Viper - Michael Morley [131]
She let herself out without saying goodbye. Lit a cigarette as she walked along the driveway to the iron gates that protected Valsi’s house. Usually a man emerged from a wooden security hut to flirt with her and let her through, but today no one came.
‘Hello!’ she shouted, craning her neck around some large laurels that hid the small hut. ‘Hello, could someone let me out, please?’
Steph was about to knock on the window but stopped with her hand in mid-air. ‘Madonna Santa! Oh, my sweet God!’
The guard had been shot dead. His blood and brains were sprayed up the wooden back panel of the shed. The man was still seated, his automatic rifle cradled in the crook of his left arm.
Steph froze with fright.
Should she run back to the house and tell Bruno? Or should she just get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible?
She chose the latter.
Shaking. Close to tears. Careful not to look again at the near headless body, she slowly snaked her hand inside the wooden hut and pressed the button that electronically opened the iron gates.
They clanked into life.
She was through them just as soon as the gap was wide enough.
Gone long before they’d finished opening.
7.30 a.m.
Casa di famiglia dei Valsi, Camaldoli
Bruno Valsi was still in bed when two armed men crept cautiously into his house.
He’d heard them at the front door.
Listened to their hushed voices and creaking feet on the staircase.
Known what to expect.
He grabbed the gun from beneath his pillow, rolled off the far side of the mattress and opened fire.
‘Boss, boss! It’s us!’ The shout came from one of two men who’d just turned up for security duty and found their colleague dead in his hut. ‘It’s Alfonso and Gerardo.’
Valsi had blasted holes in the bedroom door. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he shouted as they cowered outside the room. ‘Get the fuck in here!’
Alfonso, thirty-two years old, entered first; he was white-faced from shock. Gerardo, a young man of just twenty, followed, even more afraid.
Valsi was naked. Kneeling behind the bed. His arms were stretched across the mattress and he gripped a pistol in a shooting stance. ‘Put your hands up. Let me see them.’
Their hands went up.
‘Walk to the centre of the room.’
They knew the drill. Knew they should never have entered the house without permission.
‘So, what the fuck is this about?’ he demanded.
‘Beppe’s dead,’ explained Alfonso. ‘Someone shot him in his hut and the house intercom is dead as well.’
‘What?’
‘Bullet in the face. His head is spread everywhere.’
Alfonso looked towards Gerardo. ‘Tell Signor Valsi what you found.’
Gerardo was so scared he had trouble speaking. ‘L-like Alfonso said, he was dead. He is d-d-dead, Signor Valsi.’
‘Calm down.’ Valsi waved his gun at the other man. ‘Alfonso, throw me those trousers, by the chair.’ They looked away as he pulled them on. ‘Let’s go.’ Valsi whipped a used white shirt off the back of the chair, walked barefoot downstairs, through the house and out to the guard hut.
He didn’t even blink when he saw Beppe Basso’s bloody body. Beppe the Short – that was his nickname – now he really was short.
To be precise, he was about four inches shorter than he used to be.
Valsi bent down inside the hut and found the missing inches, spread across the inside of the roof and the back panel of the guard shelter. ‘Fuck and damn!’ He banged his fist against the door frame.
He jammed the pistol into the waistband of his pants and turned to Alfonso. ‘Call Pennestri and Farina for me. I want them here as soon as possible.’
Valsi headed back to the house. The war was on. This was just the start of it.
He avoided the landline