The Goodbye Kiss (12 page)

    Saturday
22:40

    To
avoid roadblocks we were forced to travel back roads, often dirt tracks. I
parked the car, turned on a powerful flashlight and signaled the others to
follow me. The abandoned house was immersed in darkness. For a moment no one
moved. The place seemed designed for a trap. Then everybody slipped their hands
into their pockets, and the feel of their guns convinced them to go inside the
house. In the kitchen I switched on the camping light. As I told the Spaniards
to put the money on the table, I began moving towards my stash in the corner of
the fireplace.

    Anedda
started shooting too soon and screwed everything up. He hit Pepe in the chest,
killing him instantly; another round ripped Javier's side. But Francisca and
the Croats still hadn't entered the room. They pulled back along the hallway,
moving out of range. I grabbed the shotgun and slowly inched through the
doorway, ready to shoot. But I was greeted by crossfire and had to take cover.
Javier began to moan faintly. I took a gun and finished him off.

    "You've
really made a mess," I growled at Anedda, who'd entered through the
window.

    "We've
got the money," he snapped, pointing at the bags on the table. "Let's
go out and finish the job," he added, switching off the light.

    But
we were trapped in the room. The Croats had gone to the car to get their rifles
with the infrared scopes, and protected by the darkness they kept us under
fire. We couldn't see them.

    "They've
got us fucked."

    "Let's
deal."

    "Don't
waste your time trying to shoot us," I shouted. "We'll give you half
the money, and everybody goes his own way."

    "All
the money," the Croat shouted back. "You're in no position to
deal."

    "We
can hold out till dawn, and then you can pound your gunsights up your
ass."

    No
answer. They were obviously considering the situation.

    "What
about the Spanish broad?" Anedda asked me.

    Right.
Francisca. "I have no idea," I answered. "Either the Croats
snuffed her or she's hiding somewhere."

    "What
do we do?"

    "The
only thing we can do is stay covered. You keep an eye on the door; I'll watch
the window."

    We
were interrupted by Romo's voice. "It's a deal. Throw out two bags, and
we'll leave."

    "Real
smart, pal," Ferruccio remarked acidly.

    "If
you keep talking bullshit," I shouted, "we'll just get some shut-eye
till morning. The money for the rifles with the scopes. And cut the crap."
"OK."

    Another
ten minutes passed before we reached an agreement on the exchange process. In
the end, two bags and two Dragunovs lay in the clearing in front of the house.
Only then did I turn on the flashlight again. The blade of light cut through
the darkness, and I could make out Romo and Tonci taking cover behind a car.
But they weren't alone. Cerni was pulling Francisca by the hair, holding a
knife to her throat. His partner, pistol in hand, kept firing at us. Anedda in
turn had him lined up in the sight of the pump rifle.

    The
Croat sneered. "You head out. We're going to stay and have some fun with
the anarchist whore."

    With
a jerk of her head Francisca tried to slit her own throat. She wasn't
successful. Bad luck. Romo smacked her head against the car, and she slipped to
the ground, out cold. The two Ustashi would have their own method of reviving
her.

    "What
do we do?" I whispered to Ferruccio.

    He
shrugged. "The Spanish broad has to die anyway. While they're amusing
themselves with her, we'll find a way to fuck them. Those two bags are
ours."

    "You've
got a plan?"

    "No,
but I've got an idea: let's go have a chat with Luana."

    "Perfect.
You can bet she knows the assholes' next move."

    "So
what are you going to do?" the Croat pushed us.

    "Alright,
we're splitting," I said in a loud voice. "But the bodies can't be
left out in the open. Before you take off, you have to hide them in the cistern
at the back of the house."

    "No
problem," said Cerni.

    "Now
move away from the cars," I ordered.

    While
the cop covered my back, I climbed into the Panda and punched it in reverse
till I pulled up right beside him. He got in. Then I shifted to first and
floored it.

    Sunday
01:25

    Luana
worked via Novara, in the San Siro area. But that night nobody had seen her.

    "She's
home," I suggested for the umpteenth time.

    We were
in Anedda's car. He could always flash his badge, but I didn't exactly feel
relaxed, armed to the teeth with two bags of stolen cash in the trunk. He
didn't give a fuck. He felt untouchable. He drove slowly, eyeballing the
sidewalk crowded with whores from eastern Europe. That was their territory.

    "She's
got to be home waiting for the other two," I repeated one more time.

    "OK,
let's go see. But I'd prefer to pick her up on the street."

    Twenty
minutes later I was about to push the bell to her apartment. The cop stopped me
with a wave. He took a step back and kicked in the lock. The door was shit. The
wood gave with a crack. He went inside holding his pistol with two hands, in a
shooting position. I followed him and drew my revolver. Luana Bazov, refugee
from Vukovar, was in the bedroom packing her bags. When she saw us, her face
became a mask of fear.

    "Hurt
her," my partner ordered.

    I
didn't have to be told. I faked a punch in her face, forcing her to protect
herself by holding out her arms towards me. Then I grabbed one of her fingers
and with a rapid twist snapped it. She lost her breath. I threw her on the bed.
Ferruccio pushed the pistol into her left tit, right at her heart.

    "Live
whore, dead whore. Which game you want to play?"

    "Live
whore," the girl whimpered.

    "We
want Romo and Tonci."

    "I
don't know where they are," she answered, desperate.

    "Dead
whore," snarled the cop, lifting the gun barrel.

    She
was more afraid of her compatriots than our death threats. The Ustashi and
their friends could hurt her family.

    I
bent over her. "If you help us find them, we'll kill them. You'll never
see them again, and nobody'd link you to their deaths."

    "You
tell me the truth? You really kill that pig Romo?"

    I'd guessed
right. Gave her a complicit smile: "You bet."

    Luana
got her color back, sat up and told us she was supposed to wait for them at
another apartment rented a few days ago. It'd serve as a hideout till the dust
settled. Then a train to Genoa and a ship straight to Paraguay. Cerni decided
she was his woman and she had to follow him wherever he went. But she hated
him. She gave us the address and the keys and explained the signal they'd use
with the doorbell. A short ring followed by two long ones.

    "Disappear
from Milano," Anedda warned her. "If I meet you again, you're
dead."

    I
pointed at the bitch. "We're leaving behind a witness?"

    He
looked at her. "The last thing she'll want to do is talk about this
business."

    "She
could tip the two Croats."

    He
shook his head. "She won't."

    I
shrugged. "I think it's an unnecessary risk. But you're the boss."

    As we
left the room, I turned towards her: "Since you're still alive, put some
ice on your finger and go to an emergency room."

    She
burst into tears from the sheer relief of being spared by fate. Ferruccio the
bull smiled, pleased with his grand gesture. Fact is, it was really stupid.
Never trust a whore. But I didn't dare give him any back talk. A waste of
breath. He wouldn't have changed his mind.

    "Let's
get a move on," said Ferruccio once we were in the car. "We have to
arrive before them."

    "How
are we going to whack them in the apartment? We can't allow ourselves the
luxury of a shoot-out."

    "You
have that pistol with the silencer?"

    "It's
at the widow's house. I wasn't planning to use it today."

    "Then
we'll just have to make do."

    We
parked a few blocks away and walked to the building, keeping our eyes peeled,
checking out the parked cars. We didn't spot the Renault or the Escort. I rang
the bell according to the signal. A minute later we entered the apartment with
our weapons drawn. Empty. Apart from the Ustashis' bags. We quickly ransacked
them. Clothes, three pistols, some boxes of ammo.

    Anedda
pointed to one box that contained the same kind of bullets used to murder the
security guards. "When I find them, searching the apartment with my men,
I'll be able to declare with absolute certainty that the two bodies belong to
the marksmen. This will definitely give a boost to my career," he
snickered, rubbing his hands together.

    I
looked at him in amazement. "You've got balls. How will you 'discover' the
hideout?"

    "The
classic tip from an informer."

    "What
else? You cops use that excuse to justify everything."

    "Stop
bellyaching about the profession. Instead think how the investigation will pick
up the Croats' trail-and we won't run any risks." He looked at his watch.
"Our friends have probably finished messing around with the Spanish broad,
and they'll be here any minute. Let's get ready to welcome them."

    In
the kitchen he turned over a wooden table and broke off a leg. "We'll use
the Rwanda system. Rapid, silent and lethal."

    Twenty
minutes later the bell rang three times. I let them in. Romo entered first,
followed by Tonci. Their hands were occupied with the rifles and money bags.
The barrels of our guns were suddenly resting on their necks.

    "On
your knees. Hands behind your heads," ordered Anedda.

    Romo
obeyed. His buddy didn't need a translation. I left them no time to reflect. I
put down the gun, grabbed the table leg and swung it with all my might against
Cerni's skull. Raised it again over my head and hit Tonci Zaninovic. Then I
stepped back to contemplate the scene: two bodies on the floor, skulls cracked,
spots of blood on the wall, my shoes, Anedda's trousers.

    The
cop bent down to check the carotid. "They're still alive."

    I
cursed between my teeth. Rummaged through their bags. Returned with a bathrobe
belt and pajama pants.

    "Take
care of the other one," I said, wrapping the pajama leg around Romo's
neck.

    You
should never leave a crime scene in too much of a hurry. You risk overlooking
some detail which could point the investigation in the right direction. Anedda
and I fished through the dead men's wardrobe and changed our shoes and
trousers. Our own clothes, along with the belt, pajama pants and table leg,
wound up in a trash bag we later tossed in another neighborhood. The cop began
to look for traces. Of course, not the ones we wanted to be found. We'd worn
gloves through the whole thing and didn't have to worry about fingerprints. But
the soles of our shoes were distinctly visible on the floor. I looked for a
bucket and rag and solved the problem. In the end, we left satisfied. Anedda
would return the next night, wearing a blue jacket with "Polizia"
written on the back.

    I
still didn't know whether I could trust him. We were now the only ones left to
split the cash. At any point he might be tempted to take it all. When we got
into the car, I slipped my hand in my pocket, searching for my gun. He caught
the move, but pretended he didn't.

    "When
do you think you'll kill the widow? " he asked.

    "Tuesday,
before I leave Milano."

    "It
might be too soon. Tomorrow I'm back on the job, and I'll see which way the
wind blows. Wait for my call before you act.