All He Saw Was the Girl by Peter Leonard Read Free Book Online

better view of Rome, the city
spread out, a dusty haze hanging over the skyline, the giant dome of St Peter's
looming in the distance. There were telescopes set up along the balustrade,
tourists taking aim at points of interest. McCabe thinking this would be the
perfect setting for Chip to deliver his lines from Spartacus.
        They
strolled through Villa Borghese, her arm hooked around his, walking close as
they passed stands of chestnut trees, holmoaks and stylish umbrella pines that
looked like they were designed by Armani or Zegna. It occurred to him he didn't
even know her name, had forgotten to ask or hadn't thought to. "What's
your name?"
        "Angela."
        "That's
nice. Angela what?" She didn't answer or ask anything about him.
"Where do you live?"
        "That
way," she said, pointing north.
        They
passed the Temple of Diana and the G—the Monument. They walked further and
McCabe could see Via Veneto below the park. He and Chip would sit at an outside
table in front of Harry's Bar, watching the prostitutes come down from Borghese,
beautiful girls, knockouts in stylish outfits, walking by them, asking if
anyone wanted company. Chip would ask how much and then try to negotiate even
though he had no intention of buying their services.
        Now
they were on a path flanked by thick ten-foot-high hedgerows. McCabe stopped to
look at a bust on a marble pedestal, the face of a man scarred with graffiti.
Someone had drawn eyelashes, a mustache and goatee on him.
        Angela
glanced at the bust and smiled.
        McCabe
said, "Know who this is?"
        "No,
but I think you are going to tell me."
        "Cardinal
Scipione Borghesi, the guy who designed the park." McCabe realized he was
showboating, trying to impress her. "I memorize a lot of meaningless
historical facts, so I can impress good-looking girls I meet."
        She
said, "I can see that."
        McCabe
said, "Did you go to college?"
        "For
two years," she said, "the University of Turin."
        McCabe
said, "What did you study?"
        "Business
administration," she said.
        They
followed the path, crushed stones that wound through the park, a wooded area on
the right, open space, a field of grass on the left. McCabe could see the
marble facade of Casino Borghese in the distance. "Where're we meeting
your friend?"
        "Right
here."
        She let
go of his arm, stepping away from him as four guys with bandanas covering their
faces came through the trees, looking like Halloween bank robbers. They came at
him, McCabe wondering if there was some connection between these four and the
thieves on the motorcycle, coming back for revenge. But that didn't make sense.
There was no way they could've followed them. Now his attention was on Angela,
if that was really her name, Angela calm
and relaxed, like she was waiting to see what was going to happen.
        They
circled around him, McCabe separating them in his mind: the big guy who was the
size of an NFL nose guard, the short stocky one, the thin wiry guy with blond
hair, a bad bleach job. Even with the bandana hiding his face, he recognized
Fabio, the long-haired guy from Rebibbia, the one he beat on the basketball
court, the one with Mafia connections they'd read about in the newspaper.
        He
glanced at the girl again, standing there relaxed. She wasn't afraid because
she was in on it, she was the bait. But how'd they know he'd go after the
thieves on the motorcycle?
        McCabe
was moving backward, turning in a circle, trying to watch them all. The nose
guard came at him first, charging, coming straight at him. McCabe stepped right
as he got close, and the big guy overran him. McCabe turned, going to his
kidneys with a hard right. The guy turned and McCabe hit him with a right-left
combination to the body that dropped him to his knees.
        Now
the other three charged him. The stocky guy threw a wild right hand that
missed. McCabe juked and