“So, you’re Mr. Llewelyn, eh?” he asked with no trace of an accent.
I always came up short in these visual evaluations, be they work related or personal. Just once, I would have liked to impress someone.
“Barker vouches for you, anyway. Just what have you studied?”
“Boxing, Japanese wrestling, and stick fighting, sir. Oh, and explosives.”
Gallenga made a sour face and shook his head. I’d failed again. You’d think I’d eventually get used to it.
“Nothing practical, then?”
“Practical?”
“Save perhaps the bomb making, they are all sports. You have had no training in actual combat.”
“No, sir.”
“It’s a wonder you’re still alive then, working with a man like Il Brutto.”
“The ugly one,” I translated, with what smattering of Italian and Latin I have. “Do you really call him that?” Barker was weather-beaten, I’ll admit, but “ugly” was going a bit far.
“Many Italians in London call Barker that. I don’t know who first gave him the name.” The old man shrugged. “So, I am to train you. How do you feel about that?”
“I’d be more assured if I knew what I was actually to be trained in.”
“Good point,” he said, smiling. “Let me enlighten you. For the most part, I shall teach you the use of the Sicilian blade, that is, the Italian dagger. This is no sport. It is to be used solely to kill another human being or to save yourself from being killed, which amounts to the same thing. This is a practical education. You should be very grateful to your employer, for the art is normally passed down from father to son among the Sicilians. To not be an Italian and yet receive this instruction is rare indeed.”
“Why are you willing to teach me, then, if I may ask?”
“I owe your employer a debt of honor. Beyond that I will not say.”
I absorbed that, or tried to, and found I couldn’t, so I set it aside. “Er, what other instruction am I to receive?”
“L’occhio, signor,” he said, drawing down the skin of his lower eyelid. “I am to ‘give you the eye.’ ”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. You know nothing. You are a mere babe in the woods, but you will learn. When I am done with you, Mr. Thomas Llewelyn, you will be a different man. Oh, you may look the same, but you will be changed in here.” To demonstrate, he thumped his chest with a fist. “I will make a man of you.”
“I can hardly wait,” I responded. He didn’t react to sarcasm any more than Barker.
“Come then, sir. Let us take a short walk. Just a simple walk in the street.”
He led me out the back door of his house, which was furnished in an overdecorated European fashion-full of ornate, overstuffed chairs-through a garden in full bloom and down an alleyway into a busy street.
“Stop here, signor. Now tell me, if you were in fear for your life right now, how would you proceed down this street?”
“What do you mean? How should I walk down the street?”
“Would it be safer to walk there-close to the buildings, near the entrances-or out here, near the curb?”
I mulled this over for a moment.
“Near the curb,” I pronounced.
“And why?”
“Because one could be seized from an alleyway or doorway.”
“Very good.”
“But what if I’m going the opposite direction and can’t walk on the outside?”
“Then you cross the street. Do not put yourself in a position where a man can reach out and seize you or, worse, stab you. A practiced rampsman can seize a cuff and pull a man into an alley the way a fisherman draws in his catch before gutting it.”
“But being near the curb is so … open. One might be attacked from a vehicle or shot at from a window.”
“Of course, the curb is not without its dangers. That is why it is important to look for open windows or vehicles slowing near you. One grows accustomed to looking for movement in upper windows. As for vehicles, they are difficult to get out of. It is a true dullard who cannot get away from a man in a cab. Come.”
He led me briskly down the street. Gallenga moved easily for an old man, and he walked without a stick or hat. The sunlight glistened on his pink scalp beneath a thin layer of hair.
“At night,” he continued, “it is necessary to move even farther out. It is best to walk in the street if possible, but avoid standing under gas lamps and making oneself a target for an enemy’s bullet. Now tell me, you are walking down the street. What are you looking at?”
“The windows above?”
“Yes, but I mean the people. Are you looking at the women?”
“Well, yes, actually.”
He gave a low chuckle. “So am I. Unfortunately, at my age, all I can do is look. But you must study the men as well. Any one of them, even a group, could be a grave danger to you. What kind of men would you need to keep an eye out for?”
“Bigger men,” I hazarded.
“Which in your case is most of them. Yes, bigger men, stronger men. What else?”
“Armed men?”
“Very good. Look at their hands or even their pockets, if their hands hover near them. What else?”
“I scarce can say.”
“What of trained men? Would you avoid a man with the cauliflower ears and heavy brow of a fighter? Of course you would. If you did not know him, would you avoid a man like your employer?”
“Yes, sir. Definitely.”
“Good. You are tethered to a hard man. What other kind of man should you avoid?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“A mad one, sir. Watch carefully those who mutter in the street or who look worried and disturbed. Very well, Mr. Llewelyn, now suppose a man seizes you, despite all your carefulness. What do you do?”
“Order him to let go.”
“And if he won’t?”
“Take a swing at him, I suppose.”
Gallenga opened his hand and fluttered it in a very Italian gesture.
“Eh, sometimes that might work. It would get you arrested in London, but that is not a bad thing if you suspect the man has a gun or knife. Better arrested than dead, don’t you think? But the best thing to do is to simply break the hold. I assume your employer has shown you how to do that?”
“Oh, yes. Dozens of ways,” I told him.
“Good. So you break his hold. What then?”
“Run.”
“Yes, run. Or shout your head off. Cry ‘murder’ if you like. Anything. Above all, do not allow yourself to be trapped again. What else should you look for?”
Again, I had to admit I didn’t know.
“Accomplices. Look for the man with a cosh or a life preserver. Yes, a smack behind the ear and down you go, maybe forever. Watch out for the second fellow. They often work in pairs, you know.” He stopped in front of a cafe and looked inside. “Do you like coffee?”
“I love coffee,” I admitted.
“Step in here, then. This is a Sicilian cafe.”
Gallenga led me into the small establishment, tastefully set up with mahogany tables and white linen. I thought it looked new and wondered if its owner might have anything to do with Etienne’s attack. Le Toison d’Or was but a few streets away.
“Where would you suggest we sit?” the old man asked in my ear.
“That’s a fair question,” I replied. “If I’m by the window, I risk being shot at from the street. If I’m in the corner there, I shall be trapped like a rat, but if I’m by the kitchen, I’m at the mercy of someone coming through the back door. My word, it seems as though no place is safe.”
“No place is safe, my friend. In fact, safety is an illusion, and the safest looking place may be the most dangerous. You were acquainted with the late Mr. Serafini? He was not always the large man you knew. Once, he hid inside a small chest through an entire ball and a political meeting afterward. Several hours later, when his target, a general, was seated and going over plans for a political coup, Serafini jumped up like a jack-in-the-box and shot him dead. The man had thought he was safe, and it cost him his life. Eventually Serafini himself let down his guard. As far as this cafe is concerned, I believe I would choose a table near the kitchen. One could always fight one’s way out the back door.”