Texas Tango: A Flint Rock Novel (7 page)

The taxi dropped Ava and Mary at the Bristol at noon.
 
Ava got rooms for each, paying low season rates.
 
After showers and changing clothes, they met for lunch on the rooftop where the view was spectacular.
 
The bay in the foreground was tranquil.
 
Naples behind it looked more romantic than it seems up close.
 
 
Mount Vesuvius in the background was too far away to show its bubbling hot lava near the back yards of three million people.

Ava knew from what Flint had told her that he would arrive no earlier than 6:00
P.M.
 
She and Mary had plenty of time to walk down to Sorrento, a serene and beautiful village.
 
It is unique in the world because of the large number of small factories that make gorgeous inlaid wood furniture.
 
They specialize in shipping inexpensively and reliably all over the world.

Mary found a sleigh bed in a mom and pop boutique that she ended up buying for shipment to her Austin condo.
 
Made of six different woods, it was meticulously crafted and expertly finished, one of a kind.

While Mary paid for her new bed, Ava answered a skype call on her smart phone.
 
The caller was Laura.
 
She had chatted with Harry who had told her about Murphy and his recently killed informant.
 
Laura passed along the name of the hospital.
 
Ava made sure Mary felt fine about walking alone back up the hill to their hotel.
 
Mary said it was no problem and meant it.
 

Ava caught a taxi at a nearby stand, took a seven minute ride to San Leonardo Hospital on Europe Street,
identified
herself as an American physician whose family had asked her to look in on Murphy.
 
A nurse took her to Murphy's location.
 
He was in a room with two other people and seemed to be asleep.

Ava looked at Murphy's chart.
 
He had a fractured leg.
 
He had been given a mild sedative.
 
Then Ava stopped breathing.
 
"Tentato suicidio."
 

Why would he try to kill himself?
 
She asked the nurse.
 
The nurse looked away, muttered that she did not know anything.
 
Ava tried to awaken Murphy, but he remained asleep.
 
Then she saw the pain killer tablets.
 
The hospital's label said they contained propoxyphene, a pain management opiate banned in Britain and the United States.

Ava asked the nurse what person had administered the drip in Murphy's arm.
 
It was still full, so it had not been going for more than ten or twenty minutes.
 
Ava disconnected it, asked for
a slurry
of activated charcoal which the nurse brought quickly.
 
She told Ava that the male nurse who was responsible for medicating Murphy had apparently left the hospital.
 

Working together Ava and the nurse got Murphy awake enough to swallow the charcoal in solution.
 
Ava asked the nurse if she knew how to test the drip solution to see if it contained propoxyphene.
 
She did and walked the solution to her work station where she prepared a slide.

Ava called the hospital's ambulance section on the hospital phone.
 
She ordered a vehicle, saying that she needed to take a patient to another Naples hospital because it had the needed equipment and San Leonardo did not.
 
The nurse came back and reported that the solution she tested contained more than enough propoxyphene to put Murphy to sleep permanently within another half hour.
 
Ava got Murphy awake again and induced vomiting.
 
Then she had him drink another dose of activated charcoal water.

Two transport guys showed up, loaded Murphy onto a gurney,
flirted
with Dr. Ava and the nurse as they rolled him into the ambulance.
 
The driver said it was his and his helper's guaranteed break time.
 
He wondered if Ava or the nurse wanted coffee.
 
They both said no thanks.
 
The driver shrugged and walked with his companion toward the hospital cafeteria.
 
As they disappeared, the nurse returned to her duties.
 

Ava slipped into the driver's seat, eased out to Europe Street and merged into the traffic flow.
 
Fifteen minutes later a guard opened heavy iron gates, watched her back the ambulance down a curved driveway and park it under the mansion's portico.
 
From there it was not visible to the street.
 
Gina Lezioni directed the guard and another employee to bring Murphy into the library.

Gina and Ava hugged, spent the next two hours keeping Murphy awake with questions.
 
In between his answers, Ava explained her own predicament.

Gina went to the kitchen to give her cook a menu for dinner.
 
Ava called Mary, told her where she was, briefly described what had happened, asked Mary to intercept Flint upon his arrival and fill him in.

Mary was finishing a cup of tea in the Bristol's coffee shop when a young man handed her a note from the front desk.
 
"Mr. Rock has arrived," it read.
 
She signed her check and walked up to the tall stranger waiting at check in.
 
Ava had described his hand made, snip toed cowboy boots and his near military haircut.
 
She had not mentioned his olive drab blazer, tailor made in Scotland, or the narrow brimmed Stetson with an outback, pinch-front crease in the crown.

"Flint Rock?"
Mary asked knowing it had to be.

"Yes?"

Mary introduced herself, gave him Ava's message.
 
Half an hour later, he had showered and changed, spoken with Ava, and he and Mary were in a taxi on the way to Gina's house.

Flint and Mary talked.
 
Mary described the virtues of her Sabreliner.
 
Flint had spent three months piloting a T-39 military version of it in the early 1980s.
 
He had flown a few Navy admirals and Marine Corps generals here and there till he was reassigned to top gun school and sea duty.
 

Flint and Mary were still discussing airplanes when the guard took them through the
iron gate
into the house.
 
Ava gave him a hug and said, "Flint, Mary, this is Fred Gambini.
 
And this is Gina Lezioni."
 
Each person responded appropriately,
then
Ava took Flint into the library to meet Bill Murphy.

Simple arithmetic said Gina Lezioni had to be at least in her early 60s but she did not look it.
 
Her olive skin was vibrant, her eyes were animated, and she was trim, not an ounce over 102 pounds.
 
She was the shortest person in the room at a tad over five feet, but she was clearly in charge.

Gina announced that dinner was ready.
 
Murphy asked to be pushed into the dining room.
 
Ava had ordered him to stay awake.
 
The gurney at the end of the dining table looked odd, but the room was large and it worked.
 

"Flint," Gina said.
 
"My English is very poor, but I will try to avoid Italian so Ava won't have to translate.
 

"Your English is excellent Signora Lezioni," Flint replied.

"Ava tells me that she is a target for assassination.
 
Is that true?" Gina said mildly.

"Not known for sure, but it looks likely," Flint replied.
 
He had decided not to bother being diplomatically coy.
 
"A United States government agency thinks that either you or Mr. Gambini might be involved.
 
Are you?"

Gina's eyes narrowed.
 
"No."
 
Then she also skipped diplomatic politeness and continued.
 
"Your fellow countryman, Mr. Murphy, may be a good CIA agent, but he is, how do you say, headed up the wrong tree.
 
When Ava told me a couple of hours ago what she had discovered at the clinica, I made a phone call.
 
I intend to tell you more than I normally would do.
 
Because I have regard for Ava who has come a long way and trusted me to help.
 
It is in my direct interest to let your CIA continue to misunderstand, but if I do that Ava will be killed while you are looking in the wrong direction."

Flint excused himself to listen to Murphy whisper to him briefly.

Gina continued.
 
"I have sent a trusted person to get rid of the ambulance that brought Ava and Mr. Murphy to my house.
 
Also I have caused information to be leaked from San Leonardo Hospital that says Mr. Murphy is dead.
 
I have caused the male nurse who poisoned the drip solution to be named as his killer.
 
That person will not be found because he has fled, most likely to Morocco."

"Mr. Murphy," Flint informed Gina, "has warned me that you are not who you seem to be."

"Most of us," Gina replied, "are not entirely who we appear to be.
 
We all wear masks.
 
Five centuries ago, an Italian political philosopher named Machiavelli said that we must.
 
If we had more time,” Gina continued, “we could enjoy slowly revealing our true selves to each other.
 
But the leisure needed for that is not available.
 
I recommend that you believe in the possibility that I might be telling you the truth.
 
The facts I am about to disclose can save your life.”

Everyone around the table waited for Gina to continue.

"My son, his name was Paolo, was rising in the Italian underworld.
 
He was killed because he did not listen to what I told him.
 
His natural father was Frederico's older brother."
 
She looked at Freddy whose face had gone pale.
 
"Freddy is eighteen years younger than his brother whose name was also Paolo."

Gina paused to quietly say something to Ava in Italian,
then
she continued.
 
"Paolo the papa was assassinated in Genoa two weeks before Paolo my son was gunned down in New Jersey.
 
I urged my son not to go to the States, although I did not then know who had killed my cousin Paolo or why.
 
I have confirmed only recently that the same group of ambitious men had both Paolo's killed.
 
And it was for no good reason.
 
They were, how
do you
say in English, paranoico."

"Paranoid," Ava translated.

"Yes.
 
Paranoid.
 
They are part of a secret society that calls itself Società Angeli Trombà, the Angel Trumpet Society.
 
It is named for a poison shrub that has trumpet shaped flowers.
 
The angel trumpet members specialize in being assassins for hire.
 
The group's members compete with the main Naples underworld, though they are sometimes hired to do special killings."

Gina paused to signal the cook to bring in the next course.
 
Then she continued.
 
"I asked Frederico to come see me because he is targeted.
 
Neither of the martyred Paolos had heard of the angel trumpets, but the assassins in their paranoico think they have many enemies.
 
They intend to kill Freddy because they fear his older brother might have mentioned their group to him.
 
And Ava is in danger because they think Freddy might have told her something about them."

"This is the first I have heard of them," Freddy protested.
 

"I know, my boy," Gina responded.
 
"I am sure that your brother and my son had never heard of them either.
 
But the angel trumpeters are satanica.
 
They like to kill and inflict pain.
 
They should have called themselves trombà del diavolo, the devil's trumpets."