The Venetian Job (7 page)

After the whole class agreed I'd made up the
story, I'd hold up the front page of the newspaper with our photo
in it.

"Yeah, that's exciting," Charlie said to
Santo about the art theft, "but what do you do day to day?"

"As I said, most of the time, I satisfy
myself that life in Venice is in order." He pretended to be
offended and stuck his nose in the air. "That life is traveling
along as it should."

That didn't sound exciting; it sounded
boring. "So," I asked, "when do we get to go on the police
boat?"

"Soon," he replied.

After walking the streets of Venice with
Santo for ages, I wondered if he'd lied to us about having a ride
on the police boat. First, we visited his favorite coffee shop, so
Santo could have
the best coffee in all of
Venice
. He introduced us to the owner of the café and
every single customer who walked in. They gasped when they
discovered we were from Australia.
So
far!
they said. Aussie relatives seemed to make Santo
feel important, so we didn't mention that we were actually related
to Caterina.

Then we dropped in to a church, so Santo
could check on Father Francesco, who had been very ill. We
discovered Father Francesco had recovered and had been absolutely
healthy for the last six months.

After that we followed Santo to a place
where gondoliers hung out and waited for tourists. Santo chatted
with them in Italian. They might've been chatting about the weather
or football, or they might've been planning to lift the whole of
Venice up a bit higher so it wouldn't flood. Charlie and me
couldn't be sure.

When Santo joined us, I said to him, "I've
got a good name for you."

"Yes, Max, what name is that?"

"Mr. Have-a-chat."

Charlie laughed, then, luckily for me, Santo
laughed too. Santo rubbed his chin and said with a smile, "Let me
think ... whom could I have a chat with now?"

"Someone who sells gelato," suggested
Charlie.

As soon as we got our gelato, Santo's cell
phone rang. He announced, "The police boat is ready."

On our way to the police boat we saw a shop
full of carnival masks, a shop full of colorful Murano glass that's
made on one of the islands of Venice, a shop full of colorful
marble paper, a shop with miniature gondolas and a shop full of
Venetian lace. I reckoned he was taking us the long way so we had
to see tourist stuff, and I told him that.

"Be patient," he replied. "Soon we'll see
the magnificent Grand Canal."

"What's so magnificent about it?" I asked as
we wandered through narrow stone streets.

"There are many magnificent palaces either
side of the Grand Canal," he explained. "You'll see them."

"Are you going to chat with the people who
live in the palaces?" I was a bit suspicious; his best friend
probably lived in one of the palaces.

Santo laughed. "No, no, I don't know anyone
personally who could afford to live in a palace. They cost millions
and millions of euros."

We kept going through a maze of random
narrow streets. It was like the streets were designed to make us
feel lost and then suddenly we'd arrive in a square or at a small
bridge going over a canal and we'd feel found again.

Finally, we reached the boat and we met
Luca, a policeman who worked with Santo. I took a photo of Luca and
Santo in the police boat. The boat was pretty cool. I reckoned it
could go fast.

"Don't you need this boat to catch
criminals?" I asked Luca.

"Not this afternoon. I asked the criminals
to take the afternoon off," he replied. He started the engine and
steered the boat through all the other boats on the canal.

I had a bad feeling that Santo had been
telling the truth when he said there wasn't much crime in
Venice.

We reached the Grand Canal. In front of us,
on the other side of the canal, stood a line of colorful
four-storey palaces. They looked like they belonged in a storybook
land.

Charlie pointed to the palaces and asked,
"Why are there are so many palaces?"

"Ah ha," said Santo. "Venice had many
wealthy, powerful families. They liked to show off their wealth by
building grand palaces. They supported architects and artists.
That's one reason why Venice is a famous center for art."

Then he pointed out The Cursed Mansion. I
sat up straight and Charlie moved closer to us. A sly smile spread
across Santo's face.

"The Ca' Dario palace," said Luca.

It looked pretty cool; I liked the round
windows. "Why's it cursed?"

"Venetians like to say it's cursed because
so many of the owners have died. Even people connected to the
palace have died. Very mysterious."

"Well tell us," demanded Charlie.

"Well," Luca said, "the palace was built in
the fifteenth century by Giovanni Dario, a Venetian diplomat."

Charlie interrupted, "How'd he die?"

"It was his son-in-law. He was publicly
disgraced and murdered. Later his wife died, they say of shame.
After that many bad things happened to owners of the palace. There
was a diamond merchant who went bankrupt, an English historian who
committed suicide or was murdered, many European nobles ... I can't
remember the details. There was an eccentric American owner in the
1950s who was thrown out of Italy. There was a count who was beaten
to death by his butler. Not so long ago, a manager of a famous rock
group died. Then there was Mr. Gardini, a businessman who committed
suicide before he was about to be arrested."

"What for?" I asked impatiently.

"Something to do with one hundred million
dollars worth of bribes to Italian politicians."

"Wow," Charlie and me said at the same
time.

Santo laughed. "The curse is just a good
story. It's good for Venice to have a cursed palace. It adds a bit
of ... spice to the Grand Canal."

I noticed a whole lot of people and activity
in through the windows of The Cursed Mansion. "Is something going
on in there?"

Santo's eyes lit up. "A film is being shot
there. Venice is a favorite location for TV shows and films."

If the film star got kidnapped, we could
rescue her. Not as good as Princess Mary, but a film star would do.
"Are there any famous actors in the film?" I asked Santo.

"I don't know. It's a French film. I know
the director; he used to make a TV show here. He's well known in
Europe."

Suddenly an even better idea came to me. I
could see myself standing in front of my class, telling them:

I met this famous film
director in a cursed palace on the Grand Canal ... and he happened
to need a boy my age for a small part ... so, to help him out, I
played the part ... he said I was a natural actor ... then he asked
me if I could return to Venice for the opening of the film next
year ... and, very humbly, I agreed so Mom could come back with me
and see her relatives.

"If you know him," I said, "you can visit
him and we'll watch while he's filming. We won't get in the way."
At the very least I could get a photo of a famous actor to show my
class.

A
n uncomfortable look
spread across Santo's face. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "The
film director is a busy man. Time is of the essence when shooting a
film."

"We wouldn't get in the way," I
repeated.

Charlie told him that'd be great, because
then he could tell his friends at home and they'd all be envious.
But I reckoned Santo was exaggerating to make himself look real
important. He might've met film director once, maybe twice. I
reckoned he was better than me at making up good stories.

I went over to where Luca was driving the
boat. I asked real casual, "Were you a policeman with Santo when
that big art robbery happened?"

He frowned. "
Si
. Crimes like that make us look bad. The bosses
in Rome think we should've known something suspicious was going on.
Only after, Santo noticed that the thieves were wearing the same
silver ring on their right middle finger." He shrugged. "How could
we know?"

"You have to trust your gut when you have a
bad feeling," I replied as though I were a famous detective.

"
Si
," he
admitted.

Luca steered the boat alongside the
platform. Santo jumped out and went to talk to the film director
while we waited. Eventually he returned and said they were having a
break, so we could take a look around. Luca stayed with the boat,
while we followed Santo up the stairs and into a mega-big room
filled with lots of people. It was easy to tell the crew from the
actors, because the actors were dressed up in old-fashioned clothes
and the crew were all in jeans and T-shirts.

I couldn't believe it. Half the people on
the set knew Santo. They nodded, shook his hand, said
Buongiorno
or whatever. Did he know
almost everyone in Venice?

The crew and the actors were all getting
something to eat and drink from a long table with heaps of food on
it. My tummy rumbled. I tried not to stare at the food.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and a man
introduced himself as André, the film director. He looked normal,
even though he had a wild gray beard and funny glasses, because he
was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. After a minute, it was obvious he
and Santo were friends. Maybe Santo wasn't such a big storyteller.
André virtually forced us to have something to eat. As if we were
going to say no. He also told us that we should take a look over
the mansion while we were here.

Santo, I reckoned, had the best job in
Venice. Would a half-Italian from Australia be allowed to become a
policeman in Venice? I could own a shiny-red speedboat and race up
and down the Grand Canal.

After Charlie and me had stuffed ourselves
full of pizza slices, Santo took us on a tour. Lots of the rooms
just looked like a normal house - well, sort of normal. There were
old paintings on every wall and all the furniture was real posh. It
didn't feel like a home. I liked Caterina's hotel better. A few of
the rooms were filled with stuff for the film. One room had racks
and racks of women's dresses and shoes. Some of the doors were
locked.

Santo told us about some of the old
paintings hanging on all the walls. He seemed to know something
about art. He said the security guards standing round were there to
protect the artwork. The big vases sitting on tables were copies of
the original valuable vases, in case they got broken.

We took the stairs down to the water-level
floor and wandered into another room where there was lots of
equipment. As we entered, a guy from the crew wearing a green Save
the Planet T-shirt threw a blanket over something and turned to us.
He gave me an evil glare before he noticed Santo, then he smiled
and mumbled something to Santo in Italian before he began to
rearrange portable lights and leads in another corner. I wanted to
see what was under that blanket. But the guy with the evil glare
didn't leave the room and we did. That guy gave me a bad
feeling
.

What could be under that blanket? A million
euros? A photographer who wanted to get a photo of one of the
famous actors and sell it to a magazine for lots of money? Yeah,
that'd be it. Or maybe he was the photographer and it was his
camera with a mega-big lens under the blanket. Should I tell Santo?
He wouldn't listen to me if I told him I had a bad feeling. I'd
need evidence. I had to get a look under that blanket. And if the
guy with the evil glare was one of those bad paparazzi guys, then
everyone would thank me and the Venice police force would probably
beg me to work for them. Maybe I should start checking out
shiny-red speedboats.

Santo led us back down the hallway and up
the stairs. I glanced back down the hallway and noticed the guy
with the evil glare leaving the room. That gave me an idea. Once we
reached the big room where all the people were, I said to Santo,
"I've got to go. Back in a minute!"

Santo nodded, but Charlie gave me one of his
weird looks because he knew I was up to something. I turned and
took off.

When I was within sight of the landing where
I had to go down the stairs, I noticed another weird thing. One of
the crew walked past a painting hanging on the wall and he stopped
and pressed on the bottom right-hand corner. He wore a Save the
Whales T-shirt. That was weird; did everyone want to save the world
today? As soon as he noticed me, he stopped what he was doing and
continued walking.

My heart thumped real loud. I felt all hot.
Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Still, I'd got this far. I didn't
want to spend the rest of my life wondering what was under that
blanket. When I reached the staircase, I crept down without making
a noise. The hallway was clear. I got to the room without anyone
seeing me.

My bad feeling told me my whole life was
about to change. I took a deep breath and lifted the blanket. My
hopes vanished. It wasn't a camera; it was nothing. Seven nothings,
actually. Seven silver tubes sat upright. As I picked one up to see
if I could open it, I heard footsteps.

I put the tube back, threw the blanket back
over the tubes and looked round for a place to hide. There was a
door I hadn't noticed before. I tried it and it was unlocked. When
I stepped inside, I realized it was a small room like a storeroom.
I closed the door behind me, which meant I couldn't see a thing.
Everything was black. Lucky I wasn't scared of the dark any
more.

The footsteps entered the room. There were
two men. They began to whisper in Italian. They sounded
excited.

A million
what
ifs
raced through my head. What if they opened the
storeroom door? What would they do? What if Charlie and Santo began
to worry because I hadn't come back? What if they came to find me
when the two Italian guys were still in the room? I began to feel
sick. What if I ran out of oxygen?