1954 - Mission to Venice (10 page)

Don mentally shrugged his shoulders. Luck was against him.

He had done his best, but now they were certain to find the package. What will happen to Harry and Giuseppe? he wondered. What is going to happen to me? These thugs haven’t hesitated to murder Louisa Peccati. They might think it a good idea to silence the three of us in the same way. He watched the two men searching the hall. He saw Curizo was getting near the copper pot. He remembered the game called “hot and cold” he used to play when he was a kid, and he felt the same anxious excitement now as he used to feel when one of the seekers was close to the place where he had hidden the object to be found.

Curizo suddenly picked up the pot. Don’s heart skipped a beat as Curizo turned the pot upside down. Nothing fell out of it. With sick relief, mingled with bewilderment, Don realized the copper pot was now as empty as a hole in a wall. At the end of an extensive five minutes’ searching, Curizo said, “It is not in the hall.”

Natzka shrugged his shoulders.

“I should have been surprised if it had been, but it was worth a try. Then your story, Mr. Micklem, about your friend seems to be true.”

Don touched his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. He realized he was now in a jam. He hadn’t any doubt that if he didn’t hand over the package, Natzka would carry out his threat to shoot both Harry and Giuseppe. Where was the package? Who had taken it? Was it Curizo? He had come in some minutes after Don had gone into the study; he had had the hall to himself. Was Curizo planning to do a private deal with the package, double-crossing Natzka? It must have been Curizo who had taken it!

Natzka said, “Let us go, Mr. Micklem. You shall see your colleagues, then you will go to this friend of yours and collect the package.”

“Just a moment,” Don said. He realized that if Curizo had taken the package and once he was allowed to leave the house and hide the package somewhere, there would be no way of proving he had taken it. Don saw his only hope was to catch Curizo with the package on him.

“Well, what is it?” Natzka asked impatiently.

“I was kidding about the friend,” Don said. “You were right: I did hide the package here.”

While he spoke, Don was watching Curizo, but the lean, swarthy face showed only surprise.

“That is interesting,” Natzka said. “Why tell me that? You are discarding your bargaining powers, Mr. Micklem.”

“I’ve lost them, anyway,” Don said quietly. “When I came in, and before you showed up, I put the package in that copper pot.”

Natzka looked at the pot, then at Curizo who went over to the pot again. He looked inside and, picking it up, he turned it upside down.

“There’s nothing in it,” he said unnecessarily.

“If this is a device to waste time, Mr. Micklem,” Natzka said, an edge to his voice, “it is a poor one, and one you may regret.”

“I put the package in the pot,” Don said. “Someone has taken it while we were in the study. There was only one person who came into the hall while we were in the study, and that’s this guy here,” and he nodded at Curizo.

Curizo stiffened, his lips coming off his teeth in an angry snarl.

“If you are trying to stir up trouble among my men you won’t succeed,” Natzka said curtly. “It is too old a trick. We will go and see your friends. I have no doubt I will be able to persuade you to hand over the package when the right moment comes.”

Busso dug his gun into Don’s spine.

“Move!” he said.

“Someone took the package,” Don repeated, holding his ground. “The most likely person is Curizo. Before we go, you’d better have him searched. I wouldn’t mind betting he has the package on him.”

Curizo took two quick steps forward and slapped Don heavily across his face with his open hand, sending him staggering back. Busso’s gun poked against his spine, reminding him not to start anything.

“Carrion!” Curizo snarled.

“Get away from him!” Natzka barked. His face was hard and his grey eyes were suspicious. As Curizo reluctantly stepped away, Natzka went on, “That was a dangerous thing to have said, my friend. Curizo has a habit of harbouring a grudge.”

“Search him,” Don said. “Don’t be a mug, Natzka. Why should you trust him? If he found the package and thought he could make something out of it, why do you imagine he would hand it over to you?”

Natzka’s eyes alerted. He looked sharply at the snarling Curizo. “Did you find the package?” he asked softly.

“No! He’s lying!” Curizo said furiously. “See for yourself!” He began to turn out his pockets, throwing the few articles he was carrying on the floor. He pulled out the insides of his pockets, his face contorted with rage.

“Now are you satisfied?”

“Better make sure he isn’t wearing a belt,” Don said, trying to sound calmer than he felt.

“See if he is wearing a belt,” Natzka said to Brun who approached Curizo apologetically. He ran his hands over Curizo as if he were stroking a tiger.

“There is nothing,” he said, stepping back.

“Well?” Natzka said, looking at Don.

“He could have hidden it somewhere,” Don said.

“Do you think so? Do you know what I think? You are trying to create a diversion. Well, Mr. Micklem, you have brought this on yourself,” Natzka said. “The matter could have been arranged without any unpleasantness, but now, it is due to Curizo to handle it as he thinks fit.” He turned to Curizo. “I am returning to the hotel. I want that package within two hours from now. I will leave the finding of it to you.”

“Yes,” Curizo said between his teeth He looked at Don, a tight, cruel smile fighting his face. “You shall have it within two hours.”

“Good.” Natzka turned to Don. “You shouldn’t have interfered. I am sorry, but you must now suffer for your foolishness. You will be taken to the house where your friends are. You will be persuaded to hand over the package. I have warned you before not to attempt to escape.” He went to the door, opened it and turned to smile at Don. “I will say goodbye. It is very unlikely that we shall meet again.”

“For your sake I hope we don’t,” Don said evenly.

Natzka shrugged.

“That kind of bravado doesn’t impress me,” he said. “Goodbye, Mr. Micklem.”

He crossed the hall, and a moment later they heard the front door shut.

* * *

The gondola edged up to the mooring-post outside a dilapidated house, shrouded in darkness, in one of the narrow rio behind the Ghetto Nuovo. Brun tied up the gondola and stepped on to the small landing stage.

“Get out!” Curizo said to Don.

Don climbed out on to the landing stage and looked quickly to right and left. The rio was dark, and he could see nothing, but his sharp ears told him that not far off another gondola was coming down the rio. Curizo heard it, too, for taking Don by the arm he hustled him through a doorway into evil-smelling darkness.

Busso and Brun followed and closed the door.

Busso stepped close to Don, holding his gun against Don’s side.

Curizo struck a match and lit a candle. He walked down a narrow passage, pushed open a door and began to descend steep, dirty stairs.

Busso shoved Don forward, and Don went down the stairs into a big damp cellar lit by three flickering candles stuck in bottles on a big wooden case.

Sitting on the floor, their backs to the wall, their hands and feet roped, were Harry and Giuseppe.

Don looked at them and grimaced. He had hoped that Natzka had been bluffing, but the sight of these two now underlined the jam he was in.

“Hello, boss,” Harry said. “Sorry about this. We played our hand badly.”

Harry looked in a bad way. His eye had now turned black. Down one side of his face was a deep scratch that had dripped blood on to his collar and shoulder. His clothes were wet and torn.

Giuseppe was in no better state. He had a gash on his forehead and his face was bloodstained, but he managed a smile as Don met his eyes.

“Shut up!” Brun said to Harry and walking over to him, he kicked him savagely in the ribs, sending him over on his side.

Don restrained himself with an effort. Busso’s gun kept grinding into his side. He had no doubt that Busso would shoot him if he did make a hostile move.

Curizo pulled up a chair and set it in the middle of the cellar by the lighted candles.

“Sit down!” he snarled.

Don sat down.

Busso moved away and leaned against the wall, gun in hand.

“Hold him,” Curizo said to Brun who came up behind Don, grabbed his wrists and jerked his arms behind the chair in an agonizing grip.

Curizo stood before Don, his swarthy face cold and vicious.

“So you tried to make trouble for me,” he said softly. “No one does that without paying for it.” He took from his hip pocket a stained, sweat-darkened kid glove which he put on his right hand. He flexed his fingers, then closed his fist.

Don watched him narrowly, his muscles tense. Although he couldn’t move his body, he could move his head, and he waited ready to duck.

“I’m going to give you a beating,” Curizo said softly. “Like this. . .”

His fist flashed at Don’s face. Don shifted his head a fraction of an inch and the gloved fist scraped past his ear, making Curizo come forward, off balance. Don hooked his foot around Curizo’s ankle and jerked. Curizo sprawled on the floor near where Harry was lying. Harry kicked at his face, but Curizo just managed to roll out of reach.

Busso stepped up to Don and hit him on the side of his jaw with his gun barrel. Don jerked his head back, riding most of the savage blow, but not all of it.

Momentarily stunned, he was vaguely aware that Curizo had got to his feet.

Cursing, Curizo caught hold of Don’s hair, jerked his head back, and raised his fist to smash it down on Don’s face, but Busso caught his wrist.

“No!” Busso said “He’s got to see his friend. Don’t mark him.”

Curizo wrenched his wrist free and stepped back, his eyes glittering and his mouth working. For a moment he struggled to control himself, then he seemed to realize the sense of what Busso had said and he turned away, muttering.

“Are you going to get that package?” Busso said to Don.

His face throbbing, and still a little dazed, Don realized none of these thugs would believe him if he told them he had no idea where the package was. He could tell by Curizo’s white, murderous face that he would shoot either Harry or Giuseppe if he should show the slightest hesitation. Curizo had already pulled an automatic from a shoulder holster and was looking towards Harry who had struggled up into a sitting position.

Don realized their only chance was to play for time.

“I’ll get it,” he said.

Curizo showed his teeth.

“Where is it?”

“My friend is staying at the Londra Hotel,” Don said.

“His name?”

“Jack Montgomery,” Don said, remembering just in time that one of his club associates was staying at the Londra.

Curizo turned to Brun.

“Telephone the hotel and find out if such a man is staying there.”

Brun went up the stairs.

Curizo paced up and down until Brun came back.

“There is such a man. He is in the hotel now,” he said.

Curizo looked at Don.

“You will get the package. Busso and Brun will go with you. If you make a false move, these two will be shot. I will personally shoot them. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Don said.

“Take him,” Curizo said to Busso. “Wait outside the hotel for him. If he doesn’t come out in ten minutes send Brun back here to tell me.”

“Come on,” Busso said to Don. He waved his gun in Don’s face.

Don got unsteadily to his feet. He looked over at Harry and Giuseppe. Both of them were staring at him anxiously, but Harry managed a grin.

“Don’t worry about us, boss,” he said.

“I’ll be back,” Don said, but as he climbed the stairs he desperately tried to think of a way out of this jam. His only hope now was to surprise these two, lay them out, and come back to surprise Curizo, but Busso seemed alert to such a move. His gun never left off digging into Don’s spine, and Don knew so long as the gun was in that position, he couldn’t make a hostile move.

At the head of the stairs, Busso caught hold of Don’s arm.

“Wait,” he said. “Go and see if there is anyone about,” he went on to Brun.

Brun pushed past Don, went down the passage, and Don heard him open the front door.

Busso, his gun still pressing into Don’s ribs, waited. There was a long pause. Don could hear Busso’s heavy breathing. He was very tempted to jump aside and attempt to close with Busso, but he realized it would be a suicidal move. The best time to start trouble, he decided, was when they were getting into the gondola. If he could catch them off balance and tip them into the water. . .

Bran’s voice came out of the darkness: “It is all right.”

“Move!” Busso said, stabbing at Don’s back with the gun.

Don went forward into the darkness. Through the open doorway ahead of him, he could just make out the gleam of stars above the dark outline of roofs.

Busso’s gun was poking into his ribs as he stepped on to the landing stage. He saw Brun standing by the wall. Then he saw a second shadowy figure a split second before Busso saw it. Something that glittered in the starlight flashed past Don and he heard Busso catch his breath in a sharp grunt of pain. The gun ceased to press into Don’s side. He spun around as he heard the gun drop to the ground.

Busso was bent double, clutching his arm. Don hit him a crushing punch on the side of his jaw. Busso sagged at the knees, then slid down and spread out on the ground, Brun started forward, then stopped.

Cherry’s fruity voice said, “Don’t you dare move, my man!”

“Cherry!” Don gasped. “Well, I’ll be damned!”

“Yes, sir,” Cherry said calmly. “Should I pass my sword through this fellow?”

“Your sword?” Don gasped. “Have you got a sword?”

“Yes, sir. I think I mentioned my swordstick to you.”

“Don’t kill him,” Don said, his voice suddenly shaking with laughter. “I’ll handle him.”

He stepped up to Brun, swept aside Bran’s hesitant guard and slammed a punch to his jaw, driving him on to his hands and knees.

“I have a cosh here, sir,” Cherry said gravely, “if you would care to use it. It’s a weapon I would rather not handle myself if you don’t mind.”

He handed Don a short, lead-loaded cane.

Don took it and struck Brun on the head with it just as Brun half struggled up.

Brun gave a strangled grunt and spread out on top of Busso.