The Vatican Rip (20 page)

So she’d realized too. ‘But signora—’

‘No more, Lovejoy. Please.’ All the day’s successes were forgotten. ‘No more hypocrisy. I don’t ask why you stay. From now on you won’t be forced into anything. I’ll see you are paid money each day.’

Her eyes were wet. I was lost. ‘What about Fabio? He’ll realize . . .’

‘I’ll find some way. Take it out of the petty cash. He won’t know.’

That seemed odd, almost as if she was apprehensive about Fabio. She was the boss, after all, and Fabio was only a hireling, like me.

‘Am I to be at the restaurant?’

‘Only if you wish.’

I hesitated while Adriana dabbed at her eyes. Women get me mad because you never know where you are. ‘Did Signor Albanese say anything? He had me taken to his office.’ She looked merely resigned as I told her about it, word for word. ‘I made up some cock-and-bull story about having fallen for another bird and wanting to stay here to work it out.’

‘What woman?’ she asked immediately.

I had a hard time convincing her there was no such woman, that she was a figment invented on the spur of the moment. ‘The signor thought it hilarious.’

‘I see,’ she said, finally convinced. It was more than I did.

‘The only thing is, he seemed to know that, erm, you and I, erm, at your villa . . .’

The others came back at that moment, so we got no further.

When we locked up later Piero was unusually affable while Adriana was still there, and walked with me as far as the corner. I wondered if this was it. There were plenty of people about, but he was such a bloody size.

‘Lovejoy.’ He’d made certain the purple Rolls had floated off. ‘Time for you to go away, no?’ He tried a wintry smile. It wasn’t a patch on Arcellano’s, but he was quite patient, and that disturbed me because calm fighters always do. They’ve seen it all before.

‘Why now, especially?’

‘Before, I didn’t mind you too much. You were . . . incidental.’ He meant insignificant, the pillock. ‘But now, Adriana begins to take you seriously. You’re a good antiques man, the best I’ve seen.’ He shrugged. ‘A divvie’s special. Okay – so you’re good for her business. But I won’t be displaced by a bum that’s planning some crazy rip, and using her for camouflage.’

I gave a hollow laugh. ‘Rip? You’re off your head. It’s my hobby.’

‘You joke.’ He nodded gravely, eyeing me. ‘Though everything you do is serious, Lovejoy. Deadly serious. You’re a driven man. So I’ll make a deal: go tomorrow.’

‘Where to?’

‘Anywhere, Lovejoy. Name the place and you’ll receive money, a passport and ticket.’

‘And what’s my part of the deal?’

‘I save you from gaol, Lovejoy.’ He picked his teeth, wrinkling his eyes against the fading sun. ‘I’ve got your fingerprints, your photograph. Fabio will provide evidence of pilfering. The Rome police are serious about antiques, Lovejoy. Whatever the rip they’ll have you. You’ve got till tomorrow.
Ciao
.’

I watched him go, working it out. Now I had to leave, to stay, to do the rip, not to do the rip, chat up Adriana, leave her alone . . .

And that evening we dined together in the Gold Season, just the three of us: me and Adriana, and her husband. I felt between the devil and the deep blue sea because I was now sure I was being followed. The fat bloke I’d nearly knocked down in the Piazza Argentina was shown to a corner table five minutes after we arrived. A different digit, but definitely Arcellano’s finger.

That wasn’t all. After a couple of hours’ nosh and one-sided chat – Signor Albanese was in fine form, with Adriana unresponsive and me demented – we rose and departed, and this time a Jaguar waited for Adriana. Beside it was the purple Rolls, with a familiar figure standing peevishly by, handbag on the swing.

Adriana resolved all doubts by passing me her keys quite openly. ‘Drive, please, Lovejoy.’

‘Erm—’

Signor Albanese gave me effusive thanks for my company and said he would not rest until we dined so pleasantly once again.

‘Come
on
Emilio!’ Fabio shouted petulantly. ‘I’ve waited hours!’

‘I’m hurrying!’ Albanese called.

I stood while Adriana slid into the Jaguar. Emilio Albanese waved to us once and joined Fabio at the Rolls. I watched it glide away before getting in beside Adriana. I drew breath to say something and then thought better of it. Adriana was looking away. Evidently that was the other surprise Anna had promised me, the night I learned about Piero and Adriana. Piero and Adriana because of Signor Albanese and Fabio? And now Lovejoy and Adriana because of . . . ? I gave it up.

‘To the villa, darling,’ Adriana said. She sounded a hundred years old.

It had been an uptight morning, with Fabio and Piero giving smouldering glances at the clock to warn me I should be gone by nightfall. I trotted home to Anna’s eating pizza on the hoof.

I could tell Carlo was already there from the blaring transistor echoing pop music down the alley. Sure enough he was dancing sinuously before the mirror, admiring himself while Anna was removing her make-up. Ominously, he looked sloshed. Three empty wine bottles projected from the waste basket.

‘Get your knickers on, troops,’ I said from the door. ‘And turn that bloody thing off.’

‘Miserable man.’ Carlo glared sullenly at me while Anna flicked the tranny, and slumped on his camp bed, obviously ready for a hard afternoon’s kip.

I said, ‘It starts, lad,’ and toed him beneath the canvas. ‘Up.’

‘What does?’ Carlo propped up on an elbow.

I leaned down, smiling. ‘The rip, comrade. Now.’

‘This instant?’ from Anna, suddenly pale, her lovely face rimmed by those theatrical bulbs.

‘Finish your make-up, Granny,’ I said heartlessly. ‘Carlo’s going to show me the ambulance van.’

It’s ready,’ he was saying, insolently starting to lie down again, when I tipped him out and heeled his knife hand. The knife fell clear. ‘He thinks I’m a kid,’ he complained, staggering up.

‘Kid, no. Stupid and drunk, yes.’ I yanked him into the corridor. ‘Anna. You be here at four.’

The van was in the smallest garage in the world half a mile from St John Lateran. We got the Metro, Carlo paying – obviously in blood – and leering at women. That journey was a record: he only combed his hair a couple of dozen times. Pests don’t come more pestilential than Carlo. He was doing his spy theatrical all the way out of the Metro and crossing the road. We got more attention than Garibaldi’s entry. I still don’t believe it – he gave eight significant raps on the garage door, looking cloak-and-dagger as he hissed a secret code word through the gaping slats, even though the door was half off. Bloody fool. Wearily I pushed it open and stepped through while Carlo was still at it. He swaggered after me undismayed, narrowly failing to light a cigarette. That was because I took his matches and fags off him and dropped them underfoot. He was standing next to a petrol pump and a drum of waste oil.

‘Patrizio.’ Carlo leaned against the garage wall, flicking a coin. The nerk was unbelievable.

A tubby cheerful bloke in trousers and singlet emerged from the engine of a derelict one-tonner. He was glad to see me and smeared me with oil in an effusive greeting.

‘Patrizio, this is the boss,’ Carlo rasped, his eyes hooded. He missed his coin which plopped into an oil puddle.

‘Ah, Signor! You like her, eh?’

‘Like who?’ I looked about.

‘You want the van tomorrow, no?’ Patrizio slammed a hand on the ancient relic – it nearly fell apart – and grinned enthusiastically. ‘Big rip, eh?’

I swallowed carefully. There wasn’t another vehicle in the place. ‘
That?
’

‘Sure!’ Carlo thrust out his lower lip. ‘Me and Patrizio done a deal. She’ll do a hundred, boss.’ Carlo screwed the words out the corner of his mouth in a crude American accent.

Stricken, I walked around the van. Patrizio came, exclaiming and extolling with enthusiam. It had obviously done service in the Western Desert, World War II graffiti and all. Now, the old banger was having a hard time standing upright. ‘Fine, eh?’

‘No, Patrizio. Carlo must have misunderstood.’

Patrizio’s thought winged instantly to money. ‘Cheap, Lovejoy.’

I sighed. He knew my name. Carlo had probably given him my address as well.

‘Carlo,’ I said. ‘Keep watch outside.’

‘Sure, boss.’ The duckegg hunched his jacket collar up and sidled out, tripping over an immense air hose as he did so. He slammed the door so a plank fell out, and stood outside pretending to chew gum.

‘Now,’ I said carefully, giving Patrizio one of my special looks. ‘I need a professional driver, and a pro van.’

Patrizio was no fool. He glanced at the garage door and shrugged. ‘Apologies, signor. I thought—’

‘—I’d be a fool, too?’ I smiled, quite liking him. ‘Be frank and there’s no harm done.’

‘Tomorrow, no?’

‘Tomorrow, yes.’

He nodded, gauging me. ‘You need my boy Valerio.’

‘What’s he like?’

Another mile-high shrug. ‘I’m his father, signor.’

‘You’ll need uniforms, Patrizio. Possible?’

‘Certain. But if it’s tomorrow the van’ll have to be . . . obtained, not fabricated.’

‘Do it. One thing.’ I shrugged, at least an inch. The best I’ve ever been able to manage. ‘It’ll have to be a flat fee.’

Patrizio looked at me as if into the teeth of a gale. ‘Never heard of a straight-price rip, Lovejoy.’

‘You have now.’

‘And Carlo? Anna will be furious if he’s left out.’

‘I’ll deal with Anna.’

He grinned and slapped my hand. ‘Good luck, Lovejoy. You get your van. Where and when?’

I’d met a pro at last. Smiling with relief, I told him.

Back home Anna was incredulous. ‘Carlo dropped? He can’t be!’

‘You want him so badly?’

She nodded. She was wearing a young print dress and was all ready for me when I returned a few minutes after four. I’d sent Carlo to count the traffic at the traffic lights on the Leone IV, telling him it was our getaway route, the berk.

‘Please, Lovejoy. I know what he is, a child still. But he is all I have.’ She was ashamed.

I recognized the symptoms from my own career, and relented. ‘I’ve got him a part, love.’

Her face lit, like sunrise. ‘You have?’ She flung her arms round me wildly. ‘Oh, thank you, Lovejoy! Thank you!’

‘A vital one,’ I said into her hair. ‘I’ll see he’s useful.’

I was thinking, by the time she realized exactly
how
vital, I’d be a thousand miles away from Rome and in the clear. Like I say, sometimes I’m just too thick for words, but you can’t be right all the time.

* * *

On the way to the emporium for my late stint I popped into the church on the Borgo San Spirito. It’s one of the churches still burning honest-to-God candles instead of those gruesome candle-shaped electric sticks they have in Rome nowadays which for a hundred lire give you a few minutes of electron-powered devotional flicker.

Feeling vaguely embarrassed by the novelty I lit five candles, stuck them in the holders and knelt down. I won’t tell you everything I said, but I promised God I’d take Arcellano alive. Then, mumbo-jumbo done with, I emerged blinking at the sun – and saw Anna across the road and waved. To my relief, she was smiling and nodding, so I knew the clever girl had got it, that dark old-fashioned brownish bottle from the chemist’s shop by the Via del Mascherino. All systems go.

That evening Adriana and I stayed at the emporium. It was the oddest sensation, climbing the forbidden stairs and seeing Adriana move about the bedroom as if we’d been together there all our lives. Adriana tried to act casual but I saw her hand tremble as she hung up her stole and I realized that bringing me here was a big thing for her. Another worry.

She insisted on making us both coffee and bringing it over to me. She’d taken my jacket and sat me on the couch, promising to show me around once I’d become accustomed to the idea of being alone with a rapacious woman. I smiled to show I too was solemnly concentrating on lightness of heart.

‘New locks,’ I observed.

‘The stair door? Yes. There are so many thefts nowadays, darling.’ She swept her hair from her face. ‘I thought it was wiser.’

Which meant that Piero’s key was now obsolete.

‘Adriana. Will you get in trouble?’

She concentrated on not spilling the cream. ‘With Emilio? Hardly. You saw, Lovejoy. Him and that creature Fabio. It’s beyond a woman’s control.’

‘Piero, then? He’s the sort to play hell.’

She only had one lamp lit, that lovely minareted Garian case which dappled gold about the room. Her face was silhouetted in a deep bronze fire. She was sitting beside my chair, looking away. I’d never seen anything so wondrous in all my life as that miracle of line and form. Sorrow enveloped me. What a mess it all was, the whole fucking rip.

She said rather sadly, ‘He can be got rid of.’ The words were so matter-of-fact I hardly took them in at the time, especially as she continued talking with her head on my knee and her breast against me. ‘Are you married, Lovejoy?’

That took my by surprise. ‘Rescued.’

Her eyes deflected, all casual. ‘A dragon?’

I thought a bit. ‘A pretty laser.’

‘So sometimes you too plan badly.’ She continued, ‘How could I have known about you, Lovejoy? You weren’t here.’ I suppressed exasperation at the bitterness in her voice. I hadn’t known about her, either. Nor that Marcello would be murdered. ‘A woman needs a man.’ She turned quickly to loan me a half-smile, an onaccount sort of expression. ‘Not as badly as a man needs a woman. You’ve taught me that, Lovejoy. With you it’s one hundred per cent yourself. The rest is incidental.’ She indicated the apartment vaguely. ‘This. The money, the firm. With Piero it was a percentage. And the others were the same.’

I returned her defiant look, trying to smile. It was a hell of an effort. She was so lovely.

‘People make allowances for men.’ Bravely she explained, ‘A woman taking a lover is a hedonistic bitch. A rich gentleman is merely a roué, a gay old dog. And it’s women do the damage – at least, in Rome it is. They’re on to you like wolves.’

‘What now?’ I asked after a pause.