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This time it only rings twice.
“Who the fuck is this?” The voice sounds like some beast in a cavern, deep in darkest east Hell. “You called once already. What’s the matter, you can’t leave a message? The fuck you want?”
In the sweetest voice I can summon, I tell him, “I’m not a fan of leaving unnecessary digital traces. And, if I may, who the fuck am I speaking to?”
“Oh, you want to play it that way?” I can hear him suck breath through his teeth. “I’m guessing you must be the frail my dimwit nephew was panting and slobbering about.”
Panting and slobbering? This is the man Alessio told me I was bound to like and get along with?
Well, at least the call reinforces what Mikey told me. My instincts are still sharp. This can not be the personality Jerry has been showing to Alessio.
Mikey gestures for Gianni to bring more coffee and grappa. I frown and hold up a hand to say, ‘no,’ but Mikey has on his ‘Mikey knows best,’ look and I know better than to argue.
The call is brief and to the point. Jerry gives me a time and a place and he hangs up in my face. If he weren’t Alessio’s uncle, I would go and make holes in him.
My thoughts turn back to what Mikey and I were discussing before.
“I want to make certain that every man’s arms and combat skills are up to par.”
“They all have passes to one or more of the ranges.”
“Make sure that they use them. And give everyone a weekly session with a top flight instructor.”
“You know they’re all going to get grouchy and say their skills are sharp as knives.”
“You’re right, of course. Set up a weekly tournament. Post the top twenty scores and let everyone know there’s a case of top shelf cognac for the top score, a case of vintage champagne for the second best, and five grand for the most accurate and consistent shooting of the month.”
“Do you still want me to give them instructors?”
“No. You were right. Let’s motivate them to get their own training.” Mikey’s smile broadens as I tell him, “But I do want everyone trained in those martial arts that Mossad use.”
“Krav Maga?”
I nod. “Remember a girl from Mossad who came to the old house and gave us training? Hire her if you can. Ask her if she can get someone to teach Brazilian Ju-jitsu, too.”
Mikey nods. “Both of them are high intensity, ruthless and savage martial arts forms. Very efficient and ultra lethal.” He makes a note on his phone. “You want those lessons to be compulsory, Princess?”
“No.” That gives me an idea. “But I want a running tournament and everyone competing. No excuses.”
“You’re expecting trouble.”
“No, I want to prevent some.”
We’re both thoughtful for a few moments until Gianni shows up by my side. Mikey was right about me needing another shot of grappa. There’s a buzzing in my chest and the blood zings in my arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ifeel like Alessio is sending me to my execution. That would almost be better. I’m on my way to meet his uncle Jerry.
The venue is the old De Soto hotel on Alaskan Way. It must have been elegant, in its day. The kind of place where the rich and infamous would come to be indiscreet and misbehave themselves.
Mikey pulls the limo up in front of the white steps. He walks around the car to opens the door for me. I step out and take my time to look around.
I’m in a white tailored Chanel jacket over a black silk shirt and pencil skirt. With the lapis lazuli colored shoes, belt and pillbox hat, my appearance and my silhouette aer the only things I’m confident about.
It seems like they took over whole hotel. The scene is like a bigger, more hyped-up version of Alessio’s show at la Castellano. Maybe Jerry put up a number like this for Alessio. Perhaps that gave Alessio the idea that this is how we should all stage meetings. If he came away thinking that, then he’s a big idiot.
Men in sunglasses flex and bulge in dark suits around the block — you’d think when these guys went to their tailor, they would know enough to add a little room. Some space for the hardware they’re apt to pack on the day-to-day.
