Read Online Suicide Italian Style (Crime Made in Italy Book 1) by Pete Pescatore - Free Book Online
Authors: Pete Pescatore
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my hands and walked out.
“Stazz—“
I let her go. Down below a door slammed. A moment later a car door thumped shut and the old diesel engine coughed and kicked in. I stepped out onto the balcony just in time to see the Shark slip away.
Seven
Still and gray in the morning light, the lake was a mirror of the leaden sky. I took a deep breath. Something in the air drifting in off the water, like the smell of iron before a thunderstorm. A story.
Gigi Goldoni owed people money. Like Billy Bob said, somebody owes you, you don’t just show up and shoot him. You talk to him. You negotiate. He makes a token payment to show good faith, and you wait. What else can you do? You’re hoping luck will come his way and he’ll pay you what he owes. Then maybe one day you get tired of waiting. You decide it’s time to do something about it.
Maybe that’s what happened. There were plenty of suckers stuck with shares even Gigi couldn’t sell. I remembered a few of them, from a shareholder meeting at the Villa one night. And the names? There was a library somewhere in Lugano. Maybe they had a file, a clipping from the good old days that could help me put names to the faces.
I trundled down the stairs and found Renata in the kitchen. She had thrown on a bathrobe but hadn’t stopped to look in a mirror. She was feeding her children, the baby girl in a high chair, applesauce all over her face. The boy, a little older, sat on the floor, playing with little yellow bricks, building walls. She had a family now. Must have got started right after I left.
I dropped to a crouch beside the boy. “What are you building?”
“Castle,” he said. I picked up a brick. He grabbed it from my hand.
“Pete,” said Renata. She didn’t look up. “You must forget what I said.”
I stood up, stooped and leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek. A bruise had blossomed around an eye and closed it. I blew a hard breath. “Bastard.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t say anything. Just go. Go home, Pete. Leave us alone.”
“I’m on my way,” I said.
“Good.” She raised her sore eyes and looked into mine. “Promise me, Pete.”
I nodded and raised a finger to my lips. I would not say a word.
“Sarge around?”
She shook her head. “He left early.” She wiped a soft rag across her daughter’s mouth. The boy stuck a finger in his nose and cackled. Renata pulled the finger out and lifted the little girl into her arms.
“Did he say where he was going?”
She shot a look at me. “No.”
“You can’t let him slap you around, Renata.”
She nodded. The look in her eyes said she knew that already but hadn’t found a way to make him stop. “I made coffee.”
There were ways to put an end to that kind of thing. Renata was smart. She would find a way. Maybe she already had.
Sarge’s mother appeared, took over the kids and carried them away. Renata followed and came back with coffee, poured it and slipped quietly into a chair. “What do you want?”
“I’m chasing a story,” I said, and leaned across the table to look into her eyes. Dark eyes, shot with pain. “I always knew Sarge did Gigi’s books,” I said, “but last night the grappa in him talked and he told me how it worked. Cash for shares, shares for cash.”
Her eyes flared wide. “What took you so long?”
“I’m slow,” I said. “But I need some names. Investors.”
“I can’t give you any names.”
“How much did Gigi owe you?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor.
“You think Sarge had something to do with it?”
She knew what I meant. The fear again. “Please, Pete. Just go home. Leave us alone.”
“Who was it, Renata?”
She stood up, shivering, shaking her head. “Please, that’s all I know.” She pressed her lips together. “He frightens me.”
“Sarge? Or somebody else?”
“Go home.”
I bent to kiss her cheek. She pulled away. “The children, Pete. They’re not stupid. They see everything. And they talk.”
“So do
“Stazz—“
I let her go. Down below a door slammed. A moment later a car door thumped shut and the old diesel engine coughed and kicked in. I stepped out onto the balcony just in time to see the Shark slip away.
Seven
Still and gray in the morning light, the lake was a mirror of the leaden sky. I took a deep breath. Something in the air drifting in off the water, like the smell of iron before a thunderstorm. A story.
Gigi Goldoni owed people money. Like Billy Bob said, somebody owes you, you don’t just show up and shoot him. You talk to him. You negotiate. He makes a token payment to show good faith, and you wait. What else can you do? You’re hoping luck will come his way and he’ll pay you what he owes. Then maybe one day you get tired of waiting. You decide it’s time to do something about it.
Maybe that’s what happened. There were plenty of suckers stuck with shares even Gigi couldn’t sell. I remembered a few of them, from a shareholder meeting at the Villa one night. And the names? There was a library somewhere in Lugano. Maybe they had a file, a clipping from the good old days that could help me put names to the faces.
I trundled down the stairs and found Renata in the kitchen. She had thrown on a bathrobe but hadn’t stopped to look in a mirror. She was feeding her children, the baby girl in a high chair, applesauce all over her face. The boy, a little older, sat on the floor, playing with little yellow bricks, building walls. She had a family now. Must have got started right after I left.
I dropped to a crouch beside the boy. “What are you building?”
“Castle,” he said. I picked up a brick. He grabbed it from my hand.
“Pete,” said Renata. She didn’t look up. “You must forget what I said.”
I stood up, stooped and leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek. A bruise had blossomed around an eye and closed it. I blew a hard breath. “Bastard.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t say anything. Just go. Go home, Pete. Leave us alone.”
“I’m on my way,” I said.
“Good.” She raised her sore eyes and looked into mine. “Promise me, Pete.”
I nodded and raised a finger to my lips. I would not say a word.
“Sarge around?”
She shook her head. “He left early.” She wiped a soft rag across her daughter’s mouth. The boy stuck a finger in his nose and cackled. Renata pulled the finger out and lifted the little girl into her arms.
“Did he say where he was going?”
She shot a look at me. “No.”
“You can’t let him slap you around, Renata.”
She nodded. The look in her eyes said she knew that already but hadn’t found a way to make him stop. “I made coffee.”
There were ways to put an end to that kind of thing. Renata was smart. She would find a way. Maybe she already had.
Sarge’s mother appeared, took over the kids and carried them away. Renata followed and came back with coffee, poured it and slipped quietly into a chair. “What do you want?”
“I’m chasing a story,” I said, and leaned across the table to look into her eyes. Dark eyes, shot with pain. “I always knew Sarge did Gigi’s books,” I said, “but last night the grappa in him talked and he told me how it worked. Cash for shares, shares for cash.”
Her eyes flared wide. “What took you so long?”
“I’m slow,” I said. “But I need some names. Investors.”
“I can’t give you any names.”
“How much did Gigi owe you?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor.
“You think Sarge had something to do with it?”
She knew what I meant. The fear again. “Please, Pete. Just go home. Leave us alone.”
“Who was it, Renata?”
She stood up, shivering, shaking her head. “Please, that’s all I know.” She pressed her lips together. “He frightens me.”
“Sarge? Or somebody else?”
“Go home.”
I bent to kiss her cheek. She pulled away. “The children, Pete. They’re not stupid. They see everything. And they talk.”
“So do
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