All He Saw Was the Girl (38 page)

    "Someone
broke in last night," Angela said. "My father has tightened
security."

    The
guards recognized Angela, opened the gates and moved the car and now they were
on a pea-gravel driveway that wound through the woods to the villa. Angela
parked on the circular drive in front of the house. She turned off the car and
looked at McCabe.

    "What
are you going to say to him?"

    "I'll
think of something," McCabe said.

    "You're
not giving me a lot of confidence." She looked concerned. "I want to
help you but this is business. You have to do it or my father will not respect
you."

    They
got out of the car and the front door opened and there was Mauro, the
bodyguard. He greeted Angela in a shy formal way. She didn't introduce McCabe
and he didn't say anything.

    Mauro
led them through the house to a big room that looked like a museum with all the
paintings and statuary. McCabe recognized the don from the night he had seen
him outside Al Moro. The man got up from his desk, moving across the room, gray
styled hair, black designer glasses and a blue dress shirt with gold cuff
links, and a gold watch that looked expensive. He approached Angela, kissed her
on both cheeks. He didn't smile but McCabe could see that he liked her. There
was affection in his eyes behind the stern gaze.

    "You
hear about Joey?" The don frowned. "My sister loses her husband and
now this."

    "Have
you told her?"

    The
don shook his head.

    "Where
is he?"

    "Rebibbia,"
the don said. "The lunatic pulls a gun in Stazione Termini. He is out of
his mind, crazy."

    "I
never thought he was very smart," Angela said. "What can you
do?"

    "I
agree with you, but he is my responsibility."

    "Are
you going to use your influence?"

    "What
influence?" The don flashed a grin.

    They
stood staring at each other until Angela glanced at McCabe.

    "This
is the friend I was telling you about."

    Don
Gennaro turned and looked at him now for the first time.

    "Nice
to meet you," McCabe said, offering his hand, but the don looked away, his
attention back on Angela.

    "He
has to talk to you," Angela said. "Listen to him, will you? I'll wait
in the salon." She gave McCabe a quick glance and walked out of the room.

    Now
the don focused his attention on him, and McCabe had to admit this gray-haired
old dude made him nervous. He was about to say, you owe me sixty thousand
euros, but decided he'd better be a little more diplomatic. He could see Mauro
about fifteen feet away, watching him. "Roberto Mazara gave
you some money," McCabe said. "But it was
not his to give. The money belongs to me and I need it back." He thought
that summed it up pretty well.

    The
don stared at him, studying him. "Who are you, come into my house, talk to
me this way?"

    McCabe
shifted his weight, took a breath, thinking it couldn't be going any worse.
Walk out right now don't say another word. He looked past the don at the
paintings and sculptures behind him. "Forgive me, Don Gennaro. I have
nothing but respect for anyone with such an impressive collection of art."

    The
don eased up, let out a breath, seemed to relax a little.

    McCabe
looked at the wall. "Is that
Madonna and Child?"
He had seen
photos of it, created in marble relief.

    The don
moved toward it and McCabe followed.

    "Do
you know who did it?"

    "Desiderio."

    The
don looked at him and nodded.

    Next
was a bronze porphyry sarcophagus by Verrochio, and an early Renaissance
sculpture of David the shepherd boy who killed Goliath. McCabe had seen earlier
versions, knew the distinctive style. "Donatello, of course."

    Carlo
Gennaro grinned. "What is your opinion of this one?"

    "It's
a Tintoretto," McCabe said. "Unmistakable." It was a
Quattrocento action figure stroked out of charcoal, conveying so much energy
and emotion. "I wouldn't mind having it in my collection."

    "You
have a collection?" The don perked up.

    "Five
days ago I was a student."

    "What
are you now?"

    "A
former student."

    There
was a glint in the don's eye.

    "And
this one?" He pointed to a painting.

    McCabe
knew it. "Bronzino's
Allegory with Venus and Cupid.
Commissioned by
Cosimo de' Medici and given it to King Francis I of France. But it's supposed
to be in the National Gallery in London."

    The
don smiled. He seemed amused. "Do you understand its meaning?"

    "It's
a male allegory of syphilis," McCabe said. "Look to the right, you
see the face of a beautiful girl, but she's really a monster with a serpent's tail
and the legs and claws of a lion."

    The
don's expression was serious for a beat until he broke into a grin.

    Don
Gennaro said, "No, I do not think so. The winged creature is Father Time.
Look. He pulls back the drape to reveal Cupid kissing his mother and touching
her breast, while Jest or Folly toss roses on the incestuous pair." He
paused. "Look here," he pointed, "you see the female allegory of
jealousy."

    McCabe
decided not to disagree, tell him it was the old- fashioned interpretation, or
tell him the painting was a reproduction.

    'How
did you do?" Angela said as they walked out of the villa and she closed
the door.

    "I'm
making progress," McCabe said.

    She
stopped and looked at him. "What does that mean?"

    "He's
talking to me," McCabe said. "We discussed his art collection."

    "Did
you ask for the money?"

    "I
did."

    "And?"

    "He
got mad." "What a surprise."

    "Then
things were going good and I didn't want to blow i McCabe paused. "But
your father invited me to come back." "What do you mean?"

    "He's
getting a painting he wants to show me." "So you're going to give it
another try, uh?" "We'll see how it goes," McCabe said.

    Special
thanks to Jeff Posternak, my stateside agent, and Charles Buchan from Wylie UK,
Angus Cargill for his fine editorial direction, Katherine Armstrong for her
astute project editing, Mattia Carratello for his keen knowledge of ancient
Rome, and Gregg Sutter for his research on the US Secret Service.