"The VBI building,” Abelard bellowed and thought it best to add, “please." He would soon need all the cooperation he could get from the surly driver. It then occurred to him that he should stop at his condo to first pick up the del Verme contract, which he supposed would by now have arrived. Polite as can be he instructed the driver to make that stop before heading to the VBI building. With the push of a button he then isolated him behind thick, soundproof glass.
"But how do you know he's in today?" Felicity asked. He had intended to confront Milly alone. He would go there directly from the airport, along the way dropping Felicity at their apartment. Oliver and Elizabetta were quite content to make their own way when they arrived in Montreal but Felicity was another matter. Mindful that her uncle could be most unkind to his enemies, she had insisted on coming along and would not for an instant consider abandoning dear Abelard.
"Board meeting day tomorrow," he answered confidently. "The quarterly reporting board meeting which he would never miss. He always prepares very well. Two full days, cloistered in his office, seeing only those who will provide him with the critical bits and pieces necessary to craft a believable tale of inspired leadership and personal glory."
In the event the airports should be watched some precaution was taken. Abelard and Felicity both donned dark, short haired wigs, which may have had the unintended effect of drawing more attention to them than otherwise. In his rush to leave the stuffy costume store Abelard had simply taken two identical hair pieces. Add for Abelard a walrus moustache and loud Caribbean shirt with dazzling floral flourishes tucked loosely into leaf green buffoon pants and he appeared nothing so much as a person desperately seeking the attention of strangers. Anyone, even Felicity, not normally given to overly worry about style, might be judged fashion obsessed next to Abelard. She was sufficiently put out that she deliberately put some distance between her and Abelard. But she prudently did not remove the disguise. The limo driver at first refused to take the oddly dressed couple until Abelard handed him the full fare. He did take care to closely watch his strange passengers, particularly after they removed their unsightly camouflage.
"Don't stop here, drive right into the garage, please," Abelard insisted as the car slowed in front of the building.
"Hey, we don't do that, this is as far as we go with our service," the wary chauffeur responded with brusque, arrogant resolve. He was not so stupid as to give these two cretins a chance to have him alone in a dark garage.
"It's just around the corner," Abelard pleaded, but this time with two one hundred dollar bills he was noisily swishing between the tips of his fingers, "and I may have forgotten the tip," he added, as the chauffeur spotted the money. Prudence not having a monopoly in this man’s mental makeup, greed handily triumphed over fear.
Felicity, who had been leaning forward to follow the negotiations was thrown back into her seat, as the long limousine accelerated and screeched around the corner. But he stopped just at the entrance where the sign clearly stated they were entering a private garage. The chauffeur turned to Abelard to complain when he saw that another hundred had now joined the two already at the tips of his fingers. The security guard just gawked as the car lurched forward while he was still in the act of preparing to come out of his glass booth.
"You can't stay here," the guard at Milly’s private elevator announced, fingers hovering near his visible piece to remove any ambiguity the strangers might have as to his meaning. The guard’s telephone had suddenly and insistently come to life. The tinted glass kept him from recognizing Abelard, against who he had been instructed to take any and all measures were he to try and enter the elevator. He made a poor decision to turn his attention to the ringing telephone. As the guard entered his small booth to answer, Abelard silently left the car and swiftly restrained him, one arm firmly pressing on the astonished man's neck, the other holding the point of his knife in front of the guard's eye.
"I want you to do two things and then we will quietly leave you to your duties," Abelard’s tone cold enough to be convincing. The guard did not for an instant doubt Abelard's resolve. He nodded, unable to squeeze enough air through his neck to respond otherwise.
"When I let you go you will contact your friend at the front and tell him all is well. Then you will telephone upstairs and have Mr. Lord informed that Mr. Bush is here to see him." Abelard was not yet assured that the guard fully appreciated how annoyed he would be if everything didn’t proceed as he wished. “Is there anything you have not understood,” Abelard whispered, sliding the blade’s cold flat edge along the guard’s fleshy cheek, as though preparing to separate the nose from the face? The guard, in Abelard’s iron grip, unable to move anything but his incredulous eyes, managed to convey that he had caught everything.
The first call only took a moment. He had to hold for a bit after giving his message on the second call. Then he confirmed what he had heard, put the receiver down and said, with some astonishment, "you can go right up Mr. Bush.”
The elevator was at the top of the building and they had to wait a moment while it dropped to the garage. The door opened and out stepped two well groomed young men. "Only you Mr. Bush, we have no instructions for anyone else," the dark haired one said, leering at Felicity.
"You had better talk into that little box of yours and get new instructions," Abelard said, pointing to the two-way radio in his hand. "I will not leave her here alone."
"Ok, come on," he said brusquely, after conferring briefly with his black box, annoyed at having to retreat before these outsiders, pipsqueaks he would rather have crushed like squirming rats.
The elevator gave onto an ornate ante room, large enough to comfortably hold at least a dozen people. They spent no time there but were ushered directly through the already opened door at the opposite end, adorned with a bronze plaque informing all who entered that this was the lair of M.Y. Lord.
Milly was dressed more formally than he had been at the Florentine police station. He had been stoking the roaring fire and was just straightening up, tightly gripping the black, heavy metal poker, tip still glowing red from the flames. Abelard had little doubt as to where Milly’s thoughts were just then wallowing.
"Abelard, good to see you again. I asked the guard to let you in because I didn’t want to lose a man and I did want to tell you how very disappointed I was when you ran off without a word and just disappeared,” he said, without the least hint he might be making a bad joke. “You of course know Len," he quickly added. He gestured to a slightly built man emerging from the shadows beyond the harsh glow of halogen light enveloping the small carpeted area in front of the fireplace. Leonardo Attendolo was the corporate secretary and close confident of Milly. He knew all that could be known about VBI. “One more thing,” he said, looking at Felicity, sad disappointment clouding his eyes, “she will have to wait in the other room or this meeting is over now.” Abelard looked imploringly at Felicity, knowing he neither could nor would force her to do anything. She hesitated only a moment, handed him her purse and then quickly made her way back into the ante room. Felicity had accepted that she was no longer part of Milly’s family.
"As you know, we are very busy preparing for the board meeting, is there something so urgent troubling you that it couldn't be dealt with later on?" M.Y. Lord asked, almost solicitously. He had his priorities. But it was easy to tell from the contrived boredom in his voice he already knew the answer.
"That depends upon how much you value your life," Abelard responded, never taking his eyes off M.Y. lord.
His sudden agitation was palpable. He was not used to being threatened, this powerful primal being overseeing a vast empire. He seemed to lose control of his perfectly manicured head, twisting it from side to side, wrinkling the skin of his thick neck, as though trying to slip out from the prison of his clothes. His breathing became heavy and erratic, more of a low snarl. He was struggling to regain his composure.
Abelard appeared to be taking great pleasure in M.Y. Lord's discomfort. But he remained caut
ious, moving ever so slowly, unclasping Felicity's purse and pulling out the carefully folded contract. The body guards, alarmed by Abelard's actions had both already slipped their hands into their jackets, preparing to defend the boss.
"You surely remember Elizabetta Trebella, the psychiatrist who looked after me," Abelard said. "She has already signed an affidavit accusing you of trying to kill me. If anything should happen to any of us, then it will surface and you will be held responsible."
"Abelard, my friend," M.Y. Lord began, a smile of relief transforming his features from the wild, psychotic distortions of a moment earlier into the benign regard of a selfless philanthropist, "do you truly believe they will take her seriously, swearing that a man with a fabricated identity, yes I know about that, was my potential victim. Frankly, I am disappointed. You always impressed me as a lot brighter than that."
"To tell the truth Milly, I didn't really think you would be affected by the mere threat of exposure. You’ve never shown anything but contempt for rules that are not your own and only slight regard for those who would enforce them. You’re full of yourself Milly," Abelard said, smiling sadly, stoically, not cruelly and vengefully as he had earlier. "That is why I also took one extra precaution," he added, stretching out his arm, offering the still folded contract to Milly. Attendolo came forward, snatched the papers and dutifully brought them to his master. Milly was not very sure what to make of this new and unexpected development. He seemed to have lost some of his self-assurance, wary of a trick. He read its contents.
"Is this some sort of joke," he asked, very threateningly? "What's all this compensation shit? Why you showing me this crap?" Milly's polished veneer was surprisingly thin. It was inadequate to contain his deeply anchored, simmering brutality, prepared always to strike. He crumpled the paper and threw it across the office where it bounced off Attendolo’s head, who fetched the projectile from where it had fallen and unravelled it for a quick read.
"Milly," Attendolo was saying, trying to catch Milly's attention. "Milly," he said a bit louder this time, provoking a violent reaction, as from a primitive tribal chieftain, uncertainty making him lash out at all around him.
"What the fuck do you want?" He yelled.
Then he stopped, seeing a more than usually pale Attendolo, his frightened rodent eyes repeatedly scanning the room. There was something about the contract Attendolo evidently did not like.
"We need to talk," Attendolo said, in a low, timid voice. The two conferred, Milly standing beside Attendolo, head slightly bowed, arms arrogantly on his waist, listening until he slowly began to look up, the utter astonishment in his face apparent even at a distance. There was some further discussion, hand wringing and head nodding. Milly walked into the semi darkness to the far corner of his vast office and picked up the telephone, said a few words and then came back to join Abelard and Attendolo.
As they were talking, it became apparent to Abelard that Attendolo knew what the del Verme seal on a contract meant and had explained its seriousness to Milly. Abelard wondered then whether Leonardo Attendolo was not descended from the fourteenth century Attendoli, whose famous member, Muzio Attendolo, would become one of Italy's great condottieri and eventually take the name Sforza as the Duke of Milan. But even if he was not of that famous stock he would still surely be aware of Splendid Company through his convenient connections to the Italian underworld.
"Leonardo tells me that the contract is quite legitimate," he began with a renewed confidence which immediately put Abelard on guard. He had regained his poise, a sure sign he felt the upper hand would again soon be his. "But he also tells me these contracts have more hidden fine print than insurance companies would ever imagine putting in. For example, my friend, the contract kicks in if and only if you or those mentioned are killed under my orders. It says nothing about anything else I might do to you."
He then shook his head in apparent disappointment at Abelard, looked over at Attendolo standing beside him and, without warning, twisted violently towards him and smashed him full in the face, sending blood squirting in all directions and Attendolo to the carpet in a crumpled heap. The sharp crack meant that he had also broken his nose. Milly then turned to Abelard, a sly smile flashing momentarily across his quivering, demonic face.
"You're mad, how dare you attack Leonardo," he suddenly yelled at Abelard, who remained motionless, utterly astonished, unable to react.
"You all saw what happened," he turned to his bodyguards, who nodded to indicate their complicity. "Leonardo, you poor man, I will have that lunatic arrested and prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Don't worry, we will take care of your nose and you can be sure I won't forget what happened here."
Attendolo, having spent so much time near Milly, was exquisitely in tune with his body language and voice inflections. Still stunned from the blow, he nevertheless very quickly understood Milly's strategy. Not trusting himself to speak, the pain in his nose had by now made him sensitive to any movement, he nodded ever so carefully to confirm his complicity.
Then a smaller man, who had remained almost totally obscured by the darkness at the far end of the office, emerged.
"Bull," Abelard said, anxiety in his voice. John Bull, nominally the head of strategy and organization development, was Milly’s toady-in-chief.
"You're finished Abe," he snarled from a mouth disfigured into a permanent sneer. "This time nothing will save you. I saw everything and the courts are going to put you away forever."
Abelard lost control. He lunged at Bull, taking him by the lapels of his jacket and throwing him against the wall. He turned in time to stop the blond haired thug, coming at him full force, with a blow to the chest and then bring his fist hard against the side of the big man's head. The second bodyguard did not fare any better, Abelard grasped his arm in mid throw, and repeatedly kicked him in the ribs, the cracking sound barely audible, being absorbed by the conveniently thick carpeting. Then he turned to Milly who had moved back to the fireplace and picked up the heavy poker with its long, dangerously pointed hook. Abelard bounded over to the fireplace and, in turn, picked up the metal fireplace shovel. He then smiled and prepared to play with Milly. It was like dealing with a child, Abelard the experienced warrior, master swordsman, against Milly’s untrained thrusts and wild swings. This went on for a few moments, their giant shadows moving eerily across the walls in front of the roaring fire, until Abelard grew tired of the game and swiftly knocked the poker from Milly's hand. He picked it up and put the pointed tip against Milly's neck. The still hot metal filled the still air with the pungent scent of burning flesh.
"Game's over, Milly. Prepare for oblivion," he said, with an entirely expressionless stare. He was now the victor of the field, the final source of vengeance and legitimate punishment.
"No," Felicity said, "you can't." Even the thick carpeting and soundproof walls could not entirely mute the crashing sounds, giving Felicity the reason she needed to barge into the office.
Those few extra seconds, purchased through Felicity's intervention were enough to turn the tables. Uniformed policemen burst suddenly through the open door. Abelard didn't resist. He was manacled and brought before a small, grubby looking detective, entirely out of place in the sumptuous surroundings of Milly's cavernous office. He had taken Abelard’s chin in his clammy paw and was sneering into his face when a hand pulled him back. It was Sanschagrin.
"Nice to see you again Mr. Bush," he said, "I’m guessing that today your friend here will not be taking your side." He nodded, with surprising sadness, for his men to take him away.
"Thank you Felicity, you saved my life," Milly said to her, a sarcastic grin creasing his sweaty face, after the door had closed behind the departing policemen. "Fortunately I had the presence of mind to call the police after Attendolo explained to me that the Splendid contract was legitimate but that having Abe locked up would not be cause to trigger any action. Oh, you are free to go, I wouldn't want to unnecessarily anger the del Verme," he ended, breaking into a
n ugly snorting laugh.
Chapter XXIII
The trial