For instance, I’ve heard someone mutter, “the devil you say…”
Or another, who was telling his friend, who, at the time was in a spot of bother, ‘You’re between the devil and the deep blue sea.”
Wrong. We all know the sea is green, not blue.
But whatever the circumstances, the devil seems to pop up a lot.
For instance,
Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.
It seems I’ve heard that somewhere before, or at least a part of it. Hmmm.
Maybe you’ve “gone to the devil”. Can that be paired with “going downhill at a rapid rate of knots”?
OK, it’s impossible to go downhill using the speed measure of knots, that only applies to boats, so who came up with that saying, a landlubber sailor?
Hang on, isn’t there a team called the New Jersey Devils? Funny, I didn’t see if the players had horns or not, and they were using hockey sticks not tridents.
Maybe I misheard.
Neutral men are the devil’s allies, therefore there must be a lot of devils in Switzerland
The devil finds work for idle hands, oh yes, my grandmother used this often on me whenever she caught me doing nothing, or digging around in her magazine room … which was a lot
But my favorite,
When in hell, only the devil can show you the way out.
You can pick your friends but you can’t pick your relatives.
So sayeth my sister, who for years refused to acknowledge I was her brother.
The point is, as I was trying to tell Nancy, the woman who had agreed to marry me, “my family has long been ashamed of me because I refused to become a doctor.”
“That’s no excuse, I’m fact that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
To most people, it would. I agreed with her. But then, her family had not had a forebear who stood shoulder to shoulder with George Washington at the Siege of Yorktown.
It was a statement my mother had often pulled out of nowhere at dinner parties, and sometimes in general conversation, just to impress. I thought of trotting out as another example of ridiculous statements, but though better of it.
It was a situation I had not bargained for, and probably why it took so long to find someone to share the rest of my life with.
Perhaps I hadn’t quite thought through what would happen once I asked the question, and it was a yes.
It was not as if Nancy and I hadn’t taken the long road with our relationship. She had been burned a few times, and I always had my family in the back of my mind as the biggest obstacle.
In fact, I always had considered it insurmountable, and because of that, rarely made a commitment. But Nancy was different. She was very forgiving and had the sort of temperament saints were blessed with.
Her family sounded like very reasonable people who lived up state out of Yonkers on a farm she simply said had been in the family forever.
She didn’t have big city aspirations, was not impressed by wealth, travel, large houses, or a resume a mile long with achievements. It was everything I didn’t have and didn’t want, and my job as storeman and fork life driver was one where I could go to work and leave it there.
Nancy on the other hand, was a checkout clerk at a large supermarket, with no aspirations to be a boss or run the place. She had a run in with a tractor early on in life and could manage a lot of the farming basics.
Her parents sent her to the big city to learn a different trade, but she just wasn’t interested. She was a country girl and would never change.
We met when she was attending the same pre wedding party that I was, both with different partners at the time, and both of whom were more party animals that we were.
A week later we ran into each other in the same bar, and it grew from there, and after a rather interesting six months or so, we had ended up making the ultimate commitment.
…
“I guess, now, we have to tell our parents,” she said, stating what was to her, the obvious.
Such a simple statement with so many connotations. I had deliberately steered the conversation away from all of them, and so, at this point in time, she knew I had parents, grandparents, and three other siblings. And that they lived on the other side of the country.
Asked why I had moved so far away, I told her that I’d failed to meet their expectations and preferred to be as far away as possible. My brothers more than made up for my failings, so it was not necessary I stay there.
It was only recently I’d told her those expectations were of me following the family tradition into medicine. It was when I told her my father was a pre-eminent thoracic heart surgeon, my brothers top of whatever field they’d chosen and my sister, a well-regarded general practitioner.
When she asked in what way I’d failed, I said it was not in the education because like all Foresdale’s, we were always top of the class, and as much as I tried to fail, the teachers knew better.
I just refused to go to University. Instead, I tried to disappear, but my father had the best private detective at his disposal. It took a very long, loud, screaming match to sever that tie, get disinherited, and leave to make my own way in the world.
Perhaps, I said, it would be best to just say I was an orphan.
That, of course, to Nancy, was not an option. She came from practical people who always found a solution to any problem, and they had had a few really difficult ones over the years.
But, for the first time, there was an look of perplexing on her face. Maybe she was thinking that she should have asked more probing questions about my family before agreeing to be my wife.
“I think I can safely say that your parents will be more approachable than mine. Those expectations on me will also fall on you.”
And having said it aloud, it sounded so much more like a threat. The problem was, I knew what there were like, living in that rarefied air where the upper classes lived.
I might be a forklift driving storeman, but I was still a Foresdale, and my match had to be commensurate to the family values.
“Then we’re just going to have to go visit them and lower those expectations. I’m not afraid of them.”
No, I expect she was not. I’d seen her deal with all types of miscreants at the checkout counter, rich and poor alike. She had the sort of gumption I always had wanted but was too much of a coward to confront the problem.
Perhaps now, it would be the perfect opportunity.
“We should go next week. I’ve got some vacation days owing, and I’m sure the boss will let you go if you tell him the reason.”
Practical as ever. Confront the beast and get it over with.
“Sure. I’ll talk to the boss, arrange the tickers, and let someone know we’re coming. But I will not be staying at the house. That way if it gets too intense, we can leave.”
I saw her shrug. I’m not sure she agreed that was a good idea, but I didn’t want to see them corner they way they had a habit of when any of us children brought anyone home. I did once, and never again.
“It will be fine.”
Famous last words.
…
I had the phone number of my sister Eric’s, stored on my phone, not that I’d ever intended to call her. It was there because she had called me, I had made the mistake of giving it to her when I left, because she asked me for it.
I hadn’t spoken to her since I left home all those years ago, nearly ten by my reckoning, and perhaps it was a testament to my father that not one of them had called, or even reached out.
Being cut off literally meant that. But it was not something that irked me. I was glad not to see them. I could easily keep up with them in the newspapers and magazines, such was their visibility.
I was surprised Nancy hadn’t made the association.
I don’t know how long it was that I stared at that number, finger hovering over the green button. My first concern was whether I’d remain civil, or how long it would take before I disconnected the call.
Then, courage summoned, I pressed the button.
An anticlimax might occur is there was no answer, or the number had been disconnected, but such was not the case. It rang.
Almost for the full number of rings before a familiar voice answered. “Good morning, this is Erica speaking.”
If only I’d learned to answer a phone properly like that.
“It’s Perry.” Damn, I hated that name, and once I left home, I adopted my middle name, James.
“Now that’s a blast from the past. Never expected to hear from you again.”
“Believe me, if I had my way, you wouldn’t, but there’s a person who insists she meets the family. I tried to talk her out of it, but she’s a force to be reckoned with.”
“Good for her. I always knew you’d meet a sensible girl who wouldn’t put up with your nonsense. I’m assuming you asked her to marry you?”
“I’m beginning to wonder if I should have just outright lied and said I was an orphan.”
“Yes, and how would that have worked when we finally ran you to ground. Besides, your father has known where you’ve been hiding all along. You are still a Foresdale, and that will never change.”
“Even when I’ve been ex-communicated from the family.”
“That’s only your assumption. Everyone here might have expected you to change your minds somewhat earlier, but we never doubted you would return. Now, just who is this Nancy, and who does she belong to?”
Worthington was in a state, now realizing that he had become a target, and immediately assumes it was Zoe on the end of the sniper rifle.
He considers calling John and telling him what just happened, but if Zoe was there with him…
No, better to attend to the problems at hand. Arabella wasn’t dead, but it had come very close. And, he suspected, it was because he had asked her to get a drink for him, and if she had not moved, the damage would be far less.
It was important then to go to the hospital with her and make sure he was then when she woke up to explain what just happened. If she would ever speak to him again, that is.
Meanwhile, John is ‘collected’ at his hotel, and taken to Olga. When he wakes up in a rather quaint bedroom or what seems to be a house in the countryside, he only remembers being in the hotel, then nothing.
When he is escorted to the meeting room, it is not the sort of interrogation he was expecting but is fascinated with the old Russian woman who claims to be Zoe’s mentor and teacher, and says that she has no interest in harming him, she only wants Zoe back.
John works out that the woman is in fact Alistair’s mother and presses her for more information about Zoe.
…
Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon waiting for a white knight, 1,771 words, for a total of 57,988..
I had gone over a number of different ways I could run into Juliet, but most seemed staged, and I got the impression from her most recent conversation with Larry, that she was not silly.
In fact, in my mind, a second meeting, coincidental or not, would send up a red flag. This was where spycraft bordered on Hollywood, we needed to set the stage, and for that, we needed extras.
And that meant a phone call to Alfie. I told him what I needed, and he asked for 24 hours to set it up, and true to his word, I was in the arrival hall of Venice Airport, waiting for the newest member of the team.
Cecilia Walker was an aspiring actress, an ideal cover for her so-called part-time profession as an agent at large. We all had cover stories, with both personal and legitimate reasons for being in places that we’d not normally be expected to be. And in her case, she was never the same person twice, quite literally the master of disguise.
For Cecilia, there was a film festival in Venice she would be attending. Timing in this case was everything.
As for me, I had a background in archaeology and journalism and was actually employed to write articles for a number of publications, a job I kept up after I left the service, along with the idea of writing a book, which became the object of a long-standing joke between Violetta and I.
One day I would finish it
But ironically, Cecilia had the perfect cover, being able to slip into any role without having to work too hard on the finer details.
Alfie had sent a photo of her, and even though I did spend a few moments wondering if I might recognize her from some part she may have played, it didn’t stir up any recollection. Of course, there was always a vast difference between studio poses and real life, and the woman that came out of the gate was quite different from the one I was expecting.
Although the few paparazzi that were loitering in the terminal just in case a celebrity did suddenly arrive, didn’t recognize her, that might be due to the fact she was dressed casually and had changed both hairstyle and color, and, as I had learned from the woman I’d spent a lot of time with, nuances in make-up could make all the difference.
But there was one photographer that was interested, perhaps he had seen her before, and I waited until she had spoken to him before wandering over. She had scanned the gate area, both to familiarise herself with the layout and people there, as well as locate me, all without looking like she was doing anything other than immediately disembarking the plane.
It showed experience, and preparedness, not her first, as they say, rodeo.
She had been tracking me the whole time, so once I was in her direct line of sight, anyone observing us would assume we were old friends.
There was a hug before words were spoken, the sort that made me realize what I had been missing for some time, warm personal contact.
“You haven’t aged a bit,” she said, a smile lingering.
“It’s the wine, excellent preservative. You, on the other hand, have grown up.”
The script called for old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a year or so.
She performed a pirouette and then burst into giggles. “Sorry, it’s just when I did that for one of my grandmothers, she said I was acting like a tart.”
“Grandmothers can be like that,” I said, remembering Violetta used to use the same word for her sister’s grandchildren.
“My house is a renovator’s disaster at the moment, so we’re staying in a quaint hotel on the edge of the main Canal, and some interesting restaurants.”
Alfie had booked us adjoining rooms on the same floor as Juliet, which, when she learned I would be staying there too, would give me the surprise element I was looking for.
“I am so looking forward to this week. If we get the time, you’ll have to show me everything.”
In that short distance from the airport terminal to the water taxi berths, there was time enough to discover what had exactly been missing in my life since Violetta had died.
Yes, there was a period of mourning, a period where there had been no point in getting out of bed, a period where I felt completely lost without the one person who made my life make sense.
But in those few short minutes, there it was again, and with it the belief that perhaps there was someone else out there who could fill that gap, but never replace her because there would never be anyone else like her. Cecilia was not the one, but she was part of the process.
I had to remember, also, she was a consummate actress, that she was playing a role, and it was totally believable.
Once we were on the water taxi and away from prying eyes and ears, I had to ask, “how did you end up on Rodby’s roster, especially in light of how good an actor you are?”
“You think so, why thank you. But the duality, accidentally. I got caught in the crossfire, and thinking at the time, someone had changed the script and forgot to tell me, sort of kicked some ass. Delusions of becoming a female version of Liam Neeson. Instead, I was offered a recurring female James Bond, in real life.”
Good to know I could depend on her in a scrap.
“This might not come to that, in fact, it might be quite boring.”
She smiled. “A free trip to Venice, a film festival pass to everything, working with a legend, what’s not to like?”
What had Alfie told her? Legend I was not, perhaps slightly more successful than the average agent, but I was just doing my job until I didn’t want to do it anymore. How many of us could say we preferred to sacrifice everything for the love of the one?
“I assume you are up to speed with what’s required of you in the first instance?”
“A role is a role, Evan, and I love a good role. This woman you’re supposed to be cozying up to, and the guy using her, it’s almost like a plotline in a B grade movie.”
I hadn’t thought of it like that, but now that she mentioned it, it felt a bit like exactly that.
“Should I make her jealous?”
“It’s not like that, or at least that’s the impression I got when I ran into her. Depends on what Larry’s intentions are. Chances are when we get to the hotel we might see her again, and you might get an idea. I’m not the best person reading women’s minds.”
“No man ever is. We have to have that element of surprise to keep you interested, but if I was in her position, and I saw you with a woman like me, and I was supposed to get close to you for whatever reason, I might be forced into making a move I didn’t want to. The fact she’s here with you in her sights generally means one thing.”
The question was, how desperate would she be? That would depend on the motivation, or what leverage he had. Pushing the envelope might, as Cecilia said force her hand.
So much for a softly, softly approach.
And it might force Larry’s hand as well
“So, is it your first time in Venice?”
“No, I used to come here when younger with my mother who was I guess a Venetian. After she died, not so much.”
“No other baggage?” It had surprised me she had only one carrying bag.
It was always excess baggage when traveling anywhere with my ex.
“Only emotional. I was told to pack light, anything I needed you’d get for me.”
The accompanying wicked smile was enough. I’d have to make sure the expense account was big enough.
After a pleasant forty-five-minute grand tour of the canals going the long way to the berths not far from St Mark’s Square, we jumped off as soon as the taxi came alongside.
The hotel wasn’t far from the bronze equestrian monument to Victor Emmanuel IIstatue, which she took a moment to look at, almost causing several strollers to walk into her.
That element of careless tourist didn’t make her stand-up as much as if she had purposefully walked from the berth to the hotel, a small detail in a studied persona, the role of an extra perhaps in a film.
It was the part of the day, for late summer that I liked the best, and in a week or so, the weather would slowly get colder until Christmas, and winter, was upon us.
Then, she did the complete 360-degree turn just taking it all in. “Some things never change, I remember all of this.”
Perhaps living off and on for so long here had made me a little immune to the charm of the place, but it was hard not to get caught up in the moment.
“Your hotel awaits.”
For a few seconds the reality of the situation faded into the background, and I could push all the nastiness of Larry and his machinations aside, but then the reality came back, I remembered who I was and what I’d been, and how important it was not to lose sight of the objective.
It had not been easy while Violetta was still alive, nor was hiding the real truth of my past from her. Yes, I had told her a version of my precious life, and the possible dangers it could present, which was why she suggested we live in a number of different places, never the same in a single location, but with Venice, it had been different. It had a profound effect on her, and it was where she chose to spend her last days.
It had not held the same effect on me. Not since she passed, and I had been looking to leave, find somewhere new, and different to stay, more so since I learned of Larry’s plans.
Now it just made me angry.
“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly next to me, “do we need to be someplace?”
“What, no, sorry.”
“You looked annoyed, I hope not with me.”
“No, never. Just thinking about Larry. And Juliet, I guess I’m lamenting the nuisance the pair of them are in intruding on my solitude. Something to note, you don’t ever get the luxury of retirement in this business, except in death.”
Aside from the fact it is one of those necessary items to walk with, and the fact we can have two or four for most humans and animals, there are a few other uses for the word ‘leg’.
Like…
‘You haven’t got a leg to stand on’, doesn’t necessarily mean you have no legs, but that you are in a precarious position.
“the table had ornate legs’, yes, even non-living objects can have legs, like tables and chairs.
“It was the fifth leg of the race’, meaning it can be a stage of a race.
“He was legless’, meaning that he was too drunk to stand up. Some might think being legless is a badge of honour, but I suspect those people have been drinking a long time and the alcohol has destroyed most of their brain cells.
“leg it!’, meaning get the hell out of here before you’re caught.
Then, finally, ‘he’s on his last legs’, meaning that he’s exhausted, or about to die.
I’m sure there’s more but that’ll do for now.
I have to use my legs to get some exercise, of which the first leg is to the tripod to check if its legs are stable, and the second leg is to come back to the table and replace one of the legs which is broken. Then I’ll leg it to the pub where hopefully I won’t become legless.
Rupert follows Worthington and Arabella to and from the concert, and then observes them over dinner, wondering what it is that’s missing in his life until they go back to the room for the night.
To him, it seems like it’s just a sex weekend with cultural embellishments.
Until he spies Worthington on the move at two am, leaving the hotel on foot. It turns into a meeting between him and two other men in the park before Worthington returns to the hotel, business concluded.
It has to be something to do with John and Zoe, otherwise, the meeting would have been in the hotel, not the deep recesses of the park. Rupert has photographs and gives them to Sebastian for identification.
At least they now know the reason for Worthington being in Vienna. Arabella just makes it look more casual.
John breaks his plan to Zoe over breakfast, and she is surprised. It’s a good plan, and once she had dealt t=with the problems, it would be a go.
And, she added quite sombrely, if they all survive.
The bad news was she would be leaving the next morning to visit an old friend, Dominica, who probably isn’t so friendly now, to get information. And, no, she was not sure what would happen after than, but if she could, she would call him.
With the two me identified, and the danger they presented, Sebastian had to move to plan B and sets it up. He deliberately doesn’t tell either of them because he knows they would strenuously object.
The plan: sniper to shoot them from a building across the road, not to kill, but to slow them down. It would be difficult to be out plotting when in the emergency ward of a hospital.
But, as usual, things don’t quite go to plan. Worthington is hit and wounded, though not severely as Sebastian had hoped, but Arabella moved slightly just before he pulled the trigger, and he couldn’t see what happened but what he could see, it looked very, very bad.
…
Today’s writing, with Sebastian dusting off his sniper rifle, 1,882 words, for a total of 56,217.
There’s a saying, no good deed goes unpunished, and it’s true.
Perhaps when I had the time to sit down and think about the events of the previous week, I might strongly consider minding my own business, but there is that strong sense of obligation instilled in me by my mother all those years ago that if we ate on a position to help someone, we should.
The fact this person didn’t want help, even where they clearly did, should have been a warning sign. It would be next time.
…
I was working late, as usual. Everyone had left the office early to partake in a minor birthday celebration for one of the team members, and I said I would get there after I wrapped up the presentation, due in a day or so.
That, of course, everyone knew, was the code for not turning up. To be honest, I hated going to parties, mingling, making small talk, and generally being sociable.
For someone who had to standing in front of large crowds making sales presentations, that sounded odd and it probably was. I couldn’t explain it, and no one else could either.
When I finally turned the computer off it wasn’t far off midnight. I brief gave a thought to the party, but by that time everyone would have gone home. Time for me to do the same.
Sometimes I would get a cab, others, if the weather was fine, I would walk. It had been one 9f those early summer days with the promise of more to come, so I decided to walk.
There were people about, those who had been to the theatres or after a long leisurely dinner and were taking in the last moments of what might have been a day to remember, each for different reasons.
When I stopped at the lights before crossing the road and making the last leg of the walk hone, a shortcut through central park, and yawned. It had been a long day, and bed was beckoning.
Perhaps if I had been more alert, I would have noticed several people acting strangely, well I had to admit it was a big call to say they were acting strangely when that could define just about everyone including myself.
Normally I would walk through central park after midnight, or not alone anyway. But there were other people around, so I didn’t give it a second thought.
Those other people disappeared one by one as I got further in, until it got to the point where I was the only one, and suddenly the place took on a more surreal feeling.
Sound was amplified, the bark of a dog somewhere nearby, the rustling of branches most likely being brushed against by animals like squirrels, and a few muted conversations, with indistinguishable words.
Until I heard someone yell ‘stop’.
I did.
I was not sure what I was feeling right then, but it was a frightening sensation with a mind running through a number of different scenarios, all of them bad.
I turned around.
No one.
I did a 360-degree turn, and still nothing, except, the voice again, that of a female, “Look, no means no, so stop it.”
I couldn’t quite get a fix on what direction it was coming from, so I waited.
A man’s voice this time, “You should not have led me on.”
“I said nothing of the sort. I said I would walk home with you, there was nothing else implied or otherwise.”
Got it. I heard a rustling sound to my left, abs an opening between shrubs, and crossed the lawn.
On the other side about 20 yards up the path, a man and a girl, probably mid 20s were sitting close together.
She said, “stop it,” and pushed his hand away.
I saw him grab, and twist it.
She yelped in surprise, and pain.
I took a dozen steps towards them and said, “I don’t think she wants or needs the attention. Let her go.”
He did, then stood. Not a man to be trifling with, he was taller and heavier that I was, and suddenly I was questioning my bravado.
“This is none of your business. Take a hike or you’ll regret it.”
I looked at the girl, who just realised I was standing there, a look of terror on her face.
“Is this man assaulting you?”
She said nothing, just glanced at the man, and then away.
“There is no problem here. Keep walking.”
I asked her again, “is this man assaulting you?”
She looked at me again. “No. Please go away.”
“There. You should be minding your own business. There’s no problem here.”
I could see from her expression there was, and it might have something to do with the man she was with.
I had done what I could, so it was time to leave. I just had to hope there was not going ti be an addition to the crime statistics overnight.
“As you wish.”
I turned and retraced my steps to the other side of the shrubbery but instead of moving on, I stayed. The was something dreadfully wrong with what was happening, and I couldn’t let it end badly. Of course, if or when I interfered, it could end worse than that.
He spoke again. “You were smart not to cause trouble. You’d be smarter to just give me what I want.”
“You’re nothing but a disgusting pig.”
The sound of was might have been a slap in the face reverberated on the night air, assaulting of a different kind.
I went back.
The girl was on the ground, and the man was leaning over her, going through the contents of her bag.
“Hey,” I yelled, catching his attention.
Enough time to make the short distance between him and and expect a running tackle, rugby style. Mt momentum would counterbalance his excess size and weight.
But I hadn’t considered my next move, had I. Or the fact for his size he was very agile.
I did see something that had been in his hand as we tumbled, and that was a gun, small but lethal. This guy had to be a criminal picking off lone women in the park.
The gun had been jolted from his hand in the tackle and he and I were roughly the same distance from it, but he had the added knowledge that it existed whereas I was still processing the information.
He reached it first, I got to it, and him a second later, as he was raising it to aim at me. I had microseconds to think, react, and consider whether the next second or so was going to be my last.
I got my hand on the gun, not thinking to pull it away from him because that might help pull the trigger but push it towards him in the hope if he did pull the trigger, the bullet wouldn’t hit anyone.
Too late. There was a loud explosion as the gun went off, and I closed my eyes and waited for the seating pain, and possible death. Mt life did not flash before my eyes, not like some said it would.
One second, two seconds, three.
I was still alive.
But any sign of resistance had gone, and the man had slumped backwards on the ground.
I rolled off him and could see the blood seeping through his shirt in an area near where his heart would be. I felt for a pulse but there was none.
His face was stuck on a permanent look of surprise.
Behind me the girl had come back to life and was on her knees, staring at the man, and then me. “What have you done?”
“I didn’t do anything. He had a gun and was trying to shoot me.”
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. This is, oh my God.” She scrambled to her feet, hurried tried to put everything back in her bag. “Get out of here, now. Run, and don’t look back.”
“Why. The police should be told he was assaulting you.”
“You fool. He is the police, and when they get here, we’re both going to die.”
She grabbed her bag, took a last look, and then ran.
A few seconds more to consider just how bad this looked, not that I had put together the pieces yet, I could see what she meant.
A dead cop.
I got up and started heading back to the other path.
“Stop.”
Not this again.
I turned.
Two police in uniform, guns drawn. A dead police office on the ground and a suspect leaving the scene.
I was heading back to the Vaporetto station just a short distance from St Marks square when my phone vibrated, an incoming message.
Alfie requesting a meeting.
I had suspected he might be somewhere in the square keeping an eye on proceedings. I had that itch at the back of my neck, that one you couldn’t scratch, an old but reliable indicator I was under observation.
My old mentor was anything but a trusting soul, and he no doubt was giving Alfie enough rope, much the same as he did to me early on, until he learned the errors of his mistrusting nature.
People like Rodby never changed, and it was one of many reasons I walked away. He was going to have to do better if he wanted me back.
Alfie sent instructions as to where he was, a small park further along the promenade, not far from where a huge cruise ship had docked. Even from where I was standing, it was impressive, but only one of about five I’d see in the last day or so.
Oddly, I never had the inclination to get on one.
It took about fifteen minutes, maybe more because of the tourists and general foot traffic, to reach the park, then locate Alfie looking very anonymous on a bench overlooking the water.
In another corner what looked to be a television crew was setting up or cleaning up an open set, involving about a dozen or more people all looking harassed.
He saw me coming but made no visible acknowledgment until I sat at the other end of the bench, purposely not looking in his direction.
“Nice view,” I said.
Well, it would be if the day was not overcast, and with the definite prospect of rain.
“Your friend made a call not long after you left.”
OK. Straight down to business. “How do you know that?”
“We put a small app on the phone we gave you that clones other phones.”
Without telling me. Yes, welcome back to the lies and subterfuge. I just shook my head. What else weren’t they telling me?
He put his phone on the bench between us and played the conversation.
It was obvious that Larry had called her, and that Giuseppe wasn’t happy about being discovered. And it was proof that Larry was monitoring her movements and conversations. Another mistrusting soul.
“What just happened?” I recognized Larry’s voice immediately, and the tone suggested he was far from happy.
“What do you mean?” Her surprise was genuine. It meant she didn’t know he was listening in, but that might not be for much longer.
“Your first meeting.”
Silence. Then, after a long minute, she said, “it was my phone, the one you gave me, that was relaying our conversation. It would be nice if you told me what you were intending to do.”
He brushed that comment aside with, “It’s a matter of trust, and, quite frankly, I don’t trust you.”
It was not exactly how I would have spoken to her. Any normal person would react indignantly to that response.
There was a telling moment of silence while she digested that piece of information.
Her response, “Then you will not be surprised if I don’t respond, as you say, immediately, because now I know you have the phone, So long, of course, I decide to take it with me.”
“You will…”
She cut him off, not by yelling, but in what could only be described as a very icy tone. “You make demands, you make threats. I gave you my word that I would do this for you. My way. Instead, you overplay your hand and you’ve sent him to ground. If he is who you think he is, then he knows now something is wrong. You can thank you’re own insecurity and that fool Giuseppe for that.”
“That’s…”
“Don’t interrupt, that’s just rude. If you want me to continue, which by the way, I think is going to be a waste of time, I will, but you have made it almost impossible by taking away the advantage we had. And if that is the case, then no more of your idiotic antics. A simple yes or no will suffice.”
“If you think…”
The call was disconnected.
I looked at Alfie. “Does she know she’s dicing with death?”
“There’s more.”
Twice, anincoming call to her phone went to the voice message. The third time she answered.
“A simple yes or no will suffice.”
“Yes.” A tone bristling with anger.
“Good. You listen in, and I will call you when there is news.”
The call was disconnected.
“She has gumption,” Alfie said.
“Or a death wish. You know he’s not going to sit around and wait for her.”
“No. He’s replaced Giuseppe with someone with a little more talent to keep an eye on her, so she won’t be so obvious next time you run into her.” He slid a grainy but recognizablephoto of a woman who could easily be mistaken for a tourist.
“You have a plan.”
“We have her tour itinerary, courtesy of the hotel.”
“A little convenient, don’t you think. I take it you have an idea where Larry is right now?”
“Of course, Sorrento, visiting his wife’s sister.”
“Perhaps we might pre-empt all this nonsense, and pay him a visit. I might be able to convince him he’s barking up the wrong tree.”
“Wouldn’t that alert him to the fact we have him under surveillance?”
“I think he knows that’s the case anyway, and not only by us, but by any number of law enforcement agencies. Maybe I should just drop a hint that I have to make a trip to Sorrento, and take Juliet with me. But I would like a jamming app installed on this device,” I held up the phone he’d given me, “first.”
“Rodby said you were a wild card operative.”
“Did he? I always thought he was the wild card, and I was the voice of reason.”
“He says a lot of stuff, how things were different in the old days.”
“A lot of people died needlessly in those so-calledold days, and I’m only here now because I retired before I got killed. And because I believed him when he said I could disappear. Obviously, he was lying.”
“You can’t disappear these days, not with the means of tracking everyone via the digital network available. 20 years ago, maybe. Not now. No one can truly disappear.”
No, probably not. For that to happen, I would have had to go live on a desert island and have had no contact with anyone for at least a generation. A new name, identity, and, and minor changes to my persona had made me invisible for long enough to have had a normal life, and, at the very least, Larry had waited until then.
How many others were there, out in the world, also seeking revenge? I had taken down a number of so-called ‘bad’ people, but their families somehow never quite saw it the same as we had. No matter how legitimate the reasons.
“Give me a day to fix the phone, and then you can make the first move. Try not to make it too hard to keep eyes on you, if only for your own safety.”
“Say hello to the boss, and tell him I didn’t miss him for one moment.”
Alfie stood. “Try and keep out of trouble, and keep me informed if anything out of the ordinary happens. Just create a draft message in the email app, save it, but don’t send it. I’ll let you know if Larry makes any unpredictable moves.”
I watched him take a look around, then walk off, all as if he hadn’t realized there was someone else on the same seat. It wouldn’t fool anyone, especially the woman pretending to minister a child in a pram, three seats along from us.
How many mothers of babies had earplugs?
Or was I just being paranoid? It didn’t take long to slip back into that dark and murky world I tried so hard to get away from.
I had heard that word workaholic twice in the same week and had I listened carefully, I would have realized the people using it were referring to me.
The problem was, I was so focused on work that it was to the exclusion of all else.
Of course, it hadn’t been my choice to get ill, but, sitting in front of the doctor, a man whom I rarely saw because I was rarely ill, I was still trying to come to terms with his explanation.
“You’ve been working too hard, forgetting to eat or sleep, and the toll it has taken has weakened your immune system to the point where that last bout of influenza nearly killed you.”
Yes. There might be some truth to that statement, because for the last three weeks I was told I was hovering between life and death, and, at one stage, there had been grave fears I was not going to make it.
No, it wasn’t COVID 19, like a good many others in the hospital, it was just simply influenza.
“I didn’t think it could happen to me,” I said lamely, now realizing it could, simply because of my own stupidity.
At least it didn’t affect anyone else, well, except perhaps my sister, Eileen, who was devastated to learn I was gravely ill, and had been called with the news I was likely to die. Sitting in the chair beside me, she was still incredibly angry with me.
“He has always been a moronic fool that never listens to anyone. Thinks he’s invincible.” The statement was delivered along with a suitable look of disdain and annoyance.
The doctor transferred his admonishing stare to me. “It’s time you started taking care of yourself. I’ll be sending a report to your company telling them that you have to take two months off work to recover. Going back to work is not an option.”
“But there is so much to do.” I could practically see the pile of folders on my desk waiting for my return.
“Then someone else will have to do it.”
“Don’t worry,” my sister said, “I’ll make sure he does as he’s told.”
…
I had been fiercely independent ever since I left hone when I was just 18. I’d had a bitter argument with my father over working in the family business, a profession I had no interest in and certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of my life doing.
It had kept me from going home after returning once, some months later, in an attempt to appease him, but only making matters worse. It had affected my mother more than my sister, but that hadn’t stopped her from trying to resolve our issues.
But it was not to be. About five years later he died of a heart attack, brought on by the same work ethic I’d inherited from him. I came home from the funeral at a bad time, the end of a relationship that I thought was the one, and at a time where heavy drinking and drugs had made me a horrible person.
In the end, my sister sent me home, and, because of my bad behaviour, my mother stopped speaking to me.
Ten years ago, my mother died, Eileen said it was from a broken heart, and it was the first time I’d returned home since my father’s death. Not much had changed, it was still the town that a lot of my generation and since wanted to leave on the belief there was something better out there.
That time, because of my bad behaviour, being inconvenienced by another funeral at a time when I had been working hard towards a promotion, this time Eileen’s daughters sent me away after seeing how much I’d distressed their mother.
I could see now how bad my history was, and it was shameful. Perhaps my first words to all of them would be to apologise, but sadly, it would be too little too late.
Yes, happy families indeed.
Going home was, Eileen said, the best place for my recovery. Away from the rat race, her oft used expression for New York, and back to the tranquillity and peaceful town where I was born, went to school, and lived half my life.
The people were not the same as those indifferent city dwellers who would happily step over your dying body without a care to help or even call for help. She had read the newspapers, seen what happens, people dying all the time, in the streets, of drug overdoses, and at the end of a knife or a gun.
She was surprised I’d lasted so long, given my alienating disposition, all of this homily delivered as I packed a few belongings for the road trip. She was however momentarily distracted by the opulence of the lot apartment, and the fact I owned it. I refused to tell her how much it cost when she asked. Twice.
But it was too remote, too sterile, and not a place to recover. And it needed the ministrations of a good cleaning lady.
No, the best place for me to recover was home and home was where we were going. After the hospital had agreed to send me home, she had made the decision I would be staying with her.
That might have held a great deal of trepidation had her husband still been there, but he wasn’t. In keeping with the Walton family tradition, marriages and relationships didn’t last, and Eileen’s was no exception.
I’d thought Will, the man she’d met at school, known all her life, and who was her soul mate, had been the one, but whatever I and Eileen may have thought, he didn’t agree.
Now, she lived in the old family home, left to both of us after out parents passing, with her two children, twin girls. I’d met them a few times, and though they projected this air of daintiness, they were pure evil.
But I guess that opinion was fuelled by the lack of understanding children or wanting to know. That notion of being a father, at any time in my life, was not something I aspired to. Besides, I was never going to find a suitable woman who would be willing to put up with me, children, or no children.
…
It was a thousand plus mile drive from New York to our hometown in Iowa. My first question had been why she would drive and not get on a plane, but that was tempered by the realisation my sister was not a rich woman.
She had borne the brunt of both our parents passing and having to manage the sale of the business and home. She hadn’t complained, but I could feel the resentment simmering beneath the surface.
I had dumped it all on her, and she was right to be resentful. It was another of my traits, inherited from my father, selfishness.
The first few hours of that drive were in silence. It was not surprising, I had said something stupid, also another thing I was prone to doing. I apologised three times before she would speak to me again.
“You’re going to have to improve your manners. The girls will not put up with your attitude or behaviour, not again.”
The girls. My worst fear was meeting them again after so long. I had no doubt they hated me, and with good reason.
They were now out of the troublesome teens and had found jobs that saw them able to spend more time at home, as well as pursue a career in their chosen fields.
“I’m surprised they agreed to let you bring me home.”
“They are not the same children as they were the last time you were here, what is it, nine, ten years ago. It was an impossible time, and you were not exactly the ideal or understanding uncle, but Itold them you were more like our father and he was a horrid man at best. They were lucky they don’t remember him. I also told them, both times you were here, that you were not yourself then, not the brother I once knew before you got those delusions that made you leave.”
“Delusions?”
“Why would anyone want to leave a beautiful place like our hometown. It has everything.”
“Except high paying jobs and be able to meet lots of diversely different people.”
“We have diversity.”
Yes, there I go again, unable to reign in the small-town resentment factor, even after all the intervening years. It was a chip on the shoulder that would need to be surgically removed, if I was ever going to get past it.
I let another half hour pass before I said, ” I’m sure your daughters are every bit as remarkable as you are, Eileen. You were always going to be a wonderful mother, whereas I don’t think I’d make any sort of father a child would want.”
I could feel rather than see the sideways glance.
“It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“I have the same genes my father had. I always said I was nothing like him, but if I’ve learned anything over the last 20 years, I’m exactly like him.”
“Then think about that statement. The fact you realise that is just the first step.”
That made two very large assumptions, that I knew how to change, and that I wanted to. Climbing the hill of success had robbed me of a lot of things because to succeed you had to be ruthless. And I had taken it to a whole new level.
Another hour passed, and we stopped for lunch. My phone rang, and as I went to pick it up off my car seat, Eileen got there first. I just managed to see it was the VP of Administration calling, another problem to be resolved.
“I thought I said no phones, computers, means of communicating with work. They know you’re ill and the agreed to give you time off.”
She killed the call, then threw the phone in the first rubbish bin we passed.
“No phone, no calls, no work. You keep answering, they’ll keep calling.”
A shake of the head, a look of disdain. She might yet regret volunteering to rehabilitate me.
…
We stayed overnight it a quaint hotel, it being too far to go the whole thousand plus miles in one day.
It was a wise decision because although I would profess otherwise, I was not very well. It was another wise decision to get a room where she could keep an eye on me, no doubt on the advice of the doctor, who, I suspected, had given her a fuller briefing on my condition that he gave me.
And because I wasn’t well, we delayed leaving. It gave me pause the think of what it was I wanted out of life. It would be truthful to say that until I tried to drag myself out of bed, telling myself that this was just a blip on the radar, I was treating this whole episode too lightly.
Maybe it wasn’t, but I hadn’t quite got the message yet.
When I sat down in the dining room for breakfast, suddenly, a tiredness came over me, and it finally hit home. Maybe what I was doing with my life wasn’t as important as I thought it was.
“You’re looking pale, should I be worried?”
It was about the sixth time she asked, and the concern was genuine. I guess I had to ask myself why after all those years of being a bad brother, she would really care. Maybe she understood the value of family where I didn’t and it was bothering me that after saying I was never going to be like my father, it was exactly who I was.
“Long day yesterday. Longer night. The battle will be not so much getting through this, whatever it is, But changing a lifelong mindset.”
“The first step is always the hardest, they say.”
“Have you met any of the infamous ‘they’?”
“That’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”
…
The rest of the road trip was in silence, except for the odd comment or question, until we reached the outskirts of town, and the memory kicked in.
Some things never changed, but where once I would have said that was exactly why I left the place 20 years ago, it was now what some would say was one of its endearing qualities.
There were mixed feelings, that I’d said more than once, with conviction, that I would have to die before I came back, to why had I waited so long. It was an odd reaction.
“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” she said.
“Did you swallow a book of idioms?”
“I can read, you know. I went to the same schools as you did.”
And got higher grades and was the smarter of the two of us. Yet she never did anything with it, that was my biggest disappointment with her. Our father had considered her place was at home, that old fashioned 1950s thinking, and whenever he had said it, she snorted in derision and told him to drag himself into the twentieth century.
He didn’t, wouldn’t or couldn’t was a question without answer but she never stopped trying.
“And never stopped interfering in my life.”
“You needed help because you didn’t know what to do. Marjorie was always the one, you know it, and she knew it. It was just you and the desire to leave that screwed everything up.”
I was wondering how long it would take to get to Marjorie. I did think of her, from time to time, but not as the one that got away. That had been on me, not her. But it was not going to go anywhere because she was the prom queen and I was the geek suffering from unrequited love, despite what Eileen thought.
“She was out of my league Eileen. You know as well as I the she and the future NBA draft pick were always going to be together.”
I could see her shaking her head.
“You never thought to ask, did you?”
I did as it happened and had picked a moment when I thought she would be alone, only it wasn’t. Sean’s friends had been waiting and I never made it. I could still remember, in nightmares that beating.
“You do understand what the word humiliation means?”
The house was in the other side of town so I got the tour of main street, and inverting else, what some might call a trip down memory lane. Even outer once family business was still there, exactly as it was before except a new coat of paint and proprietor name. Dougal. He had his own rival business but was never a threat. I guess he was a happy man when Eileen sold it to him.
Then, in the blink of an eye 8 was back home, and it was as if I had never left. The house, the street, everything was as it had been, which if one thought about, was almost impossible. Things do change, constantly. We were, we had to be in a time warp.
She pulled into the driveway, switched off the engine, leaned back in the seat and sighed. “Welcome home, Daniel.”
I closed my eyes and opened them again just in case this was a dream.
It wasn’t.
The front door opened and a tall, lanky young girl who looked unmissable like her mother when she was that age, came out, down the stoop to the car. Eileen got out and the girl hugged her.
It made me feel jealous that she had someone there to greet her in such a fashion. When I got home it was to an empty loft.
The girl looked over at me, now that I’d got out of the car too.
“Hello again.”
There was not a lot of warmth in it, and a look of wariness.
“I’m sorry to cause your family do much inconvenience.” It wasn’t what I should have said, but that’s what came out.
“It’s not. If mom thinks you should be here, then this is where you should be.”
“Your mom was always smarter than me.”
I plucked my overnight bag, as we’ll as Eileen’s suitcase, from the back of the car and shut the trunk. I saw another person come out the door and thought it was the other girl.
As twins I hadn’t been able to tell them apart previously, so I hadn’t used a name. One was Elise, the other Eliza.
The person was not the other twin.
I had gone around to give Eileen her case. It was then I recognised the woman.
“Oh, by the way, your doctor told me I should have a nurse standing by in case you had a relapse, but more to make sure you took your meds. He apparently has the same faith in you I have. None. But I got you the best. You might remember her.
I did. The frenetic increase in my heart rate was testament to that. She had always had that effect on me.
She smiled. “It’s good to see you again Daniel.”
It was the only person I would have expected from a meddlesome sister, even 20 years later.
I waited until her surveillance disappeared from view, then considered what to do next, or whether I’d created a problem for Juliet. I had no doubt she would be informed of my intervention, so it would probably be better for me to chance upon her than the other way around and take it from there.
After watching her sip her coffee and take in the passing tourist traffic for a few minutes, I headed toward her.
And, with the right amount of surprise in my tone, I said, as I reached her and she turned to see who it was, “I recognize you, you’re Juliet, the doctor.”
She seemed genuinely shocked to see me, and immediately cast a glance over to the table where Giuseppe had been sitting, then, not seeing him, frantically looked around to see if he had moved.
“If you’re looking for a creepy-looking guy, I sent him packing. I saw him watching you, so I threatened to get the police onto him. I’m sure I could convince them he was part of a team of kidnappers.”
“You’re joking.”
She sounded horrified, which was either the result of very good acting, or she was in fact horrified that I’d tackle him.
“May I sit?” I was starting to feel a little self-conscious standing in full view of everyone.
“Of course. This is a pleasant and very unexpected surprise.”
I sat. Clearly, she was not going to say why she was really in Venice, but a few harmless questions were in order, just to see how far she would bend the truth.
A waiter came and I ordered black coffee. After he left I threw out the opening gambit. “So, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like Venice?”
Her expression changed to one of bewilderment. “How do you mean?”
“I’ve heard from so many visitors that this place is easy to get lost in, and you appear to be alone. Just over-active curiosity.”
I realized that she might be offended, whether referring to her as a ‘nice girl’ or that she might get lost.
“I could ask the same.” A frown, and brittle tone. Perhaps it was better this way, and she would have to work harder in getting us together, though insulting her, if that was what she thought it was, hadn’t been my intention.
“That’s easy, I’m living here at the present time.”
“Living here?” Brittle turned to astonishment.
“Yes, I have apartments in a few different cities, and I like to keep moving. Venice is my current choice of city.”
“Then you’re not likely to get lost.”
Yes, a little dig, probably deserved. “Not often but I have a few times in the past.” But, back to the interrogation, “here for a visit, on a cruise ship passing through, or with purpose?”
With a subtle look up and down, and a moment’s silence, I had enough time to think about what she was making of my sudden appearance, and how fortunate, or unfortunate, it might be.
Time enough to throw away the bad thoughts, and move on.
“I’m staying in a quaint hotel overlooking the Canal.”
I bit my tongue before I could say ‘I know’.
“It can be a bit busy along there at times, but you’ll be close to a few good restaurants. I can recommend a gondola ride if you get the right man. And if you want to go anywhere, take the Vaporetto, the water taxis are very expensive.”
My coffee arrived, and while I thanked the waitress, she digested the information, and its intent, that I was not going to show her around.
I also took out the phone with the gadgets and put it on the table. A few seconds later it vibrated, and rippling rings showed on the screen, a sigh there was a transmitter nearby. Her phone was not far away.
She saw the blue rings. “That’s an unusual ring tone.”
“Oh, that. Not a ringtone. A friend of mine is paranoid his wife’s tracking him, so he’s got all this stuff on his phone to track the trackers.” I looked around at the others sitting nearby. “Someone’s got a transmitting device nearby.”
“Wouldn’t a normal microphone set it off?”
She was remarkably calm for someone whose phone was setting it off. Had Larry given her a phone and not tell her of its significance. Knowing him, he probably didn’t trust her to report seeing me. And it would be better if she didn’t know, she could react to any accusation just as she was now.
“I asked him that but apparently if the phone is recording data and relaying it, it will set it off.”
She looked around also. There were at least five people nearby on their phones, some even with others sitting at the table. Smartphones literally were conversation killers.
Then she simply shrugged. “Why would you need to know if someone was relaying information?”
Good question. There was no indignation in the question, just curiosity.
“That’s my security chief, he is the sort of man who suspects everyone of something until proven innocent.”
“You need a security chief?” More surprise.
“You never know who’s lurking in the shadows, and I am worth a fair bit, so I can only travel with security. They’re out there, on the perimeter where even I can’t see them.”
“Wasn’t that what you did once, when I first met you?”
“Me? No, At that time I was running a desk and made the mistake of going into the field to follow a hunch. Always in the background, never in the line of fire. Anyway, after that, I quit and moved into software development. My family always had money and I had to do something with it, and, luckily, I backed a winner. Happily married until Violetta died recently, and now, trying to move on. How about you?”
Another chance for her to tell me the truth, or a version of it.
“A doctor until I wasn’t. I didn’t cope well with long shifts and a thankless work environment. I made a few bad choices. This is the new me, past that chapter. I thought I’d lose myself in Europe to celebrate my sobriety, and, here I am.”
My phone beeped twice, the result of an alarm I set earlier, to remind me to call Alfie.
She looked at it, and then at me.
I shrugged. “Business, even when I retired. I have to go, but maybe we’ll run into each other again.”
I stood. “Nice seeing you again.” I gave her no option to join me.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 