CHAPTER THREE

Maria walked into the office the next morning and whispered mischievously to Charles, “Sleep well last night? I did. I was exhausted after all that happened.” Then she said, “Shouldn’t we have a confab?”

Charles beckoned Jacqui. “What news?”

“No fresh news from Paddington or the Royal Exchange. The police seem to be going on the same tack. Two boys have been arrested with our stolen car. I suppose they were joy-riders. They were arrested in South London. That’s good as it’s well away from any of our incidents. Otherwise, I’ll keep an ear open for any news on the late Wendy.” She grinned and looked at her watch, muttering, “Poor timekeeping that girl. No standards.”

There was plenty of day to day business at the bank that day. Maria called in during the afternoon.

“Nobody is concerned about Wendy. They are surprised. She would normally call in. They say she’s not at home. Her phone’s not answering. Obviously they don’t know that she is at home but that it’s not easy answering the phone with a great big kitchen knife in your back. I suspect they’ll call the police tomorrow. It appears her parents are elderly and Dunkillin doesn’t want to worry them.”

Charles talked to Giovanni that afternoon and they went over the legal agreement. It all was simple. He was drawing up the necessary papers for the take-over of PAF as well.

“Shouldn’t we really call it a merger?” he queried.

“No,” replied Giovanni. “That will complicate things. Look, the regulators would prefer a take-over. I am going to pass the word that the Di Maglio family is quitting banking. The idea will be to make it look as if it is the first step in the boss’s retirement plans. There are good reasons for us to intimate that, one or two things are getting hot over here.”

“But Giovanni, he’ll own a great chunk of the new company.”

“No he won’t. Little Juliet will own it. Di Maglio will gift it to his grandchild. I’m creating a trust, it will avoid tax. The idea of moving the bank into honest hands will mean that the regulators will want to kiss your ass. Trust me, it will be easy. You don’t seem too bad yet, all you’ve done is speculate. At least that’s what they think.”

“What will he want in return? I know him well enough. He never gives without a purpose.”

“He wants nothing. He may want help laundering stuff in the future. He’ll make a lot from the scam and he has more money than he really needs. I guess you owe him a favour, but there is nothing in his mind at the moment.”

Charles knew that sounded unlikely, but he accepted the explanation and asked, “When will the papers be ready?”

“I’ll have finished them off for my side tomorrow. All will be ready for the sale. I’m using one of the big investment banks over here. You can advise yourself, we can’t. You chose a law firm for the deal. Let’s aim for a preliminary announcement next week.”

“In that case I’ll have to talk to the Bank of England. I’ll have to bring in the board and especially the Honourable James. He’ll have to come with me to the Bank of England. Why don’t I call a special board meeting for Thursday? That way we can talk to the officials on Friday. But you’ll have to cover several states. How will you do that?”

“We’ll go in on Friday. We’ll talk to them all and also the Fed and others here in New York. PAF’s bosses are our people. They’ll do what we want and when we want it.”

“OK. I’ll round up the lawyers and start the paperwork on this side. You can be at the meeting on a video link. I doubt you want to come back here to see me dragoon the nobility into line.”

“I like it when they suck up to you, especially as they hate your guts. But I can watch it on TV. The atmosphere is not as cold that way.”

Giovanni and Charles often joked. Indeed, Charles was closer to him than any of his own people, although he knew that Giovanni’s first loyalty would always be to his father-in-law.

Charles then called his own father. He was working on creating the phoney investments to sell to PAF’s unsuspecting clients. Jacqui was getting him all the information he needed. He was also looking to find some shares to ramp, just as they had in the old days.

“With five million suckers out there,” Jack Ryder said, “We need to hit it big time. I reckon we can easily sell five billion of investments; after all, that’s an average of a thousand dollars per client and that’s peanuts if they have a half decent sales force. I would expect to start by putting about two billion of phoney investments into them and three billion of genuine ones. Many of the genuine ones we’ll trade and ramp up, even before PAF’s clients get them, and that should let us skim off around another billion or so for our own purposes. That’s my latest calculation. So you may be able to up your take on the investment side to three billion.

By the way, I am also working with Stephens on some real slick stuff that will allow us to milk the bank. His deals are so complicated that I have a hard time coming to grips with them. Technically he’s good. Personality wise, he even makes your father-in-law appear likeable.”

Charles sounded nervous. “Don’t touch anything you feel you don’t understand. Don’t trust him. Give him no discretion.”

“I’d worked that one out. You didn’t need to tell me. Oh, and by the way, Giovanni called and he gave me the names of some of the companies we can use. They have some special purpose Panamanian ones that are just ideal. This thing is really exciting.”

“OK, let me leave that to you. Tell me how to do it but keep it simple. Find ways to get us to lend to them as well. But don’t forget I have already some targets to lend to and have placed every Lord or Lady we could find on their boards. We mustn’t overplay our hand or it will look too suspicious. But if you can get some of those new fangled investments going with Stephens, you know the ones that are really loans but don’t appear to be loans. Then we can blame him for those as well when he takes the fall, and I want that to be sooner rather than later. He deserves to drop.”

It was well after six when Jacqui appeared. “Aren’t you ready? We have dinner with that City Guild. You know that charity do. Sir Brian is hosting our table, so we can expect some great yarns about hunting, shooting and fishing.”

She kissed him. “Don’t look so pissed off. It’s for charity. You are doing your socialist bit and redistributing some of your ill-gotten gains.”

Charles got up, straightened his tie and headed out. Maria was in her office and waved at him. “See you tomorrow,” she called. “Enjoy yourself with the cream of the City intelligentsia. Those men have more dollars than brain cells!”

The car was waiting and they got into the back. Jacqui looked cool and elegant in a black cocktail dress. Her hair was pulled back and up. A plain gold choker, a gold watch, her wedding ring and single diamond engagement ring with matching earrings were tasteful additions to the simplicity of her outfit. She would turn heads and knew it as she smiled happily.

Charles could not match her for style, but was dressed in a hand tailored dark suit. It was perhaps a bit too fashionably cut for the conservative taste of the City. The average age of the gathering tonight was likely to be over fifty, a good twenty years more than either Jacqui or him. They would be greeted with the usual mixture of condescension and jealousy. How dare they be billionaires at their age? And there were doubts about their origins. That petulant outburst of Wendy Dale before her death was typical of the snobbery of some of the old class in the City.

They found Sir Brian quite easily in the crowd. Or, rather, they heard his booming voice and moved towards it in the bar. He was a small man with a substantial girth, half-hidden by a well-cut, double-breasted suit. He was on his third or fourth gin by the look of things, he was flushed and there was a thin sheen of perspiration on his face. He was of the old school, who abhorred the drunken antics of the ‘Essex traders’, as he called the foreign exchange boys. He believed his background meant he was immune to such behaviour. His view was that breeding meant you remained a gentleman even if drunk.

Jacqui looked at him with distaste. “It’s going to be a bum pinching evening before the night is out. Keep me away from that revolting man, I’ll hit him one day. I’d better not in such public place, though.”

“Charles, Jacqui,” Sir Brian brayed. “Come over and let me introduce you to some of the chums who’ll be at our table tonight. This is Sebastian and Tara. They’re in tin. This is Roderick. He’s in sugar. And you know the memsahib. She’s into my money.” That was capped with a great guffaw, not only from the speaker but also from his sycophantic entourage.

Jacqui greeted his wifely apparition politely. She met the stares of the men with indifference, shook hands as appropriate. They accepted glasses of champagne, which was almost undrinkable. The waiters carefully covered the label with a white napkin. Its sweet and cloying taste indicated that this was no genuine champagne.

Jacqui pulled Charles aside. “Let’s drift away. It’ll be hard enough when we are on the same table. This lot are even denser than his usual crowd. They give hooray Henries a bad name. The one in sugar has his shirt sticking out of his flies and nobody seems to have noticed it, perhaps it’s his normal way of dressing. Have you smelt his wife? I don’t know when she bought that outfit. Either it’s been in store or she’s wearing mothballs instead of pearls.”

They half turned and noticed Sir Piers Rupert-Jones from Associated. He was walking in with his wife, she was an attractive woman in her fifties. They had met before. She was pleasant. Charles whispered to Jacqui, “Let’s talk to him. I want to see his reaction.”

They walked over, “Sir Piers, Lady Rupert-Jones. How nice to see you again. How are you? Is business booming with you as well? We’re having a whale of a time.”

“Oh hello, Rossi,” he said in a somewhat dismissive voice. “Mrs Rossi. How are you?”

“Very well, thanks,” Jacqui replied. “Have you a table here?”

“No, we’re joining some pals from my school, Eton. Where did you go to school, Rossi?”

This was a classic put down. He had asked the question many times before, usually waiting till there were more people around. His wife looked embarrassed.

“England. Jacqui was educated in America and Switzerland. I was at Oxford. Jacqui was at Vasseur. You didn’t go to university did you? I thought that you came straight into your father’s firm at sixteen?”

He reddened at these comments. He never realised that Charles and Jacqui were indifferent to his bluster and buffoonery, as indeed they were to all of his, happily declining, band of compatriots in the City.

Jacqui said, “I was sorry to hear about your employee being killed yesterday. I heard it on the news. He was in drugs or something, wasn’t he?”

Sir Piers reddened, “No, he was not, Mrs Rossi. We do not know the cause of the tragedy. We believe it may have been an affair of the heart.”

It was lucky that, at that point, he gave them a curt nod and turned away. Charles had just stopped himself smiling at that unfortunate turn of phrase. He knew where Maria would have placed her stiletto.

“He knows nothing. They don’t know of the connection. The Dale woman spoke the truth. His man was acting on his own,” Charles whispered to Jacqui. She nodded.

The dinner wended its weary way through indifferent food in palatial surroundings. The wine was served in generous portions and in all varieties. Indifferent red followed acidic white, to be capped by a sweet dessert wine. That, in turn, left space for port or brandy, or both. Charles and Jacqui left most of theirs untouched, although others drank plentifully. One suspected, for most, it would be a toss up between suffering the pain of an inevitable hangover against the relief of being anaesthetised against the boredom of the self congratulatory speeches that would presage the end of the interminable evening.

As they drove back, Charles turned to Jacqui, “Why do we have to go to such things?” As she started to reply, he said, “OK, I know we have to make believe we are part of that system. I only wish we could do it by proxy. Anyway, I’m tired. I need to get some sleep.”

“And you have things to do tonight, don’t you?” she whispered into his ear. And, at the same time, gave it a surreptitious lick, laughing as she felt him shiver at the touch of her tongue.

The next day was quite normal. Charles had more discussions with both Giovanni and his father. He arranged lawyers for the deal, and then he organised a board meeting for Thursday evening. The Hon. James shuffled into his office and queried the need for the meeting. “It is important,” Charles said. “I am honour bound not to say anything till Thursday.”

The Hon. James looked at him with disbelief. He was undoubtedly thinking that honour and the Rossi family were strange bedfellows, but Charles let it slide. Life was too short and he would take a fall in time.

Maria came to him, “The police have found the body in Kilburn. They believe it’s a simple break-in that went wrong. Dunkillin’s in a state of shock, as are a lot of the girls. I might go and have a little cry with them. It could look good.”

Charles went to Dunkillin and commiserated. He was genuinely upset. Charles queried if he knew her well. The old boy started to look a bit woeful. He then let it all out. It appeared the prim Miss Dale had a very close relationship with him. He wasn’t worried about her, he was petrified that he could be implicated in a scandal. Charles looked suitably surprised.

“Perhaps you should go to the police and see that they treat everything with discretion,” he suggested.

Dunkillin looked horrified at the idea. “I don’t think so. Please don’t say anything. “

“You didn’t see her this week. You weren’t round her place were you?”

He was now petrified. “No. Of course, I wasn’t. I’ve never been there. She would come to my flat in Sloane Square. We were very discreet. She was so lovely. She had a wonderful figure, such a sweet face, lovely blond hair and a wonderful personality.”

Charles’ impression of Wendy was of a plump wench with a gloomy appearance and bleached blonde hair. She hadn’t exactly seemed warm and cuddly during their one and only encounter of any substance. Still, he said nothing.

Maria was with Jacqui when he returned and told them of the discussion. “The dirty old man,” exclaimed Maria. “And I thought she was an old maid. You have to watch the quiet ones. We could have sold her to your dad, Jacqui, if we had known.”

“Hey,” said Charles mockingly, “Stop speaking like that. We need a bit of decorum. Have you no feeling or do you have to continue to stick your knife in?”

They were both giggling and Charles saw this was going to develop badly. “Now, let’s put on the old mournful look. Maria, check out any other gossip. Go over Dunkillin’s office tonight for pictures or anything we can use, if we ever need to pressure him into something.”

The next morning, Maria intercepted them as they walked into the office. “Come with the super sleuth and prepare yourself for a horrible sight.”

She closed the office door and pushed down the engaged light. Then she opened her briefcase. She took out some photos. They were awful. Wendy was in the nude on a white rug in all her splendour, Wendy wearing a frilly short night-dress, and Wendy in a whole load of other poses, mainly nude or wearing strange underwear of the type available in cheap sex shops.

“Oh, that’s really sad,” said Jacqui. “The poor man’s a weirdo.”

“That may be. But they could come in use later. Did you find anything else?”

“No. I checked Sir Brian’s office and the Honourable James’. They had nothing of interest. I had hoped that they might all be going hammer and tongs with her. That would have given us leverage on them all.”

“That’s not necessary,” said Charles, “I already have a bit on the Honourable James and plenty on Sir Brian.”

“Hey, come on and spill the beans. You never mentioned that before,” cried Jacqui.

“I never thought it would interest you. Sir Brian frequents a strip bar down in Soho. He’s known as the kinky knight. As for the Honourable James, I have nothing on him directly but a load of filth on his son. The boy’s a total pervert and goes on sex holidays to Amsterdam. The Honourable James couldn’t afford to have that published.”

“I can’t believe it,” gasped Jacqui. “I mean it’s not that they look normal. It’s just they look so boring. Who would have thought that sex could play a part in any of their lives?”

“Don’t be too dismissive. I think the Honourable James is straight. His wife’s OK. It’s just his son who’s awful. Dunkillin has a bit on the side. That’s hardly rare. It’s only Sir Brian who’s a bit strange. And with a wife like his, can you blame him?”

“You’re right,” said Maria. “I mean the poor man’s married to a human gorilla. God, the bitch’s ugly as sin, she has a better beard than many a man I’ve seen.”

This debate on the wives of the old brigade continued for some time. In the end Charles called a halt, “I have to work and we have the board meeting to rubber stamp all that we have agreed. Then, tomorrow, we go to the Bank of England to get their blessing. On Saturday we want to announce that it’s a marriage, made in heaven.”

And, indeed, that is exactly how it all came about. The board meeting didn’t last long. Charles timed it well enough for that. Evening boards are never popular, and, in any event, he made no attempt to allow anyone a drink. So the token great and the good were feeling fairly deprived. Worried that their immune systems would let them down without a top up, they agreed all that they were asked and then headed off to some happy hour in their clubs.

The meeting with the Bank of England also went well. They didn’t actually say anything. They were agreeable though. There is one thing with the Central Bank in London, they are definitely not bureaucrats. And they enjoy the challenge of being the boss man in international banks. It all sounded good, and there was no cause for them to disagree with the words of enthusiasm from the Honourable James and Sir Brian. Charles kept in the background. The others were good enough at waffling about things they did not understand without any help from him.

The phrases tripped off their tongues. They would do a thorough check with help from the auditors. The lawyers were top notch. The synergies were strong. There was empathy between the boards. They used every platitude in the book. They knew nothing of PAF, and even defined the ten-minute board meeting on the subject as one where they had long, detailed and fruitful debate about the deal.

These were though not the only things they did. Maria, Jacqui and Charles were in all that weekend as well with their advisors. Then they announced the merger to the world.

In every state where PAF had offices, they would have to meet the regulators during the following two weeks. They had to get their approval but it was clear that was going to be easy. Di Maglio out of the banking system was like manna from heaven for those in charge. IBE was reputable, even if there was something dubious about its youthful owners.

Maria would keep track of events in London. She would be in contact with Charles at all times. That was nothing unusual. Maria was good at monitoring the bank and had done so before. She knew instinctively the smell of a problem even when she could not fully understand it. They had no qualms about being away.

Although they were in the bank all weekend, they never did manage to get time to check out the board table again. They were too busy organising things for the merger. Then they went through the phoney investments they were creating with Charles’ father. They monitored the deals that Stephens had done, they looked over the companies to which they would lend and lose money, and they checked and re-checked the routes that the money they embezzled from IBE would take before it turned up at its different end destinations. Their plans were definitely complex. The good thing was that they would be difficult for any auditor or regulator to understand. And that made it easier to run their scams.

Jack Ryder was optimistic, “I think we’ll make much more than you planned. I’ve run through some of the sums on the trades I’m setting up with Stephens. I think we’ll end up clearing between two and three billion on them. I have thought of another few wrinkles to several of the deals. The great thing is that they are fail-proof.”

By the time Sunday night came, they had everything ready. Charles and Jacqui relished the idea of being in the US. Jacqui snuggled up to him. “We can have some fun as well as working. It shouldn’t be hard chatting up the local regulators, especially when they are overjoyed at the idea of my father getting out of their hair.”

Charles and Jacqui left for the US. Charles had thought for one horrible moment that the Honourable James wanted to go along, but, in the end, he persuaded him that it was better that he ran things in London. Charles suspected that he was most deterred by his comment that they would need to fly coach internally, as most flights inside America are almost entirely one class.

They had discussed strategy with Giovanni. In the first week, their first stop would be Chicago and then they would go west, before flying back home via New York. The following week they would head to California before Washington, their final port of call. “We need to have a family meeting in California,” said Giovanni. “Your father-in-law will be there. We want to talk about where we take his organisation in the future.”

Charles didn’t ask him for an explanation. He suspected this was the favour his father-in-law wanted for the gift of his banks to Juliet. He discussed the matter with Jacqui. “I can’t believe that he’s going to retire,” she said. “And don’t forget that you promised me that you will never run the illegal side. I don’t want the prostitution, protection rackets or drugs Empire. We don’t need them.”

“Darling, I promised that I would never get involved with your father’s sordid Empire. It caused us enough trouble with the Russians and others. I want nothing to do with it. I especially want you and Juliet to be well clear of it.”

They whisked through the airport Fast Track and were soon happily ensconced in First Class seats for Chicago. They would be there in time for a late afternoon meeting with the local regulators.

They also arrived on time to be met by a Di Maglio limousine. Charles was given a gun. Jacqui got one too, a classical handbag size toy without too much shooting power. It was easier picking the weapons up in the US from a Di Maglio local agent rather than going through the rigmarole in London and carrying them through Heathrow. In any case, Charles no longer carried a gun as a matter of course in London, for he felt it was safe enough. But the US was different. Their guns were legal. The days of carrying illegal ones were gone. As indeed were the days when they forged their gun permits.

It was a typical wet and windy Chicago afternoon, but the regulators couldn’t have been sunnier. They fell in love with Jacqui for a start. And then they fell for the rubbish that was fed to them. One of their first questions related to the future role of Di Maglio.

“My father has decided to cut back his business interests. He will not become a minority shareholder in our company, as he will place all the shares in trust for our daughter. And he will not have a board seat, nor will he be having any management responsibilities in Europe or the United States,” said Jacqui

They turned to Giovanni who had accompanied them, “And what will your role be, Mr Petroni?”

“I have been asked to remain as US Chairman. That will ensure continuity. But my role will be strictly non-executive and we will be undertaking an executive search to identify a senior US banker to take on the role of Chief Executive of the operations over here.”

Charles noted, “And I plan it so that Mr Petroni will be on the board of the main company as well. He understands the US business better than most.” Charles also thought to himself that they would ensure that they employed a CEO, who was totally out of touch with technology, completely at sea in the dealing room and with little understanding of corporate lending. He realised that they would be spoilt for choice among the pre-retirement dinosaurs that graced the ranks of several major banks.

But he smiled and said, “We need a person of undoubted integrity and long experience. We value Mr Petroni’s experience a great deal, and he is always urging us to ensure we have enough grey hairs on the board. Experience is so important to a young company with young management.”

The time challenged senior regulator smiled contentedly from his side of the table, “Oh, but IBE is a bank with a lengthy history and great traditions. I wouldn’t call you a young company.”

Charles smiled back at him, “We try to uphold those traditions. But much of the management has changed since the take-over. We do have several people you may have met or heard of. There’s our chairman, the Honourable James. Lord Dunkillin is with us still. And, as always, we have Sir Brian on board.”

They didn’t know them from Adam, but Charles could see visions of castles and moats flashing in front of their eyes. One can always look into an American meritocracy to find someone who would cherish the thought of meeting some ageing aristocrat.

The regulators kept on finding more reasons to want IBE to proceed with alacrity. In short, the meeting was over and done with quite quickly. Their journey had started and they moved west for the next two days before turning east again to see the New York Fed. They had thought that would be the main hurdle, but they had evidently got full reports from their friends in the provinces. All went like wildfire. IBE represented a clean slate. And they liked them. All they asked was to be kept in touch with progress, they were the main regulator as PAF’s head office was in their state.

Charles explained that they would be in California the following Monday and then would cross back to Washington before briefing them again in New York on their final stop. The regulators promised they would give their agreement promptly. Once again, they could not contain their relief at seeing the Mafia out of the direct running of the banks.

In New York, they also saw some of the candidates to take on the top slot. They were a fine bunch of men. On average they had been bankers, man and boy. And, on average, they wanted a big office, a big expense account and as little work as possible. They did not realise how that suited IBE. They would be wonderful fall guys. They would sign papers that they knew nothing about and it was possible that they would end up in court, or worse, when the game came to an end.

After several such meetings, Charles told Giovanni to choose one himself. “Get the Honourable James to vet them either in New York or in London. As long as they pass the idiot test and the mirror test, they’ll do.”

“I can guess the idiot test,” he replied quizzically. “But what’s the mirror test? Do they have to be good looking?”

“It’s to check they’re really alive. If the mirror clouds up, they’re breathing. Then if you really want them, you can offer them the job.”

Giovanni shook his head despairingly. Then he muttered, “Fucking Brits”, grinned and slapped Charles on the back. He actually packed quite a hit for such a small man. “Well, see you in California. Have a good trip.”

They called the office and checked out with Maria. All appeared to be going well. She made no mention of the killings. She did mention the funeral of the late Wendy, but they knew better than to talk about things like that on a telephone line.

“When do we head home? I miss Juliet,” asked Jacqui looking at her watch.

“Look. I’ve just had an idea. Why should we head back to London for two days? We could all be together for longer. We’re supposed to be in California for meetings on Tuesday with the regulators and then on Wednesday with your father. Why don’t we get the nanny to fly Juliet out there and meet us? They could get out there by lunch tomorrow if they caught the nine o’ clock flight. They can fly directly back from California and we’ll join them a couple of days later.”

Jacqui jumped to the phone and it was all arranged. “Put us up in Shutters on the Beach in Santa Monica. Get us a suite and an adjoining room for Juliet and the nanny.” she called. “It’s got good facilities for kids as well.”

Charles also arranged an early morning flight out of New York. “Shall we go to Lola’s?”

“No,” she called back. “It’s boring. I want a real meal. Why don’t we go to the Trattoria del Arte and get decent pasta. I’m fed up of mock international, that’s all you get on these business trips. By the way, the nanny is going to call me back and confirm if they can do the bookings. They’ll get a flight, but I’ve told them to try to get first if possible. That way Juliet will sleep better and be in a good mood when she arrives.”

“We could go to a club afterwards if you want.”

She called back, “Why not? But we need to leave early if we want to get to LA before the others.”

They then headed out for their pasta. Charles found it strange to have time on his hands in New York. His usual business trips were fairly standard; full agendas and fairly uneventful.

The last days had been tedious rather than troublesome. Going from regulator to regulator was hardly fun. It also was hardly fun interviewing some of New York’s dimmest for the Chief Executive’s job.

They changed into casual clothes. Jacqui wore a short skirt and a roll neck sweater under a calf length coat. Charles wore some black jeans and a white sweater as contrast to her all black. The sweater was loose enough to cover the gun that he had in his waistband.

The Trattoria was one of the best Italian restaurants in New York. The pastas and all that went with them were fresh. The tomatoes were incredible. They had a mound of the stuff and washed it down with Chianti. It was nearing ten when they finished. They sat together hand in hand and talked of Juliet. “And we better soon think of some brothers and sisters for her,” said a quite broody Jacqui.

Charles let the comment pass. He knew that she would try to avoid being pregnant in the summer. She preferred to aim for the winter months, maternity wear is much more elegant then. She had noticed that when Juliet was born.

They carried on talking and drank their coffee. “Let’s head down to Greenwich Village and take a look,” suggested Charles.

“No. Let’s head back. I have plans for you. I want to go home.”

Charles wondered if he had misjudged her. Was she still broody? He decided not to ask. They walked out arm in arm and wandered over to the car under the umbrella of the attentive doorman. The driver was sitting in the front, he was the same Di Maglio driver who had accompanied them since they had arrived. That did not surprise them, though the poor man deserved some time off. They cuddled up to each other in the back of the stretched limo, there is a feeling of luxury in such cars. It was the sense of spaciousness. To top it off, Di Maglio’s had genuine leather upholstery and every piece of wood gleamed.

The driver pulled up at traffic lights just by Carnegie Hall. Once, it had been a landmark building in this part of New York. Now it looked puny in comparison to some of the latter day giant and angular offerings that dominated the New York skyline. Their steel and glass shells allowed the architects to take flights of fancy and defy gravity through illogical shape. Charles was about to ask Jacqui what she thought of them, when he was jerked back from his musing by the rattle of gunfire. He hit the floor, grabbing Jacqui. That wasn’t necessary as she was already there, her gun clear of her bag. Charles pulled out his and waited.

The sound of guns blasting and the pepper of bullets against the metal side of the car had ceased. There was a silence. He could hear no voices. There was no hooting of horns. Nothing moved for what seemed an age, but, in reality, it was only for a moment or two.

Charles yelled to the driver, “Drive. Get out of here.” There was no sound. No movement. He raised his head. The driver was sitting and watching. He hadn’t even ducked. It was as if he were waiting. And then Charles realised that he was. The door of the car was unlocked. It should have been locked the moment they got in. It had been unlocked to allow the gunmen access. A man ducked down, gun in hand. But, before he could register what was happening, Charles blasted him in the chest. The force of the bullets pushed him backward out of the car.

Jacqui slid forward and pulled the door shut. She rammed down the lock as Charles turned to the other side of the car and did the same. Once again there was silence. He smashed at the window between the driver and them. The glass must have been bullet proofed. It was definitely reinforced. Indeed, the whole car must have been made bullet proof, the shots had not penetrated the bodywork or shattered the windows.

The driver looked around. He was sneering. He was obviously part of the plot. They heard a click as the locks were released again. They realised that the driver had done that, and they hit the locks yet again, but this time they would not shut. The driver must have held down the switch in the front. Unless he released it, the locks could not be operated from their section.

“Stand by,” Charles muttered. “They’ll come again. Let’s get out of the car. We’re sitting ducks inside. We have more chance outside.”

She nodded and he indicated the door on his side, “I’ll go first and then give you cover. We try for the cars parked over there. I think the gunmen are all on your side.”

There was another blast of gunfire. The car echoed with the sound of bullets thudding against it from quite close range. They seemed to come from the far side of the road. Charles felt fairly sure that his side was clear of gunmen. He pulled the door open and threw himself behind a parked car as bullets tore through the air in his direction. They hit cars parked at the side of the road. This time there was a crash of glass as window after window disintegrated with the impact of a hail of bullets.

Charles saw the door of the car edge open again and yelled “now” as he fired shots in the direction of the gunmen. The few shots hardly deterred them but it drew their fire away from Jacqui as she in turn hurled herself from the stationary car and joined Charles behind a parked van. Her hair was wet from the rain that was falling now as icy sleet. Her coat was dirty from the road. They hardly looked the smart couple they had been moments before on their departure from the glamorous restaurant.

“Your father’s driver double-crossed us. I don’t know who they are, but they had his help. He unlocked the doors. And he could have accelerated out of the trouble if he wanted.”

“They don’t want to kill us. I think they are trying to kidnap us,” yelled Jacqui. “Otherwise, they would have just sprayed the inside of the car with bullets once they opened the door. They tried to get in. They were surprised by the fact that we were armed. And the gunmen avoided firing directly at us just now. We are worth more to them alive.”

“Then let’s keep them at bay. Shoot as they move forward only. The police will be here soon. Do you have spare ammunition?”

She shook her head. “I have one more clip. That’s all. But we want the driver. If he gets out of the limo, shoot him, but not to kill. Just immobilise him. We need to question him.”

Charles nodded. Two men with drawn guns were approaching their position. They were careful to keep under cover. They couldn’t identify them. They were dressed in dark outfits and wore balaclavas. Charles saw a head poke out above a parked car and fired a warning shot. Whoever it was ducked. A burst of fire went over their heads and Jacqui fired back.

The sound of sirens broke the eerie silence of the last minute. The silence that had been disturbed only by the occasional movements from the gunmen, the shots they had fired at each other and screams from terrified passers-by. There was further movement at the side of the road and a car started up. Charles realised the gunmen were making their getaway. He looked at their limo, the door opened on the driver’s side. A man jumped out and ran across the road towards the getaway car.

As Charles’ shots rang out, the man screamed and fell face forward in the middle of the road. He was writhing in pain and clutching his leg. Then another burst of fire from the waiting car hit him and he was silent.

The car roared away as flashing lights came into view. “Put away the gun,” Charles called to Jacqui. “Wait till the police arrive and they tell us to come out.”

Two cars screamed past them in pursuit of the gunmen. Another screeched to a halt near them. Two policemen appeared from it, guns at the ready. They approached the body in the middle of the street. Charles got up and called out to them, “We were the ones attacked.”

“Come out slowly and put your hands above your head.”

“There are two us. There is me and my wife.”

“Come over, one at a time. The man comes first.”

Charles stepped forward, slowly with his hands up. Two policemen covered him. “I have a gun in my trouser belt. It’s legal. My name is Charles Rossi. I am a banker here on business.”

They took the gun and frisked him before signalling for him to relax. The same thing occurred with Jacqui. They hesitated about frisking her, and then decided against it. It may have been stupid but they seemed reluctant to frisk a woman. That could be useful sometime in the future, they both thought.

Charles went over to the driver. It was annoying that the man’s accomplices had killed him. He needed to know who they were. He bent down. It was strange the driver wasn’t bleeding that much. Charles realised he was still breathing. He bent down and pulled him onto his back. The policeman came over and ordered, “Leave him alone. That’s evidence.”

“The man’s alive,” Charles shouted. “We need an ambulance. He’s an employee of my father-in-law. We need the best treatment. It will be paid for.”

Jacqui appeared, in the meantime, to be speaking into her phone. “Are you calling your father?” asked Charles.

She nodded. “I know he’s alive. We’ll ensure he gets the best treatment. We also need to protect him until we know who tried to assassinate us. He could be a target.”

That was obviously not the reason. They needed to know who he had worked for. The hit had obviously been planned. The bullet proof vest he was wearing had saved his life. And he had not told his accomplices about it. It was uncertain how the police would view the vest.

By now, the place was crawling with police. Charles went up to the officer in charge, “Look, we’re freezing. It’s pouring. We are based in the Pierre although we plan to fly to California tomorrow. We have meetings there next week.”

The officer nodded, “We can interview you at the Pierre. But you can’t take your car before the forensics people have been over it.”

“It’s my father-in-law’s car. He lent it to us for our stay here.”

The police returned the guns. Their licences had been checked in the interim. Suddenly, they were respectful. Whatever checks they had made, Charles and Jacqui were regarded as VIPs. Soon the ambulance arrived for the driver and Jacqui nodded to show it was her father’s men.

Charles commandeered a stationary cab, one that seemed not to have been hit in the gunfire. He told the driver to take them the short distance to the hotel, giving him twenty dollars for his trouble.

As they walked into the hotel, Charles asked Jacqui, “What did your father say?”

“He will have guards on the driver night and day. The man has worked for him for a couple of years. He also wants us to fly in his executive jet to California tomorrow rather than take a scheduled flight. We will leave from La Guardia rather than JFK, and he will have a car pick us up. I know the driver in this case. It’s his regular one. He wants us to use the jet internally for all trips. He is going to assign us new security. Our old friend, Claire, will be joining us. Strange, isn’t it, we were talking of her the other day. He’s put his organisation on red alert. He was shaken about the shooting.”

At the Pierre, the doorman took a double take when he saw them. Charles and Jacqui were both pretty soaked and shivering. An anxious duty manager came up to them. Charles calmed him down and told him to show the police up to their suite when they came. “But give us fifteen minutes to shower and change,” he asked.

They walked upstairs and stripped off. A hot shower and a fresh set of clothes later, they were fine. Jacqui was drying her hair when there was a knock on the door. A check on the spy hole established it was the detectives. Charles decided to be discreet and placed his gun on a table by the door before he opened it. They walked into the small suite with its sitting room adjoining the bedroom. The door between the rooms was half open and Jacqui sang out, “Charles, why don’t you offer a drink. I’ll need five minutes just to dry my hair.”

He turned to the police. “Would you like coffee, tea or something more refreshing?” They both opted for coffee. He rang down. It would be with them in a matter of minutes. One could always guarantee good service, especially with a reservation through the legendary Di Maglio. The management must have been quaking in their boots.

They waited for Jacqui and the coffee. There was an awkward silence, then one of the detectives spoke. “While we’re waiting for your wife, perhaps you could give us your details, and tell us how you came to be involved in this shoot-out?”

“My name is Charles Rossi. I am Chief Executive of the International Bank of Europe in the UK. My wife is a director of the bank. She is Jacqueline Rossi. Her family name was Di Maglio.”

As usual in such company, there was an immediate exchange of looks at the sound of the legendary Mafia name.

“I am here to see US regulators. We are acquiring a US banking group. We were with the New York Federal Reserve Bank today, we went for a meal in mid town tonight and were heading back up to our hotel. Then the car was attacked at traffic lights.”

“Do you both always carry guns?”

“In New York we do. You recognised the family name of my wife. I expected you to. That’s why I mentioned it. Wouldn’t you think it wise to carry guns? In any case we are allowed to. We carry them legally.”

“Isn’t it unusual for a banker and his wife to handle such a situation like professionals?”

“I have been trained in such things. I always thought it could come in useful. It did today. Jacqui has also been trained.”

“Why was your driver wearing a bullet proof vest?”

“I asked myself the same question when I saw he’d survived a blast of a sub machine gun. Perhaps he feels uneasy north of 42nd Street. How should I know why he wore one? You should ask him?”

“Oh, we will, Mr Rossi, as soon as the doctors allow us.”

At that moment, Jacqui came in. She must have realised that the conversation with the detectives was not going that well for she had changed. She was wearing a pair of body hugging jeans and a low cut sweater. They showed all the curves that they should. Her hair was loose and she had avoided much make-up beyond a splash of bright red lipstick. She looked very much like a walking invitation to bed. There were three men in the room and they all thought the same. Two were going to have to leave. And those two were not going to ask difficult questions. They were just keen to watch the body move.

The coffee briefly interrupted the more relaxed atmosphere. Jacqui served it, bending close to the detectives.

“How else can we help you?” she asked in a slightly huskier voice than normal. At the same time she lent forward. There were two sharp intakes of breath. Two men looked at her, totally captivated by the fluttering of her eyelashes. They were besotted by the way she was moistening her lips, looking open mouthed at the tip of her tongue peeping from between her crystal white teeth . They were longing for a glimpse of her breasts as she bent towards them. It was like watching fireflies around a light. It was incredible.

They hardly asked another question. Charles thought they were going to beg to let them stay just to carry on looking, but, in the end, they ambled over to the door. They had contacts for California, they had no further reason to stay. Charles closed the door behind them and, relieved, shot the bolt.

“You bitch,” he said laughing. “The poor guys will be working all night feeling frazzled. They then go home and their wives will have a day job. You’ve condemned them to days of anguish.”

She looked at him wide-eyed, “What about you?”

“I’m immune to temptation. I can withstand all your attempts at seduction. I decide, not you.”

She laughed mockingly as she sat on the edge of the bed and wiggled herself out of her jeans. Keeping her eyes on Charles she gyrated out of her sweater. She bent down and her lips brushed against his. Her breath, so sweet and warm, breathed into his mouth. Her scent, softly sweet and exciting, wafted all over him. He took her in his arms. He felt her body. He shut his eyes. Her hair was on his face. Her lips and tongue were on his mouth. Her breasts were caressing his chest. Her thighs were folded against his. Their legs were intertwined.

Neither could take any more and they pulled themselves away. But it was only to tear off their clothes. Then they were together again. Their breath was coming faster and faster. Their minds were focused on the wonder of the moment as they slowly lay together on the bed and relived an experience they had known some thousand or so times. But, nevertheless, it was an experience that was unique and demanded only to be repeated in another form, in another mood, at another time.