See Naples and Die (5 page)

Brenda studied the priest. There was
something different about this man. She was trying to work it out when it hit
her. He wasn’t carrying a bag. “We don’t take cheques,” she told herself, and
scowled.

The young priest stood in front of them
with hands clasped, as if in prayer. “I assume you are here for the meeting –
for the exchange?” he said.

“That is correct,” said Chrissie, trying
to sound officious.

“Bishop Alselinus has the money. He is
waiting for you upstairs. I shall escort you to the room.”

“Hold on a minute, buster,” said
Chrissie, dropping the officious tone and reverting back to hard Scouse. “You
aren’t escorting us anywhere. We do the deal in the open.”

“Please,” the priest implored. “Bishop
Alselinus cannot take the chance that this meeting may be overheard. Nothing is
private these days. The eyes of the world are everywhere. We cannot be too
careful.”

“What’s your name?” asked Megan.

“Bruno,” said the priest.

“Bruno?” shouted Chrissie. “You can’t
have a priest called Bruno. That’s the name you give a dancing bear or large
dog. Either your name isn’t Bruno or you’re not really a priest. Which is it?”

The priest was flustered. “I can assure
you on both counts. My name truly is Bruno, and I am a novice priest based at
the church of San Anton de Perrugi in the province of Milan.”

“What do you reckon?” Chrissie asked the
others.

“About his name or about going
upstairs?” said Megan.

“Well, we’ll give him the benefit of
doubt about the name,” replied Chrissie. “What do you think about doing the
meeting in his room?”

“It all seems a bit over the top,” said
Brenda. “I mean, they’re only investing in a movie. It’s not as if it’s porn or
anything.”

They all looked at each other.

“No, it can’t be,” said Megan. “Luigi
and Mama would never be involved in anything iffy.”

“They more or less kidnapped us,” said
Brenda.

“No, they didn’t,” corrected Megan. “We
all agreed to come … all of us. We are here because we want to be. Now what’s
the big deal about talking to a couple of priests behind closed doors? If
that’s how they want it … Come on: let’s go.”

Chrissie raised her eyebrows. Megan was
right. Why shouldn’t they go? You wouldn’t normally expect to do business
outside park gates and art galleries. You would expect to sit down over a drink
and discuss the project in detail. That is the right way to do it. This was
Luigi’s fault. He was the paranoid one.

“Yes,” she said. “Lead on, Macduff.”

Surprisingly, Bruno knew this quotation
and led the way. Once inside the lift each person took a corner to stand in.
They still weren’t totally convinced and, although everyone was smiling, nobody
wanted to turn their back on Bruno.

There were six floors. They exited at
number five, took a left and a right, and then halfway down the corridor Bruno
knocked on room number 521. The door was opened by an elderly grey-haired
gentleman in purple biretta headgear and long flowing red chimere gown. This
gown signified Bishop Alselinus as chief proclaimer and defender of the faith,
and commanded respect.

The bishop beckoned them in and motioned
them, with a papal gesture of the hand, to be seated. Brenda and Megan sat on a
two-seater couch by the window, where dated lace curtains gently swayed with
the current from the air-con. Chrissie sat on the typical chair by the desk cum
dressing table and Bruno perched on the side of the king-sized bed.

Bishop Alselinus stayed where he was, as
if ready to conduct afternoon mass. His rotund belly protruded from his gown,
and he clasped his hands and rested them on the swelling.

“This is an unseemly business,” he said.

The girls looked at each other. “Is it?”
asked Chrissie.

“Yes, it is,” confirmed the bishop. “Very
unsavoury.”

Chrissie looked away. He had an enlightened
appearance, and they suddenly felt like the villains in this piece of theatre.

“The church and its works cross many
boundaries,” he said, and paused to let them digest this statement. “We help
the people, but we also need to involve ourselves with the structure of
society. We assist governments and organisations – and sometimes we require a
little help from them, do you understand?”

“No, not really,” said Brenda, who was
the only one who hadn’t diverted her eyes away from him.

“You are not here to judge us,” said the
bishop.

“No, of course not. Whatever you do with
your money is your business,” she replied. “But we are here to pick up the
investment.”

“But only if you are happy to give it,”
added Megan, still looking at the floor.

“It isn’t a question of what I’m happy
to give,” said the bishop. “It’s about right and wrong. The church sometimes
strays from the path but we still know where we are going, and we are always
drawn to the light … but you … you are going to hell.”

The bishop’s face contorted. The benign
little priest was turning into Mr Hyde. He began to spit out his words. “Do you
think you can manipulate the church? You are stupid imbeciles.” And, before
they could comprehend this sudden change of character and reply, Bishop
Alselinus had produced a gun and was waving it in front of their faces.

“Hey, Bishop! There’s no need for that,”
said Chrissie, now fully alert. “If you don’t want to give us the money, that’s
fine. Keep it.”

“Oh, I am keeping it,” he growled.

“Good. That’s it, then. We’ll be on our
way,” and Chrissie started to get up.

“Sit down,” shouted the manic street
preacher. “I’ll tell you when you can leave. Now where is the information?”

“What information?” asked Megan

“The information you have. I believe it
is on a portable computer.”

“We don’t have a computer,” replied
Megan truthfully.

“Do not lie,” shouted Bishop Alselinus,
his robes quivering from the burning rage inside.

“He means the USB data stick,” said
Brenda.

He pointed the gun at Brenda’s face.
“Yes, I have heard it called that. Where is it? You need to give it to me. Now.”

“We don’t have it with us,” intervened
Chrissie, trying to get the crazy man to take the gun away from Brenda’s head.

“Then where is it? Is it near?”

“I can’t tell you where it is, but I can
go and get it,” said Chrissie.

The bishop thought for a moment. “You
can go, but they stay.” He motioned at Brenda and Megan with the gun. “If
you’re not back in one hour I will kill her.” He stabbed the barrel of the gun
at Brenda. “And one hour later, I kill the other one.”

Chrissie stood up slowly, with her hands
held high. She edged her way sideways past the bishop. With their bodies almost
touching, he put his twisted face across from her. She could taste the garlic
and stale coffee on his breath as he whispered, “No tricks, or your friends are
just a memory.”

He grinned … and Chrissie headbutted him
right on the bridge of the nose. His whole body shot backward against the wall,
and then he crumpled to the floor. Chrissie had the gun before Bruno knew what
had happened, and now she was telling him to lie on the floor. Brenda and Megan
leapt from the couch and the three of them ran to the door. In the open closet
space just inside the doorway a couple of coats were hanging up and below them,
next to a pair of shoes, was a black bag. It was the same bag as Del’Amoro and
Doctor Franco had brought. Brenda saw it first, and as they filed out of the
room she grabbed it.

Halfway down the corridor they tried to
regain some sort of composure. Chrissie realised she still held the gun high in
the air, her silhouette like the opening scene from a James Bond film. They
stopped for a second, and Brenda unzipped the bag. Sure enough, it was stashed
with bundles of cash. Chrissie threw the gun on top of the money, and Brenda
pulled the zip back.

They took the stairs, bounding down each
flight, and then walked slowly across the hotel lobby until they smelt the
diesel fumes of the city once again and tumbled out on to the safe streets of
London. They took a few long deep breaths while trying to relax and decide on
the next move.

Then Brenda felt something hard at the
base of her spine. She was about to turn when a voice said, “That priest is
crazy, yes? I knew he wouldn’t be able to pull it off, but he insisted. More
importantly, what you feel in your back is a .22 handgun with silencer. If you
do not do what I say I will kill you – right here, right now. We know you have
the data stick. Do you have it with you?”

“No,” said Brenda.

“Then we will get a taxi and go get it.
If you try and alert the taxi driver or anyone else, I will kill you.”

Then he spotted a black cab and held out
his arm. The taxi stopped and he told the girls to get in. Chrissie and Megan
went first and, as Brenda was following with the gun still pressed against her
spine, they then heard Bruno’s voice.

“You may kill her, but then I will most
certainly kill you.”

The man looked stunned, and Bruno
quickly reached across and took the gun from him. He pushed the man to one side
and leapt into the taxi after Brenda, then casually said to the driver,
“Leicester Square, please.”

As the taxi pulled away their assailant
pressed his face against the window. It was an evil face, and was instantly and
forever etched into their memory. They hoped they would never see that face again,
but knew that wish could never come true. Sooner or later they would have to
confront this man again, and accept the consequences of whatever they were
involved in.

Once the taxi turned into Moorgate Bruno
changed the destination from Leicester Square to Camden Town. He knew the
gunman probably overheard the first instructions, and this was buying them some
time. The taxi dropped them off at Camden Lock, and they followed Bruno to a
bar overlooking the market. The sun was still high in the sky and virtually
everyone was sitting outside, watching the New Age hippies and retro punks who
favour this part of London.

The girls went inside and sat in the
darkest corner booth available while Bruno went for drinks. No one had spoken
since they had entered the taxi. Each one of them, including Bruno, had a
hundred and one questions to ask – but somehow it seemed difficult to begin.
Bruno returned and handed out the drinks.

“Thanks, Bruno,” said Megan

“That’s okay.”

“No … I mean thanks for saving our
lives.”

“That is okay also,” he said. “But we do
need to talk about that.”

“Yes, we certainly do,” said Chrissie.
“What exactly are we caught up in?”

Bruno took a long sip from his glass of
water and shuddered, as if it was neat gin. He began, “I don’t know what you believe
you are doing, but from what you were saying to Bishop Alselinus it seems you
thought he was investing money.”

“In a movie,” said Megan.

“And what do you know about a USB data stick?”
asked Bruno.

Megan’s innocent eyes were tearful.
“Only that it’s got details of possible investors on it,” she said.

Bruno leant into the table. “You weren’t
asking the church to invest. You were blackmailing us into buying your silence.
The USB stick was stolen from a Mafia family. It contains information on many
people who are in league with them in one way or another … people who are
taking bribes, people who have asked for favours to further their careers, or
people who needed men of violence to commit acts on their behalf. All these
people now owe the family, and the full extent of their dealings is on that
small data stick.”

Bruno pulled his chair back so that he
could view all three girls. “You, or whoever put you up to this, must have a
death wish. You stole from the Scarpone family, and compounded that by blackmailing
their clients – the very people who pay the family to protect them. This is
reason enough for the Scarpones to want to kill you ten times over, but it is
understood that the USB contains much more than contacts and financial
transactions. It lists many of their criminal activities in detail and this is
enough to send them to prison forever, or to destroy them if it fell into the
hands of their enemies. They must retrieve this data, and no one must survive.
Retribution will be bloody and brutal.”

Chrissie was still trying to be
positive. “So how do we get out of this, Bruno?”

Bruno took another long drink. “We
can’t. There is nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. We are all dead now.”

“What if we go to the police?” said
Brenda.

Bruno shook his head. “The police cannot
protect us.”

“Then what if we give them the data
stick back? Tell them it was all a mistake, and that we’re sorry.”

“They will not let you live. They won’t
even let you die quickly,” he said.

“That’s not an option, anyway,” said
Chrissie. “We don’t have the damned thing. That bastard Luigi has it.”