'Where to?'
'Dunno,' he said. 'North, I guess. Followin' the division. The front's so far up this ain't even the rear of the rear no more. AMGOT took over the town yesterday.'
'Where can we find them?' I asked.
'AMGOT?'
'No, the newspaper staff, the print shop.'
'If they ain't moved out yet, head down the street to the left of that church. 'Bout a quarter mile or so there's some tin-roofed buildings. One of them has printing presses and that's where they been workin' outta.'
'Do you chaps have an extra copy?' Harry asked.
'Sure,' the corporal answered, signaling one of his squad to hand over a newspaper. He eyed me, with my undershirt and bandage for a uniform, then Kaz in his British field blouse with 'Poland' stitched on the shoulder, and finally Harry, his bleached-out naval cap at a rakish angle, his blond hair flowing out from underneath. 'What kinda outfit you boys with, anyway?'
'Would you believe General Eisenhower's staff?' I asked.
'You better git movin' before somebody comes along what ain't got a sense of humor,' he said, flicking the ash off his butt and field-stripping it.
It was good advice. Taking the turn past the church, I drove slowly down a residential street, flowers and drying laundry decorating the small balconies three and four stories above us. People were going about their business-leaning out windows, laughing, arguing-much like you'd find in any neighborhood back home on any normal day.
But normal didn't mean good. Normal meant you let your guard down. I looked at the rooftops and balconies ahead. I took the first side road I could.
'Where are you going, Billy?' Kaz asked.
'I'm going to find the back way in, and then we walk.'
'Why?'
'Because our sniper could be waiting, and I don't want to give him a second chance. We might even crawl.'
'There's no Willie and Joe in this!' Harry said from the backseat, more upset at the absence of Mauldin's cartoon than the idea of a sniper.
'There's a war on,' I said helpfully as I parked the car behind a roofless building.
This street had a dilapidated look, as if times had left it behind. A rusted motorcycle with two flat tires and no engine lay in the alley, probably right where it had fallen over a couple of years ago. A few small shops with iron bars on the windows were doorless, broken furniture and other debris marking the trail of looters. From the looks of things, they hadn't had heavy burdens. Down the road was an empty stretch, then the tin-roofed buildings the corporal had mentioned. It was as if people had simply used up all their luck here and moved on down the road to try again.
'What do we do now?' Kaz asked.
'Well, since we can't sit and read the funny papers, let's take a walk.'
I got out and checked my. 45, worked the slide, and flicked the safety off. Harry had found a carbine in the back of the car, and Kaz had his Webley revolver. Not exactly heavy weapons, but they'd do the trick. All we had to do was get close.
We walked single file, keeping close to the empty buildings. The sound of our footsteps in the rubble was loud, rock and debris slipping and scraping beneath our boots. The same sound, softer, echoed from around the corner. I stopped at the last building, leaning against the crumbling brick, and listened to the footsteps headed our way. Pressing my back against the wall I motioned Kaz and Harry to halt. Two sets of heavy feet, no voices. I held up the. 45, the grip resting in the palm of my left hand. A curse sounded as one of them slipped, the tone and words familiar to me from North End neighborhoods.
'Porca l'oca!'
Two Italian soldiers, rifles slung from their shoulders, came into view. One was hopping on one leg, rubbing his ankle. The other was square in my sights, his mouth twisted open in shock, as if he wanted to scream but was lockjawed. The. 45 was cocked and locked, my finger against the trigger, only the slightest muscle tension needed for two quick head shots. My vision flickered across them, registering something odd about their uniforms, but I kept my eyeballs on those slung rifles. One move and they'd both be dead.
The guy with the hurt ankle looked up. He knew it. Slowly, while his pal stood rooted to the pavement, he raised his hands, palms out.
He had bent over to tend to his ankle so he looked like he was rising from prayer, the fear of God written across his face.
' Non sparare, non sparare,' he said quietly, soothingly. ' Carabinieri. Siamo carabinieri.'
He turned, showing the large white armband that had caught my eye. In bold English letters, it read: CIVIL POLICE PERMIT PASSAGE AMGOT
'He says not to shoot, Billy,' Kaz said, walking up to them, his Webley still in his hand.
'That much Italian I've learned,' I said, lowering the. 45. 'Ask them where they got those armbands.' Kaz spoke to them, gesturing with the business end of his revolver at the white armbands.
'He says they are from a carabiniere unit, the national military police. They have been put to work by AMGOT, patrolling the town and preventing looting.'
'Ask him what there is to loot out here.'
While the man closest to me finally managed to shut his mouth and stop attracting flies, the other pointed to the buildings, where we were headed. He was taller, and his uniform wasn't as dirty as his buddy's. He spoke emphatically, gesturing to the buildings, to everything around us.
'He says there is machinery in those buildings. A tool-and-die firm, and a printing company. The Americans are employing many locals there. They publish a newspaper and print important proclamations. He and his companion are to guard against looting, so they patrol this entire area. AMGOT is located in the city hall, back in the town center.'
'Tell them to beat it, and to keep their mouths shut.'
Kaz rattled off some Italian and pointed back the way we'd come with his revolver. The tall fellow drew himself up and replied without moving, pointing to Kaz, Harry, and me. The other guy's mouth opened again.
'He asks what we are doing here, interfering with their duties, and why we have weapons drawn in this rear area,' Kaz said. 'And he threatens us with arrest.'
Great. An honest Sicilian cop and a brave one, to boot. Kaz was smiling. It was just like him to enjoy this predicament.
'OK,' I said, holstering my automatic. 'Tell him I'm a cop too. Tell him we are on the trail of an American who's involved with the Mafia. Ask him if he wants to help us apprehend him.'
That will separate the men from the boys, I thought, as Kaz translated. When he was through, the tall man put his hand on the other man's shoulder, and spoke to him quietly, nodding in the direction of the town center. Looking relieved, the little one shut his mouth and darted off, away from us and the Mafia.
'Sergente Renzo Giannini, al suo servizio,' the tall one said, snapping a crisp salute my way.
'Ask him why he's willing to help us,' I said to Kaz as I returned the salute and studied Renzo. His face was long and his nose was watched over by thick eyebrows that met in the middle. He had an intense look about him as his eyes searched each of us. He looked at me as he answered Kaz.
'Because if you are lying and we are thieves, he will arrest us. The people of Vittoria need this work, they have suffered enough. And if you tell the truth, then he wants his revenge. The Mafia killed his father, who was also a carabiniere. '
I looked at Kaz and Harry. A shrug and a nod, and Renzo was in. Now all we needed was a bar to walk into.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
