“Maybe she’s got another brush in there,” Rich said.
“No time to find out, sadly.” Dad led the way out of the courtyard and into the street beyond. From behind them came the sound of splintering wood as the woman’s tirade increased in volume and intensity.
Two streets further on, they slowed to a walk. All three of them were out of breath and feeling the heat.
“Still bored?” Dad asked Jade.
“Still wanting to have a talk about what happened in Mont Passat,” she shot back.
“Ah, that.”
“Yes,” Rich agreed. “That.”
Dad shrugged. “No big deal.”
“Being chased through Venice by the Mafia and an Eastern European gangland boss is no big deal?” said Jade. “You still have some serious lifestyle problems, you know that?”
“I know I could do with a drink.”
Jade’s eyes widened, but Rich had seen Dad’s mouth twitch with amusement. “He’s winding you up, Jade.”
“Well, we can’t go back to the hotel. What did Ralph want?” Dad asked before Jade could come back at him.
“Ask him yourself,” said Jade.
Rich thought at first she was sulking. Then he saw that a figure had stepped out of a side street just ahead of them. Ralph. Behind them, dark-suited men stepped out of alleyways and alcoves and stood with arms folded – blocking any hope of another escape.
Jade’s fists were clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms. She was tense, ready to run as soon as Dad gave the word. The Mafia men stayed where they were while Ralph walked confidently towards Jade, Rich and Dad. He had his arms spread and hands open as if to show he meant them no harm.
“As I told Rich,” Ralph said, “I want to give you a warning.”
“Threats?” Dad sounded amused at the idea.
“No. I think that’s what Rich assumed. But no – no threats. A friendly warning. For your own good.”
“Go on then,” Jade said. “Just warn us, then we can all go.”
Ralph was right in front of them now. “First, I must apologise. I didn’t mean to worry or frighten or offend you. But as you will soon appreciate, this is important – to you rather than to me. So I am sorry for the slightly… extreme measures I have taken.”
“You can’t say ‘slightly extreme’,” Rich told him. “Something’s either extreme or it isn’t.”
Ralph nodded. “Extreme but well-intentioned then. Let me make it up to you.” He smiled suddenly, turning in an instant into a genial host. “Let me offer you a late lunch. After all, with all that running you must have worked up quite an appetite. I know I have.”
“So, you chase us half across Venice then offer us a pizza?” Dad said. “You always did do things differently, Ralph. If it is Ralph today. Only I’ve known you by so many names.”
“Hardly unusual in our profession, Mr Chance. Or is it Mr Ronson? Or David Melbor? Last time we met you were Harry…” He clapped his hands together. “Anyway, the offer stands. Lunch at my villa – or rather the villa my local colleagues have put at my disposal. Lunch and a friendly chat and some good vintage wine. Or possibly,” he said, looking from Jade to Rich, “good vintage lemonade.”
“Oh, well,” said Jade, “if there’s going to be lemonade.”
The speedboat was large and fast. It cut through the canal, leaving a V in the water and setting gondolas rocking and gondoliers shouting. It was also noisy, but with the spray and the wind in her face, Jade found it refreshing. Her blond hair blew round her and she pushed it from her eyes.
“Aren’t you hot in that jacket?” Rich asked the skull-faced man who was sitting opposite them in the back of the boat.
His suit had soon dried in the heat of the day, and even without the mask he looked gaunt and menacing. “But where would I hide my gun?” He opened the jacket to reveal a shoulder holster.
“You could try a career change,” Jade suggested.
“Get a nice job in an office,” Dad agreed.
The man shrugged. “Then I would have to wear a suit anyway.”
Ralph turned from where he was standing at the front of the boat and shouted over the sound of the engine. “Scevola loves his work.”
“Family business?” Dad wondered.
“Oh, yes,” the skull-faced man – Scevola – said. “And I love my family too.”
The boat turned off the main canal, heading into a narrow, private waterway. At the end, Jade could see an enormous house. It was painted pale yellow and unlike so many of the buildings she had seen by the water, it was clean and dry and in immaculate condition.
Inside, the building was just as impressive. Heavy crystal chandeliers hung from ornately plastered ceilings, and the carpets were so deep it was like walking on a well kept lawn. Ralph led them along a wide hallway to an enormous drawing room. French windows gave on to a wide terrace overlooking the water, and Ralph gestured for them to sit.
It was bizarre, but Jade found she was feeling more relaxed on the terrace of Ralph’s Mafia-supplied house than she had done all holiday. She sipped at iced mineral water and picked at a pasta salad. OK – pasta yet again. But she’d let Ralph off, just this once.
With the exception of skull-faced Scevola, the other men had left. Ralph did most of the talking. He explained again about the Banker and how he had access to a large number of criminal bank accounts.
“Now the Tiger, he is a very different sort of man,” Ralph said. He poured himself more wine, holding the glass up to admire the quality of the pale straw-coloured liquid. “Like the Banker, no one knows who he really is, what his name might be. But the Banker, one gets the impression, has some morals. He never deals with terrorists or gets involved with the businesses he handles. He charges a fair price for his services. Up until now he has been efficient and reliable.”
“And now you want your money back,” Rich said.
Ralph laughed. “It would be nice. But no, that isn’t really an issue. Neither Scevola nor I had very much money involved. Yes, the Banker handled matters for us. Now the Tiger, again, is different.”
“So tell us about the Tiger,” Dad said. “I’ve heard the stories, of course. But what’s the truth?”
“Always a good question,” Ralph conceded. “The Tiger – where to begin? Perhaps if I told you that the most unpleasant, the most violent, the most outrageous stories that you might have heard are the most likely to be true. Or that if you have ever heard anything good or redeeming about the Tiger, then forget it.”
“He’s a gangster?” Rich asked, glancing quickly at Ralph.
Ralph caught the look and laughed. “Nothing so honest.”
“He’s an investor,” Dad said. “He invests money in criminal activity. Organised crime. Blackmail rackets. People trafficking and slavery. Arms sales and mercenaries. And terrorism. Thought to be British or at least European. He started out as an investor, or so it’s said. Came from a business background and applied his knowledge and talent to crime.”
“But you said the Banker kept away from all that,” Jade reminded them.
“The Tiger is the exception.”
“Why?”