Midnight Angels (43 page)

“They don’t seem so imposing,” he said.

“That’s because you don’t know any better,” Clare said. “But it was that not so imposing trio that took down the Raven and prevented him from taking possession of the Midnight Angels.”

“Some good came out of it,” the man said, turning his back on the square. “The Immortals belong to you now, and we are the better for it.”

“Can the flattery,” Clare said, “it doesn’t fly with me.”

“Do you wish them followed?”

Clare shook her head. “No,” she said. “Leave them alone. We have plenty of time to catch up.”

“What about the Angels?”

“They’re safe,” Clare said. “I’m certain the girl saw to that. And while we can’t get to them, no one else can, either.”

“So what’s next?” he asked.

“How about we take a cue from our friends in the square,” Clare said, “and go out and enjoy what’s left of the day.”

“Do you wish to walk or ride?” the man asked.

“What did your old boss the Raven prefer?” Clare asked.

“He always walked when he had the chance,” the man said.

Clare nodded and turned away from the window. “In that case,” she said, “bring the car around. My walking days are at an end.”

KATE, MARCO, AND RUMORE
stood in front of the Ducati 999 and the beat-up bicycle. “I see we have two chariots awaiting us,” Kate said. “Which shall we take?”

“I think today we should all be allowed to ride in style,” Rumore said. He caught the sad look crossing Marco’s face and turned to the young man. “It would be an honor for me if you allowed me a ride on your father’s bike,” he said. “In return, you and Kate can take my Ducati and drive it over to Mama’s place.”

“I’ve never driven a Ducati before,” Marco said, stammering. “What if I do something wrong and cause some damage?”

Rumore straddled Marco’s bike, reached into the front pocket of his jeans, pulled out a set of keys and tossed them his way. Marco caught them in midflight. “If that happens,” he said, “then I might have to shoot you.”

Kate and Marco watched Rumore peddle through the piazza and down a side street, heading toward the restaurant. Marco got on the Ducati, put the key in and kick-started the powerful engine. He grabbed a black helmet off one of the handlebars and handed it to Kate, waited as she put it on and then reached for a second one from the other bar and squeezed it over his head. Kate got on behind him and rested her arms across his waist. He kicked up the stand, put his feet on the black sideboard, and slowly shifted gears. The Ducati lurched forward and gently made its way through the piazza.

“Way to go, Marco,” Kate said.

“Do you really think Rumore would shoot me if I damaged his bike?” Marco asked her, navigating his way down a side street.

“Yes,” Kate said.

“That’s some friend to have,” Marco said, turning to give her a quick smile.

“Yes he is,” Kate said, resting her head on Marco’s back. “And so are you.”

IN THE DARKNESS
of the church, five feet below the tomb of Michelangelo, the Midnight Angels stood, one next to the other.

Their arms were stretched out, palms up, wings open and ready for flight. Their faces gleamed and their eyes looked up at the tomb of their creator.

They were where they belonged.

At rest with Michelangelo.

In peace.

At home.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I
OWE SO MANY FOR THE INSPIRATION AND GUIDANCE THEY WILLINGLY
gave in helping me complete this book. Since my heart is always somewhere in Italy, I will begin by thanking Massimo and Nico of the Excelsior Hotel in Florence, who worked their magic and got us into the Vasari Corridor at a time when no one was allowed. They are simply the best at what they do.

And to the dozens of others who are lucky enough to call Florence, my favorite city, home: from Mama to the owners and staff of Buca Mario and Sostanza to the jeweler who collects American license plates to the young woman at the herbal pharmacy who allowed me access into the shuttered basement of a place where both Michelangelo and Da Vinci came for their herbs—I owe my deepest thanks.

The best way to keep Michelangelo alive is to do what comes naturally in Florence—walk. His presence is everywhere, in every angle of every church, museum, street corner. All you need do is look. And nowhere is his presence stronger than in the church at Santa Croce, where his body rests and where I spent endless hours in his company. There is no finer guide in all of Florence.

To my man Keith Bellows, editor-in-chief of the
National Geographic Traveler
, who has been kind enough to allow me to write about Italy for his terrific magazine going on ten years now; and to Jayne Wise, his gifted senior editor who makes the words better and each endeavor a challenge not a chore. Thank you both.

My editor, Mark Tavani, was a Godsend. He helped guide me down a fresh path, always ready to take an idea and make it better, patient, talented, determined to get it right. The result is a book we both can be proud of. He is also, hands down, the best line editor I have ever had the
honor to work with. Plus, he speaks and writes a little Italian, which means I can’t put anything past him in either language.

To the rest of the team at Ballantine: from the great Gina Centrello who has always been in my corner, to the very classy Libby McGuire and my pal of many decades, Kim Hovey—thank you for all you have done. To Brian and to the many copy editors, art directors, sales and marketing men and women who worked so hard over so many years on what is now eight books, always making them read and look better, I am in your debt.

To Suzanne Gluck, the best and smartest book agent on the planet, and her A-team at WME—way to go, Idaho! Add to this mix Rob Carlson without whom no deal is possible and without whose friendship I would be at a loss; Lou Pitt who never stops working and never stops caring; Tom Collier who does it all with style and class; and to the immortal one himself—Jake Bloom, the champ still holding the crown after all these years.

To my many friends who listen and allow me to vent through every book with every pain, real or imagined, I thank you. Most especially in this round: Dr. L., the GM, Ed F.; Big Hank; Peter L&O; Leah; Liz “I took the wine” Wagner; Fred and Pat; Frank, PJ, and the gang at AGS; Andy K.; Coates B.; Big Steve; Christopher and Constantino; Dr. C.; and the great crew at East Side Animal and South Fork Animal Hospitals—for taking care of my posse.

To Susan—thank you for putting up with me for way too long a time and for planting the seeds of an idea that grew into this book. You have always been my MVP and I can’t imagine my world without you in it.

To Nick—you have heart, charm, and passion—and are never shy about letting me know if an idea of mine should be flushed.

To Kate—you are simply the best. Your achievements alone leave me in awe. With both of you, I am honored to be your dad.

And to Gus and Willow—the two greatest dogs in the world and yes, Casper, you too (the world’s oldest cat): You three will forever be the coolest ones in any room you walk into or any backyard you happen to stumble upon. You have more than earned your treats.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

T
HIS BOOK IS A WORK OF FICTION
.

But, according to a number of noted Michelangelo scholars, as much as thirty percent of the master’s work remains undiscovered to this day.

The Midnight Angels may well be one of those works, out there somewhere, waiting to be found.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

L
ORENZO
C
ARCATERRA
is the author of
A Safe Place, Sleepers, Apaches, Gangster, Street Boys, Paradise City
, and
Chasers
. He has written scripts for movies and television and was a writer/producer for
Law & Order
. He has traveled to Italy on a yearly basis since he was fourteen and has written extensively about that country both for the
National Geographic Traveler
and in his books. He speaks fluent Italian and his favorite place on earth is inside the church at Santa Croce, standing in front of the tomb of Michelangelo. He is currently at work on his next novel.

Midnight Angels
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2010 by Lorenzo Carcaterra

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Carcaterra, Lorenzo.
Midnight angels : a novel / Lorenzo Carcaterra.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-345-52198-9
1. Americans—Italy—Fiction. 2. Art historians—Fiction. 3. Lost
works of art—Fiction. 4. Florence (Italy)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3553.A653M53 2010
813′.54—dc22     2010007456

www.ballantinebooks.com

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