Empire of Light (28 page)

“It’s funny you should say that,” the Don says, staring at his empty cup. “Don’t think that I have not thought of this parallel.”

Track Suit relaxes, but shoots me a look that basically says,
watch your stupid mouth.

The Don slowly digs himself out of the trance and looks to the Young Capo.

“
I ragazzi sulla Vespa
,” he asks about the boys on the scooter.
“Chi sono loro?”

From what I can make out, I think the Young Capo tells him that they were probably from another gang.

“
Li Trovi,”
the Don says, ordering him to find them

“
Si Signore.”

The Don reaches in his pocket, pulls out the roll of cash and gently sets it down on the table. He places his hands in his lap and stares at the wad, almost marveling at it.

“If you would’ve kept that money, as just about anybody in your situation would have done, I would’ve killed our little friend over there,” he says as he points at the Courier, who is standing in his own piss. “It wasn’t his first mistake, mind you. After all, I’m not a monster. However, just as sure as the sun sets in the west, he would be dead this very minute. I haven’t seen such an act of benevolence in a very long time. The money is yours.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s yours. Take it.”

“I can’t.”

“Take it. Please don’t insult me.”

I look to Track Suit for advice, whose non-verbal communication skills I’m becoming more impressed with by the minute. This time his eyes say,
just take the damn money before I yank your spine out through your damn throat.

“Oh, I’m taking the money,” I say as I snap that phat roll off the table. “It’s just that I’d really like to have my camera back.”

“You will get your camera back,” the Don says as he gazes at the Young Capo. “I promise that your camera will be on the plane with you as you fly back to America.”

Wow. It looks like the crew is going to be working for me for a couple of days. How ‘bout them apples?

The Don takes a business card from his breast pocket and begins to scribble on its back. “Here is the name of a nice hotel. Give them this card. They will treat you very well.”

“
Grazie
,” I say happily.

He doesn’t respond. He just glares at me, as if he’s snapped back into the murdering thug mode. His game face is back on.

One of the crewmembers picks me up out of the chair by my arm and begins to escort me from the room, but the Young Capo pushes him away.

He wants to be the one to
escort
me from the building.

“Right this way,” he says with a bogus smile.

He rests his hand on my shoulder as he gently pushes me to the exit. Once we get to the door, he opens it with my head and sends me flailing to the ground. I stand up and give him the stink eye, brush the dirt off myself and walk away.

“Wait,” he says, as he jogs up to me and then sticks his finger in my face. “You don’t come here no more. You go to the hotel and when we find your camera
we
will deliver it to
you
.
Hai capito
?” He tosses my credit cards and drivers license onto the ground.

“That’s for saving my little cousin’s life. And one last thing, no more chasing people into alleys. This is Napoli. Wise the hell up!”

***

The
Dimora Sant'Eligio
is not the type of hotel I expected to find. I thought these guys were going to put me up in some dive, but this place is downright cozy.

The young desk clerk is dressed in boarding school garb, wearing a pink striped neck tie and powder blue sweater vest. His beaming smile carries me all the way from the door up to his desk.

“
Ciao, Signore. 
How can I help you?”

“Well, I don’t have a reservation, but I have this.”

I hand him the card.

“
Bene, Signore. 
May I have your passport please?” he says, immediately understanding the situation.

“So, how much are the rooms in this place?” I ask.

“Your money is no good here,” he says, handing me my key. “Enjoy your stay.”

I enter my room and am immediately impressed at how elegant the joint is, the best I’ve stayed in since I’ve been in Europe.

I inhale the spaghetti the clerk had sent up from the kitchen. I take a toasty shower and before I know it, I find myself staring at my hotel’s comfy bed. I’m so happy I could cry.

I throw my towel on the floor and dive between the covers.

What a day.

Jesus, what a day.

WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!

Shit.

A barking dog, the ringtone I set for Giacomo.

“
Pronto,” 
I say sleepily into the phone.

“Hey. Where you at? I’m coming to pick you up. Wear something dark.”

Ugh.

That’s not good.

Dark clothes and Giacomo equals shadiness.

I guess I should leave my yellow coat in the room.

I’m about to experience Napoli at night.

20 

What’s Italian for “Felony?”

GIACOMO DOES TO A 
girl’s heart what an Icebreaker does to mile-long slabs of Lake Erie ice in January; it crushes through it and leaves a jagged path of destruction in its wake. Also like those giant hulled ships, his primary purpose is not to actually annihilate, but simply to move forward to the next port of call.

Back in Cleveland, I’d make a point to never call any of his girlfriends by name for no other reason than because I couldn’t keep their damn names straight. I referred to them all simply as
Kiddo
or
Babe
or some other bullshit so I wouldn’t accidentally drop dime on Giacomo’s mad pimpin’ skills.

Remember that GQ model who played Molly Ringwald’s dream hunk, Jake Ryan, in
Sixteen Candles
?Take that guy’s good looks, add a shot of the cool art school vibe, a jigger of bohemian intellect, a dash of the Italian charm and then shake with crushed ice and serve. Congrats, you’ve just made a tall glass of
Giacomo
. Drink heartily, you greedy bitches.

Back in the day, Giacomo and I would hit the clubs, and he’d creep on some smokin’ girl sitting at the bar. If I were lucky, she’d have a cute friend that would give me a blowjob for no other reason than to stay close to Giacomo. It was like drafting in car racing; the girl would utilize my slipstream just to stay in striking distance of the leader.

As I walk out of the hotel, I find Giacomo sporting a brand new Audi TT convertible, gecko green metallic, maroon interior with the soft-top down.

Damn.

The ride looks just perfect atop the wet volcanic stone streets of Napoli. It figures that Giacomo would have his life production-designed so well.

“What? You’re not going to get out of the car to say hello?” I ask sarcastically as I head over.

“Stop being a bitch and get in the car,” he says, pounding my first,
wassup.
“Nice black eye.”

The shotgun seat is occupied by a guy who looks like he’s seen his fair share of the Napoli nightlife. I hop in the back as this clown sits confidently in the front wearing retro 80s preppy attire, Ray Ban shades and a lime green Polo shirt with the collar popped. He looks back at me suspiciously, as if he’s pissed I’m coming along or something.

Giacomo was my friend first, you dick
.

“This is Rocco. He’s my grip tonight. Rocco, this is my old friend Jason. Jason will be my gaffer,” Giacomo explains as he pulls into traffic.

“
Piacere
!” I say to Rocco, holding my hand out.

Rocco smirks at my way too enthusiastic greeting. He barely grasps my hand, cautiously shaking it as if I’m an ebola patient. “
Piacere
. And welcome to Napoli,” he says, his sarcasm dripping through a heavy accent.

They both share a gaze and smile at my expense, knowing I got rolled by this town my first day here.

From the back seat, I pull out my fat roll of cash and hold it out between them.

“Thanks, Rocco. The town’s been good to me so far.”

We hit a stoplight and they both look down at the huge ball of euro I’m holding out for the entire world to see.

“OHHHH!” they both scream as they push my hand back down below the line of sight.

“Are you crazy flashing cash like that around here? Put that back in your pocket!” Giacomo orders. “Where did you get all that money anyway?”

“I got it from the gang that jacked me,” I say sitting back in my seat.

“And how did you manage that?” Giacomo asks.

“What the hell do you care?” I reply as coldly as possible. “It’s none of your business. Thanks for the help, by the way.”

“Looks like you didn’t need it. Dinners on you?” Giacomo smirks.

I don’t have a blood brother, but I get the drama those idiots go through, the love-hate of it all. Giacomo is my boy, but right now it’s taking all of my strength to stop myself from punching him in the back of his mellon head.

Having said that, it’s nice to be chillin’ in my home boy’s convertible. As the cool air from the Gulf of Napoli spills into the back seat and swirls beneath my shirt, for the first time since I landed in Napoli, I feel like I’m on vacation again. Even him busting my balls feels like home. Still, I’d love to move beyond this sibling rivalry bullshit and be straight up buds, like when we were kids.

Before we arrive at RAI TV studios, Giacomo makes a point of closing the soft top and parking on the opposite side of the road. Out of site of the studio’s guard.

This can’t be good.

Giacomo works for the Naples branch of RAI TV. He snagged the job after interning for the American office in NYC, just under a year ago. His Italian and video skills were so damn good that they hired him as soon as his semester of slave servitude was done. Oh, and he gave his boss the screwing of her natural born life almost nightly. So I guess that helped, too.

“One of my generators fell through,” Giacomo says calmly. “So we have to borrow a production van from work.”

He’s all too calm for my comfort.

TV production vans are equipped with massive amounts of broadcast equipment, including a built in generator. The vehicles are state-of-the-art and worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. They are no joke.

“We’re going to steal this van, aren’t we?” I ask.

“Yes,” Giacomo and Rocco say at the same time.

It’s when witnessing an Italian felony operation, like the one in progress right now, that you begin to understand why the Roman Empire once ruled the world. You also realize that maybe the Empire fell by design, a ruse for the Italians to fall back under the radar and let some other country be the lightning rod for a bit.

Giacomo dials a number over the car’s bluetooth phone system.

“
Pronto
?” a female voice glides from the speaker system, enveloping the car with her sweet voice.

“
Ciao, Romina. Sei pronta?
”
Are you ready?

“
Certo
,” she responds. “
Un momento.
”

“
Va bene. Ciao.
”

And with that the plan goes into action.

“When you see the guard leave his station, blink the headlights,” Giacomo orders me before he and Rocco hop out of the car and walk in the direction of the studio building.

Inside, a very cute babe in very tight jeans, I assume the owner of the voice I just heard, arrives behind the guard and seductively, playfully, runs her fingers across his fat shoulders, causing him to spin and face her. He looks very excited to see the girl, and I don’t blame him. The dame is a straight-up burger.

With the guard’s back now to the parking lot, Rocco ducks underneath the gate and scampers in the direction of a herd of glistening, expensive production vans as Giacomo enters the building through the front door.

The girl has transfixed the bewildered guard with her charm and absolutely crushing curves. Like the obiendiant dog that he is, he throws caution to the wind, abandons his station and follows the honey down the hall to parts and adventures unknown.

This is my cue.