The obsessional slob opposite her might have been a trillionaire for all I know, but he was too thick even to notice her loveliness, the bum. Most of the time he dabbled with his food and referred to his paper. Adriana again ate like a sparrow, hardly a mouthful.
The bill was collected from me and taken to Signor Albanese who was too busy reading and picking his teeth even to notice it had numbers on. I left like a stray, without even a friendly serf to hold the doorhandle.
Dusk was settling swiftly on the streets as I sauntered out to be followed. Last night Anna, tonight one of Arcellano's creeps.
The Via Arenula leads down to the River Tiber at one end of the Tiberina, a small island. Over nosh I'd worked it all out. I took my time because I knew exactly where I was going and I didn't want the tail to get lost.
This ship-shaped island's supposed to be where Aesculapius the God of Medicine landed when introducing doctors to the civilized world. He has a lot to answer for. There's a small sloping square on the island and a lovely old church at the downward side where the old Aesculapius temple used to be. I'd already been inside to see the woodwork on its confessional. The island has a few cramped buildings, including a pizzeria and a shop.
By the time I ambled on to the central bridge it was all very quiet. Over in the city cars were flowing in relentless streams. Buses were making their last runs. Here on the dark island an occasional car bounced over the bridge, lights on now. The Fatebene-fratelli Hospital windows were shining, and a light mist was beginning to envelope the island.
Three cars remained parked on the piazza's slope. Nobody walking, and the tourists all gone home.
Still slowly, stopping every so often to look idly at the water, I wandered across the top of the square and picked up one of those polythene bags that blow about streets everywhere these days. Then I waited for him to come into view. My heart was belting along in spite of my outward calm, and my blasted hands were damp and cold. He was there, being at least as casual as I was, strolling over towards me.
My cue. I drifted down to the San Bartolomeo with its Romanesque tower, glancing in the artificial light into two of the cars. One was a French thing with a gear lever like a cistern's ballcock, the other a Fiat. I ignored the vintage Talbot over by the wall. I was in enough trouble.
At first I'd had some lunatic notion of hiding behind one of the ancient columns in the church's candle-lit gloom. There's a veritable avenue of them leading to the great tomb at the high altar. The trouble is he might be armed and what could I do then? He knew I knew he was following me, and even had the bloody gall to light a fag on the bridge.
That's nerve. The worrying thing was, he looked vaguely familiar.
Finally I could stand it no longer and strolled in. The second I was inside the doors I slid along the left side of the nave towards the north transept. There were steps up at the chancel, which baffled me for a horrible second. Luckily there was the priest's door on my left, leading outside as I had guessed into that crummy little priest's garden you can see from across the river, with the world's worst statue of Christ looking utterly lost.
Emerging, I felt exposed, really prominent. The lights of all Rome were visible, the Palatine and the Capitolino looming over there in the gloom and the great floodlit avenue of the Marcello Theatre sweeping down to the water. Rome was about its busy nocturnal business—and I was about mine.
Doubling back sounds easy. On the side of an ancient church, with inhabited multistoreyed dwellings stuck on the side, it's not so easy as all that. I guessed the bastard would wait outside in the Piazza. Short of swimming in the river there was no way out. I clambered over the wall to the church stonework and groped upwards.
There was some guttering, but I'd never wanted Protestant Gothic so badly in my life—
the easiest churches to rob by a mile, incidentally. I swung on the crumbling stuff for five interminable yards before managing to clutch hold of a luscious slab of stonework and pull myself onto the ledges. After that it was less of a problem, but you can't help blaspheming a bit at the thoughtlessness of some ancient architects.
There's an archway to the left of the square, where lovers can stroll down and inspect the travertine marble of which the island's 'ship' prow is made. Nobody there on a chilly night with a watermist helping the honest do-gooders of this world, people like me. I dropped off the arch like a thunderclap and stood shaking in case he'd heard, but no.
He was still there when I peered round. Smoking, every so often looking at the San Bartolomeo to see I'd not emerged. I was out, and he still thought I was in. The distance to the two cars on the uphill side of the Piazza was only about thirty or forty yards. I waited until he'd just glanced round, then slipped silently along the wall into the shelter of the Renault.
My polythene bag was easy to twist into a string. I pushed it between the rubber join of the driver's side window. Make sure it's doubled as you do it, then push in a bit more, and drop the loop over the button lock. A simple pull, and the door's unlocked. Why they make them so easy to burgle I don't know.
I eeled in. My keys and bendable comb were good enough to unlock the steering.
Another minute. Gingerly, I raised my head. He was still there, silhouetted against the reflections from the water. He turned again to glance at San Bartolomeo, looked at a watch—doubtless the sort which gives the winter equinoxes and tidal times in Kyoto—
and I undid the handbrake.
There's something horrible in setting forward to kill. I honestly meant only to scare him, show Arcellano I was no pushover. Something like that. But once I got the car rolling silently down the Piazza's slope I swear something—somebody, maybe, for all I know—
took over. Perhaps Marcello, to be fanciful about the whole business. The wheel seemed to settle in a position, hard over. It was still unlocked, but wouldn't straighten up. And I tried, honest to God.
Anyhow it was too late to think any more. The car rolled down and he was in the way.
Simple as that. Only when the bumper was a few feet from him did he realize something was wrong. He whipped round, mechanically throwing away his cigarette.
Then his face appeared, puzzled at all this sudden motion and the mass heaving out of the dark mist. The silence was broken by a screech as the grille ground him against the parapet, sliding along the stonework and leaving a blackish stain. I can see his open mouth as reflex slammed his face down against the bonnet with a faint clang. Once the car connected my common sense evaporated and I sat in total stupefaction as the car scraped and bumped with that poor sod getting life smeared out of him against the stone. The metal screeched again. The car shuddered to a stop. I got out shakily, looked about. Not a soul in the little square. Not a sound from the church. Then I looked at him.
I made certain my polythene 'string' was uncoiled and dropped it into the river, of course not looking at the car. Then I carefully shut the door and walked away.
* * *
Any alibi in a storm, I always say. The German lady was in her hotel when I rang from the main railway station, just back from a play. I wasn't exactly at my chattiest, but she didn't seem to mind when I said I'd like to call round.
As it turned out she was one of the best alibis I've ever had. I got back to Anna's at three in the morning. Anna was in her alcove with the curtains drawn back. She clicked the light on and told me to wipe that smile off my face. It was a nasty little scene, straight out of marriage. She played merry hell, wanting to know where I'd been. I said for a walk, and like a fool said down by the river not knowing that one of the riverside walks is a knocking-shop, and had to endure an hour's unrelenting abuse while she reminded me I was in Rome to do the Vatican rip, not to whore about the city all night, which was a bit unfair seeing what I'd gone through. Her invective was a lot worse than I've managed to make it sound. She was a world expert. What I didn't know was a worse eruption was impending.