Italy to Die For (13 page)

“Emergenza, emergenza
,”
I half-whispered, half-yelled.
“Primo, primo
… take us first,
per favore
.
”

Chapter 20

Margo in the Alley

Thank god the dri
ver understood the horrific urgency of my unexpected stomach flu because he didn’t understand a word of El’s fractured Italian. After a long five minutes of weaving through one street after the other, which clearly annoyed those inconsiderate tagalongs who belonged in a cab other than ours, the driver finally dumped them off at an apartment house that might’ve been where they were staying. Or maybe they just wanted out as much as I wanted them out. When they finally made their exit, I gave them a piece of sage advice every traveler should know. “Next time do not leave your hotel without a business card or a book of matches that indicates where you’re staying.”

“
Save your breath,” El said. “They don’t speak English.”

“Then they have no business traveling.”

“Shut up, Margo. I can’t take much more of this.”

“You can’t, what about me.”

An eternity or so later, El and I were standing in front of Lorenzo’s apartment. Okay, she was standing; I was hanging on to her.

“What now?” El said, more like snapped at me
. “If there’s one thing I cannot stand ….”

“It’
s an inebriated broad,” I said, finishing her sentence because the words took too long coming out of her mouth. “Regardless of how pretty the broad is, or everybody thinks she is. Because beauty is only skin deep, blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. As dear ol’ Mom would say, beauty can be as much a curse as a blessing.”

“You would know.”

Propping one arm against the building, I refused to go inside. “Not while I’m on the verge of a purge far worse than the last one.”

El hea
ved one of her disapproving sighs. “I don’t care where you give up that grappa, just as long as it’s not in the vicinity of Lorenzo’s space. I will not have you embarrassing me.”

I stretched my neck up and down the street
. “An alleyway, a bucket, I’ll take anything, just point me in the right direction.”

“Y
ou know how I feel about pointing: it’s so … so tacky.”

“For the love of god, El ….
”

She gestured with her head.
“Over there, between those two buildings and hurry up.”

“
You have got to be kidding.”

“By now we could’ve been upstairs,
” she said. “You with your face in the toilet bowl. Just make it quick. I have to use the toilet, in the manner of a civilized person.”

“Okay,
okay, but don’t you dare leave me stranded.”

I walked
across the cobblestoned area, peered into the narrow alleyway, and inched my way along a wall that felt like stucco. As alleys go, not bad, in fact quite decent, that is until I let loose with two days’ worth of what can only be described as assorted tidbits I couldn’t remember tossing before, all the while having to listen to El yell about my being okay. Obviously not, or I would’ve answered her. After the third calling of my name, I poked my head out to see her standing with arms folded, ala the Miss Priss mode even her students must’ve found annoying. Using my outside voice, I said, “No need to panic. I can hear you.”

“
Then why didn’t you answer?”

“Too bu
sy with my head between my legs, isn’t that why I’m here?” The question was rhetorical, as were many of mine, but often the only way to get through to her.

“So much
for the fear factor,” El said. She turned and started walking toward Lorenzo’s building.

I was about to resume
the usual position when a noise from behind caught my attention.
Dammit, what now
, I mumbled a nano second before that gut-wrenching feeling, more like the reality of a strong arm wrapped around me, my arms pinned down. Cold steel pressing against my throat warned me not to move. The disgusting erection pressing against my back confirmed my assailant’s gender. All I could think about was one word:
slaughter
. Not of the animals Trevor had described, but of those two women here in Cinque Terre, their slashed throats gushing out thick red blood, wide-eyed with the fear of knowing death was moments away.
Jesus, Mary, and …
what was that? The bastard sneezed. Not once but twice. Adrenalin I didn’t think possible kicked in, giving me the strength to rear back with one elbow and jab the point into his ribs. When he loosened his grip on me, I turned and hammered my knee into that yucky bulge.

He let out the
sweetest sound I’d heard in a long time, “A-A-GH!” Followed by a long string of foreign profanities, some of which I’d probably heard from Giorgio’s mama, of all times to have thought about her. Not now, Mama, not while fighting for my life in Cinque Terre. Tonight’s jerk must’ve called on his precious adrenalin. Before I could make a second move, he executed a quick flip to our original positions and slammed me against the wall.

“Watch the face,”
I almost said but didn’t want to give him any ideas he hadn’t thought up on his own.

Somewhere from a distant universe
came the welcoming sound of El’s shrill voice.

“Cut it out
, Margo,” she yelled. “I’m tired and in no mood for playing junior high games at this hour.”

Hel
-lo … neither was I. Under those circumstances the best I could manage was a pathetic grunt, followed by an even more pathetic but much more aggressive wail, one I hoped would be loud enough to arouse a neighborhood dog into a barking frenzy that promised to get worse before it stopped altogether. Instead I got nothing. The backward butt block I attempted failed miserably. One more body slam from him sent me into the wall and my heart to race faster than the three-sixty spin on a soccer ball. Goodbye, world. I sank to the ground, a heap of crumbled cardboard. Dead or dying was the only way I could describe my condition, along with the horrific odor of vomit and fermenting produce.

Chapter 21

Aftermath

What now
. At times Margo could be such a pain but those rumblings coming from the alley sounded more like two people than one. I ran over there, not knowing what to expect, certainly not the shadowy figure of a man bent over and clutching his groin as he careened down the narrow passage, banging from one wall to the other before turning a corner into darker than dark. To hell with him, my immediate concern was Margo who didn’t even yell at me when I mistook her for a heap of garbage blocking my way. After plowing into the heap, I tripped and stumbled and slipped until I skated into a butt fall. Dear god, don’t let me find spilled blood. Immediate prayer answered in the form of tomato peelings and onion skins and other slimy things.

After crawling through the stinking mess
to where Margo lay, I found her neck with my shaky fingers, trailing them from one ear to the other. Nothing wet and sticky which to my relief meant no blood where it didn’t belong … ugh, just the thought of that mess turned my stomach. Backtracking along Margo’s neck, I applied pressure until I located a pulse, strong though pounding faster than fluid fingers striking a laptop keyboard. My heart was pounding too, fast enough to make me regret every rotten thought or word I’d ever laid on my gorgeous sis. Digging my fingers into her shoulder, I spoke through a burst of involuntary sobs.

“For the love of … god and all that’s holy … please … please, don’t go comatose on me.”

Moments later a soft moan blipped from her lips. Then she sputtered out an emphatic, “Shouldn’t you be screaming for help?”

“Right, I forgot and now it’s too late. He’s gone.”

“He … who?”

“
How should I know, you’re the one who saw him.”

“Only the knife in his ha
nd,” she said, lifting her body onto one elbow.

“What about your handbag?”

“Uh-h, still wrapped around my shoulder and wrist, damn I’m good.”

I got to my feet
and using both hands, pulled Margo to hers. Clinging to each other like two scared kids, we walked across the piazza to Lorenzo’s apartment. During that short distance to the entryway Margo regained her composure and stepped away from me, a good sign because I didn’t want to play nursemaid to someone who could milk pain longer and stronger than most men, or so she’d bragged to me more than once. Besides, she smelled like the garbage I’d crawled through, which meant I probably did too.

While we were staggering up the steps, she said
, “Any chance your friend Lorenzo has returned from whatever mission took him away.”

“None whatsoever or he would’ve called your cell … our cell.
”

“Now that you mention it, he hasn’t called at all,”
she said.

“Why should he? It’s not like we’re an item … or going together.
”

Thank god Margo stopped on the first landing, my cue to do the same. We stood there a minute, catching our breath before attacking the next flight.
Onward and upward, Margo took the lead.

“So, you don’
t have his cell number,” she said from over her shoulder.

“
Stop it. We barely know each other.”

“In the biblical sense,” she said.

“Since when do you quote the bible.”

“I’m only thinking of your welfare.”

“Not to worry, as Mom would say. We can manage without a man in the house.”

At last, no more stairs.
I unlocked the door, followed Margo inside, and locked the door again. After switching on the light, I noticed the mouse forming under her left eye and touched it with the tip of my finger.

“Ow-w,” she
said, backing away. “Don’t make the damn thing any worse than it already is.”

“We should telephone the police.”

Margo handed me the phone. “Be my guest; I feel the urge to toss more cookies.”

While
she took the potty break I’d forgotten about, I searched for a telephone directory, opening several drawers before finding a little black book. Skimming page after page, I looked for the name Dante Novaro, and was ready to give up when his business card fell out. I called the number listed on it and was relieved to hear him answer on the first ring. After identifying myself and reminding him of my connection to Lorenzo Gentili, I gave a brief account of the attack.

“I will be over right away,” Commissioner Dante said.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” I said as Margo was returning from the bathroom. She responded with a
no-way
shake of her head. “My sister and I are getting ready for bed.”

“
Were
getting ready for bed,” he said. “Since you chose to call me, we are now on my time, and I prefer speaking to both of you while tonight’s incident remains vivid in your mind.”

Who was I to argue with the
carabinieri in a country other than my own. After the call ended, I dug the camera out of my handbag, and told Margo we’d need some photos for evidence.

“Now?” she said.
“When I want nothing more than a good night’s sleep?”

“The commissioner should
have a record of this assault, in case he doesn’t bring an official photographer.” I couldn’t stop my hand from trembling while I focused the camera on her.

“It’s not
like we’re in the boonies, El.” Margo turned her puffy eye to its best advantage.

“Nor are we
in America.” I snapped my first shot. “Every country has its own way of handling crimes of violence.”

“Speakin
g of which: you saved my life.”

“You saved yourself ….” S
nap … snap. “I wasn’t even there.” I moved to Margo’s other side.

“But, if you hadn’t showed up
when you did, he might’ve come after me again. I was vulnerable and not thinking straight.”

Snap … snap. “But you knew enough to defend yourself.”

“You’re too modest, El. Are you done? Good. I won’t forget this, I promise.”

“That’s one
promise I will hold you to.”

Margo dropped
onto the couch and rested her head on its arm. “Douse the lights, will you. I can’t keep my eyes open one minute longer.”

After turning out all ligh
ts except the one outside, I plopped onto Lorenzo’s roomy chair and lifted my feet to the matching ottoman. Sitting there gave me a weird sensation, his DNA rubbing off on mine, again. Soon, the light sound of Margo sawing logs lulled me into a similar sleep, only to have the pleasant journey of nothingness end with a knock-knock to my skull.

“Did you hear what I heard?” Margo whispered.

“Other than your insatiable snoring, no; you must’ve been dreaming.”

“I don’t snore and you know it. Nor was I dreaming. Sh-h, there it is again, a noise coming from outside the door.”

“It’s probably the commissioner,” I said, “and about time.” I went to the window and looked down to the street. “Still, I don’t see a police car, or for that matter, any other car.”

The door rattled and Margo hopped up.
She whispered her favorite profanity but in Italian, “
Merda
. Do you suppose it’s the landlord?”

“
Lorenzo at this hour and without calling, I don’t think so.” I spoke in a voice so low I barely heard it.

“T
his thing that happened in the alley … maybe it’s not over.”

“Or maybe we’re
having a bad dream, you think?”

“I don’t know but let’s find out.”

Side by side, Margo and I
tiptoed toward the entrance. On the way my hand slid across an umbrella protruding from its stand. I passed the umbrella on to Margo and for my weapon, chose a heavy vase from a nearby table. We stationed ourselves next to the door hinges, my hands clutching the vase, for all I knew a priceless heirloom that Lorenzo treasured. How much he treasured me, if at all, I had no idea. Margo held up one forefinger, signaling she would go first, just as she always did, whatever the occasion.

The door swung open and a shadowy figure
similar to that in the alley stepped across the threshold. Using the umbrella like a nine iron, Margo aimed for the ankles. She swung low and hard, bringing our intruder down with a single blow. A second blow to the body brought no sound from his mouth. Instead, he rolled to the side and was struggling to get up when Margo struck again. “Your turn, El, kill the dirty bastard if you can.”

I
lifted the vase overhead and was prepared to bring it crashing down when the intruder yelled, “Stop, Elena. The
bastardo
you are about to kill is me. I mean I … it is Lorenzo.”

“Lorenzo?”
I bent over, tried to inspect a face no more visible than Margo’s had been in the alley. “Oh my god, is that really you? Why didn’t you say something before now? We weren’t expecting you at this hour.”

“Obviously, but it is not my habit to ask
permesso
before entering my own home.” He managed to stand with a certain agility I had not expected, considering the collateral damage Margo and I had brought upon him.

“This is my fault, and I do apolo
gize,” Margo said. She extended her hand. “Hi, I’m the wicked witch from America, otherwise known as Ellen’s sister but you can call me Margo. Please don’t kick us out. I’ve already been assaulted once this evening and it’s too late to find a hotel, even if one were available.”

“Already assaulted, I don’t understand, signorina.”

I bristled from within but only for a moment. Lorenzo had called Margo a signorina too, lowering the bar another notch or two for what I considered a compliment exclusive to me. Not to mention there was the whole issue of the garbage stench exuding from both of us.

Signorina Margo snapped two
fingers as if they were attached to a castanet. “El, get the lights, please. I want to show Lorenzo why we were defending ourselves.” Margo had centered the spotlight on Margo, with Lorenzo hanging on to her every word. “The commissioner should’ve been here my now,” she said. “El, perhaps you should call again.”

“I suggest waiting until morning,” L
orenzo said. “Dante may have encountered another emergency.”

One could only hope, or not.
I positioned the lamp to shine on a face that appeared more beautiful than ever, in spite of its temporary flaw. As for Lorenzo’s comment, I couldn’t let it pass. “Please tell me you don’t mean another murder.”

“The commissario of Monterosso keeps busy with the same petty crimes p
laguing most American villages,” he replied, “disorderly conduct, domestic quarrels, petty theft.”

“My assault
petty, really,” Margo said. Had she been a cat, I swear she would’ve arched her back and hissed. Instead she came back with, “Please. Don’t even think about going there. Not after I almost bought the farm.”

“Bought the farm? Sorry
, I do not understand, signorina.”

“An American expression, as in dying … me with
my throat slit from ear to ear.”

“You saw the knife?” Lorenzo asked.

“I didn’t have to see the knife to feel its blade against my throat, knowing any moment could be my last. Fortunately, I reacted before my assailant did.” She shifted her head in my direction. “Remember that self-defense class from years ago, the one you flunked?”

“More like d
ropped, I had an unavoidable conflict.”

“More like
a crippling passive resistance to inflicting pain on a potential killer.”

“You’re referring to
our instructor, a guy too nice for role-playing.”

“What, you wanted the real thing?
” Margo asked with her sweet smile.

“Acting never was my strong suit.”

“If you please, ladies,” Lorenzo said.

“Sorry about the sisterly love thing,” Margo said.
“Sometimes we just can’t help ourselves. Anyway, while my attacker held me from behind, I jabbed my elbow in his ribs. When he stepped back, I turned and whacked my knee into his you-know-what. That really set him off because he sent me into outer space.”

“It was only a matter of seconds,
” I chimed in, “three or four at most.”

“Long enough
for him to get the upper hand again, long enough to feel as if a truck had crashed into me.” Margo shaded her eyes from the glaring light, which I would’ve done before then. “If you’re going to inspect the damage do it now, please. I’m so-o exhausted.”

She
dropped the hand shading her eyes, allowing Lorenzo to close in on her and wiggle his long, expressive fingers. “May I?”

“Be my guest,
” she said. “El, be a dear and move aside. You’re standing in Lorenzo’s light.”

Gently
, ever so gently, he touched her chin with the fingertips of one hand, those same fingertips that hours before had caressed every inch of me. He shifted her face to the right. “From my pedantic observation, the injury does not appear serious but tomorrow you may have more than one nasty bruise.”