reconnaissance patrol in tourist mode and dress.  A tourist sees what they want and expect.  The beauty and the historic.  However, the scout sees all that and more.  The hidden; the darkness; the shadows; and the unexpected.  And he sees it as he will at night.

Taormina is old; is quaint; and many sections are crowded with tourists.  The distance from the Lido Mediterrainee to Pisces' villa is further than Hunter anticipated as it relates in time to traverse on foot.  At patrol's end he spends the remainder of the afternoon observing the villa.  It's beautiful.  Spacious.  A veranda with pool which has a covered sun deck and two uncovered.   Also a four-person Jacuzzi-Spa. Two floors with an attached building with garages.  And only a low stone wall.  A five minute walk to town and no more than a five-minute drive to the beaches.  Can see Etna although it must be 50km's, and from the pool area can see Naxos's beach and the Ionian coast.  Even has what appears to be a wood-burning oven, perhaps for pizzas.  More important there are three servants occupying the quarters above the garage, and no security, at least for now.  Hunter mulls this last observation.  
He wouldn't have needed any if he hadn't made the mistake with the cigar wrapper, and the ordering.  The first, tiny.  The second, fatal.

A few deliveries come and go with ease.  But, seemingly no Pisces.  Through his travels today, Hunter knows that Roberto Catalano's boat, the 98 foot Benitti,
The Sorrento,
is gone and has been for several days.  Gazing at the villa from the late afternoon shadows at the end of the street, Hunter thinks,
The help will be a problem.  They have no place in this.  Only Pisces and his man, Rocco. Possibly his woman if he has one.  Hell, he always has one.  
He pauses again.  Another look, then starts strolling away from this beautiful area of Taormina knowing he will have to change hotels tonight.  As he continues to amble down the hill towards town he thinks of what he has seen.  
The servants.  Two older people and a young lad
.  
Probably a woman somewhere.  And of course Pisces and Rocco when they return.  And they will.  And they will die.  
 

At the bottom Hunter stops, looks back for a moment.  Turns and strides away at a hurried pace.  
I can't avoid this fight, and I may just have to go into a survival mode and clean up the collateral damage, bodies, later.
 

Having returned from his walk-about patrol, Alfonse Battaglia hurriedly checks out of the Lido Mediterrainee hotel claiming he must return home because of an illness in the family.  The valet loads the taxi, Alfonse tips him generously enough to satisfy the young man but not so much as to attract attention.  Then he has the driver leave, appearing to head to Messina and its airport.  Shortly after a few turns, a trip through town, a stop and park to stroll along a street looking for any possible tails, Hunter arrives at his new destination.  The Atahotel Capotaormina on Via Nazioale.  The hotel was founded four years ago and built on top of a cliff.   A short hike to Pisces' villa.  Hunter takes a classic room in lieu of their offerings of an Executive, Superior or a Suite.  He'll draw less attention although all who come here attract some form of notice because of its exquisite nature.  The hotel, established on the top, has lounges and pools down below.  One being a salt water pool located at the tip of the property.  Everything overlooks the exquisite blues of the ancient Bay of Naxos and Mediterranean Sea.  

After a shower and change of clothes, Hunter as Signore Alfonse Battaglia, goes to the hotel's La Scoglura Restaurant for a drink or two and dinner.  He is seated at a table on the terrace highlighted by its stained wood decking and frame, with its bar and other tables on the other side of the glassed wall and sliding door.  The restaurant of course specializes in Sicilian cuisine with the seafood all fresh caught that day.  

Having been served, Signore Battaglia relaxes at his table with a glass of Carricante, a white from the Etna area.  It is mild, not as strong as many other local wines, and will blend nicely with the seafood feast he is entertaining.  And perhaps just one glass of Malvosia with its golden amber color from the island of Li Pari near Messina after dinner.  Then a stroll of the hotel grounds enjoying the view and return to his room, dress for his evening patrol to Pisces' villa, and perhaps inside if the opportunity presents itself.

"Is the Signore ready to order, sir?  We have some excellent choices this evening."

Signore Battaglia feigns surprise of the waiter's arrival and responds in Italian.  "No, not yet, and I know of the choices.  It is a difficult decision.  As is the entire menu, but I may go with one of the choices and let you decide which for me."

"That would be an honor, Signore.  I will think on it long and hard.  In the meantime, just one more glass of the Carricante?"

"
Si."
 

The waiter returns shortly with the wine and leaves Hunter with his thoughts as he sips his Etna wine.

Gotta get inside tonight while it's empty.

And call Joe later.

And Maria ... gotta keep her cool.  She's shaky.  Need to get her some help.

 

 

MacBeer's man has arrived and sits with Dee in the cocktail lounge.  They talk in whispers as the two Irishmen and the two Israelis at opposite ends of the bar separately pretend to be in deep conversation as they watch Dee.  Also with occasional eyeball sweeps of the lounge and lobby area.  The Israelis of course see the Russians.  Sean and Danny Shanahan don't know who they are but saw them and another clumsy pair board the plane late.  And they can't clearly see the man's face who is sitting with the American woman, but they think he may be the man, Kerrigan.  What they do know is that there is more going on than they bargained for, or perhaps want.