Chapter 17 Fon
Fon
The stars were out in all their glory, speckling the midnight sky like threaded diamonds.
The conversation and laughter from Tito’s Bar reached down to the water’s edge, but not the lights; Fon and the others moved unseen in the darkness below the harbour wall.
Allegra was moored up, hosed down, the tank refilled and the advertising board folded on the back, ready to entice tomorrow’s punters.
Dante jumped aboard, handing back the board to him, motioning for it to be left on the harbourside.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s—?’
Francesco whipped round and pointed a finger in his face, silencing him.
‘Shh.’ He glanced back at the harbourmaster’s house – the light was on in the bedroom above the office, where El Greco resided – before jerking his head, indicating for Fon to hop aboard too.
Dante was already at the front, releasing the bow rope.
Fon frowned at the excessive secrecy but did as he was told, knowing better than to ask any more questions until they were out on the water.
They were dressed all in black, wearing gloves, and even their faces were smeared with ash so that they looked like untethered shadows.
It all seemed over the top for stealing a few lobsters from Edo Carosa’s pots.
Francesco cast off on Dante’s command, but Dante didn’t turn on the engines. Instead, Francesco handed Fon an oar.
Fon gave him an incredulous look. Was he serious? They were going to row a speedboat? But Francesco wasn’t smiling as he dipped his own oar into the inky water and the boat began to slip its mooring in almost total silence.
They had to turn slightly into the channel, and Fon used the oar to push against the tiny red boat beside them – Principessa, belonging to Emilio Parisi. Some joker had left a half-empty bottle of Campari on the side, and it toppled loudly into the belly of the boat.
In the darkness, the sound seemed to amplify, an anomaly in the slumbering quietude.
The men froze, waiting for footsteps, shouts, faces appearing over the wall.
Fon flinched, knowing he had already messed up.
No doubt this was why his brother never included him in his ‘endeavours’ …
But no one came, and after a few moments of floating in the centre of the marina, they began rowing again.
They had to almost hug the sea wall to keep out of sight – Tito’s regulars would be sitting at their tables sipping on limoncello and looking out to sea – but there was a new moon working in their favour.
This was probably not a coincidence, Fon realized.
Slowly, silently, they slipped round the wall and into open water.
Still the engines remained off. Only once they had borne left and rounded the headland by the lido did Dante ignite them.
In an instant they were flying, the boat skimming across the surface and making Fon’s eyes water.
Francesco stood up ahead with Dante at the helm as Fon sat on the bench seat, gripping the sides.
He let his mind wander as they headed out towards the sites where Carosa liked to drop his pots.
It was far too dark to make out the sea caves, the cliffs melding seamlessly with the sky now the port was behind them, and the villas and fishermen’s cottages were shrouded by night’s velvet veil.
From this viewpoint, it felt like being in the middle of space, everything black and indistinct.
Only the slight bobbing of the waves passing beneath the boat gave Fon any sense of place.
On and on they flew, over the sea, the minutes racking up.
Fon peered into the darkness, realizing he was unable to pinpoint a single light anywhere.
He had lost his bearings now but he could tell they weren’t mirroring the coast. They were heading out into open water.
Clearly they weren’t out here to cheat their neighbour.
His brother and Francesco were staring into the wind, their hair streaming back as they flew along in solemn silence. They stood rigid, like black chess pieces, the mood tense. Fon swallowed uncertainly, but he knew better than to ask more questions. All would become clear soon enough.
It was another thirty minutes before Dante pulled back on the throttle and they slowed.
‘How far out are we?’
‘Six miles,’ Dante murmured, but his attention was on Francesco.
Fon frowned. That was the international waters boundary.
Francesco appeared to be straining to hear something. Other engines were distantly rumbling through the water. ‘Over there,’ he said, pointing north-north-east.
Dante pushed down on the gears again, the boat quickly picking up speed once more.
‘I can see them,’ Francesco called over the wind, still pointing into the night. ‘One o’clock.’
Dante adjusted course slightly as Fon looked out, gradually becoming aware of a growing density in the dark. They were bearing down upon a blacker-than-black mass that revealed itself as a small cargo ship as they drew closer.
Dante put the engines into neutral and reached for their father’s torch. It was an old military piece, with an angled head and signalling filters; an American GI had given it to him when they’d fought in Taranto together during the war.
Fon watched as Dante double-flashed twice. Moments later, the signal was returned.
‘Get ready,’ Dante said, turning towards him. ‘Do as they say and don’t ask any questions. Don’t look them in the eye and, God help you, don’t drop anything. You got it?’
Fon nodded. He still didn’t know what was going on but he was instinctively nervous, especially when Francesco cracked his knuckles too, a nervous tic.
They slowly idled towards the boat. There was another blue-hulled speedboat, almost identical to theirs, pulled alongside, and boxes were being tossed down to it from the mothership.
In a flash, Fon understood. Bionde – cigarette smuggling. Everyone knew about it; it was Italy’s unofficial second economy, post-war. But it had never crossed his mind that his brother might be part of it.
Dante hung back, waiting their turn; there was no apparent rush but Francesco still kept a wide-eyed watch, casting around the horizon with a nervy look. The patrol boats of the Guardia di Finanza were fast and powerful, and no one here fancied a midnight chase.
Quickly it was their turn, the speedboat ahead of them peeling away from the ship and disappearing north up the coast, into the night. Dante brought them alongside, the engines gurgling as ropes were thrown down and Francesco hurriedly tethered them together.
‘Giannelli!’ Dante called up, identifying himself. A man in a cap and overalls emerged from the darkness and stared down at them, scrutinizing their disguised faces. ‘Ciao, Esposito,’ Dante said, flashing his distinctive smile.
The man’s face was fleshy and pockmarked. His gaze swung over them, sticking on Fon. ‘Who’s this?’
‘My brother, Alfonso. He’s working for me now,’ Dante said.
‘… Where’s Pablo?’
‘His wife’s birthday. It would have aroused too many suspicions if he’d left.’
Fon remained motionless as Esposito studied him for a few moments more. ‘… I see the resemblance,’ he grunted, before swinging back his arm and beckoning the closest man behind him, who got down on his stomach. ‘You got the message? It’s a large cache tonight.’
‘Si,’ Dante nodded. ‘It won’t be a problem. Arrangements have been made with all the relevant parties.’
‘They can be trusted?’
Dante nodded again, so calm. ‘They’re aware of the repercussions if not … Eight hundred kilos, yes?’ he asked, reaching forward to pass a thickly stuffed envelope to the man lying on the deck by Esposito’s feet. It was passed to Esposito, who inspected the contents.
Satisfied with what he saw, he nodded and took a step back. The men behind him began to move in a synchronized pattern, passing boxes along the ship to one another, the nearest man tossing them down to Francesco. The system was simple, silent and quick.
‘Pass them back to me,’ Dante said brusquely, placing Fon where he had been standing and pulling back a tarpaulin.
Fon fell into line, doing as he was asked, and quickly the back of the boat was stacked with cigarettes, five hundred packets in each box. Fon glanced back and saw other speedboats hanging back in the water, just as they had done. Even in the dim light, he could make out another seven …
When the last box had been thrown, Dante secured the tarp over the cargo and Francesco untethered them. Allegra gently drifted away from the cargo ship.
‘Until next time,’ Dante said, getting the boat started again and curling away without further ado, heading south.
For several moments, as they adjusted to the high speeds again, no one spoke. Fon could see that his brother and Francesco were visibly more relaxed now the trade had taken place without incident. In fact, it had been an exercise in efficiency.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this was what we were coming to do?’ Fon asked him.
‘You would only have panicked,’ Dante replied, casting him a sidelong glance. ‘Better to just do it.’
Fon fell quiet again, trying to take it all in. ‘Does Papa know?’ He remembered that evening on the Parisi estate – Pablo and Francesco handing over another envelope of cash, which in turn Dante had given to their father.
‘He does now. It’s been working well for Uncle Teo up there. Why not down here too?’
Uncle Teo? The penny began to drop. ‘So you mean, in Rome … you weren’t really an extra on a film?’
Dante grinned. ‘I mean, we mingled … But no, that wasn’t my day job. The cousins were showing me the ropes.’
‘And Mamma? Does she know?’
Dante scowled, looking scandalized. ‘Of course not!’
Stupid question. ‘… Who sells on the bionde?’
‘Kids, mainly. In the towns.’
Fon thought of his brother’s frequent trips – to Ruffano, Taurisano, Specchia …
He remembered seeing children at the traffic lights there, running to the cars between red and green.
Not begging, as he had thought, but making lightning-quick trades …
‘So that’s why you bought the boat. It’s not for the water-skiing at all. ’
Dante shrugged. ‘Well, it makes a small return, so there’s no harm in it. And it provides a great cover story. Plus, the women love it.’ His eyes glittered with that familiar wolfish look. ‘I’m taking little Gina out on it tomorrow.’
Fon looked away. He wanted autonomy over his life the way Dante had over his own. He wanted to be able to have choices, to make his own decisions.
The journey back seemed quicker as he sank into his thoughts.
He didn’t stir until Dante cut the engines as they approached the port.
The lights were off at Tito’s now, the tables cleared and everyone in their beds.
To Fon’s surprise, Dante didn’t swing the boat around the harbour wall but instead let it run forward on its own momentum, straight up to the narrow beach.
Francesco jumped out in the shallows, Fon looking on as he waded onto the promenade and unlocked the door of one of the three caves that lined the curve of the cliffs here.
How did he have a key? One of the caves belonged to the mighty Gallone family, who had ruled Tricase town for almost five hundred years – no one had access to their cave; but the other two were civic property, and access to those was controlled by El Greco.
Fon glanced across to the marina. The light at the harbourmaster’s still gleamed from the upstairs window.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ Dante murmured, seeing Fon’s apprehension. ‘We have an agreement. He looks the other way when required.’
Fon was surprised. ‘You’ve bribed him?’ How many people were involved? How many others knew about it?
‘That’s a strong word. We prefer to see it as a mutually beneficial arrangement.’
Francesco was wading back now, and Dante went to the back of the boat and unfastened the tarpaulin.
‘And you’re going to store it all in the caves there? Right where everyone is walking past?’ Fon was incredulous.
‘Not for long. It’ll be moved again at first light, after the fishing boats have left … Come, help us get this unloaded.’
Dante passed the first box down to Francesco, who waded back to shore again with it on his shoulder.
Fon looked down at the dozens of boxes. ‘How much will you make on all this?’
Dante smiled. ‘A lot.’
Fon wanted specifics, but he knew his brother wouldn’t get into details with him. Not in front of Francesco. And not while he thought Fon was still a kid, naive about the ways of the world.
For a moment he hesitated, sensing he was at a crossroads, before he jumped down into the water. It was still warm, even at this hour. He looked back up at his brother. ‘… Will I get a cut?’
‘If you show me you can be reliable and we make it a regular thing.’ Dante studied him. ‘Do you want it to be?’
Fon swallowed. What he wanted was for the world to see him as something he knew he wasn’t: a strong man. A real man.
‘Yes,’ he said, taking a box and setting it on his shoulder as he’d seen Francesco do. ‘I want in.’