Stratton snapped off a piece of breadstick, dipped it in the olive paste and ate it while a distant siren broke through the sound of the beach traffic. Seconds later a police car speeded down the boulevard and off into the distance.
Stratton picked up the Gucci carrier bag, placed it on his lap and opened it. Inside was a plastic resealable sandwich bag containing what looked like spaghetti soaked in a light transparent oil. Inside another clear wrapping was a tiny white plastic moulding the size and shape of a thimble. The waitress came back onto the patio, carrying a tray. He closed the top of the Gucci bag as she placed a bowl of spaghetti bolognese and a small dish of freshly grated parmesan cheese in front of him. Then she held out a large wooden pepper grinder.
‘Black pepper?’ she offered as she aimed it over his meal.
‘No, that’ll be fine, thanks.’
‘Can I get you anything else?’ she asked.
‘I’m good.’
‘Great. Let me know if you need anything.’ She beamed again as she picked up the empty tray, turned on her heel and walked away.
Stratton opened the carrier bag, took out the sandwich bags and carefully opened the seal on the one containing the spaghetti, which was in fact SX cortex or detonation cord in a light machine oil. The oil played an important part in giving malleability to the plastic explosives. Stratton opened the smaller bag and removed the plastic component. Then he took one of the lengths of cortex, dabbed its end with his napkin to remove the oil and pushed it into a hole in the plastic component that was designed to grip it. He then scooped the bolognese sauce onto a side plate, forked some of the spaghetti into the Gucci bag, replaced it with the spaghetti-like cortex, mixed that with the remaining warm spaghetti to blend it in and slipped the small plastic device underneath to conceal it. Then he poured the bolognese sauce back on top. After tidying it up, cleaning the rim of the bowl with his napkin and sprinkling a little parmesan on top it looked as neat as when it had first been placed on the table.
Stratton looked for the waitress. She was near the entrance, talking to the hostess. He raised a hand. The hostess noticed him and nudged the waitress who headed towards him as he put the sandwich bags into the small carrier bag which he then folded and pushed into a trouser pocket.
‘Is everything okay?’ the waitress asked as she entered the patio.
‘I haven’t even tasted it yet. I wanted to ask you something. Do you know those gentlemen at that table in there?’
She glanced over to where the Albanians were sitting and her smile waned. ‘Those guys? I don’t know them but they’re regulars,’ she said, as if regretting that was a fact.
‘One of them is a Mister Cano – Ardian Cano.’
‘Yeah, he’s in here at least twice a week.’
‘He’s a bit of a handful, isn’t he?’
‘That’s an understatement,’ she said. ‘They’ve got a lotta hands, though. He a friend of yours? Because if he is I’d like you to ask him and his friends not to be so rude—’
‘He’s no friend of mine,’ Stratton said. ‘In fact, he was down at the Water Grill the other day,’ he went on, naming one of the chain of restaurants downtown. ‘He implied that some of the food was not up to scratch, notably the bolognese sauce.’
‘He never said anything to any of us, as far as I know,’ the waitress said, looking bemused.
‘It wasn’t a formal complaint,’ Stratton said, making light of it. ‘It was just something he said in passing. Anyway, I’d like you to do me a favour. Would you give this dish to Mr Cano, tell him it’s with the comp liments of the house and that we would very much like his expert opinion on it. You see, I think he perhaps had a one-off bad dish that day and this way we can get a firsthand comment from him. What do you think?’
‘Sure.’ She shrugged. ‘Personally I think he’s a pig and wouldn’t know bolognese from dog food. But you’re the boss.’
‘I’m not anyone’s boss – I’m just following orders.’
‘Whatever.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll give it to him.’
‘Thanks,’ he said as she picked the dish off the table.
‘But if he touches my butt I’m gonna pour it over his head.’
‘Not this time,’ Stratton said in a pleading manner. ‘Just this once be nice – if he touches you I promise he’ll never do it again.’
‘Sure?’ she asked.
‘I give you my word,’ Stratton said with undiluted sincerity.
‘You got it,’ she said and walked into the restaurant, carrying the dish.
Stratton quickly wiped everything that he had touched, the glass, dishes and cutlery. Then he stood and walked around the table.
The waitress placed the bowl on the table as she explained to Ardian what Stratton had asked her to.
Stratton took a device the size of a matchbox from his pocket and pushed a button on its face: a tiny red LED light flickered. As he walked through the doors into the restaurant he pushed the button a second time and the LED light turned green. He put his hand with the device in it in his pocket and glanced over at Ardian who was looking between the bowl and the waitress as she answered a question. Stratton slowed to a crawl as Ardian looked down.
Stratton’s thumb lightly touched the button on the device but he was unable to initiate the process yet. There was enough SX in the bowl for the blast to cause Ardian serious injury but the waitress was too close. Explosives had two distinctive, destructive characteristics: blast, which was a combination of shock wave and rapidly expanding gases that disrupted tissue; and shrapnel, which was low-velocity matter. The cortex was purely blast but since it sat in a china bowl there was a high risk of shrapnel.
Stratton pretended to be looking at the various Italian country murals that covered the walls while continually glancing at Ardian who now moved the bowl towards one of his friends. The man leaned down to sniff it and they all laughed at something one of them said which appeared to disgust the waitress. Ardian reached for the bread bowl, took a roll, pushed it into his large mouth and chewed greedily as he talked. The bowl of spaghetti travelled to another of the men who dipped a fork into the sauce and inspected the texture before tasting it. The bowl was then pushed back to Ardian who pulled it under his face for another close sniff. Stratton’s finger stayed poised on the button: the waitress was still too close to escape possible injury.
Stratton’s peripheral vision suddenly caught movement at the restaurant entrance. But he fought not to look because the waitress had stepped back and the ideal moment to detonate the device seemed to be at hand. Then Ardian’s face broke into a broad grin and he stood up. Stratton looked towards the entrance to see Dren Cano walking in with Klodi who was wearing a heavy cast around his hand. The brothers greeted each other with a hug and held each other’s hands as they stood and talked.
Stratton turned his back on them, suddenly concerned that his disguise would not stand up to any level of scrutiny. He decided to get out of the restaurant as soon as possible but his problem was how to retrieve the device. Chairs were dragged over from nearby tables and the men talked loudly as Stratton moved along the wall towards the entrance, feigning interest in the various bits of artwork until he came to an antique cabinet with glass-panelled doors. He could see the men in the reflection. Cano was seated beside his brother, ordering drinks from the waitress.
As Stratton was about to carry on moving to the exit he was stopped by a sudden change of mind. He shifted position to improve his view in the poor reflection to gauge Ardian’s proximity to the bowl which was in front of him again – and now there was the added bonus of his brother being close by. Stratton could still not see clearly enough and he wanted to turn around to get a better look. But the waitress was still taking the men’s orders and so he waited, fingering the button on the device and ensuring that his departure route was clear. When he looked back into the reflection he saw Klodi looking directly at him.