Читать книгу Rising Fire - William W. Johnstone - Страница 16

CHAPTER 10

Denny didn’t tell Louis where she was going that evening. She had dinner with him and then, knowing that he had a habit of turning in early, waited until he had gone into his bedroom in the hotel suite and closed the door. She had said she was going to bed, too, but instead she dressed in simple clothes so she wouldn’t stand out on the street, then lingered a little longer just to make sure before she left the hotel.

She knew the way to Giovanni’s apartment, of course, and she didn’t have to take a gondola to get there. The two of them had walked all over Venice, and Denny had a keen, instinctive sense of direction. She followed the dark, narrow, winding streets, keeping her hand in her bag. Her fingers were wrapped around the butt of the Smith & Wesson. She didn’t expect to run into trouble, but if she did, she would be prepared.

The canals were still busy at this hour, the streets and bridges less so. Denny was wary when passing groups of rough-looking men, but other than calling out to her in Italian, they didn’t bother her. She didn’t know all the words they said, but it wasn’t difficult to get the general idea of their comments. They probably thought she was a prostitute.

She didn’t let them bother her. She had been hearing the same sort of thing from men for a number of years now, especially whenever she and Louis visited France. The Italian men weren’t quite as aggressive verbally—although they were more likely to pinch a girl’s rear end if she got within reach of them.

When she reached the street that ran in front of the palazzo where Giovanni’s apartment was, she paused to look up at the building. Most of the windows were already dark, but light still glowed in some of them.

Including, Denny realized as a frown creased her forehead, Giovanni’s bedroom window.

Maybe he had left a lamp burning, although that wasn’t very likely. She hadn’t expected him to be back from the meeting with his grandfather’s friend yet, but she supposed that was possible. The meeting might not have gone as well as Giovanni had hoped it would.

Denny hoped that wasn’t the case. She wanted Giovanni to be on good terms with his family again, and not just because of the financial advantages that would give him. Family was important. No one needed to be cut off from the ones who were supposed to love them the most.

The best way for her to find out what had happened was to go on up there, she told herself. Giovanni would be surprised to see her, but she hoped he would be pleased, too.

She went in and walked up the stairs to the second floor. Cooking odors from that night’s supper lingered in the air in the stairwell, a heady mixture of garlic and other spices. When she reached the second-floor hallway, she walked along it to the door of Giovanni’s apartment. Her hand lifted, poised to rap on the panel.

The shrill, strident laughter of a woman came from inside the apartment before Denny’s knuckles could fall.

She caught her breath and stepped back sharply as if she had just been slapped across the face. A deeper laugh with the rumble of a man’s voice in it came to her ears. She knew that sound, knew it all too well. She had heard it often during the past few weeks. And the laugh held a tone of intimacy that Denny recognized, too.

Her heart slugged painfully hard in her chest. Giovanni was in there with a woman . . . laughing . . . and Denny’s mind whirled desperately, searching for something that would explain what she had just heard.

Maybe . . . maybe the emissary sent by Giovanni’s grandfather had brought along some members of Giovanni’s family. That might be his sister laughing in there, or his mother or aunt. That was possible, wasn’t it?

No, Denny told herself as the woman giggled. No, it wasn’t. That wasn’t the sort of sound a woman made when she was visiting with a long-absent relative. There was passion in it, and excitement, and . . . and . . .

With her pulse hammering in her head, Denny leaned closer to the door and carefully pressed her ear against the panel.

“. . . villa on the Mediterranean.” That was Giovanni’s voice. “The most beautiful place you have ever seen, and it will be just the two of us, cara mia.”

Denny caught her breath again, the air hissing between tightly clenched teeth. This time she felt like she’d been punched in the gut, and it was all she could do not to let out a groan.

She held it in, because she didn’t want the two people in the apartment to hear it and realize someone was out here.

The woman spoke then, low enough that Denny couldn’t make out the words at first, but she caught the final part of the question the woman asked.

“. . . afford that?”

She had an English accent. Giovanni seemed to like women who had spent time in England, Denny thought wildly.

He chuckled and said, “Don’t worry about that. With the money the American girl is having wired to my bank, we can live in luxury for months. And she will have no idea where to look for us, so you need not concern yourself with that, cara mia.”

Denny wished he would stop calling her that. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears that wanted to well out.

She could still hear, though, even if she couldn’t see at the moment. The Englishwoman said, more clearly now, “It took you long enough to get that money out of her. And I’ll wager you enjoyed every second of it, you scoundrel!”

“She was quite a pleasing companion,” Giovanni agreed. “But not half so beautiful and exciting as you.”

“What about that Tomasi fellow? From what you told me, he sounds rather dangerous.”

“He has given me until tomorrow evening to meet him and settle accounts, and we will be long departed from Venice by then. Tomasi will not be able to find us, either,” Giovanni said.

So at least he had been telling the truth about the money he owed to Salvatore Tomasi. That hadn’t been yet another lie, part of the big act he had put on to convince Denny to part with ten thousand dollars—and more.

“I tell you, Vanessa, I have thought of everything. Soon we will be living the life that we deserve.”

No, Denny thought, what he deserved was for her to kick this door open and go in there shooting with the Smith & Wesson in her bag. She realized that she was still gripping it, so tightly that her hand was starting to go numb.

But that would be cold-blooded murder, she told herself, and Jensens didn’t do such things. Giving Giovanni a thorough beating, up one way and down the other, would be all right, but she lacked the physical ability to do that and so did Louis.

Anyway, she would never tell her brother about this. It was too humiliating. Louis didn’t need to know how badly she had been fooled by that . . . that snake!

There was something else she could do, she realized. As the idea took shape in her mind, her face settled into cold, hard lines. That mask threatened to crack when she heard new noises coming from inside the apartment, noises that left no doubt what Giovanni and his Englishwoman were doing, without even having the decency to go into the bedroom.

Denny’s resolve hardened even more. She straightened, taking her ear away from the door. She didn’t need to hear what was going on in there. She had heard plenty already.

She left the palazzo and walked back to the hotel. If any of the Italian men she passed made crude comments, she didn’t notice them this time. She was focused completely on what she had to do next.

When she reached the Hotel Metropole, she went up to the suite for a few minutes and then returned to the lobby. She crossed the ornately furnished room to the desk and told the clerk, “I need to send some telegrams.”

“The telegraph office will be closed at this hour, signorina,” the man said with a helpless shrug.

Denny reached into her bag, but instead of taking out the gun, she brought out a wad of money and slapped it on the desk in front of the clerk.

“This is important. Offices can be opened if the price is high enough. Give me some telegraph forms and wake up one of your bellboys. We’ve all got work to do.”

The clerk probably wasn’t used to such a tone of command coming from a woman, but if he had any misgivings, the look in her eyes—and the money—must have caused him to set them aside. He swallowed hard, bobbed his head up and down, and said, “Sì, signorina.”

* * *

Louis woke up to a whirlwind of activity the next morning. Denny was packing, had in fact finished with some of the bags already.

“What’s going on here?”

“We’re leaving,” she told him. “I’ve had more than enough of Venice.”

He stared at her. “Just like that?”

“Yes,” Denny said as she fastened the clasp on a bag. “Just like that.” She gestured toward several bags resting on a table in the sitting room. “I packed some of your things, but you can finish up. We’re catching a train to Naples, and from there there’s a boat going to England.”

“I know that,” Louis said in exasperation, “but why now?”

She looked at him and said, “It’s time.”

Louis cocked his head to the side, squinted at her, and said, “This is about Giovanni, isn’t it? The two of you have had some sort of falling-out!”

“Can’t I just want to go back home?” she asked. She couldn’t quite keep the note of misery out of her voice.

Louis heard that and went to her, still in his dressing gown, and took her in his arms, patting her lightly on the back. “Of course you can,” he told her. “To tell you the truth, I’ve seen plenty of Venice myself. I don’t care if we never come back here.”

“Neither do I,” Denny said, her voice tightly controlled now. “You’d better hurry.”

“Won’t there at least be time for breakfast?”

“On the train.”

* * *

The bags had been loaded on a small boat, and a gondola was waiting at the landing in front of the hotel to take them to the train station. Denny stood there, waiting, dressed in a blue traveling outfit with a matching hat on her blond curls. Louis was next to her in a brown tweed suit and brown felt hat.

“I thought you were in a huge hurry,” he said.

“We are,” she said, “but we need to wait just a minute longer.”

She caught sight of Giovanni then, hurrying along the street, hatless, his hair slightly askew as if he had just raked his fingers through it when the insistent knock on his apartment door pulled him out of bed with the Englishwoman Vanessa. His clothes were a little disheveled, too. But when he spotted Denny and Louis, he bounded down the steps to the landing and pasted the usual big smile on his face.

“Cara mia,” he said, “what is so important that you must see me so early in the morning?”

“I wanted to catch you before you went to the bank,” Denny said, “so you won’t waste your time.”

Giovanni managed to keep smiling but frowned in confusion at the same time. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought everything was arranged—”

“It was,” Denny said, “but I’ve unarranged it.”

He shook his head. “What?”

“You can go to the bank if you want, but there won’t be any money waiting there for you. I sent more wires last night canceling everything.”

Now he looked shocked, angry, and a little scared. “Cancel . . . Why in the world would you do that?”

She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of telling him that she had eavesdropped on him and his mistress, although more than likely he would figure that out if he stopped and thought about it. Instead she said coldly, “I have my reasons.”

“But you cannot do this!” he burst out. “I need that money. Tomasi is expecting—”

“I don’t care,” Denny said. “You’ll have to handle that problem yourself, some other way. But it won’t be with my family’s money.” She paused. “Maybe you can talk to your grandfather’s emissary again.”

His eyes widened. She had said too much, she realized. She turned away quickly, motioned Louis toward the gondola.

“Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Giovanni grabbed her arm. “Cara mia, please! Whatever you think, you are wrong, mistaken—”

“What I think is that you’d better get your hand off me, mister,” Denny ground out.

With only inches separating their faces, Giovanni looked into her eyes for a couple of seconds and then released her arm. He stepped back, his face stricken.

“You do not know what you’re doing to me,” he said.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Denny said, “and I still don’t care.”

With that, she held out a gloved hand to Louis, who took it and helped her into the waiting gondola. He stepped in after her and they both sat down on the padded seat. Louis nodded to the gondolier, who pushed the boat away from the landing and poled it farther out into the canal.

Giovanni Malatesta stood there on the landing, staring after them.

Quietly, Louis said, “I suppose I should be glad you didn’t haul out that hogleg of yours and shoot the varmint, as folks in Colorado would say.”

“How did you know I was considering it?” Denny asked without looking over at her brother.

“Because I felt like doing the same thing,” Louis replied. “If I’d had a gun, I just might have.”

For the first time in awhile, Denny smiled. It wasn’t much of one, but it was still a smile.

“I seriously doubt you would have done that.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Louis said. “And just for the record, I have no doubt at all you would have, if he hadn’t let go of you when he did.”

“Well,” Denny said, “you’re right about that.”