Viper - Michael Morley [136]
The service lasted forty-five minutes. He looked around at the end and was sad to see that the grand old church was virtually empty. Never mind – Father Mario had still put on a stellar performance. Carmine had taken la sacra Comunione and, as he filed out behind half a dozen people, he felt positively rejuvenated.
As usual the back of the church was littered with homeless drifters who’d come in off the street to shelter from the weather. He dipped his hand into the holy water, made the sign of the cross facing the altar, and then turned to walk outside into the bright winter sunlight. He was right to have chosen peace, not war. He and Fredo Finelli would talk. They’d find common ground and then they’d both enjoy the rest of their lives.
9.00 a.m.
Capo di Posillipo, La Baia di Napoli
It took Armando Lopapa almost ten minutes to run from the first broken barrier on the bend of the winding hillside road to the second one. He was breathless by the time he reached the mangled metal and peered over the side at the crushed and crumpled Mercedes. The car had hit all manner of rocks and trees on its deadly drop. He called the emergency services, then hurdled the last barrier and began the final steep climb down the ankle-twisting terrain.
‘Please God, let him be alive,’ said the loyal chauffeur, his suit patched with sweat and his cap long since lost.
First glance at the $300,000 Mercedes told him that despite layers of armour plating, it was still a write-off.
He replayed the astonishing events as he descended. A double blast. Two cars parked front and back. The car flipped like pizza dough. Someone had clearly known their route. Had been aware of the strict drill that made sure the Don always stayed the other side of the anti-hijack locks and bulletproof glass until he was assured that everything was okay. Some safety drill. It all seemed pointless now. The attackers must have known about that too, and the fact that the Maybach was a tank, so strong it would have stood a chance of surviving one blast. But not two. Especially when they were coordinated and calculated so well that the car would be sent plunging down the rocky hillside. It was an inside job. About as inside as you could get.
Armando put his hand to his mouth. ‘Oh, fuck!’ He was close enough to see now. Fredo Finelli lay jammed up against the back headrests. Tossed there like a rolled-up umbrella thrown in the back in case of a rainy day.
‘Don, Don Fredo!’ He didn’t expect an answer but hoped beyond hope that he might get one.
He could see blood now. Spread and spattered across the cream trim and matching leather.
The doors had locked and Armando couldn’t get in. Shards of glass stuck up like stalagmites from the rubbers on the door frame. Armando took off his jacket, balled it up and knocked them out. Finally, he was in.
The left side of Don Fredo’s face was smashed up. His jaw broken and out of line. Teeth had been hammered back. There was so much blood in one eye socket that it seemed the eye was missing too.
Armando felt sick. He put two fingers to the Don’s neck and felt for a pulse.
Nothing.
He shuffled his hand around a little to see if he’d missed it.
Still nothing.
The Don had been good to him, always paid him well, always respected him. The sense of loss kicked in. Death is truly awful when you’re the first to discover it.
Thump.
He couldn’t believe it.
Thump, thump.
A slow but slight beat between his fingers. My God, the old bastard was actually alive!
He put his face close to the Don’s mouth and checked for breath.
Nothing.
Thump.
Thump, thump.
Outside he could hear voices. Help was close at hand! Thank God.
‘Here! In here!’ he called.
Armando could see the feet and trousers of the paramedics descending the last rocks. They’d know what to do. They’d save him.
Thum– The pulse fell again.
‘Quick! Please, come quick, he’s dying!’
Thu– Fainter.
‘Hey, we came as quick as we could,’ said a calm male voice.
Armando turned to the side window. His eyes widened just before a bullet smashed into the