The Hunter's Prayer (2 page)

It was a relief to get to the hotel and off the crowded streets. This was no longer a friendly place, the people no longer just tourists. The hotel was on the fourth floor of a building near the Duomo, a budget hotel but clean, the rooms en suite. It was a lot better than the one they’d booked for themselves.

Lucas introduced himself as Mr. Wright. He’d booked two rooms but once the manager had left them in the corridor he said, ‘We all stay in the double.’ They didn’t respond, just followed him into the room.

Chris dropped the backpack on the bed and Lucas immediately unfastened it and took out a gun, then something else that he attached to the barrel—a silencer. His movements were spare and methodical, but somehow he looked unpredictable, dangerous.

Ella felt her stomach tighten: maybe Lucas had set a trap and here they were in it. But with the gun assembled he turned to Chris and said, ‘I have to go out. I won’t be long. When I get back, I’ll knock once and say, “It’s Dad here.” Anyone else knocks, don’t answer. Anyone comes in, you shoot them. Safety’s off. Just aim it at the middle of their chest and shoot. If you’re in any doubt, shoot again, keep shooting till they go down, and then shoot them in the head.’

Ella said, ‘You don’t think we’re still in danger?’

He turned to her and smiled, his face coming alive, taking on form, becoming warm, friendly. His eyes were pale blue, startlingly blue, something she hadn’t noticed before. ‘No. It’s just a precaution.’ He turned back to Chris. ‘Okay, you understand what I’m saying? You want to hold the gun to get used to it?’ Chris shook his head, looking lost, like a child. ‘I’ll put it here on the table.’ He walked to the door, but stopped before leaving and said, ‘And remember, no phone calls, no nothing.’

That was it—he was gone, and the two of them were left standing in the confined hush of the room. It was as if, for the first time since it had happened, they suddenly had the space and the quiet to take it all in. Ella wanted to cry now and for Chris to hold her but he still looked lost, distracted.

‘I need a piss,’ he said, as though becoming aware of his own body again. He went into the bathroom and shut the door. Ella sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the gun, sitting there on the night table like it was the most natural thing in the world. She didn’t want to cry now; she just wanted Lucas to come back.

Chris was a long time in the bathroom and when he came out his eyes were red. She’d never seen him cry, had never even seen him upset, and she wanted to hold him and comfort him the way she’d wanted to be comforted a few minutes before. He looked embarrassed, though, and laced with hostility, an anger she couldn’t help but feel was directed at her.

‘Are you okay?’

He didn’t answer, saying instead, ‘How do we know who this guy is? I mean, how do we really know what’s going on here? You never told me your family was this rich.’

‘They’re not.’

He shrugged, as if that proved his point.

‘And yet you’re willing to believe this guy’s being paid by your father to act as a bodyguard, protect you against kidnappers. How do we even know those two guys were kidnappers?’

‘They had guns.’ Though now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember seeing guns.

‘So? Maybe they were the police. That would explain the body armor. Because why would a kidnapper wear body armor? What, he thought you might be packing a gun?’ It troubled her but he had a point. They didn’t know anything about Lucas, if that was his real name, and they had only his word for it that he’d been paid to protect them, to protect her. ‘For all we know, he could be out there calling your dad right now and demanding a ransom. What a classic trick for a kidnapper—you convince your victims they’re in danger and that you’re protecting them.’

She thought about it, all the question marks, the apparent unwillingness of Lucas to provide answers for any of them. The sum of their knowledge was that Lucas had been following them, that he’d killed two men without hesitation, that he had false passports with their pictures in them. All the same, he had an air about him of someone who was being straight with them.

‘I believe him,’ she said finally. ‘If he was lying he’d have tried to convince us, but he hasn’t. He just assumes we believe him because he’s telling the truth and he can’t see why we wouldn’t believe. I know this is all crazy and, trust me, I really wanna speak to my dad, but I think Lucas is telling the truth.’

Chris looked at her, not saying anything. He nodded then, seeming to accept that she was probably right, and he looked down at the gun and said, ‘Then we’re in some really deep shit.’

Ella looked at the gun too, but in her head she was silently correcting him;
they
weren’t in really deep shit,
she
was. Whatever this was, sooner or later Chris would be able to walk away from it if he wanted to, and from her.

She had an uneasy feeling, though, that sitting on that night table was a reality she’d been shielded from, a reality that her father hadn’t wanted to taint her childhood or youth. But it had surfaced now and even if she came through this, if nothing ever happened again, she’d be forever on her guard, always scanning the crowd for another Lucas.

Chapter Three

L
ucas had a feeling something was wrong. He’d called twice, allowing for the fact that the first call might have woken them up, that Hatto might not have reached the phone in time. Both calls had run onto the answering machine, though. He’d try again in the morning, but he didn’t like this at all.

He started towards the hotel, unsure if he could face going back just yet. In five days watching these kids he’d come to like them, even envy them—youth, young love, all that. But it was easy to like people from a distance; being cooped up with them was another thing.

They probably needed some time on their own anyway, and he couldn’t imagine they were in that much danger, not for the time being. He’d stay out for half an hour, have a drink and then go back. Maybe if he was lucky, they’d be tired by then.

He walked into the Duomo square and headed for an Irish bar with a small fenced terrace outside, just enough cramped stools and tables for a dozen or so people. Only three people were sitting there, so he went into the more crowded bar, bought a glass of red and came back out.

The group of three looked at him as he sat down but went back to their conversation. Italians, intellectual types. He listened in to the rhythm of their speech for a while before letting it fall away into the murmur coming from the bar itself.

Tourists were still walking about the piazza but most of them were quiet, necks uncraned, as if in the cool darkness they’d forgotten where they were. The cathedral looked at peace too, sheer above them, an air of respite about it. This was how Lucas liked cities.

He wished he’d brought his book with him. He only had about fifty pages left and could have finished it, enjoying the calm, his glass of red wine. It would have looked obvious, though, leaving them on urgent business but stopping to pick up some reading matter on the way out. And as it happened, he wouldn’t have read much anyway.

He’d only been there ten minutes when a mixed group of five or six arrived, English and Americans. They were in high spirits, not drunk but loud and happy, spilling onto the terrace with a force that looked set to sweep the three intellectuals away. After a few moments of guarded contempt, though, the Italians went back to their conversation.

Lucas continued to mind his own business and when one of the American girls asked if she could take a spare stool from his table he smiled and gestured for her to take it but said nothing, not wanting to be drawn out as an English speaker.

One of the group had gone into the bar and came out a short while later with a tray of drinks. He was clowning around, walking out into the empty square like a confused waiter. They called him back, but he kept it up, pretending to offer Lucas one of the drinks, cracking jokes.

This guy was clearly the reason they were in such high spirits. He was pretty funny too, but Lucas was in no mood. He finished his drink and edged past them off the terrace. He heard one of the girls say, ‘You scared him off.’

The clown responded with a plaintive child voice.

‘Oh, don’t go.’

Ten years ago Lucas would have stayed calm by thinking of the power he had, knowing that he could pull his gun at any second and hold it against the guy’s head—
Not so funny now, huh?
He’d changed since then. He couldn’t imagine he’d ever want to join in with the fun but he was more Zen now, consoling himself with the thought that one day, all these people would be dead.

When he got back to the room, he listened outside the door for a minute. They were talking, their voices hushed but urgent, no doubt still debating what had gone on, whether or not they could trust Lucas. He knocked once, silencing them, a silence that was somehow more frantic than the conversation that had preceded it.

‘It’s Dad here.’

‘Coming,’ said Ella after a pause, her tone falsely cheerful. She let him in. Chris was standing on the far side of the bed and Lucas noticed immediately that he was empty-handed. He glanced at the bedside table, then at Ella, relieved as he saw the gun in her hand, hanging at her side. She’d gone for the gun; that was good.

Once she’d closed the door she put it back on the table and said, ‘Where have you been?’

‘I tried to call your dad. No reply. I’ll try again in the morning.’

Chris looked at his watch and said, ‘Maybe they’re in bed.’ He was still standing in the same place, like someone in a wooden amateur theater production, uneasy in his own space.

Lucas nodded but Ella said quickly, ‘Ben wouldn’t be in bed.’ She shrugged then, answering herself. ‘He doesn’t always pick up the phone, though.’

Lucas looked at her, thought of saying something and decided against it, turning on the TV instead. He went through a couple of channels—soccer, a hallucinatory game show—stopping on something that looked like the news.

As he watched, he was conscious of the two of them behind him. Chris was static, like he wasn’t sure who had the next line, an air of suppressed panic at the thought it might be him. Ella seemed more relaxed, projecting a slightly bewildered acceptance.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her sit on the foot of the bed, watching with him now. They were covering a political story, pictures of Berlusconi, other people he didn’t recognize.

When that story finished, the anchor spoke for a minute or two and all three of them heard him mention Montecatini. It kicked Chris back into life, bringing him over to sit next to Ella. There was some footage of the aftermath, a confused crowd, police, a covered body on the ground.

The last thing the camera fixed on was a gun that had been dropped by one of them. It lay in the road now, a MAC-10. That’s how Lucas had spotted them so quickly; if they’d been carrying something more discreet they might just have slipped a couple of shots in before he got to them.

And that was something else the MAC-10 said to him, something he wouldn’t share with Ella—that this hadn’t been an attempted kidnap: it had been a hit. He didn’t know what kind of business Hatto was involved in now but he had to have upset someone in a big way for them to consider this a reasonable payback.

A policeman was being interviewed, talking rapidly with a look of grave concern that didn’t match the excited flow of words coming from his mouth. Lucas was staring intently at the screen, just staring—it hadn’t occurred to him to wonder what was being said. But then Ella said, ‘What is it? What’s he saying?’

He turned and shrugged.

‘I only speak English.’

She smiled a little. ‘You don’t speak much of that.’

He nodded, smiled back. He wanted to say something but couldn’t think of a response. He wasn’t much good at conversation, he knew that; never able to come up with the mindless chitchat people used to fill the pauses.

‘Will the police be looking for us?’ It was Chris, still shocked, taking too long to snap out of it.

‘Me. Maybe you.’

Chris looked confused for a second before saying, ‘Why don’t we just go to the police?’

Lucas shook his head. ‘Not until I know what’s going on.’

‘So what are we gonna do?’

‘You should sleep. Tomorrow might be a tough day.’ He could see from their faces what they were thinking, that it could hardly be tougher than the last couple of hours.

It could, though, and Lucas was uncomfortable with the thought of what might still lie ahead of them. He didn’t know how to deal with people who were falling apart, how to comfort them. He wasn’t sure if he’d just forgotten how to be with people at all.

He turned off the TV and sat down in the small armchair in the corner of the room—a token gesture by the owners to mimic bigger, better hotels. Ella looked at him for a moment or two and said, ‘We haven’t got our things.’

‘I know.’ It was funny how people fixed on little things—the lack of a toothbrush and a change of underwear seemingly more important than the fact that two gunmen had tried to kidnap or kill them. ‘It’s only for one night.’

‘Do you at least have some toothpaste I could borrow?’

‘Sure.’ He went over to his bag, took the toothpaste out and handed it to her.

‘Thanks.’ She walked into the bathroom and Lucas took his book out before going back to the armchair.

Chris was still on the end of the bed. He took his shoes off, a laborious process, like he’d aged fifty years. Lucas ignored him and turned his attention to the book, rereading the last couple of pages to get himself back into the story.

And he tried to keep his eyes on the book when Ella came out of the bathroom, stripped down to her underwear, carrying her clothes neatly folded. He couldn’t help but be drawn, though, to the backs of her thighs, the slimly drawn curves of her hips and waist, the skimpy tease of the matching black underwear.

She put the clothes near the bed, wrestling under the duvet before tossing the remaining items on the pile. Lucas looked at them, the material flimsy and spent, even more suggestive of the nakedness that was tantalizingly out of reach beneath the duvet.

Perhaps Chris had noticed him looking because he stood up now, staring at Ella like he was mystified by something, probably just by the fact she’d been happy to walk around like that in front of a stranger. He started to put his shoes back on.

Lucas put the book down and said, ‘What are you doing?’

He finished tying his laces, then stared at Lucas defiantly.

‘I need some fresh air. I’m going out.’

Ella lifted her head and stared at Lucas too, waiting for his response. Chris looked wired, determined to get out of there for a while, certainly in no mood to listen to reason. Lucas was hoping Ella might say something, plead with him to stay, but she remained silent, probably sensing, as he did, that it was pointless.

There were other ways of stopping him, of course, but he supposed they were hardly appropriate for a situation like this. The simple truth was, he should never have agreed to the job in the first place; it wasn’t what he specialized in, protecting people, baby-sitting. But here he was, shark playing dolphin, jumping through the hoops but fooling no one.

‘Give me your phone.’

Chris reached into his pocket and threw the phone on the bed, a petty act that seemed to embarrass him once he’d done it. He looked earnestly at Lucas and said, ‘I won’t be long. I just need some space, you know? Fresh air.’

Lucas nodded. ‘Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t call anyone, don’t speak to anyone. When you get back, you knock once and say, “It’s Craig.”’

‘Okay.’ He turned to Ella and said, ‘You’ll be okay?’

She let her head sink back to the pillow and said, ‘I’ll be fine but, like he said, Chris, don’t do anything stupid.’

He left without answering, and Lucas got up and locked the door behind him. As he sat down again, he heard Ella say, ‘Sorry about Chris.’ He looked over. He was about to tell her it was okay, to forget about it, but realized it wasn’t what she needed to hear.

‘How are you holding up?’

‘Not well.’ She sat up, propping the pillows behind her, all the time careful to keep herself covered with the duvet. She looked set to say something, but once she was comfortable she noticed the book in his hand and said, ‘What are you reading?’

‘
The
Nibelungenlied
.’

‘The what?’

‘It’s an old German epic poem, the story Wagner used for the Ring Cycle. Of course, the opera isn’t as good as the book.’ She didn’t even smile, but that was hardly surprising; she was worried and upset, and he spent too much time on his own, his sense of humor stuck in a cul-de-sac where it was required to amuse only him.

‘You read that stuff for pleasure?’

‘It’s a good story.’

She shrugged and said, ‘Did you go to college?’ He shook his head. She thought for a second or two before saying, ‘Have you read any Jane Austen?’

He shook his head again.

‘Never thought it was my kind of thing.’

‘You should try
Persuasion
. I just finished it. I’d lend you my copy but it’s in my bag.’ He smiled. He liked that they were discussing books, like a real conversation. It wasn’t real, obviously, but it felt close, to him at least.

‘You should try this, too,’ he said. Her mind was already elsewhere, though, probably dragged back by the thought of her bag sitting in their hotel room in Montecatini. It wasn’t a conversation, and her mind wouldn’t allow her the luxury of talking books when there were more important things.

She looked deep in thought for a while before saying, ‘Do you really think they were trying to kidnap me?’ It took him a moment to register the tone of the question; she wasn’t searching for a more innocent interpretation but for a darker one. It made him think she’d had more idea of her father’s business interests than Hatto had given her credit for.

‘It’s hard to say. There are a lot of enthusiastic amateurs out there at the moment. They don’t always act like you expect them to.’

‘But?’

‘My guess is they were sent to kill you.’

She didn’t respond, and then she started to gag and ran for the bathroom, clutching the duvet but not managing to cover herself with it.

Lucas took in the flash of exposed flesh, the glimpse of pubic hair, the details searing into his memory before she was gone. He listened in shock as she threw up into the toilet. It didn’t last long but it was another five minutes before she came out. The duvet was more securely wrapped now, only her head and feet exposed.

She sat on the edge of the bed and Lucas said, ‘I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have said anything. I had the feeling maybe you knew.’

Ella shook her head before saying, ‘I always thought Dad’s businesses were . . .’ She stopped herself. ‘I always thought there were things we were never told. But even so, why would someone want to kill
me
?’

‘I don’t know; maybe to get at him.’ He thought of reassuring her about Hatto’s business activities too, how it was mainly finance now, and legitimate on the whole. He couldn’t be certain, though; his own assurances were based on incomplete information, and on just one source: Hatto himself. ‘This is something you’ll have to speak to your dad about.’