He pulled up the steep drive and parked and carried Angela inside and unwrapped the tarp on a rug in the main room. She was soaked with sweat and he could see fear or anger in her eyes, or both. He couldn't blame her, wrapped in a tarp for an hour. He felt bad about it. But he couldn't think of another way to get her out of the apartment without being seen.
He pulled the strip of tape from her mouth. She didn't say anything, just looked up at him. Her robe had come apart down the middle where the sash had loosened, exposing the soft curve of her breasts, her flat stomach and the thin dark strip of hair between her legs. He knelt next to her and pulled it closed.
'Don't touch me,' she said.
McCabe was thinking, okay, you don't care if your robe's open, I don't either.
She said, 'Where are we?'
'In the country,' McCabe said.
'I have to use the toilet.'
McCabe took the Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and pulled a blade open and cut the duct tape binding her hands and feet. Now he helped her up and gave her the paper bag with her clothes, and took her to the bathroom. It had a ten- by-ten-inch window that looked down a steep hill to a valley, and beyond it rolling hills extending to a dark ridge of mountains in the distance. The room had a toilet and a sink, a mirror and stone walls and no way out except the door. He closed it and waited.
Ten minutes later she came out wearing a pair of jeans and a white blouse, barefoot, red t-nails on the gray tile floor. The clothes seemed to change her attitude.
She said, 'Listen, take me back to the city. I will talk to them. I will see what I can do about getting your money.'
'Is that right?'
'I will talk to Mazara,' she said. 'I will make sure you get some of it back.'
Like that was it. It was over. She was ready to go home now. McCabe said, 'I don't want some of it. I want it all.' He'd put the bags of groceries on a coffee table in the center of a furniture grouping. He was hungry and reached in a bag, grabbed a loaf of ciabatta and a wedge of pecorino romano. He said, 'You want something to eat?' Looked up, and she was gone. He moved toward the front of the house, down a hallway into the salon. Checked the front door. It was locked. Behind him stairs led to the second level. The stairs, like everything else, were made of stone. He ran up and stood at the top. There was a bathroom straight ahead and bedrooms on both sides, moonlight coming through the upstairs windows casting light across the floor.
He went right into a dark bedroom. The side window was open and he could see her on the roof, moving to the top of the pitch and then climbing over onto the other side, bare feet sliding on the curved tiles. He ran down the stairs into the main room, picked up the roll of duct tape, went into the kitchen and out the back door. A tile slid down the roof, hit gravel and broke in half.
He waited under the overhang. Heard the low hum of the wind and felt a cold breeze come up the hill past the house. Heard her on the flat roof above him. He stepped out in the yard now and said, 'How're you going to get down?'
She had a roof tile in her hand and flung it at him. He stepped aside and it hit the ground. She said, 'You're never going to get the money.'
Now a bat flew over the roof and dove at her.
McCabe said, 'Know what that is?'
She tried to swat it and missed.
'It's a bat,' McCabe said. 'Don't let it get tangled in your hair. It'll bite you and bats have rabies.'
The bat came at her again and she screamed, and moved to the edge of the roof and got down on her hands and knees. She lowered her body over the edge and hung there still five feet from the ground. McCabe reached up, grabbed her and brought her down, and carried her inside. He took her to the bathroom and locked her in with a key that was sticking out of the lock. He went upstairs, got a blanket and pillow off one of the beds and brought them down and unlocked the bathroom door and threw them in.
'I won't sleep in here.'
'You don't have a choice.' He closed the door and locked it.
She pounded on it for a while, and yelled some things in Italian he'd never heard before. She wasn't making it easy, but why did that surprise him? He took the bags of groceries in the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine and poured some in a glass. He cut a couple slices of cheese and ripped off a chunk of bread and went outside. Light was breaking over the hills. He'd get some sleep and see what Mazara had to say. See if he wanted his girlfriend back.
Chapter Eighteen
McCabe opened his eyes, looking up at the beamed ceiling and stone walls of Casale Vecchia, and for a split second forgot where he was. He got up and went outside and took a leak in the bushes next to the house. It was a bright clear day, a cool breeze blowing up the hill. He looked out across the lush green countryside and saw the dark shapes and angles of Viterbo about five kilometers away.
He went back inside, splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth at the kitchen sink. He was tired, groggy. There was a clock on the wall. It was 9:30. He'd slept maybe three hours. He rubbed his eyes, yawned and stretched, trying to wake up.
He'd brought eggs, pancetta and bread from Angela's apartment. He found coffee in the freezer, and put it in the coffee maker on the counter and made a pot. He fried the pancetta in a skillet on the stovetop. Cracked six eggs in a bowl and found a whisk in a drawer and beat them. The ciabatta was hard so he put it in the oven to soften it. He scrambled the eggs and sprinkled in grated cheese. Drained the pancetta on a paper towel to get rid of the grease. Took the bread out of the oven and buttered it. He put the eggs, pancetta and bread on heavy white plates and poured coffee in two mugs, put everything on a tray and took it to the dining table in the main room.
He knocked on the bathroom door and said, 'Want something to eat?'
She didn't answer. He put the key in the lock and opened the door. She was stretched out on the floor, blanket under her, looking up at him, yawning.
'Come out if you're hungry.' He closed the door and went to the table and waited for a couple minutes, and when she still wasn't out he scooped up a forkful of eggs and put it in his mouth. He ate the scrambled eggs and pancetta, and when he was finished, wiped the plate clean with a piece of stale bread.
Ten minutes later, the door opened and she appeared, hair pulled back in a ponytail, crossed the room and sat at the table across from McCabe but didn't look at him. She stared at the plate of food, picked up her fork and took a bite of eggs and made a face.
'It's cold,' she said.
'That's what happens when hot food sits too long,' McCabe said. 'You don't come right away.'
She picked up the coffee mug and took a sip, eyes looking over the rim at him. She took a bite of her cold eggs and ate them and went back for more. She ate like she was hungry, and drank the coffee and ignored him. He watched her thinking how good she looked first thing in the morning. He said, 'How do you like it?'
She didn't say anything, just kept eating.
He waited till she laid her fork on the empty plate and said, 'How do I get in touch with Roberto Mazara?'
She glanced at him and said, 'I don't know.'
'You like it in there,' he said indicating the bathroom.
'Because that's where you're going to be spending most of your time.'
'Believe me,' she said. 'He's not going to give you the money.'
McCabe said, 'Want to bet? I got something of his and he's going to want it back.'
'I don't belong to Roberto,' she said, 'If that's what you are saying.'
'As long as he thinks you do,' McCabe said.
'He is going to come after you,' Angela said. 'And he is not going to stop.'
'That's okay,' McCabe said. 'But he better bring the money. All of it.'
