Chapter 29 - Bodie
BODIE
The place was warmer than usual, and not just going by temperature.
A lot of it had to do with the furnishings.
They were rich without being flashy, abundant without overly dominating the tremendous foyer.
And they were from a dozen or so countries.
Far-flung, colorful places, within Europe and beyond.
“Mr. Visconti will see you now,” a voice finally floated in.
Low and gravelly, I knew who the voice belonged to. It wasn’t a man I liked very much, or even respected. But it was a man who I couldn’t say no to, nonetheless.
We walked in silence along the smooth marble floor, down hallways that were unnecessarily wide. In the past, there had been conversation. One sided, yes, but Otto had at least tried making small talk; the first couple of times I was here.
Now, the echoes of our footfalls rang in stereo against the silence.
“I still don’t know why the boss needs to see you,” Otto grumbled. Maybe we were making small talk after all. “It’s not like you do anything that can’t be called in.”
It was easy to ignore him. I was getting good at it, actually. Besides, ignoring Otto completely tended to really piss him off.
Just another fringe benefit of working for ‘the company.’
“Right through there,” Otto pointed a grubby finger. “He’s in the study.”
I stepped forward and knocked on one of the elaborately-carved wooden doors. Almost immediately, a cheerful voice penetrated from within.
“Come in! Come in!”
I stepped through, and was blasted with a welcome heat and warmth emanating from a nearby fireplace. I’d been in the study several times before. I knew it better than most rooms in the mansion, actually.
“Hello Mr. Visc—”
“Marco!” the man cut me off. “Not Mr. Visconti!”
The little old man was seated before the fire, his nose buried in a book almost as large as he was. As I approached, he closed the book with a thin-lipped smile.
“Bodie… Bodie… how many times do I have to tell you?” he demanded, his smile turning instantly warm. “You are to call me Marco. Always.”
“I’m sorry,” I acquiesced. “Yes, of course.”
“Yes, what?”
I rolled my eyes internally. “Yes, Marco.”
“Ah, good!” he clapped. “Much better. And see? We are friends again.”
He stood, waddled over, and patted my shoulder. As he did, two nearly invisible figures shifted, ahead of us, in the darkness.
“Things are good?” Marco asked merrily.
“Yes,” I nodded. “Things are good.”
“Excellent!” he grinned, through a mouthful of old man teeth. “And your mother? She’s well?”
“She sends her love,” I told him. “As always.”
“I’d rather she send her Manicotti!” Marco cackled. He clapped his hands together and sighed. “But of course I will take the love.” He looked at me, and the cataracts flashed in his eyes. “And please, tell her I give it back.”
I wasn’t exactly sure where our family trees actually crossed, or if they even did at all. All I knew was that it was so far up, no one could possibly see.
“Come,” Marco ordered, his voice cracking. “Walk with me.”
One thing I did know was that my mother came out of the same neighborhood Marco did.
Back then she was well-known, and well-regarded.
Our families had helped each other, once upon a time, and were bound together by certain blood ties.
And they were ties that, my mother assured me, could never be broken.
Marco waddled closer, and extended a thin, frail arm.
Keeping my eye on the men in the shadows, I looped mine into his.
Together we walked slowly through the study, which in the old mansion had once been a grand library.
The books were all still there, in colorful rows.
There were thousands of them, climbing the shelves, floor to ceiling.
Almost all of them untouched, for long, lonely decades.
“That thing we uhhh… talked about?” Marco said, dropping his voice.
“Taken care of,” I told him.
He nodded, satisfied, and we walked a few more paces away from prying ears. Eventually, he stopped.
“And the anomaly?” he murmured, in barely a whisper. “The one that you found?”
He was so close to me now, that the men stepped out of the shadows. Their hawk-like eyes were trained on me. Their hands, although hidden, closed over unseen weapons.
“No longer a factor,” I replied, in the same low tone. “I checked into it, and all is good.”
The old man breathed another sigh of relief, this one deeper than the last. His smile became peaceful.
“All is good.”
“Yes, Marco.”
He nodded again and turned back, eventually leading us to the table near the fireplace. I frowned when I saw the envelope, as I always did.
“That’s for you,” he said, pointing.
I shook my head. “You know I can’t take it.”
“I know you won’t take it,” he replied glibly. “I wish you would, though. In my eyes, it would be a sign of respect.”
His demeanor had been happy so far, but now I saw frustration in the old man’s eyes. It was a frustration that could quickly turn to anger — and even betrayal — if I didn’t play my cards right.
I had to tread lightly.
“Look, Marco,” I sighed, “you’re family.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“What I do for you, I do out of love,” I explained. “I never take payment from those I love. You understand that, right?”
His expression was sour, but there was comprehension there, too. My rule was inarguable by his very creed. He had to respect it.
“Fine,” he said begrudgingly. “But one day I’ll do something for you, out of the same love.”
I looked back at the envelope one more time. It had gotten bigger and bigger over the years. Shit, it was more of a brick now.
Even so, there was no way I was putting myself in the direct employment of this man or his family.
Marco walked me back through the study, stopped at a cabinet, then pulled out a fancy-looking blue bottle filled with a deep amber liquid. He brushed the dust off the label before handing it to me.
“I know you drink whiskey,” he said firmly. “So you’ll take this.”
There was no debating his intentions this time. This was an order.
“Thank you Marco,” I said immediately, glancing down. “It looks great.”
“It’s better than great,” the man grumbled. “That’s Mortlach Midnight, thirty-year malt. Enjoy it, but don’t fall too much in love with it.” He nodded back toward the brick-like envelope. “Not until you’re ready to make a different decision.”
He patted my shoulder again rapidly, indicating it was time to go.
I bid him farewell, thanked him again for the gift, then retraced my steps through the mansion.
Otto followed me the whole way, intentionally trying to make me feel uncomfortable.
Those dark, deep-set eyes never left me, all the way back to my car.
I was this close to flipping him off, as I rolled back down the long gravel driveway.