Gracie couldn’t stay where she was. She reached for the latch, planning to go through the flat, when she heard a soft call.
“Concetta?” The voice came from the balcony diagonally above her. “Meet me here.” Angelo pointed to the balcony directly below him.
She stared. Only two feet separated each terrace, but she still couldn’t get over the long drop down, and there was a man on the street watching for them. Just one long step, she told herself. From one narrow concrete ledge to the next.
“Hurry,” Angelo whispered. “I can hear them in the hallway, and I need your help to get down.”
Gracie climbed onto the ledge and tried to ignore the sudden fear that gripped her. Don’t look, she told herself. This isn’t any worse than when Angelo lowered you down. Still partially crouched over so she’d be harder to spot, she extended her left leg and shifted her weight forward. Her back leg slipped at the awkward angle, but she managed to tumble into the next balcony.
Seconds later, she saw Angelo’s feet dangling from the balcony above. “Pull me in,” he said.
She grabbed his leg, then his belt and did her best to keep him from falling backward. He hit the concrete floor hard, but she reached out just in time to keep his head from cracking into the ledge.
“Stop!” a voice from the street shouted. “Down one floor, over two units.”
The search must have moved from the mother’s apartment to the left while Angelo had jumped to the right.
Gracie yanked open the door and almost ran into the flat’s occupant, an aged lady armed with a broomstick.
“Get out of here!” she yelled.
Gracie quickly obeyed, and Angelo stayed on her heels. They ran into the hallway again as noise from the search party sounded in the stairwell.
“Psst.”
The sound came from behind her. Gracie turned and saw a wrinkled hand motioning to them from a doorway a few units away. Gracie met Angelo’s eyes, and he nodded. They didn’t have many options now, so they’d have to trust a stranger. They sprinted for the door, and their unknown benefactor ushered them inside.
The apartment was just as rundown as the others, but the large man who’d saved them seemed less downtrodden than either of the women. He shut the door softly, put a finger to his lips, and pressed his ear to the door.
“How many are chasing you?” he asked.
“Five,” Gracie said. “But at least one is outside still.”
“They’ll probably search each flat, and I don’t have anywhere to hide you. If you take the stairwell at the end of the hallway and go to the basement, someone there will be able to help you.”
Gracie nodded. She looked at Angelo, and he too seemed willing to follow the man’s instructions.
The old man scratched his chin. “We have to hope they all search flats at the same time and don’t leave anyone in the hall.”
The wait was tense. Gracie was sure both men could hear her heart pounding. Angelo looks just as nervous as you feel, she told herself. After a few minutes, the sounds from the hallway grew quiet. The resident softly cracked the door and slowly stuck his head out. He glanced both ways, then motioned them forward and pointed toward the stairwell.
“Good luck,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” Gracie said.
The man winked at her before returning to his flat.
They had to pass several doors before they reached the stairwell, and as Gracie grasped the lever, one of the Italian plainclothes finished his search and spotted them. Angelo drew his Beretta and fired. Gracie saw the man drop.
“Hurry. They’ll all be after us now,” Angelo said.
Gracie sprinted down the stairs to the ground floor, and then Angelo caught her by the shoulder and motioned for her to slow. He put a finger over his lips. Someone above burst into the stairwell, and as the rattle of his footsteps echoed through the passage, Angelo and Gracie tiptoed to the basement.
Please don’t let the door squeak, Gracie prayed when they reached the basement. She could still hear their pursuer, but he seemed to be stopping at each floor to check if they’d run into the hallway. Angelo cracked the door open, and to Gracie’s relief, it didn’t make a sound.
She stepped inside, and Angelo closed the door softly. A single dim lightbulb lit a long, dusty corridor lined with mechanical closets.
“Where do we hide?” she whispered.
“He said there would be someone to help us.” Angelo walked ahead of her and stopped at the first full-sized door they saw. He raised his hand to knock, then looked back at Gracie for confirmation. She nodded.
Gracie heard a shuffling behind the door before a short, balding man opened it.
“Can you hide us?” Gracie asked.
“A man on the third floor sent us,” Angelo added.
“My chess partner, no doubt.” The man stepped back so they could come inside. “I’m the building’s caretaker.” He smiled, then let out half a laugh. “And caretaker for any of the Gappisti friends he sends my way.” He led them into his living room, past the kitchen, and through a bedroom. He pointed to a short bookcase. “Help me move this.”
Angelo stepped forward and helped slide the bookcase to the side. Behind it was a recessed alcove no bigger than a normal bed.
“They’ll probably search every flat. I’ll let you out when they’ve finished.”
“Thank you,” Gracie said.
“Go ahead.” Angelo motioned her inside.
The room was only four feet high, so she ducked and crept forward before sitting on the hard concrete floor. Angelo climbed in beside her, and the caretaker slid the bookcase in front of them, enveloping the two fugitives in darkness.
“I feel like I’m in a tomb,” Angelo whispered into the black silence.
Gracie was simply glad they hadn’t been forced to hide in the catacombs. “Do you think they’ll find us?”
“I still have a mostly full clip if they do.”
The niche was so small that their shoulders and hips touched. Angelo took her hand and gave it a squeeze. He’d probably meant to comfort her, but she gasped out loud as pain shot through her hands.
“I’m sorry,” Angelo said. “I forgot. Are they still bleeding?”
Now that they weren’t running, the throbbing in her hands was just about all she could concentrate on, but she couldn’t see them in the dark. “I can’t tell.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Did you get any cuts?”
“No, I had the brick in one hand, and the other never touched the window. I’m sorry I didn’t think to offer it to you.”
“Well, we didn’t have much time to think, did we?”
Angelo put an arm around her shoulder. “There, is this more comfortable?”
His arm was warmer and softer than the wall. “For now,” she said.
Time dragged on, and they didn’t dare speak above a whisper. They both grew restless, and it was hard to find positions that didn’t quickly grow uncomfortable. Gracie shivered in the cold, but the coolness of the walls and floor eased some of the pain in her hands when she rested them against the hard surface.
Eventually, someone came to search. Gracie was afraid to breathe as she heard muffled voices from the other side of the bookcase. Then it was quiet again. She drifted off to sleep for a while—she wasn’t sure how long—and when she woke, she had a kink in her neck. Angelo had fallen asleep too, leaning on her shoulder. She couldn’t see him, but the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing convinced her he was dozing.