Viper

81

Via Caprese Michelangelo, centro citta, Napoli Ricardo Mazerelli's visitor parked more than two blocks away and insisted that at the end of their meeting he was given the footage from the surveillance cameras that he was sure would be running.

Lieutenant Pietro Raimondi settled down in a chair in the penthouse conservatory, overlooking the streaming firefly lights of cars heading along the Bay of Naples. Ice tinkled in the two highball glasses of vodka and Coke that Mazerelli placed on a stone-topped coffee table beside the trickling waters of the Japanese garden. 'So, what have you got that is so valuable you wish to see me at such short notice and under such unusual conditions?'

Raimondi told him. And he told him his price for ensuring that the information never crossed another investigator's desk. 'I have Antonio Castellani's dossier, with its diary entries and photographs. I also have details of where Signor Castellani stashed weapons given to him by Fredo Finelli and his Family members. And, I have detailed accounts of money extorted from Antonio Castellani over more than a decade.'

Mazerelli picked up his drink and looked unperturbed. 'Ramblings of an old man. Not enough to raise a warrant, let alone bring a case to trial. And even if you got that far, you would be gambling that Signor Castellani's health held out. He is, after all, quite aged and could die at any moment.'

'I also have video-taped testimony – made by myself – of Signor Castellani. Should it ever be needed,' he lied.

Mazerelli swirled the ice in his glass. 'And for this you want one million euros in untraceable cash?'

'I do.'

The two men studied each other. Mazerelli wondered whether the cop was wired and it was all a trap. Raimondi wondered whether he had stepped out of his depth and made a mistake that would get him killed.

'I think our meeting is over,' said the lawyer.

Raimondi was shocked. This wasn't at all what he'd planned. He stalled for time. 'I haven't finished my drink yet.'

The consigliere rose from his chair and gestured to the door. 'Take it with you. I have plenty of glasses.'

The policeman put the drink down. 'You promised me the surveillance tapes. I'd like them now.'

'Lieutenant, you come in here making preposterous suggestions about my employer, most of which constitute defamation of his good character, then you demand a million euros for worthless rubbish. You're lucky to be leaving without a lawsuit, let alone with testimony of your offensive visit.'

Raimondi stood up, shook the creases out of his suit trousers and in one swift movement grabbed Mazerelli by the throat. He banged the consigliere against the wall. Knocked the breath out of him. 'Now listen, you sweet-mouthed motherfucker, the price has just gone up to two million. And, unless you give me the recordings, I'm going to pull your balls off, stick them in your mouth and make you swallow a whole lot more than your pride.' Raimondi thumped him against the wall one more time, then let him go. 'Don't piss me around. This is a serious offer, so take it seriously.'

Mazerelli doubled up, red-faced and coughing for air. He was still wheezing when he reached the cupboard in the hallway and ejected the disc from the surveillance unit's recorder.

'Thanks,' said Raimondi as Mazerelli handed it over. 'Two million. One month. Give your boss the message. And tell him not to even think about trying to get at me. If he does, then everything I told you about will be in my boss's hands within an hour of such foolishness.' He opened the front door and was halfway through it when he turned back. 'One final thing; Antonio Castellani and his family get to stay where they are. No evictions and no further intimidation.'