Viper - Michael Morley [13]
Jack picked up the bill from a white china plate. As the waitress slotted his credit card into a reader, he noticed Creed openly checking her out, his stare so intense it almost sucked sweat from her skin.
Hunter’s eyes. Cold and hungry, no softness, not even a flicker of warmth.
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,