Peter Leonard - All He Saw Was the Girl

He could see distant parts of the city as the elevation changed, domes and towers, far and near, giving him a better sense of how big Viterbo actually was. Now in the hectic business center the buildings were fancier, painted yellow with green trim.

Joey said, "Know where you're going?"

"I think this is Piazza San Lorenzo," Mazara said.

He pulled over in a space on the street and parked. Joey got out and walked to this big open area surrounded by buildings, a church and bell tower on one side. This is where McCabe had told him to go, but why here? Not many people around, a few tourists taking pictures.

Mazara's phone rang. Joey opened it, brought it to his ear and said, "You better have Angela."

"You better have the money," McCabe said.

Joey said, "You really think you can pull this off?"

McCabe said. "I see anyone who looks familiar it's over, say goodbye to your cousin."

"Let's see how good you are," Joey said. So McCabe was somewhere close by, watching him. The phone went dead. He turned in a complete circle, looking for an American student. It was hotter than hell, Joey squinting, glancing around, the sun beating down on him. He'd already pitted out his shirt.

A fat blonde tourist eating an ice-cream cone walked right into him and got chocolate ice cream on the front of his teal Tommy Bahama Easy Breezer. "Why don't you open your fucking eyes," he said, trying to wipe the ice cream off with his hand.

The fat lady said, "Rude."

He said, "What's a big load like you doing eating ice cream, anyway? Seen a mirror lately?" Joey knocked the cone out of her hand and kept moving. The phone rang again. He took it out and brought it to his ear.

"We're going to take a walk," McCabe said.

"You want the money?" Joey said. "You better quit fucking around."

"I haven't even started," McCabe said.

Joey could feel the adrenalin pumping now, thinking what he was going to do to this guy when he caught him.

"Walk out of the piazza and head right down Via San Lorenzo," McCabe said. "I'm going to stay on the phone, keep you company till you get to where you're going. How's that sound?"

"You're pressing your luck," Joey said.

"You better get moving. You've got five minutes," McCabe said. "And you don't look like you're in very good shape."

"You'll see what kind of shape I'm in."

McCabe was going to run Joey around Viterbo, try to separate him from Mazara and his crew, knowing they were around somewhere. He watched Joey walk along Via San Lorenzo, the soccer bag angled across his right shoulder, cars cruising by, phone pressed against his ear.

Occasionally McCabe would say, "Joey, how you doing? You okay?" Or, "How about this weather? You believe it's late October? Or, how about those Lions? I hear they're o and 7, think they'll win a game this year?"

McCabe told him to go through Piazza della Morte, Death Square, with its spindle-shaped fountain, and take a left on Via Macel Maggiore and a right on Via San Pellegrino. He could hear him breathing hard, and could hear the anger in his voice when he spoke. He was in front of Joey, watching him come down the street, checking to see if anyone was following him. He appeared to be alone, but he knew Mazara and his gang were somewhere close by, he could feel them.

McCabe walked Joey all the way to Piazza San Pellegrino. Let him rest for a few minutes, McCabe standing out of sight on the side of the church. Joey shifted his weight and moved the soccer bag to the opposite shoulder again. It must've been heavy. He turned in a complete circle a couple of times, glancing around the medieval square. There were a dozen or so people scattered across the piazza, looking at places of interest and taking pictures. No sign of Mazara and his boys. McCabe said, "Joey, hey, you ready? Let's go."

McCabe guided him to Piazza del Plebiscito, a couple hundred yards back to the center of town, and watched him in the crowded square, drenched with sweat, Joey turning his head side to side, looking around like a penguin in an island shirt.

"Where're you at?" Joey said. "Where's Angela? Let's do it."

McCabe decided to make his move now and came out of the courtyard and headed into the square toward Joey, Joey with his back to him. As McCabe got close Joey must've heard him or sensed him and turned around. "You better have money in that bag." He looked exhausted, sweat streaming down his face, legs apart, hands on his thighs, breathing hard. "Where's Angela at."

McCabe said. "First let me see what you've got. You put phone books or newspapers in there, thinking you're clever, I want to know now before we waste any more time."

"First, I want to see my cousin and if she's got so much as a scratch — "

"Listen," McCabe said. "Nothing's going to happen till you open the bag."

Joey unzipped it and showed him a pile of banded, brightcolored euro notes.

"That's all you get, just a peek till Angela's standing here, I can see she's okay."

McCabe felt relieved now, thinking it was going to work out. He pointed to a second-story window in Palazzo dei Priori, the Renaissance building in front of them. "There she is. You see her?"

Joey was squinting, looking up, the morning sun hot and bright overhead.

"I don't see nobody."

"Right there in the window," McCabe said, pointing, assuming she was there because that was the plan, that's where she was supposed to be.

Joey said. "Is that her? Okay, yeah."

"Give me the money," McCabe said. "I'll bring her down."

Angela walked along the hall, looking in offices. She was on the second floor of Palazzo dei Priori, and she'd been right, all the municipal employees had gone for lunch and siesta. She had entered the building and walked up the stairs. No one had said a word or had given her a second glance.

She went into an office with a view of Piazza del Plebiscito. There was a cluttered desk with two chairs in front of it, and one behind it, the desktop covered with stacks of papers. There was a computer, an IBM, and a printer, an HP, on a credenza behind the desk. She looked out the window at the congested square. She saw a policeman at the far corner of the building, posing with two female tourists.

There were so many people it took time to locate Joey, but there he was with the soccer bag, standing in front of the building, talking to McCabe like old friends. Then she saw Mazara approaching, and Noto pushing his way through the crowd. She saw Sisto directly below her, moving along the front of the building. From this overhead angle she could see it all happening, three of them going toward McCabe, closing in on him, surrounding him, and she knew they had no intention of giving him the money.

Out of the corner of his eye McCabe saw someone come up behind him. He tried to move but he wasn't fast enough and now Noto's arms were wrapped around his, locking him in place like a human vice.

Joey looked at him and said, "You're in the wrong business. You really think I was going to give you the money?"

"No, I thought you might do something stupid like this, and you did."

Joey looked at Mazara, and pointed to the second-story window. "She's up there, go get her."

It was quiet in the Palazzo, the only sounds coming from Piazza del Plebiscito. Mazara gripped the Tanfoglio in his left hand as he moved up the stairway to the second floor. Checked four offices. No one in any of them. Looked in the fifth and saw Angela standing at the window. He watched her for a few seconds, wondering what she was doing. She turned and saw him, put her finger in front of her mouth, telling him not to say anything.

He went in, aiming the gun, checking the room. She seemed calm and relaxed, not what he was expecting of a hostage kidnapped for days. What was she doing in this office in a municipal building by herself? It was strange. Something was not right. He approached her and whispered, "Where are they?"