Chapter 8: Cheaper in the Off-Season

I watched the lights of Naples recede in the distance and breathed a sigh of relief to be shut of the place. When I saw that city all I could think of was the blood spilled for stupid revenge and honor and the tears in the women's eyes as they followed the hearses down the cobblestone streets. It seemed like every time I came close to the place something bad happened to me. I had been shot, stabbed, robbed, and had my heart broken and not at the same time. My enemies might be gone to their reward but they had sons, daughters, and nieces and nephews and one never knew revenge might be taken.

I had to get this motorcar back to Harold as soon as possible and perhaps it was time for me to take a vacation in the Greek Islands or somewhere in the middle of Cyprus. I had friends in both places and knew I could blend in with the expatriate crowd without too many questions.

When I stopped in Venice, I found Harold nursing two black eyes and restrained my tongue from forming the question "What happened?" Knowing Harold, it could have been a bill not paid or a boyfriend declaring an end to a relationship. I could tell he was gratified at my lack of curiosity and seemed genuinely pleased to have his auto back in one piece. The last time I had borrowed his car, it had to be dredged up from one of the Canals. I replaced it, of course, but he was attached to the ancient thing, even if it was a rusting relic.

He gave me the payment for delivering the girl to safety and I informed him I would not be available for employment for at least the next six months even though my intentions were to go to ground for at least double that time span and that I had no intention of working for that organization ever again. I had a deep-rooted suspicion my bosses were setting me up for some sort of retribution sacrifice to gain them an edge in some other matter entirely. I had no desire to be swept off the board like a pawn that had served its purpose.

I cooled it with Sofia not wanting to expose her to any scrutiny on my account. Harold would just have to look out for his own backside in this affair. I had no doubt he had already thought about the ramifications and was making plans to make himself scarce until the bad vibes blew over. I made a connection down to Livorno playing the role of tourist with no language skills and contempt for the "natives". It usually kept people from trying to pump me about my background and eager to leave my vicinity.

Livorno was a favorite hideout of mine. I had several friends in the local Carabinieri who had no difficulty looking the other way when I transacted some less than legal deals. I made contact with my documents guy to upgrade my passport and some other papers. Passports start to look a little suspicious when they start showing too many stops at odd places. Strangely, there were a lot of tourists still roaming the street markets and shops and I realized that the off-season was becoming the in-season.

The little restaurant near the hotel was a lot more crowded than expected for this time of year and there was a group of English-speaking tourists and expatriates testing their wine consumption skills behind me that tried to out-shout each other just to be heard. The waiters and the cashier seemed sardonically disinterested in their childish behavior and discussed their own problems in muted whispers.

The food was excellent and the Chianti was so tasty that I wondered if it was a bottle above the usual class of "house" fare. A chair bumped into me and a slightly slurred voice muttered an apology in terrible Italian. If nothing else, I was gratified that I was, at least, passing for a native out on the town. It was probably my bad haircut and wrinkled suit jacket and slightly disreputable look with a three day beard.

"That is quite all right, my dear young woman. They insist on squeezing in all the tables even on an evening when the customers are few and far between."

We were approaching the end of the normal evening dinner hours with most of the other patrons having already departed for their homes or hotels. The woman, who was decidedly not actually young, still retained that sparkle of youth. It set her apart from the others in an appealing sort of way. I could tell that she was confused and obviously casting about for the powder room. I simply pointed with my finger to set her mind and ease and she gave me a smile that started my juices to running and forced me to finish off my wine with a nod to the waiter for a refill.

The group was still a bit boisterous but not unruly and they were all having a good time. The restaurant workers were hopeful they would tire of the atmosphere and depart because they were anxious to return to the bosom of their own families or nocturnal activities. The female escapee moved unsteadily back in our direction and sort of fell into the chair opposite me seeing that they were all caught up in their own devices and that nobody was looking for her.

"The wine here is devilishly good. I am afraid I have had too much. My name is Patricia. My husband is in that pack over there but he is all caught up in chasing down that pretty little Canadian girl whose husband is screwing the tour guide almost every night. She is a pathetic little creature but she does have good tits. Not like mine at all. Mine were always too small and I never did anything about it."

We sat there looking at each other and my thought was focused on my very own Patricia who was unlikely to ever meet up with me again unless by accident.

This one was attractive.

Of that there could be no doubt, but she did not have that cold brush of "bitch" my Patricia was born with and used it like a machine gun to mow down male admirers. No, this one had soft, gentle eyes that would probably stare up contentedly as she was stroked into a well-deserved release.

"Forgive me, my name is Harry. I am not really Italian but an expatriate of sorts not here to Italy but to Austria. I do so like to travel and seem to be doing a lot of it at present. Your husband is a complete lout to ignore such a beautiful wife in the land of romance and pleasure. Do you have children?"

As soon as I asked that last question, I knew it was a mistake because the tears welled up in the corners of her eyes and she made a quick grab for my full glass of wine on the table swigging it down in a single gulp. A chill went up my spine at the waste of all that good sipping of liquid gold bypassing the taste buds inside her mouth and moving straight to her tummy without warning. I wanted to make a comment to cover up my error but just then Captain Luciano and his sidekick the swarthy Ruffino came into the restaurant in all their splendor of full Carabinieri uniform complete with nicely waxed mustaches.

"Harry, it is you, Harry. Why did you not tell us you were back in Livorno? Let me buy you a drink."