Will Thomas - Some Danger Involved

Inside, we found checkered floors, white tablecloths, and dripping candles in old Chianti bottles. The walls were cleverly painted to look like an old piazza in Naples, with red brick showing through crumbling plasterwork. A crack team of Italian waiters stood at the ready in crisp, starched white aprons and waxed mustaches. One of them detached himself from the others and solicitously led us to a table.

Barker ordered for us both: seafood for himself, and some sort of "sampler" fare for me. I had no idea what to expect and I was pleasantly surprised: vermicelli pasta noodles in a flavorful tomato sauce with some sort of white cheese. It was indeed spicy and garlic-laden, but not excessively so. As for Barker, his meal looked like it had been prepared in the galley of Captain Nemo's Nautilus. Yawning clamshells, mussels, and octopus tentacles predominated.

"What is this?" I asked, pointing to a breaded item on my plate that looked like fish but was clearly not.

"Aubergine," Barker murmured. "If you will take your face out of the trough for a moment, lad, let's play a little game. I contend that there are three men in this room who are armed, besides myself, of course. Let's see if you can come up with the same three, without appearing to look around."

Honestly, it's a wonder I didn't have a case of permanent dyspepsia. Was every place we went into full of conspirators and thugs? I was beginning to think the world had gone mad. Luckily for me, there were small, mirrored panels around the top of the room, in imitation of the Cafй Royale. I cleared my throat and brought the napkin up to my mouth.

"The fellow by the staircase," I muttered. He had a foot up on the second rail, and was resting his forearms against the banister, with an air of careless watchfulness.

"Obvious."

"The fellow in the far back by the door, with his chair up on two legs."

"Another guard. And the third?"

I took another bite of aubergine, though it had lost what subtle taste it had, and glanced about again.

"I can't find the third."

"Middle of the room, having a simple bowl of soup and a glass of Chianti. Brilliantined hair, pencil mustache, nicely dressedЧ"

"Got him. Do you know him?"

"Of course. That's Vittorio, or rather Victor Gigliotti, our host. He's paying for our meal. After we eat, we will pay our respects."

We finished and went to his table. He was a sharp-faced but handsome fellow, immaculately dressed in a dove gray lounge suit. His right hand was a mass of diamond rings and his left hand was bare. Barker and I waited as he addressed the bowl in front of him, and when he was done, he looked up.

"Gentlemen," he said, displaying a mouth of vulpine teeth. "How marvelous that you could come. Did you enjoy your meal?"

"The best in London, as always," Barker bowed.

"That is good, but your friend has a sour face. Perhaps we could get him a bromide."

"That won't be necessary. It is his first time to try Italian cuisine."

"Delicious," I put in. "Very rich."

"And he has not developed that fine sense of mingling pleasure with business. That is for moreЕ experienced palates like our own."

"Indeed. But where are my manners? Have a seat, gentlemen. Antony! Bring for the young fellow a small gelato. Sometimes chilling the stomach can aid in digestion. Now, Mr. Barker, I am so glad you accepted my invitation. May I ask at this moment whether you are living up to your name?"

"I always live up to my name. Would you expect otherwise?"

"Naturally not. Would you be so kind as to place your weapon here on the extra chair, out of sight under this napkin?"

"I will not. Do you think me so naive as to hand you my pistol when there are four guns in this room able to be pointed at my head within three seconds?"

"Four?" I said, involuntarily. "I thought you said three."

"There is a scattergun under the front desk. Mr. Gigliotti, I promise you that I will not wave my pistol about and frighten the patrons of your excellent establishment unless I am standing in an absolute hail of bullets."

"Fair enough, Mr. Barker. May we get past the preliminaries? I understand from your letter, and I must say that Machiavelli himself could not have written a more subtle missive, that this little fellow here met with a mishap in a hansom cab yesterday, and that a witness tied the crime to one of my associates. A particular associate, in fact. You questioned whether the Italian community has some sort of grudge against the Jews and I will answer truthfully. We do. They come in and offer at a lower cost many of the services we provide. They are taking our work, our livelihood, and our housing. They are like locusts: unstoppable! But let me anticipate your next question. Do we, does the Italian community and any group that claims to protect it have any designs to harm the Jews? No, I don't believe so. Sooner or later we shall have to make an example, as one swats a puppy with a rolled-up newspaper, to teach them what is what, but the Jews are quick. They'll catch on."

"So," Barker said, "the Camorra has no interests in Aldgate."

Gigliotti's eyes grew big and the knuckles of his hand that held the wineglass were suddenly white.

"I don't know where you got that term, Mr. Barker, but I suggest you never use it in my presence again. I don't care how big a fish you are, there are bigger ones than you."

Barker smiled. "I like to swim with the big fish."

"A swim with the fishes in the Thames can be arranged within the hour!"

The men standing guard suddenly grew tense, and I feared there would be gunplay, but Barker gave a sudden shrug.

"Not necessary, sir. I think we understand one another. Forgive myЕ poor choice of words. I am so often among the rough element of my trade that I sometimes lose my tact."

"Apology accepted." The tension, or most of it, eased out of the room. "So, to the best ofЧ"

There was a loud bang at the back of the room, which made everyone jump, and the fellow by the staircase reached inside his jacket. In the back, the other guard's chair had fallen, and a man was helping him up. Or so it appeared. But when the man was upright, it was obvious he wasn't conscious, and the individual who set him up again had just come in through the back door.

"Giorgio!" Gigliotti called and waved him toward us. He flashed those wolfish teeth at us again. "That fellow we were talking about, the one you believe shot at your little friend hereЧ I thought you might like to question him yourself."

Now it was I who stood, ready to fly out of the door or defend myself at a second's notice. This was the man Racket had seen in the street who had attempted to murder me in cold blood. He was a big, stocky fellow, in a loud checked suit the color of Coleman's Mustard. His face was ruddy, and he had short, curly black hair and a beard. There was an air of menace and violence about him as he came toward us. He came right up to Barker, ignoring the rest of the room, and put a hand on his lapel. Barker looked up and regarded him.

"I hear you been looking for me," he said, in a high, reedy voice and, of all things, a Cockney accent.

"Good to see you again, Serafini," Barker said calmly.

"It ain't good seein' your ugly mug, Barker. It ha'n't been near long enough. Word on the street says you're trying to frame me for something." As he spoke, I saw his thumb wander across my employer's throat and dig into the bundle of arteries and muscle in his neck. I watched the jugular vein stand out prominent and blue.

Barker appeared not to notice for a moment, and then casually, as if swatting at a fly, his hand came up and plucked the hand away. He twisted the hand around, facing its owner, then bore down on the wrist. Serafini frowned at the pain and attempted to turn his hand around again, but Barker had control of it. Serafini stepped back, but the Guv moved in the same direction, anticipating his every move. The Italian had no choice but to fall backward onto the hard tile. Barker stepped by him, still twisting the arm as he went, and rested his boot against the man's chest. Any move on Serafini's part would result in a separation at the shoulder joint.