An Unremarkable Man (3/4)

I was lying in the back of an electric MINI, hands tied behind my back, looking at the smooth head of my kidnapper and wondering about things.

“So, Clarence,” I said. “Since we’re road buddies now, what’s the deal? You guys are some kind of Eco warrior gang?”

“That might be what the establishment calls us. It’s not what we call ourselves.”

“Environmentalists?”

Clarence frowned.

“We’re human beings, right? We just want to take effective action against those who are destroying the planet.”

“I see. I get it. I admit, I’ve wondered why no one’s assassinated these billionaires before.”

“For the last time!” Clarence banged the steering wheel. “We did not assassinate him! We never planned to hurt anyone. That’s not our style.”

“So…what was the plan?” I asked cautiously, noticing in the rear-view mirror that a vein on his temple was throbbing.

“We were going to have a discussion with him.”

“A…discussion?”

Clarence was silent for a few moments, collecting himself.

“Have you ever read A Christmas Carol?” he asked finally.

“I’ve seen the Muppet movie?”

He sighed.

“Well, think of Byron Gray as the Michael Caine character, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“We were going to visit Byron Gray in the night and show him what he was doing to the planet. Once he saw the consequences of his actions, we were confident he would change his ways.”

“Jesus Christ,” I said. I would have clutched my forehead if my arms weren’t tied behind my back.

“What?” he frowned.

“You were going to—what—show him a Powerpoint slide of sad polar bears? You were going to reason with him? That might be the lamest shit I’ve ever heard in my life,” I said.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “Well it’s easy to criticize, innit. It’s fucking easy to criticize.”

“Sorry man,” I said, aware that the vein was still throbbing, that he was behind the steering wheel and that he still had my gun. “You’re right, you’re right. I was out of line.”

I wriggled on to my side to make myself slightly more comfortable. The sun was still not up but there was still a grey kind of pre-dawn light. It looked like we were heading north. My arms hurt, I was still thirsty, I realized Clarence was out of his depth and my life depended on his. He didn’t seem violent but he might kill me out of sheer incompetence.

I felt suddenly very, very tired and wished I could just go to sleep and not think about anything. But of course, there was no way I was getting any sleep right now.

Clarence put some music on, some ambient deal. It looked like he was trying to meditate at the same time as driving.

We continued in this way for what felt like a week, though it was probably only a couple of hours. I noticed new sounds and lights--we were in a big city. I realized it must be Taranto.

After multiple stops and starts—traffic lights—we came to a stop and Clarence turned round to talk to me. He seemed much calmer now.

“Listen, I’m going to untie you. Then we’re going to walk quietly and calmly to a boat. Right? Don’t even fink about running. I’ve got your gun.”

“Do you know how to switch the safety off?” I asked casually.

He huffed with annoyance.

“Of course I bloody do!”

“OK, great. Just thought I’d check,” I said, noting that he didn’t know shit about Glocks, which don’t have switches on their safeties. On balance, this was probably in my favor, though there was always the chance that he’d fire in panic.

“Sit up, right?” he said.

I creaked into an upright position.

He took a craft knife out of his pocket and cut the cords quickly. I rubbed my wrists and sighed with satisfaction.

“Ah, thanks man.”

“No funny business, right?” he said.

“Right,” I said.

We got out and I saw we were near the sea. There were tenements behind us and a marina ahead. We walked along a path lined with palm trees and then onto a boardwalk. And that’s as far as we got.

A couple of muscly types arrested us. They wore black and yellow uniforms and berettas. Neither Clarence nor I resisted in any way. For me, it was something of a relief. I don’t know how Clarence felt about it because I didn’t see him again. They took us away to the remand prison in separate cars.

It was turning out to be quite a day.

I was taken into an interrogation room and given a can of San Pelligrino, some weird tasting orange soda.

When the detective came in to see me I was pleasantly surprised but also vaguely confused. She looked like Sofia Vergara dressed up as a cop. I decided to try my charm on her.

“Well, my day just got a lot better,” I joked.

“Pardon?” she said.

“Piacere,” I said, rolling out one of the only Italian words I knew.

She smiled sardonically.

A guy couldn’t get a break.

“Your name is Nathan Tate, yes?”

“That’s right.”

“Nathan Tate, you are under arrest for the murder of Byron Gray. Do you understand?”

I was momentarily speechless. For some reason, this particular wrinkle had never occurred to me.

“I—”

“You are entitled to contact an attorney. The hearing will be in five days. Yes?”

“OK,” I said. “Well, can I contact my attorney in the US?”

She shook her head abruptly.

“Only Italian. If you like, we can appoint one for you.”

I sighed.

“Can I call the embassy?”

Again, that sharp shake of the head. I was beginning to dislike this brusque beauty.

“Only we may contact the embassy on your behalf.”

“OK. Well, can you be a sweetheart and do that for me?”

“I would like to remind you that this is a serious matter. I am not your ‘sweetheart,’ Mr. Tate.”

“Noted.” I grimaced.

I was sent back to a holding cell until an attorney came through for me, then I was called to the interrogation room. The disapproving doll-face was back, with a young guy cop who also spoke English. The attorney was a respectable looking dude with a carefully groomed orange goatee and pointy shoes. The pointy shoes bothered me for some reason. He was a very serious guy.

“I would tell you at the very first, Mr. Tate, that you are not obliged to say anything. You can be silent if it is better for you.”

“I’m OK with talking,” I said. “In fact, I’d rather talk. Listen, let me set you guys straight.”

They all looked at me skeptically but waited.

“I was employed by the U.S. government to watch Mr. Gray so he wouldn’t escape before an important anti-mafia trial he’s testifying at. I was outside his bedroom door from about ten-thirty until just past midnight, when that guy Clarence knocked me out and kidnapped me. Neither of us had anything to do with his death—he was as surprised as I was.”

Call me naïve, but I was expecting them to unlock my handcuffs at that point and let me go. Instead, they crossed their arms and looked tougher than tufa.

“If you don’t believe me, ask my handler James Schafer. He has the goods. When the ambassador comes, he’ll vouch for me.”

The lawyer guy held up an elegant hand to silence me, then had a long, rather heated discussion with the cops. He spoke in a low voice as if they were afraid I’d overhear even though I speak about three words of I-tie. I sat back, smirking. I felt kind of smug because I knew it would put the fear of Beelzebub in them. You don’t mess with the U.S. government if you can help it. And I was one of their agents, effectively. Even if a relatively low-paid and under-the-radar sort of an agent.

Sure enough, the lawyer took me out of the interrogation. I believed it was because my mentioning the U.S. government was a mic-drop moment—’nuff said. I was ready to give him a high five. That did not eventuate.

“Mr. Tate,” he said, “I’m afraid we have a…small problem.”

“Huh?”

“Before coming to see you I contacted the U.S. Embassy and,” he adjusted his tie, “I’m sorry to say that, while they acknowledge privately that you are who you say you are, it is not, how we say, comodo for them to do so publicly.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, though I definitely had the sense that it was not good.

“The point is,” he said, and he had the decency to look extremely uncomfortable, “That the embassy says publicly that it does not know who you are and that the Italian authorities must act as they think is best.”

I stared. Then I sat down on the wonky chair in the room that looked as if it hadn’t changed since World War II.

“Do you understand, Mr. Tate?” said the lawyer again, his voice sounding as if he were miles away.

“Yeah, I get it,” I said. “I’m going to take the rap. But why?”

“As I understand, from what the ambassador told to me, it is a very delicate situation. He believes that if a member of the ’Ndragheta were to be arrested for this particular crime, then the consequences could be very bad for the bigger trial. There are some members who are close to becoming key witnesses.”

I started to feel a white-hot rage flaring up in my chest. I think the expression on my face alarmed the neat lawyer because he flinched and made a ‘calm-down’ gesture with his hands.

“The ambassador said to me to tell you that it is only temporary. If you are convicted, then the sentence you receive will be much reduced.”

“Oh, that’s a great comfort!” I yelled. “Thank you so much. Please tell the ambassador he is very generous!”

For half a second, he didn’t seem to realize that I was being sarcastic. When it dawned on him that I was, he draw himself up.

“In any case, Mr. Tate, I assure you that I will act on your behalf very capably. There is no reason, if you are innocent, that you should expect a conviction.”

“Of course I’m innocent,” I spat. “Wait a minute…What if it wasn’t the mafia who did it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What if it was someone else? Say, his wife…would that work?”

“If it could be proved, certainly,” said the lawyer.

I nodded. Then I had a chance...