Chapter 153
DOWN IN THE PIAZZA, we could hear the whistles of the Carabinieri and someone on a megaphone. There were shouts for reinforcements and the wails of sirens in the distance.
That was when I saw Tom Mueller’s old Fiat. The one he’d sold to Hollingsworth before shipping out. “Come on,” I told Laura. “We’ve got a ride.”
“What do you mean?” she said as she followed me toward the mustard-yellow Cinquecento.
The car was unlocked, as I’d known it would be.
“Get in,” I said. Laura, whose face was wet with tears, looked like she wanted to argue. “Just get in,” I said again, and this time she listened to me.
“Are we stealing this car?” she asked as I sifted through the glove box.
“It’s Hollingsworth’s car, and I feel certain he’d loan it to us if we asked nicely.”
“Maybe,” she said, “but we don’t have a key.”
That’s when I reached under the seat and pulled out the flathead screwdriver I’d been looking for.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“Watch,” I said as I placed the tip of the screwdriver in the ignition and turned the engine over. I handed the screwdriver to Laura and pulled onto the Via Ammiraglio Carlo Mirabello, having decided that—in fact—it was better to stick to the main roads.