Man on Fire (17 page)

He didn't push himself. He was experienced and knew that his body needed time. To move too fast would be counterproductive.

They let him into the garden and he walked a little each day, with his shirt off, and the sun warming his back between the bandages.

He was popular with the nurses and staff. Not bothering them unnecessarily and undergoing all the indignities of being an invalid quietly and without fuss. Also they had nursed him back from the very edge of death, and that made him special.

He had given one of the nurses some money and she brought him all the newspapers covering the period since the kidnapping. Later she was able to borrow copies of newspapers going back many months. He asked her for a notebook and this gradually filled with his jottings.

He had had only one visitor and that was a surprise. Late one evening Signora Deluca was shown in, carrying a bag of fruit. She had stayed half an hour and talked of Pinta and had cried a little. He found himself comforting her. Of all her children, she had said, it had to be Pinta. She had dried her tears and looked at him with kindly eyes. She had heard the talk, that he was not a real bodyguard, had just been for show. But she knew of his affection for the girl. She asked him what he would do, and he had shrugged and told her he had no plans. But she had been puzzled. He seemed assured and at ease. Not what she had expected. Finally she had kissed his cheek and left.

He began to go to the physiotherapy room, gently exercising and swimming in the heated pool. They gave him small spring exercisers for his hands and, as he walked around the garden farther each day, he squeezed them constantly, feeling the strength returning to his fingers.

After a month the doctor told him his recovery was excellent-beyond expectation. He thought another week would be enough.

He spent most of that week in the physiotherapy department, using the full range of equipment.

When he left the hospital he was still weak and a long way from fit, but his body functioned in all aspects.

The doctor and matron and several nurses wished him good-bye and good luck and received his thanks. They stood at the steps and watched him walk down the drive, suitcase in hand.

"A strange man," the matron had commented.

The doctor agreed. "He has much experience of hospitals."

The train pulled into the Naples central station and Creasy tipped the steward and followed the crowd out into the Piazza Garibaldi. He quickly found a taxi.

"Pensione Splendide," he told the driver, reaching forward to turn on the meter. The driver cursed under his breath. He hadn't had a real tourist yet and it was June already.

The taxi arrived as Pietro pulled up in the van after his morning's visit to the market. He looked Creasy up and down, and they shook hands.

"How do you feel?"

"OK. Let me give you a hand with those baskets."

Guido was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, when they walked in.

"Qa va, Guido." He put a basket on the table.

"Qa va, Creasy." Guido studied him carefully and then stood up and they embraced.

"You don't look half bad. They patched you up well."

"Good mechanics up there," Creasy answered, and they both smiled at words often used before.

It was after dinner when the two men talked at length, sitting out on the terrace in the warm night. To Creasy it seemed a long age since he had last sat there.

He quietly explained to Guido what he intended to do. He did not invoke moral issues. It was not a question of justice-a crime to be punished.

Anyway, Guido knew him too well for that. It was simply revenge. They had killed someone precious to him. He would kill in turn.

"An eye for an eye?" asked Guido quietly.

Creasy shook his head slowly and said with great emphasis, "More than that. More than an eye. Every bloody piece of them."

"You were really fond of the girl!" It was half-question, half-statement.

Creasy thought carefully before answering. He was searching for the words. It was so important that Guido understood. Really understood.

"Guido, you know what I am. Five months ago I sat here and saw nothing in front of me. I took the job only to keep myself from blowing my brains out."

He smiled wryly at Guido's look.

"It's true. I really thought about it. I felt things were over-pointless to go on. The girl changed that. I don't know how. She sort of crept up on me. Day by day she slipped into my life."

He shook himself at the memory. Guido remained silent, intrigued by the revelation.

"You know what I am." He repeated the phrase, trying to clarify exactly what had happened to him.

"Never had any truck with kids. Just a nuisance. Then this one comes along. She was so fresh. My life was over-all behind. Then I kept seeing things through her eyes. For her, nothing had existed before, as though the whole world suddenly appeared one morning, just for her."

The monologue stopped and he sat looking down over the lights and the dark sea. Then he said softly, "She loved me, Guido-me!" He looked up. "Not like that, you understand. Not physical. Better than that."

Guido said nothing, and Creasy went on.

"I cut right back on the drinking-didn't need it. In the mornings I'd bring the car around to the front and she'd run down the steps. Christ, man, she seemed to carry the sun on her shoulder. She had nothing bad in her. No malice, no greed, no hate."

His face showed the struggle of trying to explain. Using words alien to him. He suddenly asked, "You ever hear music by Dr. Hook?"

Guido shook his head.

"Well, he's Country and Western. He sings about a woman that's older. Tells her he can't touch the sun for her, can't reach the clouds, can't make her young again. But Guido, that's just what she did for me-touched the sun."

The words should have sounded incongruous, even ridiculous, coming from such a man. But to Guido they were real. Painful but real. And he understood. In a different way, the same thing had happened to him when Julia had entered his life.

He remembered something.

"The crucifix?"

"Yes, she gave it to me. A present for my birthday." He smiled. "Told me if I met the devil to hold it up in front of me."

The smile faded, and his voice hardened.

"Then those bastards took her, and abused her and left her to choke to death in her own vomit! I keep seeing it. They would have kept her eyes taped. Tied to some dirty bed somewhere. Using her whenever they got bored. Filth!"

Anger and hatred radiated from him.

"Do you understand, Guido, why I'm going after them?"

Guido stood up and walked to the railing. He was very moved. He had seen the depth of Creasy's feelings. At last someone had turned the key, no matter that the lock had been rusty.

"Yes, Creasy, I understand. It happened to me. I loved Julia. Different, but the same. In a way I envy you. When she died I wanted to take revenge, but against who? The driver of the car was a kid. The accident unbalanced him." He shrugged. "It would have been empty. And she wouldn't have wanted it but I know what you feel."

Creasy joined him at the railing.

"I need help, Guido."

Guido nodded and put his hand on Creasy's shoulder.

"You have it, Creasy. Anything I can do. But I won't kill again. I gave that up. Promised her. But anything else."

"I wouldn't ask you to, or want you to. I'll do the killing. But helping me could put you in some danger."

Guido smiled.

"It's possible, but that's no stranger."

He looked at Creasy quizzically.

"You know who did it?"

Creasy nodded.

"I'm certain. I got a good look at them and I've been doing some research. The man who shot me is called Sandri. The driver of the car is one Rabbia. They work for a man called Fossella."

He smiled grimly.

"They are so sure of themselves. They claimed they were in Turin at the time. Had a dozen witnesses."

"How do you know their names?"

"The police showed me a whole book of mug shots and I picked them out easily."

"You didn't tell the police?"

Creasy shook his head. "What would have happened to them? Tell me, Guido."

It was a rhetorical question, but Guido gave the answer.

"A few years in jail at the most. Comfortable years. Lots of perks. An early parole. You know the way it is."

"Exactly. Well, it won't be that way. Not this time."

Guido considered the project and said, "Shouldn't be difficult. They won't be expecting it. You'll be able to pick them off and get clear. They're probably not top-level men."

"It won't be like that, Guido." Creasy said it quietly but with emphasis, and Guido looked puzzled.

"How then?"

"Not just those two. I'm going after anyone who had a hand in it, or profited from it. Right to the top. The whole stinking, filthy nest."

Guido looked astonished and then laughed out loud. As the implication sank in, he laughed harder, not in disbelief, but at the sheer scope. Creasy smiled.

"So you see why I need your help."

"And how! You know what it means? You understand their setup?"

Creasy nodded. "Reasonably well. Not everything, but I know the basics. There are two main bosses in Milan. Fossella and Abrata. Fossella pulled this kidnap, so he's in line after Rabbia and Sandri. Conti in Rome would get a cut, so he gets it too, and finally the fat cat in Palermo-Cantarella. He gets a piece of everything. Now he gets a piece of the killing."

Guido laughed again, but quietly.

"Conti I know. I won't be at all sorry about him. I'll tell you why later. How did you get all this?"

Creasy shrugged.

"A lot of it's in the old newspapers. I had plenty of time to go through them. They are so damned arrogant that they practically advertise. I also read a book by a journalist called Andato-The Other Country. He really dug deep. It's a wonder he's still alive."

Guido shook his head.

"Not after the book was published. They only kill outside their own circle to protect a secret, and once the book was out there was no more secret."

He considered awhile.

"Anyway, I can help you. I still have a few old connections. I'll check the setup."

"Connections?"

Guido smiled.

"Yes. I never told you how I came to join the Legion. Now it's very ironical. But I'll tell you later. Meanwhile, how else can I help?"

The two of them went into the kitchen to get coffee, and they sat at the table and went into details.

Creasy had worked out a careful strategy. He mapped it out, and Guido was impressed. He made notes on a pad about requirements for transport and accommodations. Finally he sat back and took a sip of coffee and surveyed his friend over the cup.

"It's good, Creasy-very good. I can understand that you have to improvise after Milan, but by then you should have good information. But do you really know what you're up against?"

"Tell me."

Guido arranged his thoughts.

"They are even more powerful than most people believe, or want to believe. They defy the police and sometimes control them. They even subvert the courts. They bribe politicians at all levels, from village councillors to Cabinet ministers. In some areas, particularly the south and Sicily, they are literally the law, punishing and rewarding as they see fit. They practically run the prisons from within. Several times, over the years, the authorities have made an effort. They are making one now, in Calabria. There's a big trial in Reggio about corruption and forced purchase of land for the new steel complex, but..."

He waved his cup in an eloquent gesture and continued.

"The weapons the authorities have-the police, the Carabinieri, the courts and prisons-are often corrupt and infiltrated. There are a few good policemen and brave prosecutors and judges, but the system is too weak. Only Mussolini in the thirties had any success and only because he used Fascist methods. A lot of innocent people suffered along with the Mafia. After Mussolini, they came back stronger than ever. They can call on thousands of informers. Even contacts inside the police forces. They have their own groups in every city and town of any size and, as you get south, in every village. A whole army of strong-arm men."

He poured more coffee and told Creasy of his early associations in Naples and particularly of Conti. Finally he sat back and waited for Creasy's reaction.

"It won't be easy," Creasy agreed. "But I have several points in my favor. First, like Mussolini, I can use tactics the police cannot use. Terror, for example. These people use it as a weapon but are not used to facing it themselves. Second, I'll get information as I move along-one to the next. Information the police can't get because they can't use my methods."

Guido took the point. Creasy would get them talking.

"Third," Creasy went on, "unlike the police, my aim is not to collect evidence and bring them to court. My aim is to kill them."