From Humble Beginnings (Joe Steel) (14 page)

“Why not?”

Tucking her briefcase beneath her arm, she purses her lips and says, “That photo; both you and Cass reacted to it.  Do you know the person?”

“Yes.  He was our chauffeur two nights ago.  He collected us from the airport.”

“He chauffeured you?” Monica asks, astounded. 

“Yes.  Cass is feeling a bit sick, because she fancied him.  Apparently, blood thirsty boyfriends aren’t hot this year.”

“Why did he do that?” The question is aimed inwardly and she ignores my blithe comment. 

“I don’t know.  I don’t like it; I don’t like being inveigled in something that has nothing to do with us, but apparently, that choice is being taken out of my hand.”

“There is always a choice.  We always have a choice.”

I shrug.  “Maybe.” 

My choice is either take the step that will give me security upon Bernard’s retirement, or retreat home. 

Victor?

Or loser? 

I’ve never been the latter and refuse to start now.

I’m tired.  Really, really tired.  Bone deep exhaustion might be a bit of an exaggeration, but I’m well on my way there and finding myself in the last place I want to be, is hardly a mood improver. 

The reason for my exhaustion is twofold.  Firstly, I’m working my ass off because Cass still isn’t up to par.  The second reason behind my lack of sleep rests with my colleague too.  Cass is still in the midst of some psychotic episode.  Her bedroom is down the hall from mine and I can hear her crying in the middle of the night.  Her sobs wake me up and it takes me an age to fall back to sleep. 

That sounds selfish, doesn’t it? 

Six weeks after we discover a mutilated hand, my colleague is still feeling the trauma of it all and all I care about is my own beauty sleep and not her distress. 

The truth of it is, I’m perplexed by Cass.  I never realized there was this side to her; this emotional creature that could be so affected by what had happened to her here in Italy.  I saw the hand too; was repulsed and horrified by it, but life goes on. 

Except, at this moment, it isn’t for Cass. 

And because of that, I’m taking up the majority of the slack. 

Selfish, again, I know.  But I’m knackered and the last thing I need, first thing on a Monday morning, is to deal with Gianni Ali from the Guarda di Finanza. 
Again
. 

I’m seeing more and more of this guy; or should I say, I’m being summoned more and more often to the police station to see him.  Apparently, to meet anywhere else is dangerous.  Quite frankly, I’m getting sick of battling the traffic that clogs the town to reach the station.  I’m sick of fighting for parking spaces.  And I’m sick of knowing the desk sergeants by name. 

That alone tells you how often I’m here. 

“Look, for the last time, how long are you going to be undercover at the factory?  It’s a business; and I’m just an employee.  I have to answer to a boss too.  This new department of ours is somehow draining the factory’s efficiency rate.  I don’t know how, considering that they’re not actually doing anything.  I need to make huge infrastructural changes to the premises, something that you’re preventing me from doing; I know you’re the police, but something has to give.  You have to cut me some slack!”

It’s unfortunate that Monica has taken up a position beside me.  Like a sentinel of old.  Her presence isn’t exactly warming Ali to my argument.  His eyes are hot with jealousy every time he rakes them over her and then they turn to ice as they approach me.  I’d go as far to say that the guy hates me for my proximity to his ‘one that got away’ but in this day and age, I’d hope that we’ve managed to contain our baser instincts. 

Almost as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I have to stop myself from snorting.  Ha!  If any guy was drooling over Juliet, would I take it lying down?   I sincerely doubt it.  And that’s the God’s honest truth, so why should Ali be any different? 

Especially because he can sense that I’m attracted to her and that attraction is entirely mutual. 

That’s another reason why I want this police investigation wrapped up.  I need to get away. 

Six weeks of close proximity, six weeks of hard slog with me relying on Monica more and more as Cass sinks even deeper into a depression I can’t understand… I need to get away.  Cowardly?   Maybe.  Brave?   I think so. 

Monica is a beautiful woman.  Intelligent, sexy as hell, and she has this tendency of going without a bra. 

Any man’s eyes would wander, be that man committed or not. 

A gentleman wouldn’t look; but I’m no gentleman.  Especially not when my eyes are being purposely directed towards the sight of Monica’s pert and unfettered breasts. 

The amount of time her shirt slips down as she’s leaning over me… It can’t be accidental. 

At first, I ignored these blatant displays – and Christ, doesn’t that make me sound like an old fart! – but I figured it was disloyal to Juliet.  And now, six weeks in, I’m starting to look. 

I’m not perfect; have never stated that I am, but I’m starting to feel guilty! 

My urges, once dampened down, are starting to fire up.  I need to see Juliet.  I need to
do
something.  I’m only just realizing how highly sexed I am and with temptation sat beside me every minute of the workday, I don’t know how long I can stay true to a woman that has made me no real promises and to whom I’m not committed. 

I’m sick of complications. 

The minute I leave this bloody office, with its bloody horrible nicotine stench and stain that makes me feel like I need another shower as soon as I’ve left, I’m going to call Juliet. 

If I can just connect with her; just talk, then I’ll feel better.  She’s called; a few times, in fact she was on the phone last night.  But our conversations have been a bit stilted and that’s down to
me.  This situation is entirely out of my hands and I hate being out of control.  If I can talk to her like I used to do, and if she can talk to me the same way, then that would be a start. 

I need her blistering honesty.  I need to discuss this farcical situation with her and get her point of view.  That might go some way to making me feel better, because at this moment, I feel like a marionette doll.  I’ve not felt that way since I was a kid.  When fate was pulling my strings; making me a husband and a father one minute, then robbing me of both my child and my wife the next. 

And I’ll be honest; my mood has been sour ever since my attorney forwarded me the divorce papers a week ago.  I signed them and am now just waiting for the decree nisi.  God knows how long that will take.

It isn’t that I want to be with Brook; I don’t.  But I feel as though I’m in a spider’s web and every time I turn, I’m being further entangled in more of the silk.  It isn’t improving my ill humour.

One bright spot bleached some of the grey from my days.  Sandra didn’t contaminate me with any infectious disease, so that’s something to be cheerful about! My doctor informed me a week ago; unorthodox to give me such news over the phone, but when you go private, they’re willing to go that extra step. 

And so they should at the fees private practices charge! 

As relieved as I am to know I’m clean, it doesn’t have me clicking my heels every time I step out the door. 

Sandra’s bloody lucky that I received the all-clear; otherwise she’d be up in court on GBH charges. 

“Mr Steel, you’re right.  This is a police investigation and your say will change no aspect of our methods.  We are there for a purpose, but I fear that I’ve kept you in the dark, as you fail to realize the importance of our presence at the factory.” Ali sits back, steepling his fingers over his belly as his eyes continue to flash between Monica and I.  “We’ve managed to ascertain that over eighty per cent of your workforce has ties to the mafia.”

“Eighty per cent?” I ask, aghast.  When this farce of an investigation actually comes to an end, what the hell will the company do for staff? 

“Yes.  To the eyes of the staff, the situation has not changed.  They are still a small cog turning a large wheel.”

Monica huffs.  “Bullshit, Gianni.  Please cease trying to frighten my client into continuing to cooperate with you.”  She places her hands on the table and leans over it slightly, as soon as she does; her perfume seems to permeate the air.  It’s not a sickly scent like a lot of the women over here favour.  Not heavily floral, but light and fresh. 

Christ, even her smell is sexy. 

“Give me facts.  Show me this report that makes such a claim.” She turns to me again and drops her elbow.  Because her attention was on Gianni and not on me, I had a two second window to study her and I note the slight bend of her arm as she purposely slackens the tension in the material of her shirt so that I have the perfect angle to see down her top.  

So, she
is
doing it on purpose. 

Well, that’s something.  I’m not imagining it. 

Always preferable to thinking that I’m hallucinating!  Or being paranoid! 

“Don’t listen to him, Joe.  I’ll bet that nearly sixty per cent of Gianni’s alleged figures have ties, yes, but aren’t a party to illegal acts.  They’ll just be working for a pay packet.  They’ll be scared for their lives; their families.  How many lieutenants have your sources discovered?”

Gianni shrugs, making no attempt to either deny or affirm Monica’s statement that he’s lying.  “We have determined that there are at least four; but there could be as many as twelve.  There are many departments to the factory.  As far as we can tell, each section has a head and that head reports to the boss himself.”

“In the event that you can completely eradicate all presence of the mafia from the factory, how many of the people with ties to them would be taken into custody?”

Gianni smiles.  “Touché.  About thirty all in all.”

“So you purposely misled my client into believing nearly one thousand members of his staff are engaged in illegal activity?” Monica’s voice is ice cold but rather than piss Gianni off, the smile that had appeared in the face of his slight defeat, merely widens. 

Christ, their relationship is complicated. 

It’s another reason to stay well away from Monica. 

Outside of the fact that I don’t really want
her
.  In all honesty, I want a willing, spread-eagled Juliet.  I’m not sure if that’s going to happen without my producing a wedding ring. 

Is she worth that price tag? 

God, yes. 

Shit
, I can’t believe I’d willingly offer myself up to the altar again.  It’s just another sign of the way Juliet makes me feel.  I don’t care that I’m currently divorcing one woman and that ten years down the line, Juliet and I might be another statistic on the divorce rate.  For the minute I want her more than I’ve wanted another woman and as short as life is, that’s all that counts. 

“Yes,” Gianni admits, this time his honesty literally radiates out of his pores.  “I want your client to realize the pervasive effect the mafia has.  Yes, it might be true that a small number of that eighty per cent are truly involved with illegal activities, the rest are being forced into aiding and abetting this gang.  How can they not?  As you say, they are working for the mafia, because they have no choice.  Because they’re living in fear.  And why should they?   They’re members of this free society, of this democracy, as are you and I. 

“But here, in this place, in your client’s factory, the democracy might as well not exist.  There might as well be black shirts wandering around the halls, because the threat of life being extinguished simply for failing to cooperate is real.”

Phrasing it that way, I look like a petty arsehole. 

Maybe I am. 

Maybe I’m selfish.  Okay, I know I am.  But he’s right. 

“Nobody should have to live that way and I want this group eradicated from the factory floor as much as you do.  But I fail to see how your undercover police officers are in any way working towards that goal.”

“And you would know this how?  Were you aware that we’ve been collating evidence?  Determining how pervasive the mafia’s chokehold is?   Who the lieutenants are?”

“No,” I admit.  I hadn’t.  As far as I’ve been able to tell, the undercover police are always just sitting around.  Smoking, drinking espresso.  They look fishy to me and probably to everyone else as well  .  Assuming that the mafia’s lieutenants aren’t stupid, considering that they reached such a ‘lofty’ position in the hierarchy, it’s a wonder that the police haven’t been found out. 

That they might have done and that all of the facts being spouted by Ali are all just fabricated lies fed to them is a distinct possibility. 

The thought puts me on edge. 

“Well then, you’re underestimating my men.”  Ali pulls out a file from the folders stacked in front of him.  He sorts through the papers and retrieves a glossy photograph.  It’s predominantly black and white with bright glares from where lights had intruded into the shadows of night. 

Before we left, Bernard provided us with a basic plan of action.  It wasn’t in-depth, just suggestions that he thought would be advantageous for the factory’s future from the reports he’d received about the current infrastructure. 

While the government had lied to the company, stating that
it was mafia-free when it certainly isn’t, they’d been pretty accurate with their inventory.  So far, I’ve been implementing all of Bernard’s suggestions.  One of those, the introduction of new machinery and latest technology sewing machines. 

This place was originally for the production of myriad clothing items.  A predominant chunk of that was lingerie and underwear; at the low end of the market.

Bernard and I developed a new idea; one of high end lingerie.  For that, we need machinery capable of handling delicate silks and laces.  Out with the old equipment and in with the new. 

The van pictured in the photograph belongs to the company, which has been delivering the new machines and taking the old gear away. 

Gianni sets out a series of ten photos; all time-stamped and all within two minutes of each other. 

The first shot shows the van with the door open and one of the old machines ready to be forklifted into the back.  The next a picture of men, three or four, packing suspiciously white bags into the nooks and crannies of the machine.  Another showed them taping the bags to the equipment.  And so it continued.