Алистер Маклин: Dead Halt

“Forget about color schemes. All I want to know is which of the colors you prefer.”

“The pale blue, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“The pale blue. Definitely. Satisfied?”

She sighed deeply but said nothing. He went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and helped himself to a beer.

He was a thirty-six-year-old Italian with a stocky physique, cropped brown hair and a gaunt face which was offset by a wide mouth and square jaw. Like his father, he had joined the carabinieri on leaving school and spent several years with them before being recruited by the Nucleo Operativo Centrale di Sicurezza, Italy’s elite anti-terrorist squad. He was then twenty-seven years old. By the age of thirty-three he had reached the rank of major. He was the unit expert on the Red Brigades and had worked with UNACO on an operation in Italy which had first brought him to the attention of Malcolm Philpott. But it was only when Philpott discovered that Paluzzi was at loggerheads with his superior that he made a move to bring him to UNACO. It was a challenge Paluzzi readily accepted.

He had spent the first few months in New York in a small UNACO safe house with his wife and their ten-month-old son, Dario. They had spent much of their spare time searching for a place of their own, but nothing took their fancy. Then one of his UNACO colleagues had told him about the apartment on the lower East Side. It belonged to a friend who wanted to sell quickly. Claudine had loved it the moment she saw it. They had moved in three days earlier …

He moved to the door and looked at his wife, who was crouched on the bare wooden floorboards reading the instructions on the side of the paint tin. She was a former Air France stewardess, five years his junior, with a pretty face and long brown hair which was tied in a ponytail at the back of her head.

She looked up at him and her eyes automatically locked on to the bottle in his hand. “How many beers have you had tonight?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he retorted defensively.

“It’s your fourth, isn’t it?”

“So what?” he demanded.

“You never drank like this when we lived in Italy,” she said, getting to her feet.

“You never nagged like this when we lived in Italy,” he snapped back angrily.

His raised voice woke Dario.

“I’ll see to him,” Paluzzi said tersely.

“You’re not going near him in that mood,” she shot back and disappeared into the bedroom.

Four beers and she was acting like he was a hopeless alcoholic. When was the last time he had been drunk? His stag party two years ago. No, it wasn’t the beers. It went a lot deeper than that. He knew she was homesick. She’d never told him in so many words but it was obvious by the way she had been acting in the last month. He even wondered if she had really wanted to move into the apartment or whether she’d just used it as an excuse to get out of the small, cramped safe house where they had been at each other’s throats over every little thing. And now it was starting again …

A deep, thudding vibration suddenly reverberated through the floorboards. A stereo in one of the apartments down the hall. He waited for the noise to abate, assuming that the volume had been turned up accidentally. Nothing happened; indeed it was getting louder. Claudine appeared at the door, Dario cradled in her arms.

“It sounds like one of our neighbors is having a party,” Paluzzi said. “I think it’s time I went over and introduced myself.”

“Leave it, Fabio, it probably won’t go on for very long.”

“And if it does? What about Dario?”

“How hypocritical can you get? It’s all right for you to wake him up with your shouting but let someone else disturb him and you’re on the warpath.”

“He’s my son,” Paluzzi retorted.

She looked down at Dario. His eyes were closed. “He’s almost asleep now. I’ll close the bedroom door, he won’t hear a thing.”

Paluzzi put his beer down and walked to the front door. “I’ll sort it out, don’t worry.”

She knew it was pointless trying to stop him. He’d made up his mind to go, and that was it. “For God’s sake don’t get into a fight. We’ve only just moved in, remember?”

Paluzzi slipped out into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind him. The noise came from the apartment two doors down. He rapped sharply on the door. It opened and the smile faltered on the youth’s face when he saw it wasn’t one of his friends. Paluzzi could see a handful of teenagers already congregated inside the apartment. All wore jeans and studded black leather jackets with the names of their favorite heavy-metal bands printed on the back.

“What do you want?” the youth demanded.

“My wife and I have just moved in down the hall. Apartment Seventeen. We have a little boy, he’s not even a year old. The music woke him up. I’d be grateful if you’d turn it down so that we can get him back to sleep.”

“No, man, I ain’t turning it down,” the youth replied with a sneer. “This is America. It’s a free country. You can do what you want, when you want, and how you want. Capish?”

Paluzzi clenched his fists at his sides but wisely kept his emotions in check. He could take the youth apart with one hand tied behind his back. But that wasn’t the issue. Claudine was right. He couldn’t afford to get involved in a brawl. Not only would it reflect badly on their tenancy but it could also bring unnecessary attention on himself which, in turn, could jeopardize his position at UNACO. He had to be diplomatic.

“OK, here’s the deal. Either the music’s been turned down by the time I get back to my apartment or else I’m going to call the cops. I’ve got a feeling they might be interested in the contents of those skins you and those dummies in there are smoking. You could flush them down the john but it’s the smell that lingers, isn’t it? You just can’t get rid of it.” Paluzzi held up a finger as if he’d just had a sudden thought. “You could try telling the cops that this is America. It’s a free country. You can do what you want, when you want, and how you want. I’m sure they’d capish, don’t you?”

The music had been turned down before the youth had closed the door behind Paluzzi.

Claudine was waiting at the front door. “I’m impressed. Persuasion without violence. You’re definitely mellowing in your old age.”

“How’s Dario?”

“He seems to have settled again.”

Paluzzi retrieved his beer and was about to take a sip when he saw that Claudine was watching him. “OK, I won’t drink any more. You know, you’re getting more like your mother every day.”

The telephone rang and Claudine answered it. It was for her husband and she put the receiver down on the table without a word. He knew he shouldn’t have mentioned her mother. It was always a touchy subject. Paluzzi picked up the receiver. The duty officer asked him to identify himself by the ID number he’d been given when he joined UNACO. It was also the number on his personnel file which was kept under lock and key in the Director’s office. Paluzzi repeated the number.

“You’re on a Code Red,” the duty officer informed him. That meant he was officially on standby. “The briefing will be held at nine-thirty sharp in the Director’s office tomorrow morning.” The line went dead and Paluzzi replaced the receiver thoughtfully. It would be his first assignment with Mike Graham and Sabrina Carver since his transfer to Strike Force Three. Sure, he had worked with them in Italy when he was with the NOCS but that was different. Now they were his partners. He would have to slot into Whitlock’s old position. It would be difficult but he was confident he could do it …

Sabrina Carver hated blind dates. Especially when they turned out to be real jerks …