Viper - Michael Morley [55]
‘Given that it’s your birthday, I’d thought I’d do something truly memorable.’ Valsi flicked away the sleeve of the jacket and Sal could see that his right hand was wrapped around the pistol, his index finger already inside the guard and across the trigger.
For a moment all sound seemed to have been sucked out of the air inside the car. No one dared breathe.
Then the laughter in the Mercedes nearly tore the roof off.
Sal the Snake was the only one not splitting his sides.
‘It’s yours, you old fool,’ said Valsi. He spun the pistol round so Sal could take it off him. ‘It’s a present. A limited edition Ultimate Vaquero. It’s been in the family for years.’
Up front, Tonino Farina and Dino Pennestri were roaring so loudly that Pennestri had to pull over so he didn’t crash the car.
‘Happy birthday, Sal.’ Valsi leaned over and embraced him. In the brief clinch, he smelled the older man’s fear. A victory in itself. ‘It’s a point-thirty calibre, a little more unusual and special than the forty-five. The grip is made of white pearl and you’ll see the barrel and trigger are bejewelled. Go to a dealer, you won’t get change out of three thousand euros.’
‘Grazie mille. It is bellissimo.’ Sal checked the chamber. He was glad to find it empty.
‘It’s a gift from my wife and me,’ said Valsi. ‘She gave me a card to give you too.’
Sal watched as he slid a beige envelope out of the inside of his folded jacket. The envelope and the card were the type that only a woman would buy. Thick, expensive card. A simple artistic picture of a beautiful Fall sunset on the front and no printed message inside, so she could write her own. In a beautiful hand she had written quite simply: Happy Birthday ‘Uncle Sal’, may your own Fall and Winter be the most beautiful seasons of your life. Love and best wishes, Gina x.
Valsi could see that for the first time his wife had signed only her own name. He was just the delivery boy. Fucking bitch. ‘I’m not one for sentiment,’ he explained with disdain, ‘but I am one for pleasure. So, my very old friend, we’re taking you to Bar Luca for a celebratory lunch.’ He produced a thick wad of fifty-euro bills from his pants pocket. ‘Today, I’m gonna pay for all the champagne you can drink. All the food you can eat. And all the whores you can fuck. That is, presuming you can still drink and fuck at your age.’
‘I don’t drink,’ said the Snake.
‘Then you can watch us. We’ll celebrate for you!’ Valsi slapped his shoulder.
Farina and Pennestri broke up again. Sal made an effort to smile. Deep down he was thinking about how dangerously close he’d come to killing Valsi when the snot-nosed little punk had pulled the piece on him.
44
Stazione dei carabinieri, Castello di Cisterna
Sorrentino’s minor splash in the newspapers provided the murder squad with a surprising opportunity. Somehow the story was attracting growing national interest. Maybe the nation had a heart after all. Anyway, Sylvia Tomms saw it as a clear chance to keep the case in the public eye and maybe flush out more information. Perhaps, even, the killer himself. With this in mind she scheduled a press conference for the end of the day and hoped to persuade Francesca’s parents to attend and make a public statement.
The inquiry was gathering pace and she needed a brief pause to gather her thoughts. She skipped lunch and took a short walk into the small town of Castello di Cisterna. Missing women, a burned corpse, a dead foetus, no witnesses, an untrustworthy ego-bloated scientist and a murder squad that was exhausted before it had even started.
It was like trying to catch cats.
Once she got an investigative focus on one or two aspects, the others escaped her attention and started causing problems.
Was she out of her depth? There were certainly male colleagues who hoped she was. But she didn’t think so. This plainly wasn’t going to be the run of the mill inquiry everyone had first thought.