The Grave Robbers of Genghis Khan by P. B. Kerr Page B

food and happy families. The kind of music that makes you wonder why a man should choose to keep a shotgun in an ice-cream van.”
    Bruno shrugged. “I can hardly ask you to ride shotgun in my van without a shotgun, English. What kind of man do you think I am?”
    It was now that Groanin noticed that Bruno was wearing a bulletproof vest. It was black with a little green crocodile logo on the breast pocket.
    “You mean ride shotgun like in them old Westerns?” said Groanin. “You’re joking, aren’t you? There aren’t any Native Americans on the
autostrada
.”
    “Is not Native Americans we got to watch out for.” Bruno laughed. “But I think maybe you can relax until we get to Rome, English. We get no trouble until then.”
    “What kind of trouble?”
    “Ice cream in Rome is controlled by Mafia. Ice cream in Naples is controlled by Camorra. Camorra is gang like Mafia. Ice-cream people in Rome pay money to Mafia for protection. They no like Naples ice-cream people come to their city. Is bad for business. Me, I no plan to sell ice cream in Rome. But Mafia don’t know that.” Bruno shrugged. “So, you keep shotgun on lap just in case someone try to hijack van. Understand?”
    “Listen, Bruno, all I want is a ride to Rome airport.”
    “Is fine. I do you favor. But you do me a favor, too, or else I leave you here at side of road. Now you decide.”
    Groanin thought for a moment. “Very well. Since you put it like that.”
    They drove for about an hour before Bruno told Groanin that they were reaching the outskirts of Rome and to pick up the shotgun.
    Groanin did as he as he was told, cradling the weapon on his lap and certain that if they did encounter any trouble, there was no chance he was ever going to use it. Groanin hadnever shot anything except a rabbit or two. It was one of the advantages of working for a djinn that in matters of self-defense, guns were completely unnecessary.
    The journey might have continued being uneventful but for two unfortunate events. The first unfortunate event was that Bruno saw a pretty girl by the side of the road waving at him and so he stopped to sell her an ice cream.
    “Here, what are you doing?” said Groanin as, with the jingle playing loudly, the van drew up on the grass shoulder by the girl. “I thought you said you weren’t planning to sell any ice cream in the area of Rome. The Mafia won’t like it.”
    “I’m an ice-cream man,” insisted Bruno. “I can’t help it. Is what I do. Besides, she’s a very pretty girl.”
    This was certainly true. But, as it happened, the girl didn’t want an ice cream after all but a lift and, since the passenger seat of the ice-cream van was already occupied, Bruno felt obliged to refuse. So they drove off again, which was when they discovered the second unfortunate event, which was that the van kept on playing “Parla Più Piano” and would not stop.
    For several miles Groanin thought this was merely annoying until Bruno mentioned that the tune was considered especially irritating to the Mafia, even a little insulting.
    “Can’t you switch it off?” asked Groanin as they drove through a graffiti-covered suburb.
    “I’d have to stop the van to do that,” admitted Bruno. “And I don’t like to do that in this particular area we’re in now. Besides, I think they’re already onto us.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “There’s another ice-cream van following us. It’s been there for the last two miles.”
    Groanin leaned forward and glanced in the side mirror. Bruno was correct: A green ice-cream van was about thirty yards behind them. And even as he watched, this other ice-cream van accelerated toward them.
    “What will they do if they stop us?” asked Groanin.
    Bruno laughed grimly. “I don’t think they will buy an ice cream, English,” he said. “And maybe there’s raspberry sauce on the ground before this is over, yes?”
    “Put your foot down,” yelled Groanin. “They’re gaining on us.”
    But