Hitting the ground so hard my head cleared, I felt around frantically, ran my hands up Johnson’s legs and body … before I found the .38 wet with his blood and brains.
Huddled next to the dead man I was covered with icy sweat as I tried to decide whether I could make it into the plane, or crawl away in the wheat. It would take me minutes to start the Cessna’s engines: I’d literally be a sitting duck for the rifleman, a….
From not very far off in the darkness a woman’s voice called out in English, “Kelly! Stand up with your hands over the head. We do not wish to harm you!”
Something about the throaty sound was familiar. I asked, “Who are you?”
“Marisa, Signore Kelly. Please stand up slowly — doll.”
Shoving the gun into my boot I got to my feet, hands above my head, aware of the great target I made against the faint light from the plane door.
I heard steps coming toward me, then the light from a powerful flash walloped my eyes. Blinking furiously, turning my head aside, I saw Marisa walking through the wheat, holding the light. Everything was so absolutely unreal — she was wearing high-style tight black leather pants showing off fine legs, while a hooded pink sweatshirt framed her warm face. I had this feeling she was merely walking in from the beach at Viareggio — although there was hardly anything dreamy about the black automatic swinging from her neck by a leather strap, nestling between the wonderful hills her breasts formed in the sweatshirt. It was plain she wasn’t wearing a bra.
There was a beefy man in his 50s on one side of her, a tall kid on the other side. The older man carried a powerful rifle in his thick arms — wore an old winter underwear top shoved into dark work pants. A pale blue scarf above a torn white skirt was knotted around the teenager’s thin neck, and along with his heavy glasses it all added to an owlish look. But the hairy legs beneath the brown shorts had the good muscles of a soccer player. He sported a burp gun with a hell of a long shell clip. Both men stared at me with emotionless eyes.
Marisa smiled, the same flash of hot excitement I remembered so well. “Drop your hands, Mr. Kelly. But please, try nothing foolish. We think of you on our side, in this.”
“I’m with you, Marisa, all the way!” I told her, cautiously lowering my mitts. The old man’s thick finger seemed welded to his rifle trigger. “Sure quite a coincidence, you knowing about this, honey.”
Marisa shook her pretty head. “Coincidence? Ah yes, I know what you mean. But no, we do not work so … so … how you say? … so careless. When neo-fascists attacked you that night in Viareggio, we must find out why. We even search your hotel room. But we get very interested when informer tell us this one — ” Marisa pointed a blue-sneakered foot at Johnson — “arrange it all. Then, when you were so curious with me about Dongo treasure … we follow you all the time. You see, we try leave little to … chances.”
“Yeah. I thought I saw you in Milan, had the feeling I was being tailed. Now what?”
“I like think you were doing this under — big stress, Mr. Kelly, but you always had in mind turn trunks over to our government.”
“Sure, I guess so. You bet! I was ready to fly to Rome!”
“Yes, I think maybe that why the Nazi about to kill you. Well, we also want chests. We …”
“A four way split?” I asked, suddenly full of relief. “That’s okay with me.” I smiled at the two gunmen. Nothing changed in their faces.
“Split? Oh doll, you are wonderful!” Marisa said, looking lovely as she grinned up at me. “There should be very important documents in chests, proving who worked with the Nazi swine in high offices and still remain in high places. That is what we seek.”
“And the loot, the gold?”
“It will be put to best use, in time return to the real owners, the Italian people.”
“Returned by you?”
“By my party. No one person shall gain, that is the truth.”
I knew I’d been had — again. “What about him?” I asked, confused, nodding down at Johnson.
“We shall also put him to his best use — fertilizer for this field. I tell them to remove the other two trunks from your aircraft. All right, Signore Kelly … Kent?”
“Sure,” I said, as if I had any choice.
She rattled off something in Italian. The older man nodded at me and Marisa must have told him not to worry. They had a grunting tough time getting the trunks out, but still it was easier than lifting them onto the plane. I told them to be damn careful of the wingwalk.
The old guy was strong as a cage of apes, he and the owl-faced young fellow actually threw the trunks out. I had this horror feeling they would land on Johnson, smash his corpse … and didn’t know why that should worry me. The last trunk came flying through the faint cabin light, hit the trunk to which Johnson was still tied, happily bounced off on the other side. When it hit the ground, the top split open.
Marisa turned her flash on the loot. All I could think of was — it looked exactly like a burglar’s swag. I expected rows of neat gold bars … but this was a jumble of papers, silver plate, gold cups, rings and diamond stickpins by the hundreds, plus old fashioned watches, spoons, even gold crosses. Instead of the treasure of a dictator it seemed more like the haul of a cat burglar who’d ransacked a villa.
The teenager bent down and excitedly thumbed through the papers, calling out names to Marisa. The older man poked at the rings with his heavy shoe. There was much fast Italian being traded back and forth, most of which I couldn’t understand. But I was suddenly full of hope once more — the papers really seemed more important to them than the jewels.
Marisa’s lush lips smiled at me. She asked, “Before you fly away, Kent, do you want some of this, as a reward?”
“No.”
“As a souvenir?”
I shook my head. Both men were busy bending over the open trunk, the jewels sparkling like a sky-full of tiny stars in the light of the flash. “Marisa, listen to me!” I whispered quickly. “They want the papers, those documents — let ‘em have ‘em! I have a gun in my boot, can disarm them. With the jewels we can live the rest of our lives on some South Sea island! Honey, this is our chance for adventure and romance, for …!”
“Kent, can you not understand the importance of this? The papers will convict and expose mass murderers! My own brother died before a Nazi firing squad. My father was tortured by Mussolini’s …”
I squeezed her shoulder. “Not so loud, honey. I’m all for the swine getting it, and the papers will do the trick. I’m talking about us, you and me. They get the evidence and we take enough to live happily on an island, our own little world of joy — we’ll have it made!”
Her dark eyes seemed sad. “Kent, there are no little’ worlds any more, or even big ones, which can not be reached. Italy is my country, why should I want to leave it, flee to some island?”
“Because you said you were a child of war — have adventure in your blood. Like me! Marisa, I could go for you and … you call me a living doll. Honey, it will be paradise. I’ll even marry you …” The look of utter amazement on her pretty face made my words peter out.
“Kent, I call you doll because that is what you are, pretty and nice to see, but not yet awake up here.” She tapped her hooded head. “Up there, you indeed like a doll. As for marrying you, I am flattered you ask, but I am married. The boy who helps me on the beach is Rinaldo, my son. My husband cooks the cakes and….”
“The blind man?” I mumbled.
“Ay, he lost his eyes in the war, fighting fascism.”
I didn’t believe her. “I’ve never seen a ring on your left hand?”
She smiled. “I do not wear a wedding band because the salt air will harm it. I am most happy with my son, very in love with my fine husband. As you say in your slang, I already have it made — why should I seek an island, leave my dear ones?”
For a moment we merely stared at each other. I felt like the world’s champion horse’s rear. Marisa asked, “Doll, you are certain you do not want some of … jewels, for your trouble? For a souvenir?”
“I don’t collect souvenirs, that’s for suckers.” My voice was barely a whisper.
“Then I think best you fly now. And Kent, it be no good for any of us to ever talk about this. In time it all may come out, maybe in the pages of history, but for now, you not speak of it, nor will we. You understand?”
I nodded.
She reached up, patted my cheek. “You are sweet, Kent. Other days, other times, we might have best fun on that island you think still possible to find — outside of cinema, or dreams.”
I squeezed her hand. “Thanks for the brush-off, Marisa.”
“I mean it, other times….”
“Yeah. Don’t give me a sisterly kiss — I’m too bushed to take that.”
Her face looked puzzled. Then, pulling her hand from mine, she slowly patted my cheek again. “Also, please do not attempt use gun you have in your boot. Kent, when I was small girl I only have one doll, I never like break it.” She touched the automatic hanging between her swaying breasts.
“I know, you used an empty hand grenade for a rattle.” I pulled Johnson’s .38 from my flying boot, handed it to her — butt first. “Add this to your charm necklace. Tell your friends to hold tight to their precious papers in the prop backwash. So long, Marisa.”
Climbing into the Cessna I switched on the landing lights, started the twin engines roaring in the night. As I taxied down the field, wing-tip tanks seeming to float on a sea of wheat, turned for take-off…. I saw Marisa wave, blow a kiss at me.
Once airborne, I pulled up the landing gear, circled sharply to gain altitude. For a split second I saw them below in a tiny circle of light.
Looking at my dirty clothes, feeling my unshaved face, I wondered if I’d scare hell out of Valerie, barging in on her before breakfast.
But Valerie would understand — probably understand too damn well. A long sleep plus lots of living, much talking and Valerie’s cold, common sense — that’s what I needed, and badly. Of course I’d never tell her about tonight, never really be able to tell anyone — perhaps in time I wouldn’t believe it myself. But I had to be with Valerie now.
I knew I was being pushed into … something. That I’d lost … I didn’t know exactly what. It was simple and it was confusing. I wanted only to see Valerie, was rushing to her at 240 mph. I was happy. I was also sad.
I gave up trying to figure things out, plotted a Paris course on my maps … well aware I was also flying directly to that split-level in Kew Gardens.
I not only felt exhausted … but very old.
THE END