Viper

Life could be awfully cruel and unfair.

The facts prompted Jack to think of a whole new batch of questions.

Had the disease stopped him having normal sexual relationships?

For sure it had.

Would it screw you up to the extent that you might torture women who are repulsed by you and reject you?

It certainly might.

Could rejection by a mother and father at an early age, and a hard underprivileged upbringing, worsen your feelings of alienation and unfairness?

Absolutely.

Jack felt sad and worried. The psychological motivations were all there. Had Franco Castellani been born normal, had he been blessed with healthy cells, then his whole life could have been amazingly different. But this kid? This kid had been damned from birth. Scrub that – it's even worse. He'd been damned before he'd even been born.

62

Bar Luca, Napoli Bar Luca had recently become Bruno Valsi's home from home. In the past few years the Camorra had steadily increased its stake in the business – 10, 25, 40 per cent – and it hadn't taken Bruno long to push it to 51. The two young owners, Giorgio and Marco, were smart enough to realize that 49 per cent of one of the city's hottest night spots was better than a shallow grave somewhere.

Valsi sat in their office, feet up on their desk, watching a bank of surveillance monitors that followed the action in the bar and pole-dancing areas. Sitting opposite him were his new trusted lieutenants, Romano Ivetta and Alberto Donatello. There was no longer any point hiding them.

Romano couldn't ever have been named anything other than Romano. His long broken nose, strong dark eyes and gladiatorial size made him look like he'd come straight from Hollywood casting. Donatello was totally different. Small and wiry with a shaven head, permanent five o'clock shadow and hollow cheekbones, he resembled an undernourished prisoner of war.

'The way I see it,' said Valsi, his eyes still watching the dancers on the screens, 'we face aggression on two fronts – the Cicerone and my own Family. The big question is…' he cued a finger at Donatello, 'do we wait for them to come for us? Or do we take them by surprise?'

'We take them by surprise,' answered the little man.

'Correct.' Valsi took his feet off the desk and peered at the monitor. One girl was upside down now. The pole gripped by one serpent-like leg curled around the shiny steel, the other spread out like the blade of opened scissors. 'Is it me, or is that the most fuckable woman in all of Italy?'

Ivetta and Donatello laughed.

The Capo grabbed the phone and hit an internal speed dial. 'Giorgio, it's Bruno. The girl on pole two, she has the face of a sainted angel. She looks like she was sent from heaven just for me to fuck. Tell her to stay behind when she's finished. And make sure I don't have any trouble getting what I want.' He dropped the phone back on its cradle. 'So, we move first. You both agree?'

'Absolutely. No question,' said Ivetta, 'but who first? Which one do you want us to tackle?'

'Good question. And I've been thinking about it. My father-in-law is planning to kill me. I'm certain of that. And I'm fairly sure that he's already told Salvatore to take care of it.'

'Sal the Snake?' checked Donatello, waggling his hand like a sidewinder.

'Si.'

'Pheeeew!' whistled Ivetta. 'That's some tough motherfucker -'

'Well, who the fuck do you think he would send?' interrupted Valsi. 'Mary Poppins?'

The three of them laughed, then Valsi added, 'But the Don will not order the hit until he is sure he has everyone's support. It is his style to want the guaglioni to know that the hit was necessary because of my dealings with the Cicerone crew. He'll want it to look like I had put the whole Family in danger.'

Ivetta and Donatello could see where the conversation was leading. 'So, we hit the Cicerone boys first,' said Ivetta. 'We hurt them bad, and then we kill Don Fredo.'

Valsi waved a headmasterly finger at them. 'Too fast. You're going too quickly. We wipe out the Cicerone leadership. Then, we pause a little. We let the Finelli diehards see our strength. If we are vicious enough, then the ambitious ones among them will weed out the weak.'

'Brilliant,' said Donatello. 'The young bucks will kill the old guard for us.'

Valsi winked at him. 'Now you're learning. What we need, though, is a plan to hit at the heart of the Cicerone. It may be bloody. How many men, good men, can you put on the streets?'

'If the price is right?' Ivetta held his hands open.

'Of course.'

'However many we need. One, two dozen – maybe more.'

'Wait,' said Valsi, a thin smile bisecting his handsome face. 'I have an idea that may require fewer men. In fact, only one man and one very beautiful woman.' He turned to the club monitors. 'One with the face of a sainted angel.'

63

Stazione dei carabinieri, Castello di Cisterna By nightfall, Jack, Sylvia and Pietro were consumed with the werewolf hunger that hits most murder squads at the end of a high-adrenaline shift. The antidote was a case of cold beer along with several boxes of locally made pizzas.

Sylvia shook a warm strand of dangling mozzarella from her fingers. 'We've let old man Castellani go home. He's no value to us here and he was worrying himself sick about his campsite business.'

'And worrying about his grandsons?' asked Jack.

'Especially Franco,' said Pietro, his mouth full. 'He didn't say much about Paolo, except that he's a good boy and we should treat him properly.'

'Then Franco's not a good boy? Is that his implication?' Jack took a wedge of garlic bread.

'Franco's probably a murdering little bastard,' added Pietro. 'But all his grandfather will say is that life has been unkind to him and we shouldn't misjudge him.'

'An understatement.' The garlic bread made Jack's stomach growl. 'Life has been wickedly cruel to young Franco. Has he got any form?'

Sylvia nodded and hurriedly tried to finish chewing. 'Violence. A suspended sentence about five years ago for a very bad beating he gave someone stupid enough to make fun of him.'

'How bad?'

'Put the guy in hospital.'

Jack wiped his fingers and sipped a beer. 'Nothing connected to arson, or involving fire?'

'Not that we can find. We're rerunning our checks and seeing if there are any psych reports as well.'

'And Paolo – anything on him?'

'Nothing.' Sylvia thought for a minute. 'I'm just trying to remember what Paolo said. He told us Franco wasn't there when he went to sleep, then when he woke he was crashed out in bed. There's heroin and a spike on the floor. The old man sees it, goes pazzo and then slaps him about.'

Jack sealed his fate with another garlic-loaded slice. 'You mean Paolo has no alibi, and we're ignoring his potential role in all this because the forensics are pointing the big finger at Franco?'

'Just a thought.'

'And a good one.'

Jack put the bread back. 'Franco and Paolo, I was just wondering how they compared to Bianchi and Buono.'

Pietro was lost. 'Scusi?'

'Ken Bianchi and Angelo Buono. They were both cousins, grew up together, hung out together, played games of rape and murder together.'

Sylvia took the bread Jack had put back. 'The Hillside Strangler case?'

'The same. California, late seventies. Ten-plus victims. Cops had it down as the work of one guy. The press dubbed the perp the Hillside Strangler. Anyway, turned out the killings were done by two cousins.'

'They even sound Italian,' noted Pietro.

'Half of America does,' joked Jack. 'And probably the good half.'

Sylvia took one final bite and dropped the bread. She scrunched her napkin into a ball and dumped it on the paper plate. 'My eyes are bigger than my belly. You think maybe Paolo and Franco might be the same? Like Bianchi and Buono? Maybe Paolo's as guilty as hell but is now trying to shift all the blame on to his cousin?'