“They saw something they shouldn’t have. And you killed them. You killed them both. Isn’t that right?”
Rossi’s lip curled into a snarl.
“Then he couldn’t trust Vlad anymore,” Wolf continued. “You weren’t roughing him up the other day. You were warning him, goading him into saying what you wanted him to. You must not have liked the way he was acting.” Wolf turned his head to Lia, keeping his eyes trained on Rossi. “So he killed him, in a way that would implicate me. But even that wasn’t enough. I was getting too close. He knew I knew too much and needed to be killed.”
Rossi looked back to Lia.
Wolf flicked his eyes back to the CZ-99. With a full stretch, it was now in reach of his left arm. But it lay on its left side, pointing forward. It would be an awkward move picking it up, repositioning it, pointing it, and firing, even if he was left handed. Which he wasn’t.
Suddenly Rossi’s face twisted in agony, mouth moving silently and rapidly as if saying a well practiced prayer. Then he slowly and steadily lifted his gun.
Wolf reached fast with his right hand, gripping Lia’s sweatshirt, ripping her behind him to the ground while picking up the pistol with his left.
Rossi’s eyes streamed, “Non avevo scelta! Prenditi cura di loro per me!”
Eyes open wide, Wolf saw exactly what Rossi was doing. Looking at the CZ pistol for a brief instant as he transferred it to his right, wanting every single movement to count, his right palm smacked against the grip, index finger threading the trigger guard. He aimed true.
One deafening pop reverberated as two muzzle flashes lit the barroom, Rossi’s and Wolf’s rounds discharging simultaneously. Rossi’s head exploded into a red twist of expanding skull and hair. What was left flopped sideways, dangling from his still standing body, which propped motionless for two full seconds before buckling down to the hard barroom floor with a thump.
Wolf set the smoking CZ down and looked to a wide eyed Lia sprawled on her back. He raised his eyebrows, and she nodded. Satisfied she was okay, he walked through the open bar gap to Rossi’s lifeless body. He stepped directly into the expanding crimson, bent close, and spit hard.
Chapter 48
The Saturday lunch crowd in the piazza was the largest he’d seen yet. Day trippers from Milan, Lia had told him. It was warm, and the gentle breeze carrying the scent of coffee felt good.
Wolf shook his head and took his first bite of yet another pizza. “How the heck were you there last night at the pub?”
“The whole thing was actually very lucky,” she said. “I saw Cezar in the piazza just a few minutes before we talked on the phone, and thought it odd to spot him there, so I was watching him the whole time. He kept stopping and looking around, like he was searching hard for someone. Then he got a phone call and left the piazza in a flash, and I watched him go out of site down an alley.”
“And you followed him?”
“No. After he left I got the call from you, then I got a call from Paulo no more than a minute later. He told me Valerio’s dad wasn’t buried in Lecco, so I couldn’t send flowers. And that I had the time of his death completely wrong. I was puzzled to say the least. I didn’t even know what he was talking about. Then he said that Valerio’s dad had been killed twenty five years ago in Sicily, something to do with the mafioso.
“I asked him what the hell he was talking about, and he said that you called saying that I was the one requesting the information. I hung up, and remembered what you said on the phone, and figured you were trying to tell me something — obviously about Valerio.
“From that second on, all I could think about was Cezar in the piazza. And I realized he had been looking up at your apartment also. I wondered if maybe he was looking for you. Since he ran off, and you said you called from near the piazza, I decided to leave and follow his trail.”
“They caught me seconds after our phone call,” Wolf said with creased brow. “I was pretty far away from the piazza. How did you find us?”
She shrugged. “I went down, and down, and wound my way towards the lake. Then I saw Valerio and Cezar loading you in the back of Valerio’s Gazella. You were out cold, which was shocking to see. Then of course, there was no call on the radios from Valerio that he’d caught you, so I just ran to my car and went to the only place I could think they’d be taking you, the Albastru Pub.” She gave another shrug and dove back into her pizza.
“Jesus.” He stared at her.
She smiled and took a sip of Coke.
“Jesus.”
“You said that.”
“Have I thanked you for saving my life last night?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said laughing, “you have. Last night.” She took another sip. “So my question for you. How did you get the idea to have Paulo look into Valerio’s father’s death?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Everything came to a head when I saw Vlad’s dead body. I knew someone was trying to set me up, and doing a damn good job of it. And there were only a few people who could have been doing it — you, Rossi, or Cezar.” He shrugged. “That’s basically everyone I know in this country. Well, there’s Cristina, but I was
with
her. And Colonnello Marino or Tito? Nah.
“Then after I saw a few things, well, it was obviously Rossi. Firstly, the shipping documents. I couldn’t read anything but the ports — the destination port was
Genoa, Liguria, Italy
and the source port
Tenes, Algeria
. The only other thing I could gather from them was the shipping company name, which was
Fratello Importing
or something like that.
“What caught my eye was
Liguria
. I read it, and remembered that as the place Valerio said his brother lives, working for the Guarda Di Finanza. Remember he said his brother bought a nice house in Liguria with his inheritance money?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “That’s where he lives. Liguria is the region. Genoa is the capital, where the port is. In fact, his brother lives minutes from Genoa.” She shook her head. “It was called
Fratello
Importers?”
“Yeah.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“What?”
“Fratello means
brother
in Italian.”
“Huh. That would have been nice to know at the time.” He stared for a beat at the ground, then snapped out of it. “But it was seeing Rossi talking to Cezar in the pub that clicked everything into place in my mind.
“And I thought, that could be a great cover story for a pair of brothers who were involved in smuggling drugs and actually wanted to enjoy spending the money they earned. ‘Our father died. It was an inheritance.’
Who’s going to call them out on that? Nobody.
“Of course, their father had to have been out of the picture the whole time. Otherwise, people would have been pointing fingers at them saying ‘Your dad died twenty five years ago, there’s no way he just left you an inheritance!’” Wolf took a sip of Coke. “Anyways, that’s what gave me the idea to check on Rossi’s dad.”
Lia stared deeply into nothing. “Our family always assumed their father just
lived
in Sicily, and that his parents were divorced. They
never
talked about their father. It was like a taboo subject.”
“It probably was. Rossi’s own wife didn’t even know about him. It worked out perfectly for a cover story…for a while.”
They ate in silence for a minute.
She looked at him with a wry smile. “How did you get Paulo to do that for you?”
“Simple. He didn’t do it for me. I just pretended like I was calling in the favor for you, like you were too busy to talk at the moment, and we didn’t want to bring it up to Valerio. You know, because it was a touchy subject. He seemed pretty reluctant, or suspicious, but I sealed the deal when I told him to just call you directly with the answer.”
She blushed and forked her pizza.
Wolf gave a shrug. “Any excuse to talk to you.” He put on a somber expression. “I wish I could say I’m sorry he’s dead. I know he was a lifelong friend. A friend of the family…” he let his sentence die unfinished.
“No. It’s okay. He was a shell of a person. A phony. Obviously the person I was friends with probably died a few years ago. Maybe a long time before that. He was probably just using me for all sorts of subtle reasons I can’t even imagine.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said.
They finished eating in silence. Wolf reflected on the vengeance Rossi afforded him, and the anguish he would be in now if he’d been a millisecond later with his shot. He silently apologized to his brother for not being a millisecond sooner.
Chapter 49
Wolf and Lia spent the rest of their Saturday in Marino’s office recounting the week’s events leading up to the harrowing demise of Detective Rossi.
Relief flooded him that evening in a crashing wave, allowing him a much needed release of grievous emotion, and to his surprise, his later date with Lia was the most enjoyable night with a woman he’d had in years.
They both slept at John’s, and Wolf found out that Lia Parente was a liar. She
was
vicious. And he told her so facetiously as they lie next to each other afterwards, completely spent.
The next morning she took him to the airport, and they hugged, and gave each other a soft kiss, knowing it was a long shot they would see each other again.
Wolf’s back pressed deep into his coach window seat as the 777 lifted from the ground. He looked at the receding clay tile buildings below and looked forward to seeing the mountains of Colorado once again. The thought of home raised his pulse.
As the plane popped through the low clouds into the clear blue yonder above, David Wolf squinted out the window, thinking about how the last six days had colluded to mercilessly change his life, bringing him to a wholly foreign land, and now back home with a dead brother. He closed his eyes to get some rest. Something told him it wasn’t about to get any easier.
Chapter 50
It was mid-afternoon Sunday, and Wolf swiveled on his heels in the Rocky Points Police Station dirt parking lot, taking in the view and sucking in the smell of pine.
Once again a storm loomed just behind Rocky Points Ski Area. The air shook with a continuous rumble as the sky pulsed behind the dark green curtain of hail and rain. Wolf could feel every hair on his body gently rising as the sky darkened.
Rachette pulled Wolf’s backpack out of the RPPD issue Ford Explorer and set it at Wolf’s feet. “It’s been raining every day since you left. That looks like a big one though.”
Wolf nodded. “Thanks for the ride again.” He picked up the pack, slung it over his shoulder and walked to the light of the open station garage doors, where his own RPPD Explorer had been parked for the week. Turning back, he tipped his buffalo-felt Stetson hat. “Oh yeah, and thanks for getting this back. I still owe you a hanky.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Rachette hadn’t moved from the side of the truck. “Hey, Sarge?”
Wolf stopped. “Yeah.”
Rachette looked over both shoulders and towards the garage, then stepped close. “You going to stick around if you don’t get the Sheriff’s appointment tomorrow?”
Wolf gave a half smile as the air around them lit up with a bright flash. Thunder crashed in under two seconds, but they stood unmoved. He let out a deep breath as a dollop of rain smacked the bill of his hat.
There was a funeral for his brother to be arranged, his mother to comfort, and, yes, either he or Sergeant Derek Connell was going to be appointed to Sheriff within the next twenty four hours — a moment Wolf had thought about each and every waking minute for the last two years of his life.
Wolf narrowed his eyes.
Rachette stared unblinking, shifting his weight side to side. It looked like he knew something.
Something troubling.
Wolf turned and walked to the garage as the sky opened in a downpour. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
THE END.
Other Books By Jeff Carson
The Silversmith (David Wolf Book 2)
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http://amzn.to/160bHtD
About Jeff Carson.
I'm from Colorado, where I grew up spending a lot of my days playing outdoors -- golf, hiking, and skiing being the things I still really enjoy. Not only until recently in my thirties have I begun the indoor sport of writing fiction.
For years I've been a blogger for various sites based in various niches which has afforded me the opportunity to move temporarily to Italy, where I currently reside with my wife and two year old son. But Colorado, where the pine and sage-scented breezes blow, is home, and will always be.
When I'm not writing, I'm often eating pizza, listening to music, drinking Prosecco, or mumbling incoherent sentences in pseudo-Italian to any barista in town who will listen.
Other passions of mine (besides writing) include going on motorcycle camping trips across the western U.S., playing guitar and drums, golf, and reading.
One Last Thing…
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Jeff Carson