Viper

The pain was unbearable. Her vision fogged as a switchblade clicked open and the henchman sawed off as much of the pink muscle as he could.

'Vaffanculo! ' he swore as Alberta's blood spurted on to him. He slashed a crucifix across her skin, backed away and deposited the severed tongue in a handkerchief held for him in the leather-gloved palm of Bruno Valsi. Blood dripped and balled up on the dusty factory floor.

Valsi studied his new pink present, then folded the white cotton gently around it. 'Va bene,' he said unemotionally. 'Sal, bring me her present.'

The grey man at his side smiled and disappeared into the shadows.

'You like jewellery, don't you, Alberta?' Valsi grinned as he circled her bloodied face. 'Of course you do. All girls like jewellery. Well, you'll die for this piece – literally – it was designed just for you.'

Alberta Tortoricci couldn't see what they were doing. The room was too dark and her eyes were blinded by tears and pain.

'It's a special designer necklace.' Valsi hovered over her.

She was more frightened now than she'd ever been in her life. But she was determined not to show it. Alberta shut her eyes and tried to distract herself from what was happening. She conjured up images of her first day at school.

Blue dress, white top, hair in pigtails, new brown shoes.

'It's a necklace; our Frankenstein necklace.' He looped a thick steel collar around her neck. Wire flexes trailed from both sides.

Her first kiss – Roberto Bassetti, thirteen years old – his mouth tasted of liquorice.

'This jewellery is unique, Alberta, rather like the testimony you gave in court, you being the only witness against me.'

Valsi fell silent as he concentrated on fastening two bolts at either side of what were semi-circular steel strips that overlapped each other and had been punched with holes to accommodate the bolts.

First boyfriend – Armando Rossi, seventeen – they rode his Lambretta. She'd leaned her face against his back and wrapped her arms around his waist.

'Beautiful. Bellissimo. It fits perfectly. You'll look a dream. Well, my dream at least. You see, five years is a hell of a long time to think about revenge. Because that's what this is about, Alberta, revenge – pure and simple…'

First true love – Bernardo Santo – a man ten years older than her, a man who'd always smelled of forests, a man she should have married and had children with.

'Sockets, please.'

Wires were handed to two goons. Valsi squatted, so that he was at Alberta's eye level.

'I hope the voltage is good. We've rewired it especially for you. Too little and the current will cook slowly through your neck until your head drops off. Too much and it may explode. Pop! Neither is a nice way to die.'

Die!

Alberta's powers to distract herself were gone now. There was no past to dip into.

No more firsts to go through.

Only lasts.

The last moments of her life.

Valsi smiled in mock sympathy and touched her cheek. 'Hey, enough of these sad looks! You know you have to die, Alberta. I must show the polizia what happens when they exploit people like you. All informatori must know what awaits them if they ever try to do the same.'

Valsi paused and watched for fear on her face. He was saddened that there was none. Brave bitch. Brave, arrogant bitch.

'Sal, throw the switch!'

The air buzzed and hummed.

Alberta's body went into spasm. Her eyes bulged and her head sagged as her nerves became paralysed.

'Jesus, what a stink!' Valsi wafted a hand playfully in front of his face. The room filled with the smell of burning flesh. The henchmen coughed and laughed. Coarse, meaty sounds like they were choking on beer during a good joke. Alberta was dribbling blood.

But she still wasn't dead. Even as her internal organs baked from the electric charge, life still flickered within her.

Valsi squatted on his heels again. Stared into her eyes. 'Not long now, you're frying nicely.'

Alberta's skin was crimson.

Her flesh was starting to split.

Suddenly, a gush of blood and boiling stomach contents bubbled from her mouth.

One of the goons gagged.

Sal the Snake had left the electric box and stood beside Valsi. He shook his head and smiled. What a sight.

'She's dead,' said Valsi. 'Don't waste any more juice on the bitch. Sal, get her body out of here and destroy what's left of it. Set fire to it so the cops don't find any of our traces, then leave it where it'll be found within the next few days.'

13

New York City Jack seldom slept past six, so it was no chore to cross town and be at Creed's hotel before seven. He stamped snow on a large rubber mat opposite a cheap reception desk staffed by a plump woman in her forties. 'I'm looking for a guest of yours – Luciano Creed. Could you call his room for me?'

Brenda Libowicz had worked receptions in fifteen different hotels in New York City and she could smell cop all over her early morning visitor. 'NYPD?'

Jack smiled in due appreciation of her observational skills. 'Ex-FBI. Is it that obvious?'

'That it is,' Brenda smiled warmly. 'Only cops and feds get to the point that quickly. Normal people usually manage a hello, a please or even a remark about how cold it is.'

'Normal people?' laughed Jack.

'No offence. You know what I mean.'

'None taken.' He nodded at her computer. 'Any chance of ringing my Mr Creed?'

'None,' she said, flatly. 'He left town last night. We called him a cab for the airport.'

'You remember when?'

'Let's see. I think it would be about eight. Yep, that's right. JFK was still shut but Newark had reopened a runway around five.'

Jack frowned. 'Was he due to check out so soon?'

Brenda finally needed the computer. She typed an entry and pulled up his record. 'No, he was down originally for another two days. Only told us yesterday that he was leaving early.'

'Can I see his bill, please?' He stressed the please.

She pulled a printout from a tray and handed it over. Jack made a note of the home address, though he doubted it was real. There was no CAP- Codice di Avviamento Postale – the Italian equivalent of the postcode, and the province was Ogliona, which he was certain didn't exist. 'He pay cash or card?'

'Cash. Big wad of Uncle Sams.'

Jack read the rest of the bill. 'Media services. What's that, Internet?'

She shook her head. 'No. It's a nice way of billing a fella for the porn channels.'

'You know what he watched?'

'Sure. He was here four days and he bought the twenty-four-hour non-stop adult service. Watched the lot.'

Jack raised an eyebrow and passed the bill back.

'He was a real sleazeball. Gave me the shivers. He done something?'

'Not sure.' Jack glanced at the clock behind her head. 'I guess his room's not been cleaned?'

She laughed. 'You guessed right. Maid don't start til ten. You want to look, I suppose.'

'You mind?'

'Not at all.' Brenda bobbed beneath the counter and eventually produced the key card to Creed's room. 'Second floor. Number two-twelve. Stairs right behind you and to the left.'

'Thanks. I appreciate this.'

'Enough to buy me coffee sometime?'

Jack took the key, but not the bait. 'Would love to, but my wife wouldn't approve. And anyway, I really don't know if I would be safe with someone who reads people as well as you do.' He winked and headed for the stairs.

'Safe?' she shouted. 'Oh, believe me, mister, safe is the last thing you'd be!'

He could still hear her laughing when he reached the landing of the second floor and let himself into Creed's old room. It was small and stank of an unflushed toilet, old carpets and no ventilation. In the tiny en-suite bathroom he picked up a plastic waste bin. He collected another from near a big old-fashioned boxy TV that virtually rested on the edge of a sagging single bed. He pulled off a dirty duvet and emptied the bins on to the grey-white base sheet.