Mercutio's eyebrows rose, and his tense expression relaxed. 'Milady Hellcat herself? An out-of-town landsman? Lord and Saints, I don't know whether to congratulate the man, or pity him! Who is this paragon?'
'Name of Aldanto,' Benito replied. 'Caesare Aldanto.'
'That's not a name I know.' The questions in Mercutio's eyes gave Benito momentary qualms, and he belatedly began to pick his words with care.
'Aristo, Capuletti bastard, half German,' Benito said, sticking to the 'official' story. 'They pay him to keep himself quiet and do a job or two for 'em.'
'To not make an embarrassment of himself, and to do what Milord Capuletti doesn't want to dirty his fingers with, hmm?' Mercutio mused. 'I can see where a smart kid like you could be useful to him. Is he treating you all right?'
Benito nodded vigorously. 'As good as you. 'Cept he tries to keep me outa trouble.'
Mercutio laughed. 'Then I've got no quarrel with him. And how are my old pair of nemeses, Miladies Valentina and Claudia?'
Benito hid another grin. Claudia did not approve of Mercutio Laivetti, and Valentina approved of him even less. She considered him far too reckless, far too careless; which, to Benito, seemed rather a case of pot calling kettle. She hadn't liked it when Benito had taken to hanging around with the older boy--she'd liked it even less when Mercutio had included him in on some of his escapades.
But Mercutio was something special--a kind of substitute brother; while Benito's brother was out of reach in the Jesolo, he'd given Benito someone to tag after, look up to, try to imitate. He'd initiated Benito into the no- longer-quite-so-mysterious ways of Girls--or rather, Women--just prior to his disappearance. And he'd been something of a protector when there was trouble and Claudia wasn't around.
Truth to be told, Mercutio was a great deal that Marco was not. He took risks Marco would not even have thought of, and took them laughingly. Marco was so serious--and Benito grew tired of seriousness, now and again.
It was Mercutio's easy, careless good humor that attracted Benito the most. Mercutio could always find something to laugh at, even when the job went wrong. Mostly, though, nothing went wrong in Mercutio's hands, and he did everything with a flair and style that Benito could only envy.
'Claudia's okay--but ye'll never guess who Valentina's playin' footsie with,' Benito replied, smirking.
'Ricardo Brunelli?' Mercutio laughed.
'Less likely'n that.'
'Less likely--the only man less likely would be a Schiopettieri--' He stopped dead at Benito's widening grin. 'You can't be serious!'
'Dead serious.'
'Dip me in batter and call me fried fish! If Valentina's a-bedding with a Schiopettieri, can Judgment Day be far behind?' Mercutio's eyes were wide and gleeful. 'I can see I've been missing far more than I dreamed!' He let Benito go, and regarded him with a lifted eyebrow and a grin that practically sparkled. 'I can see that getting caught up is going to cost me at least the price of a dinner. So tell me, my young wage earner--when do your employers release you for the day?'
Chapter 71 ==========
The girl approaching the bench of Ventuccio runners was an enigma. She was definitely money. Her hair and clothes said that. If she hadn't been here, in the working part of the Ventuccio warehouse, Benito would have said she was Case Vecchie. There was something vaguely familiar about her. Benito chewed his thumbnail and wondered what brought her to Ventuccio.
She walked up to Ambrosino Ventuccio's desk like she owned him, the desk, and all of Ventuccio, and didn't need to flaunt the fact. The saturnine Ventuccio cousin sat up sharp when he saw her, and put what he was doing aside. She spoke quietly to him for a moment, too quietly for Benito to hear what she was saying, although he strained his ears unashamedly. But then she turned away from Ambrosino towards the bench and crooked her finger, beckoning. Beckoning Benito.
He jumped up and bounced over to her. Ambrosino Ventuccio looked him up and down, speculation in his no- color eyes, then cleared his throat. 'Milady Montescue needs a runner--for something special,' he said, slowly. 'She wants somebody as knows where Marco Felluci went. I told her that he's not here any more, that he got proper leave to go, so he's not in any trouble with us. Then she wanted to speak to you, about him.'
'Yes, milady,' Benito said quickly. 'Milady, I--' He gulped. He recognized the hairdo now. This was the woman who had brought Maria home. She smiled at him. His mouth must have fallen open in response. Only one person had that wide a smile . . . And standing as she was, only he could see her put a finger to her lips.
