Goodbye, Kate, page 15
“Shh,” she dismisses. “There is keypad on door. Code is nine-four-two-six-three. Remember that. Nine-four-two-six-three.”
“But—”
“The code! What is it?”
Breathing rapidly, I choke out the numbers. “Nine. Four. T-two. Six. Th-three.”
“When you make it out there is ristorante in next village. Piero. Ask for Roberto and tell him canary.”
“Restaurant? What the hell?”
Liliana nods. “Sì Sì. Ristorante Piero. Roberto. Canary.”
I nod, too, I think. I can’t actually be certain what my body is doing anymore.
“Now,” she adds. “The code. Repeat it.”
“Right. Yes. Um, four-no…wait. Nine-four-two-six-three.”
“Good. Follow me.”
This woman is like a frigging ninja. She can be so quick and strong, but slow and silent, as well. When we get onto the next floor she takes low, purposeful steps that don’t make a single sound, despite her heavy-looking boots landing on the concrete below us. We’re back to the shithole hidden beneath the palace. The smell assaults my nose, making my stomach churn. It’s so dark and dismal down here. Strangely, the familiarity is messing with my head. It feels almost wrong willing my feet to turn in the opposite direction of ‘my room’ and head for the exit. As I’m about to do just that, Liliana stops me and puts her finger to her lips. I’m as quiet as I can be, yet I can’t help thinking this whole building must be able to hear my heartbeat. When I see three men, clad in leather jackets and formal shirts like all the rest, walk right past the pillar we’re hiding behind, it only gets faster and louder against my eardrums.
Bending, Liliana pulls up her pant leg and removes another gun. Jesus Christ. Almost immediately I realise that doesn’t actually surprise me, but seeing her hand it to me does.
Jerking my head back, I stare blankly at her face.
“Take it.” She says it like an order.
“No!” I whisper-shout without a microsecond’s hesitation. What the hell would I do with it? I’d probably end up killing myself by accident.
Taking my hand, she forcefully wraps my fingers around it. It feels cold and foreign in my grip, and like it might detonate any second. It scares me.
“It is ready to fire. Point and shoot. Use two hands.”
My head starts to shake again. This is ridiculous! She can’t expect me, someone who’d never even seen a gun in real life until Lincoln revealed himself, to start taking out bad guys with one! “I-I can’t! I don’t know how!”
“Listen to me.” She grabs my chin, forcing my head to stay still. “There will be guards outside. You want to live, sì? Shoot.”
Holy frigging balls.
Okay, okay.
Time to summon that Fletcher spirit I was so confident I possessed earlier.
Liliana urges me forward with a crook of her finger. Reluctantly, I do it, even though hiding behind this pillar for the rest of my life seems like the more favourable option right now. I hold the gun as near to the end of the handle as I can, making sure my finger is nowhere near the trigger. It’s probably not the right way to hold it, but it’s the only way that makes me feel a fraction less terrified of it. Breathing deeply, in through the nose and out through the mouth, I concentrate on my steps.
“Cazzo!” Liliana whisper-shouts, as if she’s seen something, or someone. “You ready?”
No. I nod.
One…two…three…and boom! “Vaffanculo!” Liliana throws the first punch into a man’s throat. It’s started. Big, burly bodies are coming at us from all angles. “Run!” Liliana screams, never dropping the fight to look at me.
Slaps, squelches, and cracks fill the air but I don’t look where they’re coming from. I don’t just run like I’m told, I run on instinct. Dropping the shoes in my left hand, adrenaline propels me forward faster than I knew I was capable. The walls appear to wobble as I speed past them but I focus on the corner I need to take, reaching it in seconds.
At the top of the steps, my lungs reveal for the first time how much they’re struggling to work, but I ignore them. I have a job to do.
The code.
Four. Two. Six. Three.
“Dammit!”
I punch the numbers in again, so hard I start to panic that I might’ve broken the keypad. All I get is a red light.
“Four. Two. Six. Three.”
Nothing.
“Come on!” I punch the wall with a closed fist, the pain causing me to inhale a stuttering hiss.
Breathe.
Breathe.
In.
Out.
“Nine!” What feels like a month’s worth of air floods into my lungs the moment I remember.
Nine-four-two-six-three.
The lock clicks and I think it might be the most glorious sound I’ve ever heard. I pull open the heavy door straight away, stepping outside. The natural light stings my eyes and I have to force them not to close. I thought it was night, late evening at the earliest, but the harsh sun shines like it’s the middle of the day.
I pick up my pace into a sprint once again, working through the pain in my bare feet as gravel impales my soles. I step on something sharp and trip, smacking my face on the bonnet of a car as I fall down. I don’t have time to process the pain, using the same car to pull myself back to my feet before setting back off again. And then I’m ambushed, three or four large bodies coming towards me from all different directions.
Point and shoot.
Terrified, I hold my breath and squeeze the trigger as hard as I can. The blow sends a jolt through my arm and I almost drop it as I fall back a step. I don’t think I’ve hit anyone, but the shot puts enough distance between me and the men to be able to pull the trigger again.
This time one of them cries out and doubles over, but before I can deal with the enormity of what I think I’ve just done, another shot rings…
One that’s not from my gun.
More yelling.
More gravel crunching.
More shots that sound like they’re coming from every direction, each one making me duck and scream.
I keep running, expecting to feel a bullet in my back as my face smashes into the ground any moment. All these bangs…why aren’t they hitting me? Are they even aiming for me? I don’t know, and I can’t risk looking back. I run so fast that my calves start to throb and my chest feels like it’s on fire. There are no walls or gates guarding the place. Obviously, they don’t think feeble and dainty little women are capable of escaping, which is probably true. I had help.
There may be no walls to overcome, but there’s also nowhere to hide. When I’ve run far enough to escape the sound of death and violence behind me, I’m surrounded by nothing but fields. I can’t stop yet, though. I haven’t gone far enough, ran for long enough. I push on through the tall, brown grass. It’s waist-high in some parts. My feet trample a trail through the vast meadow, so I make a conscious effort to keep changing direction in case anyone follows the tracks.
Sweat drips freely down my face, salty on my tongue as it seeps into the corners of my lips. It pools around my collarbone, trickles under my boobs. I’m so hot under the sun’s glare, exhausted from running. I’m losing strength. I can feel myself slowing down, no matter how hard I will myself to keep the pace. I’m about to collapse, give up despite my intentions, when the sight in front ignites fresh hope in my bones.
Ahead, there’s a dip in the grass. It’s almost like a path has been dug into it, a dirt path made of mud and trodden dead grass, but a path all the same. The grass is lower, too. From here it looks below knee-length, almost like someone’s maintaining it. It’s almost over. Civilisation can’t be much further. I can do this.
Keep going.
My run has turned into more of a shattered scuttle but the break in the grass is getting closer and closer. When I reach it, I’m forced to take a short rest. My lungs are so tired it feels like I’m inhaling shards of glass. Collapsing to the ground, I close my eyes and tip my face towards the sky. I open my mouth wide to take in the fresh air. It feels so clean on my tongue, so cool against the beads of sweat rolling across my forehead. Slowly, the time between each ragged breath lasts a little longer and, after a minute or two, I’m ready to go again.
Standing, I rub off the blades of dead grass and dirt from my dress with my palm and step into a brisk walk. There are rooftops ahead. So far away. I don’t know what I plan to do when I get there. I cannot simply waltz up to someone’s house and ask for help. They’d call the police. I have no shoes and dirty feet.
And a gun.
I’m still carrying the damn thing around like a grenade that might go off any second if I’m too rough with it. I’ve considered dropping it, but what if it’s found? It’ll have my fingerprints on it. Even worse, someone innocent could find it. A child, perhaps. They could get hurt. I’ve seen Lincoln, and the other men back at the compound stuff theirs into their waistbands when they’re not wearing holsters. I could do that, I suppose. Stick it in my knickers, maybe?
It seems too risky. Knowing my luck I’d forget it was there, sit down, and shoot myself in the arse. It baffles me how they’re not more afraid of these killing machines. This one Liliana gave me has no, I don’t even know what it’s called, safety switch? Catch? Latch? I’m not sure, but I thought they all had them. They should. How is it possible they’re not all hobbling around with missing toes or bullets lodged in their feet?
There’s a shift in temperature when the rest of the buildings come into view. The air is cooling down in preparation for the evening and the light is dimming along with it. Time isn’t on my side if I’m going to find the restaurant. I don’t even know which direction the next village is. I can’t get a taxi. I have no money. Walking, exploring with no target in sight, is my only option.
The very worst thing is, I can’t remember the damn name of the place I’m looking for. Searching my memory, all it will repeat for me is those damn numbers. Nine-four-two-six-three. They serve no purpose to me now, yet I suspect I’ll remember them for the rest of my life. I remember I need to ask for Roberto, and say the word canary, but the name of his restaurant?
Pedro’s?
Pietro’s?
Goddammit!
The end of the field finally approaches, giving me no choice but to come up with a solution to my weapon situation. Hide or ditch. I make my way over to the side of a building. Stacked up against the weather-damaged wall, where the white paint has chipped and peeled, are a number of wooden crates. Squatting, I tuck the gun underneath the bottom one…and then I pick it back up.
This could be someone’s home. I can’t leave it here.
I can’t go into public view waving it around like a lunatic, either. Maybe I could come back for it later. No. I’d never find my way back. Exasperated, weary, mentally depleted, I stomp my foot, regretting it the second a sharp twig snaps against my naked sole.
“Ow!” While shaking out the pain in my foot, I notice a grey cloud rolling over my head. Evening is here. It will be dark soon. I’m wasting valuable time.
Knickers it is. I’m out of time and options. After everything I’ve been through, I can survive a bullet in my bum-cheek. Of course, I don’t actually feel so blasé about it, but positivity is all I’ve got right now. So, hitching up my dress, I tuck the barrel into the back of my knickers and pull the hem back down. It’s likely visible under the flimsy material so I will make an effort to approach people face-on should I come across anyone. I hope I do, and I hope they’ve heard of a Roberto in the next village.
The buildings here are rather spaced out, not crammed together like a busy town or city. The road is harsher on my feet than the fields but that’s the least of my problems and I find the discomfort easy to ignore. About a quarter of a mile up ahead, I see a sign propped up outside one of the buildings. I wouldn’t be able to read it even if it were closer, but the fact it’s there makes me wonder if it’s a business of some kind. A shop, bed and breakfast, perhaps. Until I find out that sign is my current destination.
I don’t make it to the sign before someone stops me. A lady steps right in front of me, placing her hand on my shoulder. She looks kind. Concern highlights the crinkles around her eyes as she talks.
I don’t know what she’s saying, of course, so I just smile before making up an excuse. “I went for a walk,” I lie. “And had a little fall in the fields back there.”
Her eyes narrow a little more. I don’t know if she’s concentrating or doesn’t understand a word.
“Do you speak English?” I ask.
“Sì. A little.” She pinches her thumb and finger to make a ‘small’ gesture.
“Do you know a man called Roberto?”
Her vacant expression doesn’t fill me with much hope.
“He lives in the next village,” I explain. “He owns a restaurant.” Or works in one. Crap. I don’t know the details. “Roberto,” I repeat. “Restaurant. Pedro’s?” I say the name with uncertainty, which matches my screwed-up expression.
“Ristorante Piero?”
“Yes! Yes, Piero’s!” That’s it! “Do you know where that is?”
“Sì. Sì.” The lady nods enthusiastically. “Ristorante Piero in Caltonirie village. No far from here. I call you taxi?”
Sighing through my nose, my whole body deflates. “I, um, lost my bag. In the fall. I have no money.”
She looks me up and down, her gaze lingering on my bare feet while she considers whether to trust me. I know that’s what she’s doing. My story reeks of steaming bullshit that’s been baking in the hot sun for three days.
“My husband. He drive you?”
Her offer knocks the wind from my chest. It can’t be this easy? After everything, I’m just going to catch a friendly ride straight to freedom? No. This hubby of hers has got to be an axe murderer.
“Are you sure?” My hand flies to my chest, ready to catch my heart should it jump out. This streak of luck doesn’t fit with my current situation at all. “That would be…wonderful. Grazie.”
She smiles and nods before motioning her hand for me to follow. If I get axed to death, so be it. I don’t really have another choice seeing as I don’t know where I am. Plus, I have my gun. I won’t forget that little fact. The thing is tormenting me constantly, rubbing against the crack of my bum with every step I take.
Crap.
How am I going to sit down in this bloke’s car? I’m going to have to make some very discreet and very creative movements. Death by axe might not be the only way I could meet my maker tonight.
“Your feet…” The lady turns to me as we turn down a wide path. “It hurt?”
“Not much.” It’s only a small lie. I’ve experienced worse lately. “My shoes came off when I fell. They, uh, got lost in the long grass.”
“Ah.” She nods like she understands just how out of control the land is back there. I suspect she still doesn’t quite believe me, though. I wouldn’t. “My name is Elisabetta. My husband is Giacomo.”
I offer a small smile. “My name is…Sophia.” The lie doesn’t even feel like a lie. Not really. Kate is the lie. I never knew who she was. I barely even remember what it feels like to be her.
It’s time to say, Goodbye, Kate.
“Buonasera, Sophia.” She smiles again before looking back to wherever we’re heading. She has a lovely smile. Warm and kind. She’s a good person, I can tell. I bet you’d never find her with a pistol tucked in her knickers. “My home just here.”
“You speak English very well,” I feel the need to tell her. Partly just for something to say, and partly because it’s true, given that she said earlier she only spoke a little. I consider myself able to speak a little Italian, which includes translations of yes, no, and thank you. That’s about it.
Elisabetta’s home is quaint and small. I don’t go in too far, hoping that will give the impression that I’m in a hurry. Hovering by the front door, I look around a little, taking in all the figurines dotted around the place.
“Giacomo!” She calls for her husband and unleashes a volley of Italian, part of which includes my name.
A man comes trundling down the stairs in front of us, pausing briefly when he sees me. He greets me with a smile as earnest as Elisabetta’s. “Hello, young Sophia. You need a ride to Ristorante Piero?”
I nod. “Yes. Thank you so much.”
These people are so nice. Too nice. I wonder if it’s the village effect. Small towns where everyone knows everyone, trusts everyone. It’s no surprise really, that an evil mobster was able to set up a kidnap-and-torture compound right under their noses. It’s like these residents here don’t question anything. See the best in everybody. Even a strange English girl with no shoes and a gun in her knickers.
Unless the whole village is in on it…
That’s absurd. I’d roll my eyes at myself if I didn’t have an audience.
“Will you like food first?” Elisabetta asks. “Or…shoes?”
Food. God…yes. I still haven’t eaten today. My mouth fills with saliva at the thought, but I swallow it back down. Not yet. I have to find Roberto, whoever he is.
As for shoes… I find myself letting out a hollow chuckle as I glance away in embarrassment. “No, but thank you. I just need to get back to my friends.”
“Va bene.” Elisabetta steps closer and palms my face. Instinctively, I want to shrug away from the overfamiliarity, but I manage to refrain. “Take care, Sophia.”
“Grazie.” I stretch my lips into as big a smile as the weary muscles in my face can muster. “I’m so very grateful.”
She nods and exchanges some more words with Giacomo, who then unhooks his car keys from inside a small frame hanging on the wall.
I wait to follow, making sure Elisabetta goes first so she doesn’t see anything suspicious poking through the back of my dress.
When we get to Giacomo’s car I witness yet another miracle. The front passenger seat and footwell are stacked high with box files and arch lever folders. He goes to move them, but I insist he doesn’t go to any trouble and open the rear door. Luck is shining down on me so bright tonight I can almost feel myself getting a tan.
