'Maybe I do.'
She looked at her watch again, the second time in the past ten minutes.
He said, 'You have to be somewhere?'
'I am meeting a friend in Villa Borghese.'
Her cell phone rang. She took it out of her purse and said, 'Pronto.' She listened and said, ' Ciao,' and put the phone away.
She said, ' Mi displace. I have to go.'
He said, 'Maybe I should go with you. You never know, someone might try to steal your purse.' He knew if she left now he'd never see her again.
'It is a long walk. Stay here. Let me buy you another glass of wine.'
She was blowing him off, but in a nice way. He finished his Brunello and said, 'Black cherry and cinnamon, huh? Yeah, I see what you mean.' He stood up and offered his hand. 'It was nice meeting you.'
She got up too and moved toward him and kissed him on the cheek.
'Maybe I should take you up on your offer,' she said. 'You can protect me.'
She smiled and he felt a rush of adrenalin, grinning, but trying not to, excited, but trying to hold it back. He'd miss Italian, his six o'clock class, but he was learning a lot in the company of this real Italian girl and figured he'd learn even more. He was going to Sicily with Chip and Brianna and a girl he was kind of interested in named Trish from New York. The train left at 8:06 that night. So he had an hour and a half to make a move.
As they walked through the narrow streets of the Condotti neighborhood, McCabe was thinking things like this only happened in movies, and he was going to take advantage of it, give it his best shot. Get her number and when he got back in town, call her and set something up. They moved past a cafe with outside tables. A waiter in a white jacket was serving drinks to a tourist couple. He glanced over, seemed to recognize her and said, ' Ciao, bella.'
The girl said, 'Ciao, Enzo,' waved but kept walking.
Chapter Five
Twenty minutes later they were at the Pincio, looking down at Piazza del Popolo where they'd met an hour earlier. This was an even better view of Rome, the city spread out, a dusty haze hanging over the skyline, the giant dome of St Peter's looming in the distance. There were telescopes set up along the balustrade, tourists taking aim at points of interest. McCabe thinking this would be the perfect setting for Chip to deliver his lines from Spartacus.
They strolled through Villa Borghese, her arm hooked around his, walking close as they passed stands of chestnut trees, holmoaks and stylish umbrella pines that looked like they were designed by Armani or Zegna. It occurred to him he didn't even know her name, had forgotten to ask or hadn't thought to. 'What's your name?'
'Angela.'
'That's nice. Angela what?' She didn't answer or ask anything about him. 'Where do you live?'
'That way,' she said, pointing north.
They passed the Temple of Diana and the G-the Monument. They walked further and McCabe could see Via Veneto below the park. He and Chip would sit at an outside table in front of Harry's Bar, watching the prostitutes come down from Borghese, beautiful girls, knockouts in stylish outfits, walking by them, asking if anyone wanted company. Chip would ask how much and then try to negotiate even though he had no intention of buying their services.
Now they were on a path flanked by thick ten-foot-high hedgerows. McCabe stopped to look at a bust on a marble pedestal, the face of a man scarred with graffiti. Someone had drawn eyelashes, a mustache and goatee on him.
Angela glanced at the bust and smiled.
McCabe said, 'Know who this is?'
'No, but I think you are going to tell me.'
'Cardinal Scipione Borghesi, the guy who designed the park.' McCabe realized he was showboating, trying to impress her. 'I memorize a lot of meaningless historical facts, so I can impress good-looking girls I meet.'
She said, 'I can see that.'
McCabe said, 'Did you go to college?'
'For two years,' she said, 'the University of Turin.'
McCabe said, 'What did you study?'
'Business administration,' she said.
They followed the path, crushed stones that wound through the park, a wooded area on the right, open space, a field of grass on the left. McCabe could see the marble facade of Casino Borghese in the distance. 'Where're we meeting your friend?'
'Right here.'
She let go of his arm, stepping away from him as four guys with bandanas covering their faces came through the trees, looking like Halloween bank robbers. They came at him, McCabe wondering if there was some connection between these four and the thieves on the motorcycle, coming back for revenge. But that didn't make sense. There was no way they could've followed them. Now his attention was on Angela, if that was really her name, Angela calm and relaxed, like she was waiting to see what was going to happen.
They circled around him, McCabe separating them in his mind: the big guy who was the size of an NFL nose guard, the short stocky one, the thin wiry guy with blond hair, a bad bleach job. Even with the bandana hiding his face, he recognized Fabio, the long-haired guy from Rebibbia, the one he beat on the basketball court, the one with Mafia connections they'd read about in the newspaper.
He glanced at the girl again, standing there relaxed. She wasn't afraid because she was in on it, she was the bait. But how'd they know he'd go after the thieves on the motorcycle?
McCabe was moving backward, turning in a circle, trying to watch them all. The nose guard came at him first, charging, coming straight at him. McCabe stepped right as he got close, and the big guy overran him. McCabe turned, going to his kidneys with a hard right. The guy turned and McCabe hit him with a right-left combination to the body that dropped him to his knees.
Now the other three charged him. The stocky guy threw a wild right hand that missed. McCabe juked and weaved and hit him with a right hook to the jaw that stunned him. Then somebody tried to tackle him from behind. McCabe throwing an elbow that hit him in the face and he let go. Then something crashed into the side of his head and he staggered and went down, looking up at the long-haired guy standing over him. He rolled over on his hands and knees trying to get up, still dizzy and fell over.
Chip said, 'We better get on, get a seat.'
Trish said, 'If McCabe doesn't go, I'm not going.'
Chip said, 'He'll be here. Have I ever lied to you?'
'Probably,' Trish said.
She gave him a dirty look.
'What kind of attitude is that? Let me get you a drink, take the edge off.'
Chip finished his beer and held the bottle up, telling the bartender he wanted another one. 'Last call,' Chip said.
The girls shook their heads. They were packed in the loud, crowded bar in the Stazione Termini in Rome. The train for Messina was leaving in twenty minutes.
'Why don't we call school, see if he's there,' Trish said.
'Maybe he's mad at you,' Brianna said to Chip, 'for telling your dad he stole the taxi.'
'He doesn't care,' Chip said.
'I would.'
'You're a girl.'
The bartender handed Chip a beer. He pulled two five- euro notes off a roll of bills and left them on the bar
