Ded Reckoning (38 page)

Hunter keeps her under  subtle observation as he tells this lovely American couple of sights they should visit tomorrow, seemingly struggling with his English from time to time, and loud enough for his voice to carry several tables.  The couple leaves as the waiter returns.  Hunter orders another Carricante in faultless Italian.  Then adds, "And one, whatever she having, for the," pointing, "lady."   The waiter nods, smiles and leaves.

Several minutes pass until the waiter returns with Hunter's glass of wine.  Serves it, and with a smug grin departs with his tray and the lady's Chianti.

Hunter watches the delivery and the momentary dialogue.  The woman turns enough to meet his eyes, accepts the drink from the waiter and nods to Hunter.  No smile, more of a shrug.

When the waiter leaves her table, Hunter stands, drops more than enough lira on the table, and heads for Marnee's table with glass in hand.  He shakes his head.  
She's trouble.  But, better together than tripping over one another
.

Hunter bows slightly, hand on the back of a chair at her table.  Says in perfect Italian, "May I join you?"

In good, but not perfect Italian, Marnee replies, "You're here."

"Join you?"

She nods toward the chair across from her, still with one hand in her lap out of view beneath the table.

Hunter sits, clasps his hands in front of him on the table, and whispers in Hebrew, "Let's cut to the quick."  He sees a glint of shock in her eyes with the language change.  "I'm going to mention two names.  If you nod, I stay and we talk.  If you don't, I leave and you accept this as an insult or a warning."  He removes his hands, putting one on the stem of his glass and the other in his lap.  He hisses, "Pisces."  He stares, watching her eyes, and hands.  Always watch the hands.

Marnee nods, asks in Hebrew. "Have you eaten?  And we can do this in Italian or English."

Hunter responds in Italian.  "Italian is best for now.  English, later."

"Fine.  Do we eat or watch each other's hands?"

Hunter smiles, leaves his hands where they are but says, "Eat.  At The Scogliera, here.  It's extraordinarily good.   And an a la carte menu based on the catch of the day."  He shrugs. "Not mine.  I don't fish."

"For anything?"

They both laugh, remove their lingering hand from their laps and shake hands gently.  She asks, "How long have you been here?"

"Before Pisa ... and before you drove past the villa this afternoon."

"Well, my name is Marnee.  Yours?"

"Alfonse Battaglia."

Marnee gags on her sip of wine at his answer.  Laughs.  "Sure.  Let's finish our wine and we'll leave for dinner but only when you tell me your name.  I don't dine with strangers."

Hunter does.  They finish the last of their wine as they stand and leave the bar for the restaurant as a couple, her arm on his. Both with one hand free.

 

CHAPTER 28

 

"Two rules of unarmed combat.

First, never go unarmed.  And second, bringing a

Jewish girl won't hurt."

 

A special gunfighter's rule

 

 

"Yes, Mister President.  I'm positive.  He's gone, disappeared."  Joe Zachary listens carefully while nodding and replying with the required "Yes, sirs," and "No, sirs," for the Commander-in-Chief during the telephone exchange.

Then after the silence of listening, a firm, "Yes, sir.  He is on target.  On site, and has sent photocopy proof.  And he will bring the original papers when he completes his task."  Another pause.

"Yes, sir.  He's fine."  Zachary listens intently.

"Yes, sir.  There will be two down and the Hawk will return.  I'd bet on it."  A short pause, then, "I know we both are, sir.  And yes, he still likes to be called Hawk."  Joe listens carefully then replies, "I'll find MacBeer.  He's where the money is, or will be, I'm certain."

Several moments pass, then, "Yes, sir, I will as soon as it's completed," and Joe looks at the now silent red phone in his hand.  He's been in MacBeer's office and steps out into the reception area, says to the agent waiting.  "Change the locks.  Bring me the only key.  The 'only' key."  And returns to his office and calls MacBeer's secretary giving her strict instructions to follow at home and when she arrives at the headquarters building.

Then he calls home.  Waits for several rings.  "Ruth, has your gift arrived yet?"  He listens, then, "Well, please don't leave until it does.  Or until I arrive home.  This is important, Ruth."  There is more to her response than 'yes sir, no sir, two bags full sir'.   He listens, then responds. "Yes, he is.  Just fine, now do as I ask.  I have to go."  Click.

He leans back in this chair.  Hands clasped behind his head, thoughts wandering as he thinks about all the years he worked for John MacBeer.  
I'll find your traitorous ass
.

 

 

Hunter and Marnee sit on the terrace of one of the hotel's restaurants.  Perhaps its finest.   The Scogliera.  Most gorgeous women seem to resemble someone.  A Sophia Loren, a Liz Taylor, or a Gina, or a Jane or a Rita.  Someone.  Marnee however has a beauty all her own.  An olive or perfectly tanned complexion and she is wearing soft, pink make-up.  Her beige slacks and matching lightweight jacket, which is now hanging on the back of her chair, accentuate her skin tone. The sheer, white sleeveless blouse her bountifulness.  Her mouth is everything.  Large, full lips but not too much, and the perfection and whiteness of her teeth enhance every murmur, word, grin or full smile.  And although she projects the softness of a woman, she is toned, athletic, hard.  When she first walked in Hunter noted her buns.  Inflated soccer balls.  One could grip them but not leave even a momentary indention.  May even injure the hand.

They've ordered, and are waiting for the waiter to return with their bottle of Malvosia, an amber colored local wine.  Marnee has allowed Hunter to do the ordering to include the dinner.  It will be Taranto Oysters in Trella, an antipasto, basically baked oysters.  And for the entree it will be a Sicilian classic, Tonna Ammuttunatu which is tuna filets, delicately seasoned with mint and served with fresh peas.  

The wine arrives, and the server pours a taste for Hunter.  He takes a sip, savors it, and nods to Marnee.  The wine waiter smiles, pours Marnee only a taste at Hunter's urging.  She does the same, smiles and says to Hunter and an anticipatory waiter, "Lovely".  The attendant pours for both, sets the Malvosia in a bucket and leaves, wringing his hands in delight.  The Malvosia was Hunter's idea, the brand and vintage, the wine waiter's suggestion.  And damn expensive.

The two chat conversationally in Italian, meandering through meaningless topics.  Like a dating couple in love might or two strangers that are struggling not to fall into that abyss but feel themselves hurtling at near terminal velocity.  The restaurant has a trio that plays soft, mellow dinner music throughout the evening.  During the short wait between the antipasto and the entree, Hunter leans close and says, "Although it's difficult under the circumstances, perhaps for the moment we can follow a Hebrew Proverb."

"My goodness.  You and your Hebrew.  What next?"

"Well, the proverb says, 'when you're in a strange city, adopt its manners'.   Familiar with it?"

"Yes," and Marnee gathers herself some, "and many others such as 'when a life is at stake, don't follow the majority.'  It is difficult to release one's self and forget, shall we say, one's job."

"Yeah, you're right.  But you see, I know that we're safe; safe here tonight.  Perhaps not so tomorrow or the next day, or a lifetime.  Whatever ours is to be."

Marnee now relaxes from her gathering episode and slips her hand on top of his on the table.  Glances around out of habit, then smiles and says, "Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.  I heard that or read it somewhere.  Listening to this music, and aware of our situation, brings it to mind."  Hunter jerks his hand away as the waiter arrives with the tuna dish.  Marnee leans back, head slightly cocked to her left, wondering.

They eat in more or less silence.  A few words are exchanged about the excellence of the dish and the wine.  When finished the waiter is there to whisk away the dinnerware, then begins to make a suggestion when Marnee says to Hunter.  "I would like a Limoncello."

"Absolutely.  Sounds great."  He looks at the waiter, "A Limoncello for the lady, and I'll have an apricot brandy."

"Of course," and the server moves swiftly from the table.

Marnee looks at Hunter and murmurs, "The tuna was wonderful, but it seemed to curtail the conversation we had just started, or perhaps thought about."

"Maybe it was the last proverb?"

"Oh, and here I thought it was the hands again?  Or something deeper."

Hunter tenses, then takes in a breath that is hardly perceptible but audible enough for Marnee to have a snatch of a grin begin to form at one corner of her mouth.  For her, that's noticeable and Hunter catches it. He looks directly into her dark brown eyes. Glances around the terrace and the adjoining dining area and bar out of habit.  Takes in a deeper breath, says, "The music is wonderful.  There are a few couples dancing.  Would you like to join them?  I would, but only with you."

"Yes, I would love to."

Hunter gets up quickly, moves to Marnee and they leave hand in hand to the small dance floor by the piano.  They ease together, take a few steps, then draw close, perhaps in the abyss now.  Hunter says, "Well, I guess music does wash away the dust of life, or whatever."

"Yes, and the heart sees better than the eye."  She moves her head slightly back, smiles, "And I'm going to forego the quotes and just listen to the music, take in your scent and feel your heartbeat."  She places one hand on Hunter's chest, and gives him a peck on his cheek, more of a small lip bite.

"You smell wonderful.  Fresh.  Sweet."  Hunter pulls her closer, she melts into his body, virtually one.  
Wow!
 

Marnee brushes her lips on his cheek once again
.  Oh, Lord!
 

 

 

Bradovich and the entire DeLuca family arrive at the boat landing on the Isle of Capri.  They are at varied stages of being red-eyed and all are worn to a frazzle.  Maria greets them with the Limousine arranged for her by the concierge.  It brings them to the hotel where the Night Manager is waiting to facilitate a rapid, already arranged check-in.  The children are exhausted and confused.  The grandparents angry, perplexed, anxious and way over-tired.  The father is enraged but tired enough that he too, like the grandparents, agrees to get some sleep tonight and because of the late hour, well into the morning before any discussion with Maria.  And then after a solid breakfast.  And then perhaps the man Bradovich will be more open and less authoritarian.

When the family is finally settled, asleep if not restfully so, Maria and Bradovich sit in Maria's suite, adjacent to her grandparents.  She offers the detective a seat, says, "Would you like a glass of wine?  A DeLuca Chianti?  It's all I have here in the room."

"Sure.  Would be great."

Maria pours two glasses, hands one to Bradovich and sits next to him on the sofa.  Takes a sip of hers, puts the glass on the coffee table and asks, "Mister Bradovich, Hunter referred to you by your last name only.  What do you prefer I call you?"

"Well, Ms. DeLuca, you can continue to call me Bradovich but Eugene, Gene, or Brad will do.  Whatever suits you.  Some call me son-of-a-vich. My best friends, however, call me Brad."

"I'd like a chance to become one of those.  Brad it is.  How did everything go?

"Ahhh, okay.  Well, actually ... can I take a sip first?"  He does.  "Wow.  Good.  Truly good.  May I call you, Maria?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Sure, that would be nice and I guess that truly qualifies us as best friends.  Now then, Brad, my question?"

"Okay, not so good.  Your dad and grandfather are fuming.  They even think they know nigh on everything, and in the end, blame Hunter for Dee's death.  If he hadn't taken her, or if he had been there, they believe, actually "feel", it wouldn't have happened.  The kids don't know too much but enough to think that Hunter caused their mom's death.  You know they're listening all the time.  To everyone."  He takes another sip of the Chianti, smacks his lips a tad.  "Your grandmother feels the same only but for most part silent about it all.  She's apprehensive.   No, deeply troubled about the children and their future.  No dad and no mom, and they've heard the talk about their mom having Angelo killed.  Your grandmother doesn't say too much, but I believe in the bottom of her heart she knows how deceitful and ghastly Dee has been.  How voracious her greed has been.  But, to her, Hunter drove the stake."

"Oh, Lord.  I knew that.  Or, I know it.  I'm beginning to have trouble with the whole process as well."  She takes another sip.  Looks and sees that Brad's glass is empty.  She nods and points to the glass.

Brad says, "Yeah, if you don't mind.  Love my wine, and this is genuinely good.  And I can use it.  Haven't had a drop, not a sniff, since starting this trip.  Been all eyes, ears and senses. And on edge since this started."  He watches her pour.  Then, "You know, Hunter didn't cause this to happen.  No way.  Dee caused this.  Dee and ... never mind, I'm talking way too much.  But, Hunter is a good man.  The best."

"Well, then it wasn't handled properly."

"Ms. DeLuca, this ..."

"It's Maria.  Please call me Maria."

"Okay, I will.  That's nice.  Soft.  You know, you are a dead rin ..." He flushes, drops his head.  "I'm sorry, I mean you look so much like Dee.  Taller, thinner, more beautiful and still have a great ...damn, I keep  puttin' my big foot in my mouth."

"Dee and I look like twins except for  my height, and age of course."

"You're younger.  Wow.  Well, you know I met, well, I mean I saw Hunter and Dee together on the Coronado Ferry not so long ago.  I thought she was a knockout, but you're completely stunning."  He takes another drink of the wine.  More than a sip, and once again says, "This is good.  I mean, the best."