As if the racket from tearing down the wall had not been bad enough, the noise from the metal drills was absolutely hellish. Backing away from the mayhem, hands flat against our ears, Janice and I were only too aware that we were rapidly approaching the bitter end of our quest.
Ducking through the hole in the wall and returning to the main part of the crypt-a visibly distressed Friar Lorenzo in tow-we saw right away that the whole place was, quite literally, falling apart. Large cracks were traveling along the plaster walls and up the vaulted ceiling, creating cobweb patterns that needed no more than the tiniest vibration to spread further in all directions.
“I say we make a run for it,” said Janice, looking around nervously. “At least back in the other cave we only have dead people to deal with.”
“And then what?” I asked. “Sit around underneath the hole in the ceiling, waiting for these… gentlemen to come and help us out?”
“No,” she replied, rubbing her arm where a star had strafed her, “but one of us could help the other get out, and then that other could crawl back through the tunnel and get help.”
I stared at her, realizing she was right, and that I was an idiot for not thinking of this approach before. “So,” I said, hesitantly, “who gets to go?”
Janice smiled wryly. “You go. You’re the one who has something to lose-” Then she added, more smugly, “Besides, I’m the one who knows how to deal with the Cocco-Nut.”
We stood like that for a moment, just looking at each other. Then I caught sight of Friar Lorenzo out of the corner of my eye; he was kneeling in front of one of the stripped stone tables, praying to a God who was no longer there.
“I can’t do it,” I whispered. “I can’t leave you here.”
“You have to,” said Janice, firmly. “If you won’t, I will.”
“Fine,” I said, “then go. Please.”
“Oh, Jules!” She threw her arms around me. “Why do you always have to be the hero?”
We could have saved ourselves the emotional turmoil of fighting over martyrdom, for by now the metal drills had stopped, and the men came pouring out of the side chapel, laughing and joking about their exploits and throwing the four walnut-sized gemstones back and forth. The last person to emerge was Umberto, and I could see he was thinking exactly the same as we: Did this finally conclude our business with Cocco and the gang from Naples, or would they decide they wanted more?
As if they had read our thoughts, the men now stopped in the middle of their merriment and took a good solid look at Janice and me, standing as we were, huddled against each other. Cocco in particular seemed to take pleasure in the sight of us, and the smirk on his face told me that he knew exactly how we might still add value to his enterprise. But then, after undressing Janice with his eyes and concluding that, regardless of her nasty attitude, she was just another scared little girl, his calculating eyes turned cold, and he said something to his men that made Umberto jump forward, arms wide, to position himself between them and us.
“No!” he begged, “Ti prego!”
“Vaffanculo!” sneered Cocco, pointing the submachine gun at him.
By the sound of it, the two of them went on to exchange a legion of pleas and obscenities before finally, Umberto switched into English.
“My friend,” he said, all but dropping to his knees, “I know you are a generous man. And a father, too. Be merciful. I promise, you will not regret it.”
Cocco did not reply right away. His squint suggested that he was not happy to be reminded of his own humanity.
“Please,” Umberto went on, “the girls will never speak to anybody. I swear to you.”
Now, finally, Cocco grimaced and said, in his halting English, “Girls always talk. Talk-talk-talk.”
Behind my back Janice squeezed my hand so hard that it hurt. She knew, as well as I did, that there was no earthly reason why Cocco should let us walk away from this place alive. He had his gems now, and that was all he wanted. What he most certainly did not need were eyewitnesses. Even so, I had a hard time understanding that this was really it; after all our crawling around and helping him find the statue, he would really kill us? Instead of fear I felt fury-fury that Cocco was the cold bastard he was, and that the only man to step forward and defend us was our father.
Even Friar Lorenzo stood idly by, going through his rosary with closed eyes, as if none of what was going on had anything to do with him. But then, how could he possibly know? He understood neither evil nor English.
“My friend,” said Umberto again, doing his best to speak calmly, perhaps hoping it would rub off on Cocco, “I spared your life once. Remember? Does that count for nothing?”
Cocco pretended to think about it for a moment. Then he replied, with a contemptuous grimace, “Okay. You spared my life once. So, I will spare a life for you.” He nodded at Janice and me. “Who you like most? The stronza or the angelo?”
“Oh, Jules!” whimpered Janice, hugging me so hard I couldn’t breathe. “I love you! No matter what happens, I love you!”
“Please don’t make me choose,” said Umberto in a voice I could barely recognize. “Cocco. I know your mother. She is a good woman. She wouldn’t like this.”
“My mother,” sneered Cocco, “she will spit in your grave! Last chance: the stronza or the angelo? Choose now, or I kill both two.”
When Umberto didn’t answer, Cocco walked right up to him. “You,” he said slowly, placing the muzzle of the submachine gun against Umberto’s chest, “are a stupid man.”
In our panic, both Janice and I were too frozen to leap forward and try to prevent Cocco from pulling the trigger, and one second later, an earpiercing gunshot sent a tremor through the whole cave.
Certain that he had been shot, we both screamed and ran up to Umberto, expecting him to fall over, already dead. But amazingly, when we reached him he was still standing, stiff with shock. The one who was lying on the floor, grotesquely sprawled, was Cocco. Something-a thunderbolt from heaven?-had gone right through his skull, taking off the back of his head on the way.
“Jesus Christ!” whimpered Janice, white as a ghost, “what was that?”
“Get down!” cried Umberto, pulling fiercely at us both. “And cover your heads!”
Everywhere around us, Cocco’s men began scrambling for cover as a series of gunshots rang out, and those who paused to return the fire were taken down instantly, with startling accuracy. Lying flat on my stomach on the floor, I turned my head to see who was firing the shots, and for the first time in my life, the sight of advancing police officers in combat gear was not unwelcome. Pouring into the crypt through the hole we had made, they took up position behind the nearest pillars and yelled at the remaining bandits to-I assumed-drop their weapons and surrender.
My relief at seeing the police and realizing that our nightmare was over, made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. If they had arrived one minute later than they did, everything would have been different. Or maybe they had in fact been there for a while, just watching us, waiting for an excuse to drop the hammer on Cocco without a trial. Whatever the details, as I lay there on the stone floor, my head still spinning from the horror we had been through, I was quite ready to believe they had been sent by the Virgin Mary, to punish those who had violated her shrine.
Faced with hopeless odds, the few surviving mobsters eventually emerged from behind the columns, hands in the air. When one of them was stupid enough to bend over and reach for something on the floor-most likely a gemstone-he was shot immediately. It took me a few seconds to realize that he was the one who had groped me and Janice back in the cave, but even more important, that the man who shot him was Alessandro.