The St. Tropez Lonely Hearts Club (40 page)

‘Four years they did it to me – all of them, the scum of humanity. Guards too. I was so pretty – too fucking pretty,’ he said bitterly. ‘I tried to kill myself – twice. That’s when Robbo here came in. He was connected, so he managed to keep the pervs who were shoving their dicks and other stuff into my ass night and day away from me.’

‘How so?’ Fabrizio was thinking what he could yell at Siri . . .
Call Lara
? He didn’t know if he had Lara on this phone. Maybe he did, but what could she do? She was probably sozzled on vodka by this time. Vanessa? She’d never take a call from him, and if Jonathan saw it he would probably happily come to help Roberto. Betty? She was on the high seas anyway. ‘Call Police’. That’s it. I’ll keep yelling ‘Call Police’ – perfectly normal when you’re about to get killed, even if it was strangely phrased.

‘Because I’m a
very
powerful man,’ said LoBianco proudly, ‘and I have
very
powerful friends, both on the outside and on the inside. A few threats, a few promises, and François’s abuse stopped.’

‘Yeah, we became bosom buddies,’ laughed François. ‘Then we plotted this scam. Roberto wanted to create a big resort on this Saint-Sébastien place that he had bought. He needed the high rollers and big spenders from Saint-Tropez to buy villas and apartments, but he couldn’t figure out how to manage it, until he met me.’

‘Yes, François came up with the idea of frightening everyone off. I had tried for years to figure out how to get people away from Saint-Tropez and over to my island, and François’s simple cunning mind came up with the solution in seconds. So we started with a “dress rehearsal” – poisoned oysters. All we wanted was to create panic, but we exceeded our expectations when Mina dropped dead.’

‘Yeah, and we had no idea the one who dropped would be one of the biggest singers in the world,’ François shrugged. ‘Who knew the combination of a tainted oyster, botulism and her own allergy would have such an instant result? Well, accidents happen, eh?’ He snickered.

‘The queer guy was easy,’ laughed François, continuing. ‘He fancied me so it was “Hey, you wanna hang out at my place and smell the roses?”’ He mimicked a bizarre limp-wristed sashay. ‘I was going to shiv him but when I got there and saw all those wasps I thought of a trick I learned at Baumettes when they want to end someone. They stick a razor in your food and you swallow it. There were plenty of wasps in that garden – and there was the can of soda he was gulping. It was no problem, trapping one of the critters that had perched on the can, then shoving it in while he wasn’t looking. Wasps! They’re so stupid they just sit inside the can swimming around, so when the faggot took a deep gulp . . . God, you should have seen his face. It was comical! I should have taken a picture.’ He laughed hysterically.

‘It was brilliant,’ LoBianco snorted, laughing along with him. ‘You’re a genius, François.’

Fabrizio laughed hollowly along with them, but his thoughts were far away from the hilarity the three men shared.
When do I do it? When?
he thought frantically. He only had one chance and it had to be perfect. He hoped it would work, because shortly after he did it, he would either be dead or as close to death as he could ever be. He found himself laughing alone, the three men staring at him curiously.

He recovered quickly. ‘And the funicular?’ he asked. ‘How’d you manage that?’

‘You don’t need to be a brain surgeon to figure out how to screw up a funicular,’ said François.

‘We hoped to kill the old actress – that would have had great press, but we had to settle on that pouf assistant of hers,’ explained Roberto. ‘We tried again with the chocolate-box bomb we sent her, but it killed her maid instead. That Silvestri bitch must have used up all her nine lives by now.’

‘Yeah, we didn’t get enough press coverage on that,’ agreed François. ‘The bomb on the boat was good, though. That made up for it. You couldn’t move for the media.’

‘That was great,’ laughed LoBianco.

‘But why kill the two girls?’ asked Fabrizio, panicked that they were tiring of recounting their exploits.

‘We needed a biggie. You know the press. They were getting bored – bigger things were happening in other places and we still weren’t getting the right fear effect. People kept wondering if they were pranks and the deaths accidental. We needed to make a definite statement to finally scare the residents out of Saint-Tropez. It was collateral damage. They were all low-lifes and sluts anyway! But boy, did I have fun with those two skanks before I throttled them,’ he laughed. ‘They were up for anything. The two of them gave me a really great sex show, then I brought Roberto in with me and a giant black dildo,’ he giggled. ‘It’s called “Steely Dan”.’

Fabrizio felt sick at the perversion of these men. He didn’t want to hear any more but he had to buy time and François seemed happy to brag about every sordid detail.

‘Yeah, I fucked them with Steely – they screamed like the little pigs they were. Then when they were all worn out and begging for mercy, I gave it to them.’

‘What,’ Fabrizio gulped, still working his fingers towards his phone, ‘did you give to them?’

‘Mercy, you schmuck! I put them out of their misery – we both did!’ He laughed at the memory of the horror he had inflicted on the beautiful girls and all the men chortled.

‘Okay, I guess it’s about time to say
adieu
, Fabrizio.’ François lifted his gun and pointed it towards their prisoner.

‘CALL POLICE!’ screamed Fabrizio as he held down the home button on his phone. ‘CALL POLICE! CALL POLICE! CALL POLICE!’

‘What the fuck are you screaming for? No one’s going to hear you down here,’ barked Guido, who spoke for the first time.

‘Calling emergency services,’ a disembowelled electronic voice replied.

‘You motherfucker!’ François suddenly realised what Fabrizio was doing and dropped the gun to his side. ‘Search him, Guido.’

They quickly untied Fabrizio’s hands and found the phone strapped to his spine. François grabbed it and stamped on it until it smashed, then punched Fabrizio in the face.

‘Now you’ve done it, asshole.’

As soon as Captain Poulpe received the forensic results back from analysing the tiny glittering object Carlotta had discovered under LoBianco’s bed, it was all systems go. The sequin had traces that matched the nail lacquer that Sin had worn. Not enough to go to court with, given how the sequin had been found, but at least enough to start building a case and make LoBianco the prime suspect. At least they didn’t have to waste time on anyone else.

‘Let’s go pay him a visit,’ said Poulpe. ‘Looks like he’s our man.’

He walked rapidly to the police car followed by Gabrielle and two other gendarmes. They sped up the dark hilly streets and, when they were three blocks away, they heard the police dispatcher announce, ‘Reports of disturbance at Villa L’Orangerie, Cap Tahiti. All units respond.’

‘That’s Roberto LoBianco’s villa,’ cried Gabrielle.

‘What was that?’ asked Carlotta.

Nick and she were now lovingly entwined on her terrace, admiring the almost full moon. She was still glowing in the aftermath of the most wonderful lovemaking she had ever experienced, feeling warm, safe and thoroughly amorous.

‘Did you hear that? It sounded like someone screaming from next door.’

‘Yes,’ Nick replied, jumping up. ‘I’d better find out. That pervert LoBianco could be hurting one of his hookers.’

Before Carlotta could object he was racing across the terrace, and just as he got to LoBianco’s lawn he saw two men coming out of the house, carrying a body between them.

François and Guido held the semi-conscious Fabrizio up between them, while dragging him outside towards LoBianco’s car.

‘Get him the fuck out of here, and kill him somewhere else!’ LoBianco had hissed at them. ‘I don’t want any trace of Bricconni in my house. Get him out of here
now
! I’ll clean up. Hurry the fuck up!’

Suddenly Guido and François saw a figure in a flowing white terry-cloth robe flying towards them.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ yelled Nick, recognising the unconscious Fabrizio. ‘What’s going on here, for Christ’s sake? Put him down now – I mean
now
!’

‘Get the fuck out of our way,’ warned François. He pointed his Glock pistol at Nick. ‘Fuck off, Nick, or you’re gonna get hurt. Get out of here, asshole – I’m warning you.’

No way, buddy
, Nick thought, then bending low, he ran towards them in zigzags as he had learned in Afghanistan, when reporting during battles. François fired several shots in his direction but Nick managed to take cover behind a stone pillar.

François and Guido continued dragging Fabrizio’s body down the grassy slope that led to the pool area and the carport. Nick followed them, yelling to Carlotta, who had run after him.

‘Go back and call the police right now, Carlotta,
call them
!’

Carlotta ran back into the house for her phone. As she called the police and tried her best to describe what was happening, she watched in terror as she saw Nick positioning himself to . . .
what on earth was he doing?

Nick had skirted a low hedge around to the edge of the pool, on the blind side of Guido and François, who were busy trying to drag Fabrizio’s limp body down the slope. He launched himself in a rugby tackle worthy of a professional, praying that gravity would do the rest. It did.

I’ve just agreed to marry a lunatic
, Carlotta said to herself as she watched helplessly.

The four men tumbled down the grassy hill towards the pool, which was glimmering in the moonlight, when suddenly LoBianco lumbered out of the house and ran to the middle of the slope.

‘Stop it or I’ll shoot, motherfuckers!’ he yelled as the three men recovered and stood up groggily. François pointed his Glock at Nick, while Guido picked Fabrizio up. Then they heard the police sirens approaching.

LoBianco, sweating profusely, realised he was in deep shit. He quickly did calculations in his mind about how to minimise the damage. François had spilled the beans to Fabrizio, who knew everything now. But he was the only witness. He had to shut him up permanently, otherwise he was ruined. If he killed him, his lawyers could argue that Fabrizio was an intruder who had startled Roberto, who had shot him involuntarily. Guido and François would back him up. He had no choice.

He raised his gun and fired at Fabrizio twice. Guido, startled, jumped back. Fabrizio’s body convulsed and he fell to his knees, then tumbled into the pool, his blood turning the water dark around him.

‘Jesus Christ, Roberto’s gone fucking insane!’ yelled Guido, scrambling across the grass to get to his car. ‘He’s killed him in front of a fucking witness!’

‘Oh, I don’t think so . . .’ said François, as he watched LoBianco take aim at Nick Stevens’s heart. Carlotta screamed, making LoBianco and François turn. The realisation now that he had a third witness to deal with was written all over LoBianco’s face.

‘What’s the stupid prick think he’s going to do? Kill half of Saint-Tropez in one night?’ muttered François.

Just then Gabrielle Poulpe’s voice rang out.

‘FREEZE, POLICE! PUT YOUR WEAPON DOWN OR I’LL SHOOT!’