Page 59

Chapter 58

C OTTON WAS NO STRANGER TO A FIGHT. H E’D BEEN IN MANY. S OME HE won, others not so much. These guys had come to teach him a lesson. The colorful scarves around their necks identified them as Panthers. Apparently, retribution came fast in the Palio. He’d never been one to shy away from a fight, so he readied himself to take the blows.

“We don’t think so,” a voice called out in Italian.

Five new guys had arrived in the alley who bore the black-and-gold scarves of Golden Oak.

Okay. The odds just got better.

The five Panthers seemed to consider their situation and decided that discretion was most definitely the better part of valor. They brushed past him with contempt in their eyes and disappeared farther down the alley.

“ Grazie ,” he said to the Golden Oakers.

One of the men motioned and said in English, “We take you to our place.”

He was not about to argue.

So he nodded and followed them.

J ASON STOOD OFF TO THE SIDE WHILE C AMILLA SPOKE TO THREE other men. Their conversation seemed intense. She was agitated. But who could blame her. A jockey was dead. Three others were seriously injured, one severely trampled. A lot of hurting. Some was to be expected. But not the gunshot. Apparently, that had never happened before.

Camilla finished talking and stepped over to him. The body remained in the other room behind a locked door.

“Those three are the capitani for the Porcupines, Tortoises, and Panthers. They are, to say the least, concerned. They are blaming me for what happened, saying our jockey broke the rules. They even think I had that man shot. The Tortoises have called the police, who should be here shortly.”

“We need to find Malone?”

“I am told he’s nearly back at our headquarters.”

“This whole situation is escalating. Two people have now been murdered.”

She looked puzzled.

“A few days ago a Swiss Guardsman was killed in Cologne, Germany.”

“No one said a word about that before—”

“You agreed to help us?”

She nodded.

“Would that have changed your mind?”

“Perhaps. A jockey is dead. That may have been avoidable.”

“Really? Yesterday you did not seem to mind what was done, so long as the Porcupines lost.”

“We must go,” she said, ignoring his insult. “I promised access to the monastery, and I always keep my word.”

C OTTON ENTERED THE HEADQUARTERS FOR G OLDEN O AK . T HE PLACE seemed to double as an assembly hall and museum. The contrada’s chapel was attached to one end. Winning banners from Palios dating back to the early twentieth century had been hung with reverence inside glass cases. Quite a few. Golden Oak seemed to have enjoyed a great deal of past success.

The building also came with a locker room where people could change and clean up. He’d used it before the race and now entered again, ditching his sweaty livery. He then took a quick shower and re-donned his own clothes. He checked his phone, and a text from Richter said he and Camilla were headed his way. He took the moment to send a text to Stephanie informing her that he was making progress. She would know that meant he was working the situation and did not require any assistance. No need to bore her with details. She wanted results and that was what she was going to get. He left the locker room and headed into the assembly hall. But not before tucking the Beretta that Stamm had supplied under his shirttail and pocketing the spare magazines. Not quite Magellan Billet issue, but it would do.

The doors at the other end opened.

Richter and Camilla Baines entered.

He listened as they explained what had happened during the race.

“I saw when that jockey took the bullet,” he said. “That round was meant for me.”

“Somebody is trying to kill you? Over me?” Richter asked.

“I assume whoever it is does not want you having my help.”

“Why not just take me out?”

“Good question. You might have been next.”

“How lucky for me.”

Cotton faced Camilla. “When can we get inside the monastery?”

“We leave in half an hour.”

Good to hear. No need to put anything off. Like the Cable Guy would say. Let’s get ’er done.

“The police are dealing with the shooting,” she told them. “I will be kept informed. And by the way, you were officially disqualified, though the horse you were on at the end is the official winner.”

“The Giraffes should be happy,” he said.

“To say the least. They have not won a race in a long time.”

He checked his watch. 8:20 P.M. “It’s getting late to visit a monastery.”

“On the contrary. The late hour is exactly what we need. But there is something you both must know before we get there.”