The machine buzzed. Jack signed. The waitress smiled and thanked him for the tip. As she walked away, Creed swung round in his chair and drank in the last of her before she disappeared into the kitchen.
'Some women might think that rude,' said Jack, unable to let it pass.
'There is no harm in me looking.' Creed grinned a yellow smile. 'And no shame in it. We all think about fucking; it is our basic instinct to find a mate and breed. I don't believe it is healthy to deny it.'
Jack sipped at his San Pellegrino. 'You sound like a caveman. I think most of us have become a little more advanced than that.'
'As you said in your speech, Mr King, our fantasies and feelings are hidden like icebergs. But you and me, well, we're profilers, aren't we? We know what hidden thoughts men have. We divide the world into women worth fucking, and women who we'd rather die than fuck.'
Jack was uncomfortable, but stayed polite. 'I think we're about done here. Can I keep these documents you copied for me?'
Creed leaned over the table. 'I want you to come to Naples with me. I just need two days of your time to show you things.'
'Can't be done, sorry.'
'Five women, Mr King: Luisa Banotti, Patricia Calvi, Donna Rizzi, Gloria Pirandello and Francesca Di Lauro. The last of these, Francesca, I knew her personally.'
Jack stood up from the table and picked up the papers. The emphasis on personally explained a lot. He could well imagine why anyone who was the object of Creed's attention might want to vanish from his life and never be traced. 'I'll ask one of my friends in the national profiling unit in Rome to look into your findings. If you're right, then they'll help and I'll give my opinions. If you're wrong, then thankfully, you and I will never speak or meet again. Now I'm going. Enjoy the rest of your stay in New York.'
9
Hotel Le Sirenuse, Positano Salvatore Giacomo, aka Sal the Snake, and his boss, Fredo 'The Don' Finelli sat by the restaurant window, talking in hushed voices while looking out over the bay of Positano. Bruno Valsi weighed them up as he walked their way.
The old man, dapper in blue Prada pinstripes, raised his hand and summoned a waitress as Valsi sat down. 'I don't have long. I must attend meetings in the city, so let's discuss only what matters.'
'As you wish, Don Fredo.' The newly appointed Capo Zona respectfully nodded.
'Operations in our eastern sector will now be run by you. These are mainly the entertainment and the garbage collection and disposal businesses. Sal will take you through the books and show you the revenue splits that will come directly to me and what may be kept by yourself and your crew, when you have picked them.'
Valsi let the offer sink in. Garbage collection and disposal in Naples had long been Camorra controlled and it was profitable. The economics were simple. The more toxic, the more deadly, the more profitable. But even the bottom-end business of just clearing factory and business trash was also booming. Right now, garbage was piled two metres high on many street corners as the clans in the System battled with councils for control of contracts and areas. 'I know this business is profitable. Good money, no doubt, and I will take care of it. But please tell me of the entertainment interests that we have. I need some glamour as well as sacks of garbage.'
Finelli smiled. 'There are five nightclubs and six restaurants. Pepe's accounts will be sent over to you. There are also several escort businesses, including two new online agencies. Our porn output is small, but we have both film pirating and magazine production.'
'Glamour aplenty.'
'Indeed. There are also some run-down businesses that need attention, particularly camping and holiday-villa sites. They are spread between Naples and Herculaneum, and Herculaneum and Pompeii.'
'My favourite place as a child,' said Valsi. 'I know so much about Pompeii that I could get a job there as a tour guide.'
'Let's hope it doesn't come to that,' the Don smiled. 'It's a good time for you to take over these businesses. Pepe Capucci was going soft. We need to squeeze the margins, generate some more cash. If Pepe hadn't given himself a heart attack I'm sure, in the end, he would have given me one.' The old man put his hand on Valsi's arm. 'But squeeze gently. Do it with charm, Bruno. Our Family are not known as bullies. We provide jobs and incomes in many parts of our district. I want to keep respect and goodwill.'
'I understand,' said Valsi.
Don Fredo dipped into his jacket and produced a small, slim brown envelope. 'There is something in there to get you on your feet again.'
Valsi looked surprised. 'You were very generous when I was in prison. I know Gina is your daughter as well as my wife, but we were more than well provided for.'
'Bruno, please don't insult me by questioning my gift.'
Valsi took the hint. He used a table knife to slit the envelope.
'You will find something more than money in there,' added the old man.
Valsi pulled out four undated cheques totalling €200,000. He quickly did some calculations. On top of the monthly wages of €5,000 that he'd received while in jail, he'd now pocketed a total of half a million for his five years inside.
Loyalty money. Money to buy you. To curb your ambition. 'You are most kind,' he said, nodding politely as he folded away the cheques.
'You missed something.' Don Fredo spoke over the cup as he sipped his espresso. 'I think you will find another enclosure in there.'
Valsi tipped the envelope and shook it. A slip of paper fluttered on to the table. On it was a name that was painfully familiar to him. And an address that he'd been long searching for.
Finelli dabbed his lips with a white linen napkin. 'It can be done quickly. Salvatore has the men ready and waiting for you. I'm sure you'll feel much better when it's over.'
10
I Quartieri Spagnoli, Napoli One-week-old Alicia Madonna Galotti screamed at the top of her tiny lungs as new aunt, Alberta, took her from her mother and gently rocked her.
The 38-year-old shushed her sister's baby, then raised the tiny head in the palm of her left hand and lovingly kissed it. Babies smelled so good. Well, at least they did when they'd just been washed and powdered. The child's skin was wonderfully wrinkled. As soft and warm as velvet. She had pale hazelnut eyes, the colour of the teddy bear that Alberta Tortoricci had brought her, along with three irresistible dresses and a gel teething ring. Alberta stroked a fuzz of jet-black hair that would one day cascade through the hands of besotted boys who would pledge their lives to her. Or, at least, that's what Alberta hoped as she sat in her sister's lounge. During the five years she'd been in the witness protection programme, set up for her since Bruno Valsi's conviction, she'd only visited once. Such isolation made her feel like she'd been punished for her bravery. Alberta had been a junior partner in one of the city's oldest accounting and auditing firms. She'd made the near fatal mistake of turning to the police when her bosses had refused to explain, or let her correct, a series of worrying entries in the books of several Finelli businesses. Her diligence had put her at risk and, on one occasion, brought her face-to-face with Valsi. Playing with a cut-throat razor in his hand, he'd told her that there was no point her having a good head for figures if he had to hack it off and feed it to a pen of pigs.
'I think Mamma should have you back, my darling.' Alberta surrendered the still crying child to Pia.
'She'll get used to you,' replied her younger sister, glancing at her watch and then immediately putting the child to her left breast.
Alberta flinched as she watched the greedy baby latch itself into position. 'Doesn't that hurt?'
'A little. Sometimes she gets too eager and chews with her gums.'
'Oh, my God! It's too painful to even think about.' Alberta rubbed her own breast as though she could physically feel the pain. 'I think I'll go for a cigarette.'