just behind the gondola station where there was a small cafe. The two men entered and sat down at a table at the far end of the room where Don could see the door.
He ordered two cappuccinos, offered Giuseppe a cigarette and grinned when he saw how excited and curious Giuseppe was. Giuseppe was a famous racing gondolier. For the past three years he had won the gondoliers’ race at the annual regatta, beating all comers, and he liked nothing better than to brag about his strength and his prowess as an oarsman. Tall, swarthy and immensely powerful, with a teak-hard face and heavy black moustache he made a striking picture in his black blouse and black trousers. He was on Don’s payroll, and was much envied by his companions for having a steady income without much work.
“Do you know where Calle Mondello is?” Don asked.
Giuseppe looked surprised. He nodded.
“Certainly, signore. It is near the Campo San Polo, on the other side of the Canale by the Rialto Bridge.”
“That’s where we’re going, but before we go, there’s a man we have to get rid of.”
Giuseppe’s eyes opened.
“We kill him, you mean, signore?” he asked, intrigued.
“No, we don’t kill him, you dope,” Don said shortly. Giuseppe might be the fastest gondolier in Venice, but his brainpower was nothing to get excited about. “We knock him on the
head. He’s been following me around all the evening and it’s time to discourage him.”
Giuseppe eyed the bruise on Don’s chin.
“Il signore has already been fighting?” he asked. When Giuseppe wasn’t rowing his gondola, fighting and lovemaking were his favourite pastimes.
“Never mind that,” Don said. He touched his jaw gingerly. “Just pay attention to what I’m saying.”
“Certainly, signore,” Giuseppe said, grinning. “Where is this man?”
“He’s probably outside waiting for me. He is tall and thin, and is wearing a white suit and a white hat. Now, listen, here’s what we do. You wait here. I will walk towards San Maria Miracoli. Give me one minute, then come after me. You should see this guy tailing me. You can’t miss him. When we get to a quiet place I’ll give a whistle. We’ll both go for him; but watch out, he’s dangerous.”
“Pooph!” Giuseppe said scornfully. “I am dangerous, too. Show me this man, signore, and I will take care of him. I will hit him so, and boom! he’s no more.”
“Watch out he doesn’t go boom first,” Don said.
“I will take care of him for you, signore. It will be a pleasure. It is perhaps an affair of the heart? This man is the signorina’s brother or father perhaps?”
“It’s nothing of the kind,” Don said shortly. He finished his coffee and stood up. “Watch out, and don’t make a move until I whistle.”
“Yes, signore,” Giuseppe returned, looking crestfallen.
Don paid for the coffees and left the cafe. He saw no sign of the man in the white hat, but he was sure he was lurking somewhere in the shadows, watching him. He set off along the dimly-lit Calle, his ears pricked for the sound of following footsteps. After he had gone some fifty yards, he thought he could hear soft footfalls in the rear. He kept on, not looking back, cutting down one Calle after another.
At that hour this particular district was deserted, and when Don reached a Calle so narrow that he could touch either wall by stretching out his arms, he gave a shrill whistle turned and quickly retraced his steps.
The man in the white hat who had been keeping just out of sight, heard Don coming back, and he, in his turn, spun around and retreated swiftly.
Giuseppe was close behind him and, invisible in his black blouse and trousers, he stepped into a doorway. As the man in the white hat passed him, he shot out his great hand, caught the man by the back of his neck and slammed his head against the wall.
Stunned, the man in the white hat sagged at the knees, and Giuseppe, still holding him by the back of his neck, turned him and hit him a
He ordered two cappuccinos, offered Giuseppe a cigarette and grinned when he saw how excited and curious Giuseppe was. Giuseppe was a famous racing gondolier. For the past three years he had won the gondoliers’ race at the annual regatta, beating all comers, and he liked nothing better than to brag about his strength and his prowess as an oarsman. Tall, swarthy and immensely powerful, with a teak-hard face and heavy black moustache he made a striking picture in his black blouse and black trousers. He was on Don’s payroll, and was much envied by his companions for having a steady income without much work.
“Do you know where Calle Mondello is?” Don asked.
Giuseppe looked surprised. He nodded.
“Certainly, signore. It is near the Campo San Polo, on the other side of the Canale by the Rialto Bridge.”
“That’s where we’re going, but before we go, there’s a man we have to get rid of.”
Giuseppe’s eyes opened.
“We kill him, you mean, signore?” he asked, intrigued.
“No, we don’t kill him, you dope,” Don said shortly. Giuseppe might be the fastest gondolier in Venice, but his brainpower was nothing to get excited about. “We knock him on the
head. He’s been following me around all the evening and it’s time to discourage him.”
Giuseppe eyed the bruise on Don’s chin.
“Il signore has already been fighting?” he asked. When Giuseppe wasn’t rowing his gondola, fighting and lovemaking were his favourite pastimes.
“Never mind that,” Don said. He touched his jaw gingerly. “Just pay attention to what I’m saying.”
“Certainly, signore,” Giuseppe said, grinning. “Where is this man?”
“He’s probably outside waiting for me. He is tall and thin, and is wearing a white suit and a white hat. Now, listen, here’s what we do. You wait here. I will walk towards San Maria Miracoli. Give me one minute, then come after me. You should see this guy tailing me. You can’t miss him. When we get to a quiet place I’ll give a whistle. We’ll both go for him; but watch out, he’s dangerous.”
“Pooph!” Giuseppe said scornfully. “I am dangerous, too. Show me this man, signore, and I will take care of him. I will hit him so, and boom! he’s no more.”
“Watch out he doesn’t go boom first,” Don said.
“I will take care of him for you, signore. It will be a pleasure. It is perhaps an affair of the heart? This man is the signorina’s brother or father perhaps?”
“It’s nothing of the kind,” Don said shortly. He finished his coffee and stood up. “Watch out, and don’t make a move until I whistle.”
“Yes, signore,” Giuseppe returned, looking crestfallen.
Don paid for the coffees and left the cafe. He saw no sign of the man in the white hat, but he was sure he was lurking somewhere in the shadows, watching him. He set off along the dimly-lit Calle, his ears pricked for the sound of following footsteps. After he had gone some fifty yards, he thought he could hear soft footfalls in the rear. He kept on, not looking back, cutting down one Calle after another.
At that hour this particular district was deserted, and when Don reached a Calle so narrow that he could touch either wall by stretching out his arms, he gave a shrill whistle turned and quickly retraced his steps.
The man in the white hat who had been keeping just out of sight, heard Don coming back, and he, in his turn, spun around and retreated swiftly.
Giuseppe was close behind him and, invisible in his black blouse and trousers, he stepped into a doorway. As the man in the white hat passed him, he shot out his great hand, caught the man by the back of his neck and slammed his head against the wall.
Stunned, the man in the white hat sagged at the knees, and Giuseppe, still holding him by the back of his neck, turned him and hit him a
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