Waves of Murder (24 page)

“Gee thanks honey,” Mel said.

“You are 34” x 32” aren’t you?” she asked.

“Er, yes, I think so!” he replied.

Capri

J
on was enjoying life on the ‘Island of Romance’, he had found himself a pretty young Italian waitress he had picked up at a coffee shop that he frequented every day at 10.30am. Today was no different, he chatted to Carla when she wasn’t serving customers. They were mainly tourists with quite a few being young honeymooners, walking hand-in-hand. He heard American voices, English, German, Scandinavian, Capri was probably the most visited place in Italy, apart from Rome. Jon met Carla most nights at 7 o’clock when she finished work, and took her to their favourite bistro in a side street not far from the harbour, but tonight would be different. “It’s my birthday today,” she said, “and I’m inviting you to a little party with my family, at my home, please say you’ll come?”

“Er, yes, I’d love to,” he said.

There wasn’t an enormous gathering at Carla’s house, a moderate dwelling at the top of a picturesque cobble-stoned hill, but very homely. “Welcome,” her father said.

“Thank you,” Jon replied

“I’m sorry,” Carla’s father said, “there is no signora, my wife died when Carla was born, 25 years ago to the day,” he said looking to the sky, and crossing himself.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, non c’e problema, it’s many years and I have my Carla,” he added, putting his arm around her shoulder and kissing her head, “and I have my Bruno, her elder brother, he’s with the polizia, a detective sargeant.”

The tall good-looking man of about thirty smiled and shook Jon’s hand,”Nice to meet you,” he said as he stared into Jon’s face. Jon suddenly became uneasy and broke into a cold sweat, a fucking copper, he thought.

The evening was jolly, with friends and neighbours joining in until about midnight, but it was ruined for Jon by Bruno’s constant sideways glances at him, fuck he thought, somehow he has recognised me. He even tried the old trick of calling him ‘Jon’, but it was ignored and after that he gave up. He stopped calling at the coffee shop and told Carla that he was now doing ‘Estate Business’ and could only see her once or twice a week. A copper’s sister, he thought, no thanks. He decided he needed a car, hiring’s the best bet, something small and unobtrusive. Near the hotel was ‘Nuova Auto Rental’, he took, for a month, a small grey Fiat Cinquecento, just about enough leg-room for him, but nippy and as common as muck on the island, lovely, he thought!

Naples

T
he train journey down from Rome was hot and very uncomfortable, and took longer than the three and a half hours predicted by the official at the train station. No air-conditioning, and rolling stock left over from the second world war, Mel said, and no refreshment carriage, just a boy with a trolley selling soft drinks at grossly inflated prices. “Five bucks for a warm coke,” Mel almost shouted.

“Don’t worry, hon,” Mary-Lou said, “you can have an ice cold beer at the hotel, soon!”

The Hotel Royal more than made up for the train journey, about 400 years old, very ornate with ‘da Vinci’ style paintings everywhere. Their large double was a very large double, probably was once the bedroom of a nobleman, the Doge of Naples. “We’ve just gone back 400 years,” Mary-Lou said, looking at the high ceilings.

“I bet these walls could tell some stories,” Mel said. With all that, the hotel had all the mod cons. The Cafe Nero, the bars and the restaurants were magnificent, but expensive, “Oh, well,” Mel said again,” we are only here once.”

“Don’t worry, honey, you can do some extra shifts!” she said, patting his hand as they sat in the bar.

“Ten bucks for a beer,” Mel said, “let’s find a licquor store and bring some in.”

“The hotel will charge us if they find out,” Mary-Lou said.

“I’ll take the chance, we can take the empties out with us!”

“Will you shut up for a few dollars, you’d probably drop them half-way across the lobby anyway!” she laughed as her mind’s eye pictured Mel picking up the pieces.

“Okay, okay, but we cut down on champagne,” he said with a grin.

Naples was beautiful, unless you strayed off of the tourist tracks, down by the harbour the hovel dwellings with dirty children, garbage all over the streets and the stray dogs, the smell was terrible, the honeymooners found out the hard way when they took a wrong turn off of a main street because Mel mis-read the map!

St Petersburg

V
asili had returned from Rome without success, there had been no news apart from old TV images, and his men were shaking in their shoes because they had missed ‘Keiron’ at the quayside and lost him in the car chase. They had scoured the area but with no luck, hotels, coffee shops, bars, restaurants were all checked for days. Romas were questioned, but apart from the Irish passport lead, nothing, just a dead end. Vasili’s younger brother, Mikhail, had the idea of checking the docks to find out if ‘Keiron’ had taken a yacht or some sort of boat to somewhere. He walked along by the small yachts and fishing boats asking what people were there, if they had seen the man in the photograph. He had no luck until he came to almost the last fishing boat, “Have you seen this man?” he asked the young fisherman.

“Who are you, foreign police?”

“Yes,” the Russian answered.

“You have no power here,” the boy said. The Russian opened his jacket to reveal his pistol, and at the same time he took a wad of dollars out of his pocket.

The boy looked wide-eyed at the pistol and the money, “I took him to Capri about two weeks ago,” he said, at that moment he didn’t know whether he would receive some dollars or a bullet.

Mikhail peeled off a thousand dollar bill and gave it to the trembling fisher, “If you have lied to me, I will be back with this,” the Russian said, tapping his pistol.

“It’s the truth, I swear,” the boy cried.

“Okay, good,” said Mikail and tapped him on the cheek.

Vasili soon heard the news and ordered a jet to take him to Capri as soon as possible. He didn’t own a private jet, but he did own the company that leased them. Eight Lockheeds worth half a billion dollars, about an eighth of his entire wealth. Nobody got the better of him, he killed, tortured, maimed or at least bribed, but that wasn’t very often, pain, punishment and death were his main methods, and Jonathan Weston was at the top of his list for the worst punishment conceivable. Arriving at the private park place, he was met by Mikhail and six ‘agents’, “Well done, my brother,” he said to Mikhail, “you see, it took my family’s brain power to find this animal. Now, spread out and find him and FUCKING SOON,” he screamed.

Jon didn’t know about the new visitors to the island, would he be caught by the Italian police? it would be better for him if he was, far better. The gang would find it easier on such a small island, even though it was crowded with tourists of all nationalities. The Russians spread out as Vasili had ordered, two of them even walked past his little Fiat when he was in it, his blood ran cold, he knew who they were, he had to get off the island. Inside he was panicking, he was aware of what these people would do to him, he shivered. Right, think Jon, think, he said to himself. Deep breaths, deep breaths, he repeated inwardly. He sat there for ten minutes and then drove to the hotel, he packed a few clothing essentials into a back-pack and left the rest behind, he nonchalantly walked over to his car and drove up into the hills until nightfall. A fishing boat would be the answer, he drove down to the harbour. At the entrance he couldn’t believe his eyes, four of the Russian bastards walking along the quayside, easily recognisable, perhaps it was the way they walked, but it was very obvious who and what they were, death on legs. He turnrd the little car around and left the harbour area, if they had no luck tonight, which they wouldn’t, he would come back early next morning. He drove back to spend the night in the hills, in the cramped Fiat, but it was worth it, he thought. The sun woke him as it came over the brow of the hill, cars and trucks were beginning to trundle up the steep incline. The smell of wild plants and flowers flowed in as he opened the windows, he ached in places he’d never ached before! “Right Jon,” he said, “how do you get out of this one?” He put on his fedora and drove down the hill in to town, he needed a coffee desperately. At the bottom of the hill, on the outskirts of town where the shops began, he found a small cafe, ‘perfect’ he said to himself, ‘this will put some life into me’. It even had a convenience where he was able to wash, paper towels only, but it was better than nothing. He gave the girl behind the counter 10 euros for the coffee and the facilities. As he left his picture appeared on the TV on the wall shelf, her mouth dropped open, and she immediately phoned the poice with his description and that of the car plus the direction in which he was going. About half a mile down the road, it was blocked with police cars and heavily armed police. He skidded to a halt, but it was too late ...... ‘this is it’ he said to himself, ‘this is it, finally.’ He couldn’t believe it when the police walked right past him to a similar car about five behind him. It suddenly dawned on him as he looked at the little bonnet, the sun shining on the paintwork made it look silver, the girl in the cafe had seen him drive off in a mid-grey car that, in the blazing sun, made it look silver! A policeman waved him on whilst his colleagues pulled the other driver out of his silver Fiat!

He drove on down to the town and approached his hotel from a rear street, he went in through the tradesman’s entrance to the surprise of the kitchen staff. He climbed the rear stairs to the second floor, in his room he took everything out of the safe. His case was quickly packed and he disappeared down the rear stairs and was soon driving through the back streets down to the docks. He parked between two warehouses and looked up and down the quayside, no sign of the Russians, ‘good’ he thought and walked over to a fishing trawler at the quayside. Working on the deck was an old man of the sea, “Do you speak any English?” ‘Keiron’ asked.

“A little, from Americans during the war. Got any gum?” he laughed through an almost toothless mouth.

Jon pulled out a small wad of dollar bills, the old boy looked at the money, “Can you take me to Sicily?”

“Sicilia?” the man almost screamed.

“Yes,” said Jon.

“You are rich?” the fisher asked.

“No, but I can pay you well, in American dollars,” he said.

“$4,000,” the old man said.

“Okay,” Jon agreed, “$2,000 now, $2,000 when we get to Palermo. When will we go?” he asked.

“When my son arrives in one hour, we must fish on the way.”

Guiseppe, the son, arrived and looked very suspiciously at ‘Keiron’, “Who’s he?” he said in Italian, and the father explained. “No, no,” the boy said, “cinque mille, cinque mille euros, no dollars,” he was shouting and waving his arms about. He walked over to Jon, “Inglese?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jon said.

“The price is 5,000 euros, and that is if we have a good catch on the way,” he explained, “and we won’t tell the police that we took you there.”

“Okay, you drive a hard bargain, but it will still have to be dollars, I haven’t any euros.”

“Okay, I’ll work it out in dollars,” the shrewd little bastard said, knowing full well that Jon was on the run, he’d seen his face on a bar’s TV earlier that day. His father and he spoke Italian all the time, which worried Jon, he didn’t trust them but he had no choice, he had to get away from the police and the Russians quickly, in fact, immediately.

The trawler left within 30 minutes, Guiseppe refused to cast off until he had received$3,000. Jon was shown where he could sleep, a small locker room behind the wheel-house. He found a large gutting knife in there, he slipped it down his trousers. He was told that food would be a hundred extra, and the journey would take 7 or 8 days. He spent most days just sitting in the stern end just sunbathing, apart from 2 days when there was very welcome rain, quite heavy, and he used it as a shower. He had soap and a towel in his case and was able to shave and change his clothes. Laying in the sun on the fourth day his thoughts turned to things evil, the black mist was descending. The two fisherman were going over the side after he’d killed them, he would turn the trawler north into the open sea and set the throttle on ‘full ahead’. His escape would be by an inflatable boat with an outboard engine that was on quick release clamps on the port side, just in front of the net dragging boards. They hadn’t done any fishing by trawl and had only been using throw nets over the starboard side. Guiseppe came to Jon and said they couldn’t go into Palermo harbour as it is for liners and tourist craft only, no fishing boats. They had to go a long way to Trappani and it would cost another 1,000 euros, Jon was angry, but said that he had no choice. Sicily came into sight, tonight would be the night. As night fell he readied himself for the evil deed, the old man was at the wheel and manoeuvered closer to the land, Jon crept up behind him and slit his throat in one smooth and easy stroke. His son was near the stern, folding the throw nets, the engine went quiet and Guiseppe turned to see why and walked forward to the wheelhouse. As he passed Jon he received the kniife deep into his heart, he was dead as he hit the deck. Jon retrieved his money from the father’s pockets. He rigged up a rope from the throttle lever and threw it over the side near the inflatable, after which he released the clamps, it fell into the flat sea, but was held by a single rope. He then jumped the 5 or 6 feet into it, following his case. Grabbing the throttle rope he pulled it gently and heard the satisfying sound of the big diesel engine revving, and the boat went north, accelerating all the time, into the gloom. He watched it disappear into the moonlit night, “nobody takes my money,” he said to the sea, “and lives,” he added, laughing. He revved the outboard and steered to the lights of Palermo, about one and a half miles to the harbour. As he got closer there was a loud explosion behind, out to sea, he guessed that the engine of the trawler had blown up, oh well he thought, all the evidence had gone, he’d even thrown the knife over the side. The harbour lights were getting closer as police and rescue boats rushed past him at very high speed with sirens screaming, good he thought, they won’t notice little me creeping into port. They didn’t, he looked back to see flames leaping into the air for about 100 feet. He tied up the boat at the very end of a jetty and walked towards the bright lights, police and ambulances were lined up on the other side of the quay, as he walked quickly in the gloomy shadows, up some steps into a side street and further on to a main road brightly lit by hotels and shops. He found a nice medium sized 4* hotel just off the main drag, the ‘Mediterranean Palace’ suited his purpose, lots of tourists wandering about.