From Humble Beginnings (Joe Steel) (25 page)

Sandra.

Rubbing my eyes, I hope they’re deceiving me. But they’re not.

I’m on the tape too. Fucking one of Sandra’s friends; a woman she invited to come and play with us one night.

Any arousal I’d felt at Juliet watching this kind of thing jackhammers to the ground. Even though my eyes are glued to the screen, I force them away in an attempt to seek out Juliet. She’s sat on the sofa; her body half-tilted towards me and towards the screen.

I can feel her gaze on me and then, switching to the TV. Remote in hand, she fast-forwards the homemade porn flick that Sandra created without my awareness and stops at a close up of my face.

I have only one thing to say.

“Shit.”

****

For the last hour of the flight into Milan, not a word passed between us. And that’s not a lot, considering the first hour consisted of silence!

She hasn’t spoken to me; not uttered one word and God help me, I keep trying.

More than anything, I just keep saying ‘I’m sorry’. And if I’m honest, ‘sorry’ doesn’t sit well on my lips, but for her and for this fucking situation, I’ll say it as many times as she wants to hear it.

In a way, I’m surprised Sandra was shrewd enough to pull off such a move. Sending the DVD to my employer’s daughter rather than myself. Although I guess it all depends on how you look at it.

She’s scuppered her chances at blackmail.

But, if she knew anything about me, she knew there wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance of that ever coming to pass anyway. So, she’s done this to cause trouble.

And even though I don’t deserve the silent treatment, because none of this occurred at my instigation, Juliet should never have been exposed to that film.

In truth, I’m as shocked as hell that Sandra filmed me. I’ve been exploited and further so, because if that bitch gets her way, I’ve lost the only woman I’ve ever wanted to be with on a permanent basis.

I can’t let that happen but I’m at a loss as to how to resolve the situation. Every overture I make, every apology I utter, nothing. Nada. Zilch. She just keeps on staring out of the window.

Looking at my watch and checking the time, I realize I’ve got about another twenty or so minutes of flight time. After that, she’ll probably go to sleep in the car because it’s nearing eleven in the evening UK time and I might not get another chance to talk to her until the morning.

Rather than take the submissive route, as I’ve been doing, I turn to her and state, “I’m sorry that you had to see that, Juliet. But it wasn’t my doing and it wasn’t my intention that anyone would ever see it. The woman, the blonde you saw on screen, filmed me without my permission. She also took stills; something else, I didn’t realize was happening.

“A few months ago, when I broke up with her, she came to me and threatened me with blackmail. This is obviously my punishment for not doing as she wanted.”

My voice is hushed so that every Tom, Dick or Harry on his or her way to Milan for a shopping trip can’t overhear what is essentially a private conversation that shouldn’t really be taking place on a busy flight.

Again, silence meets my words and just before I lose my temper, her head whips around, her left brow is cocked in question and she asks, “Since when were you into piercings and tattoos, Joe?”

Whatever I’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that. For a full five seconds, I’m speechless and then, her lips twitch and she grins at me.

Honest to God grins.

Sandra had brought in a friend by the name of Rose. During our relationship, I’d met her a few times and always been astonished by two things. Her appearance and her career.

Head to toe in tattoos and piercings,
even though she was a lawyer.

That being said, I’d seen her once all togged up for the office and it’s amazing how she hid all of the metal and ink.

I’d never been attracted to her; that isn’t my kind of thing, but when Sandra suggested a threesome, what red-blooded kind of guy would I have been to refuse?

“If you think I didn’t know what you were up to with all those girls, then you’re either stupid or you think I am.” Jule’s words break into my thoughts and I grimace.

“Knowing about it and then being confronted with it are two different things.”

“You’re not wrong and can I say that I enjoyed watching you fuck two women?” Her eyes widen a little, as she shakes her head. “No. I didn’t. If you must know, I was jealous. But unless you intend to see the metal head and the blonde bimbo again, then I don’t need to be, do I?”

“Of course not. I told you. Sandra and I were over months ago. Personally, I never want to see her again, but if she made some more home movies then I can’t promise that that’s a possibility. She could pop up at any time and I have no control over that.”

“No, but that’s against your will. I can handle that. And I don’t expect you to have had a rosy past, Joe. Because I know for a fact you haven’t, but as long as that’s tamed while you’re with me, then we won’t have a problem.”

I want to say I’m relieved and to a point, I am. But at the same time, if she isn’t angry, then what was with the sulking?

I’d ask, but I feel like I’d be pushing my luck. Christ, I’m fortunate that she hasn’t exploded over this morning. What woman wants to wake up to the sight of her boyfriend fucking two women…?

No woman.

Even so, even knowing that I’m lucky, I seethe a little and eventually, she turns to me and says, “What?”

Frowning at her, I shrug. “Nothing.”

“Spit it out. You might be sat there in silence but you’re speaking a mile a minute.”

“Nothing. Seriously. Just forget it.”

“Typical man. You can’t just count your blessings, can you?” She shakes her head and sighs. “I was upset; I won’t deny it. This morning, not only was it a shock and not a pleasant one at that, but it hurt me and like I said, I was jealous. But I got over it. Me being quiet was me getting over it.

“I’m used to being jealous where you’re concerned. But I’ve never come face to face with anything like that before. It just took me a while to process.”

Can I deny that I like the second part? That she’s used to being jealous where I’m concerned?

A wide grin nearly cracks my jaw and she sees it and honest to God growls at me.

“You can be a real idiot at times.”

The only thing I can say to that is, “I love you, Juliet.”

I’ve shocked her. I can tell and I’m glad. I didn’t plan on telling her my feelings; not for a long while yet and that’s simply because it’s not in my nature to share the way I feel. But it just seemed the right time.

Rather than pressure her into making a similar admission, whether she does or not I don’t know, I reach for her hand and link my fingers with her. Tilting my head back, I close my eyes and show her that I don’t expect an answer.

For what feels like the longest time, she doesn’t move and then, she curls into my side and rests her head on my shoulder.

Why this woman brings me peace, when she churns me up inside like no other is simply an accident of fate.

But a happy accident, for all that.

The rest of the flight and the drive home took place with few words. But this time, there was no atmosphere to put either of us on edge. In the pitch black, we travelled down the autostrada towards Bergamo and arrived before two in the morning.

By the time we reach the villa, exhaustion has set in again. We’re both yawning, both shifting in our seats and both looking forward to getting into bed. But as soon as we pull up outside the house, we notice that there are lights on in the back.

As peculiar as Brigida’s life is, lights are always out at midnight if there’s no one in the lower part of the house. By this time, Cass is always in her room. Christ, she never leaves the damn place! And considering Juliet and I are in the car, the villa should be otherwise vacant.

From Juliet’s stillness, I can only assume that’s she made the same realization.

“Someone’s in.”

“Yeah, but there shouldn’t be. Who do you think it is, Joe?”

“How about someone looking to cause trouble?” Carefully, I climb out of the car and shut the door as quietly as I can. “Stay here. I don’t want you to be in any danger.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, what danger? I’m coming in with you,” she hisses. “As if I’d let you go in on your own.”

I want to roll my eyes, but her obstinacy is charming. “Can’t you just do as I ask? What if it’s Angelo?”

“Why would he be here? No one apart from Monica even knows we’re coming back tonight! And that’s because I texted her when I made the booking a few hours ago!”

“Well, the lights are on and the only dodgy people we know –who don’t already live with us! - are Angelo and Clordina. They could be up to anything in there.”

“You think they’re rifling through our stuff?”

“I think Brigida’s been doing that from day one.”

“Then why are they here?”

“I don’t know but I intend to find out.”

Before she can say a word, I start on my way to the house and then stop in my tracks as my mobile phone buzzes. Grabbing it, I notice the incoming text alert and open it.

Judge has just come through with a warrant; tomorrow, the Guardia di Finanza purges the factory of Brigida’s gang. My kidnapper came through as a snitch. If you want to see the raid, be there at eleven thirty in the morning. Should be fun.

Monica

“Shit,” I whisper and turn around, almost bumping into Juliet, who, of course, didn’t do as I’d asked. I pass her the phone and in the bright light, see her face cloud with confusion.

“This is a bad thing?”

“It would explain why someone is in the house at this time of night. They could be looking for something… or trying to hide it.  I don’t know but Cass could be in danger.”

“Do you think we should call the police?”

“What and have them turn up, guns blazing, to find Brigida sat reading the paper with a cup of hot chocolate at her side? I don’t think so. I’ve got a gut feeling it isn’t Brigida, but I could be wrong. Ali hates me as it is!”

Without waiting for her, I stalk forwards and carefully manoeuvre my way around the veranda which has creaking steps. The front door is unlocked and I open it incrementally to make sure that no squeak could give us away.

Walking along the hallway using my mobile as a light, I wander to the back part of the house where the light’s coming from. There’s a long, almost hallway-like room. No doors, just a long gallery with paintings adorning the walls and lots of comfortable seating areas.

I hover in the doorway and feeling Juliet close at my side, don’t jump when she brushes against my back.

I hold her back, when my eyes come into contact with the room’s occupants. As soon as I lay eyes on them, one thought runs through my head.

We’re fucked.

Just as I thought the situation couldn’t deteriorate; I have to rethink my position as I hear a sound that I’ve only ever heard in the movies. The part of London where I spent my formative years wasn’t exactly upper class. We had the odd break in, an infrequent ram raid but never,
ever
did I come across a gun.

Of course, that might have changed now.  But when I was a kid, the most perilous situation I came across was falling, headfirst off the monkey bars in the school playground.  As painful as that was, as many stitches I needed to endure, I’ll bet it’s nothing like the rip and the tear of a bullet plundering through flesh. 

And somehow, the sound is just as I imagined the cocking of a pistol would be but it’s somehow a thousand times worse. Louder. Sharper. More abrasive so that it rubs along the little hairs in my eardrum and triggers an earthquake within.

Juliet’s quivering translates itself to me and considering Angelo, Clordina and Gianni Ali are tucked away inside the gallery, I figure it can only be one person standing there.

It has to be Brigida.

There’s no other Marx brother roaming around this bloody house.

A part of me wants to rub my eyes and question if one of the Guardia di Finanza’s top guys is, in fact, in league with the devil. But I’m not going blind and I don’t need glasses. De Ali
is
there; and he
was
chatting to a smug Angelo and Clordina was perched on his lap, looking like the cat who had managed to nick all the cream.

Nor am I in need of a hearing aid.

That
was
a gun and taking refuge within my thoughts isn’t going to make the pistol-toting bitch disappear.

But what the fuck am I supposed to do?

“Brigida,” I murmur in a low voice, trying to be calm as I inch upwards and out of my crouch and away from the door I was peeking behind. I stand and slide my feet across the floor so that Juliet can manoeuvre behind me and I’m in the line of fire rather than her.

A part of me is relieved to see the old bitch. I don’t think I can take anymore shocks. The idea of Marco popping up, dressed in hole-free clothes and smelling of aftershave while aiming a gun my way, might just have finished me off. Before a bullet had the chance of ripping my insides to shreds.

“Be quiet and get in there.”

Ordinarily, her English is about two footsteps away from being perfect; but now, for whatever reason, it’s as clogged as a wig stuck down a drain pipe.

She sounds like she’s been crying.  And I can understand her desire. As soon as Juliet and I step into that room, we’re brown bread. Dead. To be quite frank that is not how I intended to spend my evening.

Wishing to God I’d never set foot in bloody Italy, I try and calm the situation down a tad. “Brigida, there’s no need for this.”

“There’s every need, you fool.”

“Why? I haven’t heard anything. I don’t
know
anything.  I’m not a threat to this household.” It’s not a whole lie.  I don’t have a clue what Gianni Ali or Angelo and Clordina are doing here.  I can just assume that the cop who is helping to rid this area of this particular crime family is not doing a bang up job!” 

“No, but you’ve seen it, haven’t you? My idiot of a son with the policeman he has in his pocket; as well as that slut on his lap. That slut has ruined everything.  Made Angelo question where he should only have accepted.  Where
once
he had accepted.  She made him jealous, angry, and possessive.  He killed a policeman for her,
mamma mia
! Killed him because he dared look at Angelo’s woman and she dared to look back.” Her words roll into each other as though they’ve been pushed down and down until the pressure reached its current peak.  Explosion! 

And she’s just told me everything I hadn’t known for definite. Now, if the tables were turned, even
I
would shoot us!

“Why did you have to tell us that?” I groan out.

Her answer is not reassuring. “You’re going to die anyway.”

“Great,” Juliet grunts under her breath but I can hear the catch in her voice and know she’s an inch away from sobbing. Her clutch on my waist is tight, her fingers digging in but she isn’t trembling and her voice doesn’t transmit her fear, outside of the fact she’s on the brink of tears, that is.

In a way, it’s all very surreal. I’m having the same reaction. Almost as though this isn’t really happening and if it were happening to someone else, we’d both be laughing.

That makes us sound mean. But it’s a comedy of errors. The entire situation is and always has been.  From the hand we received as a welcome gift to the gang-riddled work staff under Bernard’s employment.  I hadn’t thought it could get much worse.  Apparently, I was wrong.

“I want you to go in there and make them talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“About me, about Ali’s role in all of this.”

“You can’t be serious?” I ask, mouth agape. “The bad guys only tell you the whole tale in sleazy movies. Not in real life.”

She shrugs. “Angelo is my son, I love him but he has many faults. Vanity is one of them. You will say something to make him talk; if not, you’ll get a bullet in the back of your brain.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

“It has nothing to do with you. Just do as I say or your death won’t be quick and easy; but long, slow and painful.”

She means it.  Her voice is hard, as frigid as ice.  I always knew there was something strange about her; something detached and
not
there.  I’m not saying she’s psychotic, because she isn’t.  She’s there, just like I am and just like Juliet is.  Oh, no, she’s one smart cookie but she doesn’t feel.

The minute I saw her glance at the hand Angelo shipped us on that first morning, I knew she was peculiar.  My confirmation has been tied up in a pretty pink bow and delivered to me right this minute. 

I rest one hand on top of Juliet’s and force the pincer-like pinch of her fingers about my waist to loosen. Quickly squeezing them, I say, “Brigida, I’ll go in but I want you to let Juliet go.”

“And why should I do that?”

That’s the million dollar question. Why should she do that? “If I’m worrying about Juliet, then I won’t be my most persuasive.” I almost groan at the weak answer, but what else can I say? Why should she let Juliet go? Any survivors of Brigida’s deadly intentions are only witnesses to her crimes. That will be the last thing she wants.

“If a gun to the back of your head is not persuasion enough, then I doubt your girlfriend will do much harm to your concentration.”

“Shall I take that as a no?”

Brigida hisses. “This is no time for levity. Get in there now and do as I say.” She waggles the gun at me and for a moment, I consider leaping forward and wrestling for control of the weapon. But in the dim light of the hallway, I can see her finger is resting on the trigger. If I make any sudden move, she’ll just shoot me and I’m too close to her for the aim to be anything but true.

On top of that, even if I do wrestle control from Brigida, the gun will likely go off in the struggle. If it doesn’t hit one of us, then it will alert the threesome in the gallery. Something that will push Juliet and I back into the mire.

I lift my hands and tell her, “I’m going.” To Juliet, I murmur, “Stay close to me and always at my back.”

I can feel her forehead brush against my back as she nods. She breaths heavily, and then releases both hands from my waist.

Edging towards the door again, I reach for my mobile and use the light shining from the gallery to cover the sudden illumination of my phone. Quickly, I search for Monica’s last text and hit reply, with just the one word. Or in this case, acronym. SOS.

Whether she’ll get my text in time, or if she’ll get it in the morning, I don’t know. But I’ve tried.

There’s no point in calling the police. Not when the head investigator is in cahoots with the local version of the Corleone family.  Who the hell can I trust on the local police unit?

I figure there’s only one way that I might have a chance of getting us out of here without a bullet in an important organ. And that includes making Gianni think I believe he’s in the villa on business.

Christ, I’ll have to pull out all the stops on the acting front.

Good job I’m a great bullshitter.

Keeping my phone out, I press it to my ear and as I walk into the room, I say, “You get to bed, Monica. Big day tomorrow. No falling asleep on the job.” I chuckle and then stop, forcing a frown to my face as I let my gaze wander over Angelo, Gianni and Clordina, who all look as though they’ve been frozen into place. I let my laughter drift off, before I say, “I’ll have to go, Monica. Sleep well.”

Juliet’s intelligence has never been more appealing than at that moment, because like our thoughts are in tandem, she exclaims, “Angelo? What are you doing here?”

Her confusion has Angelo’s surprise disintegrating. “Brigida is my mother, Giulietta. While you were away, she invited me here for a family meal. I hope you do not mind.”

The way he says Juliet’s name always makes my skin crawl. Slimy bastard.

“Of course not. Why didn’t you tell me you were related to Marco and Brigida?” Juliet trills and steps further into the lion’s den; completely disobeying my order to remain behind me. Although, if we can pull this off, we might survive.

Almost as though she just recognized her, she stops in her tracks all of a sudden. With her voice as warm as the Arctic, she grits out at Clordina, “Oh. It’s you. What are you doing here?”

“The reason for the family get-together, Giulietta. Clordina has consented to be my wife.”

Juliet’s congratulations sounded surprisingly sincere and I interrupt, “Are they under arrest, Gianni? Is that why you’re here?” I make a show of looking down at my watch. “At three in the morning?”

Gianni’s ever stoic-face tightens a little. “Angelo is an old friend of mine.”

“Forgive me, but you’re a chauffeur, aren’t you, Angelo?”

“
Si
.
I am. And does that prevent me from being friends with a member of the police?” Angelo chuckles. His frosty surprise of earlier dissipating as he thinks he’s in control of the situation. Neither Juliet nor I have leapt to the obvious conclusions so he must think we’re very stupid. Either that or he’s the dumb one.

But Gianni on the other hand isn’t stupid. He’s anything but.

Clever men never let themselves be caught and
that
is what is concerning me.

He’s saying very little. Allowing Angelo to take the centre stage and to do the talking. Even Clordina hasn’t recovered. She’s perched beside her supposed-fiancé, clinging to him and letting him be in the spotlight. A position she usually prefers to have to herself. She hasn’t even flashed a flirtatious look my way.

The situation is obviously murkier than I even imagined.

“You weren’t born a policeman, were you, Gianni?” Angelo asks, heartily jovial.

“No. I wasn’t. I think it’s time I made my leave. As I said, Angelo, you have my congratulations on your fine choice of a bride.” Gianni nods at the newly-engaged couple and then at Juliet and myself.

Each step that takes him closer to the doorway, I want to scream at him. Tell him not to move another inch, because if he does, then that’s Juliet and I done for.

But what can I say without this shitty situation deteriorating even more?

I say nothing; my eyes catching Juliet’s to warn her against uttering a word either.

The pair of us are stood frozen and the twenty-second walk from the centre of the gallery towards the doorway we just moved away from seems to take a lifetime. Each step of Gianni’s lasts a good thirty minutes and my heartbeat seems to pulse in time to his every movement. Nausea unravels in my belly, unfurling and uncurling to spread anxiety throughout my body.

He eventually makes it through the doorway. And what happened next, I would never have expected in a million years.

The sound of a gunshot ricocheted throughout the gallery. Angelo’s jovial smile disappeared in an instant. Clordina shrieked, jumping up and Juliet and I just froze all the more. Angelo ran from the sofa he’d been lounging on and sprinted down the length of the gallery, traversing the same path as had Gianni.

He passes Juliet and myself and I take the opportunity to rush to Juliet’s side and push her behind me. “What’s going on, Clordina?” I yell at her, even though I have a pretty good idea of what just happened.

Sounds of garbled Italian came from the hallway, where Angelo now stood and it poured free from Clordina’s mouth in a torrent of fear. We know who the person yielding the gun is… Clordina doesn’t and it’s obvious that she fears for herself. Probably believing it to be some rival group or one of Angelo’s enemies. And because he’s such a prick, I’d imagine he has many.

A part of me wonders if Gianni even had a chance. That single gunshot meant more than a shower of bullets, so I doubt that he had time to pull out his own weapon and aim at Brigida. Although, miracles can happen. But when they do, would they work with a bent copper?