Chapter Nine

So Dear reader here we are desperately trying to kick start the plot. I do not hold out much hope. But at least I have an idea about what should happen in this chapter and hopefully, I say hopefully, my characters will behave themselves long enough for them to actually move the story on somewhat. Okay, here we go, deep breath and action.
The sun had not been up for long and even though the sky was a bright clear blue, the air was chill. Giacomo blew into his hands to try and warm them, it helped for a moment but the effects did not last long. He opened the small boot at the front of the car and pulled out two large battered brown suitcases. He didn’t like mornings, he was not a morning person but he had to start earning some money if he was to have any chance of paying (gangster) back.
He locked the car and carried the two suitcases across to the market. The regular stall holders were beginning to set out their wares and Giacomo looked around until he spotted small officious looking gentlemen in a grey suit, which had seen better days. The man was consulting his clip board, tutting and mumbling and pointing around the market with his black fountain pen. A few long strands of hair were combed over the top of his head. Over his shoulder and across his chest was a tricolour sash of red, white and green to which was pinned an elaborate medal.
Giacomo approached him, waited whilst the man finished arguing with a stallholder over the position of three boxes of melons, then put down his suitcase and spoke, “Good Morning Signore (Marshall).”
Signore (Marshall) was a council official, he considered himself the counsel official, it was his job to uphold the smooth and efficient running of the market. He loved his job, he loved the by laws, he loved enforcing them. Tucked under his arm was a stick, not just any stick, it was his stick, made of ebony and tipped on either end with a silver cap it was exactly one metre long, sliver bands around it indicated the ten centimetre marks, thinner brass bands indicated the five centimetre marks in between.
It was a symbol of his office and was used to settle the various disputes between the traders, and any infringement of the by-laws. Every day he would make his rounds, measuring the size of each of the pitches, checking the space between the stalls, enforcing the width of the walk ways and the overhang of the awnings. Mussolini made sure the trains ran on time, Signore (Marshall) made sure the market conformed to the rules and regulations as laid out in the small paperback booklet he had in his inside pocket.
Signore (Marshall) finished making a few notes on his clipboard and then looked up at Giacomo. “Good morning Signore Fabbroni, and what can I do for you at this hour?” He looked at his watch and made another note on his clipboard.
“I was wandering Signore (Marshall) if there was a stall available this morning?”
Signore (Marshall) looked at Giacomo and the two suitcases by his side. “Do you have your licence?”
“Of course Signore” Giacomo reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “I would not trouble such a busy and important man as yourself without having the correct documentation.” The words almost shocked Giacomo but he knew that flattery in the case of Signore (Marshall) did get you somewhere.
Signore (Marshall) looked over the piece of paper checking the date and the official stamps, even holding it up to the light t check on the watermark. Giacomo wondered if there was a big market in counterfeit street trading licences. Signore (Marshall) flicked through the papers on his clipboard, he liked to keep people waiting, and eventually he spoke, “What’s in the suitcases?”
“My stock Signore”
Signore (Marshall) looked at Giacomo and raised and eyebrow.
“Sorry Signore” Said Giacomo, “I mean watches, jewellery, and perfume”
“Stolen?”
“Signore, you insult me, I have never dealt in stolen goods”
“Counterfeit then?”
“No Signore, I will admit that some of my goods may bear a physical resemblance to the more well known brands, but they are all clearly marked and only a fool would think they were the real thing”
“Very well” Again Signore (Marshall) checked his clipboard, “Number 32D, over there.” He pointed with his pen “Fourth row along, the stall on the far end”
Giacomo began to protest, “But that’s...”
Signore (Marshall) looked up form his clipboard
Giacomo smiled and then continued, “That’s fine Signore (Marshall) I thank you for this great favour”
“Perhaps if you attended a little more regularly I could find you a better slot”
“I will have to try getting up in the mornings”
Signore (Marshall) looked past Giacomo, “I must go now Signore Fabbroni.”
Giacomo turned to see what Signore (Marshall) was looking at. Two of the fruit sellers were arguing animatedly. Signore (Marshall) tucked his pen into his top pocket and his clipboard under his arm with his cane and strode off in their direction.
The stall Giacomo had been allocated was down the far end of the market, it was an overflow area almost not in the market itself but on a small paved area by the entrance to one of the side streets. It was usually only used at the weekends and this morning Giacomo was the only person setting up. The other stalls around him stood empty he was either going to have to work very hard or be very lucky to make any money today.
He placed the two suitcases under the stall and headed back to his car to fetch the rest of his stock. It took him three more journeys before he had fetched everything from the small vehicle and he was ready to start laying out his stall.
He unfolded and spread out a large white cotton sheet and had taken out form the linen box that morning and knew that hen his mama found out she would bend his ear, but it was worth the risk. He moved round to the front of the stall and looked at it. It looked flat, it was flat. He took a few of the empty smaller boxes and placed them under the sheet at the back, he smoothed out the sheet and moved around to the front again, pleased with the effect he began to lay out the goods.
He arranged the perfumes and aftershaves along the make shift shelves at the back, moving and adjusting the arrangement until he was happy with their layout.
In front of this he set out the watches, ladies boxed on the side, gentlemen’s boxed on the other, he looked at them and then shuffled them to form two gentle arcs, and in the gap in the middle he placed the unboxed watches.
At the front he laid out the jewellery. Necklaces, bangles and bracelets, trays of rings and earrings, finally he took some small pieces of cards and began to make up the prices of some of the items. Not all of them, just some of them, enough to raise a bit of interest, to let people know they were going to get a bargain but not enough for them not to have to ask as soon as they asked he had them, the haggling and the salesmanship started. That was the bit Giacomo loved, some people loved hunting, and some loved fishing Giacomo loved the battle of wills between buyer and seller. It was an art, a skill, something he was good at.
Within the first few words spoken Giacomo knew how much he was going to ask and how much he was going to get. He could tell whether he could start high and let then beat him down to a bargain or whether he should start within a few Euros of the eventual price and keep the transition simple.
He could spot the difference between a buyer and browser, a punter and a time waster before they had even opened their mouths. He stood back and admired his handy work, for he moment he had done all he could, he checked his watch, the market would start to come alive soon, then the hard work would begin.
He moved back round to the rear of his stall, at least for the moment he was in the sun and the air had begun to warm slightly, he could feel a little of the warmth radiating from the grimy white stone wall behind him. He looked around and noticed that a few of the stalls around him had also been taken. He was pleases to see he had no direct competition.
There was a toy stall, mainly second hand by the looks of it. An elderly couple selling kitchen and household goods who had filled two stalls to the point of collapse with their wares and were now putting boxes on the floor, Giacomo was surprised that so much stuff could be fitted into such a small Citroen van.
The only other stall to be taken was being set up by a man that Giacomo knew as ‘the mad English man’. he had a few oil paintings on stands, none of them recognisable as being of anything in particular, they were just dabs and splashes of colour, he had also set out some small ‘sculptures’, bits of piping, wire and old bicycle parts welded together. Giacomo smiled to himself, no competition there then.
The main body of the market had begun to fill and Giacomo looked across hoping to catch someone’s eye. He took one of his suitcases, moved round to the front of the stall, up ended the suitcase and sat down, at the near corner where he could loo down the walkway and see the approach of any likely customers.
Two elderly women looked his way; he stood and raised a hand in greeting, “Ciao Ladies” he called, “And what a fine morning it is.” The women started at him, he continued, “You ladies look like you know a bargain when you see it.” They began to move off.
“Don’t go without even having a look. How do you know I haven’t something you need, if you don’t even bother to take a look?”
The elderly couple still setting out their stall stopped and looked at the young man opposite then, shouting at customers across the stalls, then they turned and looked at the two old women who had begun to make their way towards his stall.
Giacomo stepped to one side and held out a hand, like a magician presenting a particularly spectacular effect, “I’m sure I have something here of interest to two lovely ladies such as yourselves”
The two women gave his stall a cursory glance, and then the elder one spoke, “You’re Rita Fabbroni’s youngest, Giacomo?”
“I am indeed Signora; now let us see what I can find for you.” Time wasters thought Giacomo.
“Terrible business with your brother.”
“Yes, it was a sad loss to us all, let’s see, I bet you have some birthdays coming up.”
“Your mother must be heart broken”
Giacomo saw his opening, “She is, but we are doing our best for her. Rodolfo was the main bread winner, but you know how it is a family must try to carry on, to suffer the burden of such great a loss, each of us is doing our best to fill the void left by our brother.” He looked at the women, the women looked at him and then back at the stall, they were beginning to weaken.
The younger one began to inspect the earrings at the front of the stall. “It’s my daughter-in-laws birthday next month”
“Then” Said Giacomo reaching to the back of the stall, “I have the thing,” he picked up a bottle of perfume, “All the rage in Roma at the moment, it looks dear enough to show you care but no, it’s not pricy enough to dent the house keeping”
She took the bottle from him, removed the lid and sniffed.
“They wear this in Roma?”
“Oh yes Signora”
“How much?”
“To you, ten Euros”
The old lady put the lid back on and started to hand the bottle back.
“I tell you what” Said Giacomo
“As you know my mother, to you, and don’t go spreading this about, Seven Euros fifty”
The old lady hesitated, looked at the bottle, then to Giacomo, “Okay.” She said after a few moments thought, “Does it come in a box?”
“Of course” Giacomo reached for a boxed bottle of the perfume, “Look at that she’ll think you made a special trip to Napoli to buy it.”
The two women looked at each other and smiled. “I take one for my niece, it’s her birthday soon.” The older woman said.
“A wise Choice Signora” Said Giacomo, he dropped the boxes in to two brown paper bags. The deal was struck, the monies paid and his first satisfied customers of the day set off to complete their shopping. “I’ll give your condolences to my mother” Said Giacomo, to the two elderly women as they left. He smiled to himself he had not considered the sympathy angle, but it worked. This was going to be a good day.
The woman on the stall opposite eyed Giacomo suspiciously. Giacomo smiled and tucked the first of the day’s takings in to a small leather bag tied around his waist. He fetched two more of the little perfume boxes from the suitcase behind the stall, rearranged the selection on the back row and then sat back down.
The mad Englishman had set up a folding chair by the side of the stall, he had found an empty crate and was sitting with his legs stretched out and resting on the crate. He settled down, an open bottle of wine and a glass by his side on the stall. He produced a newspaper and began to read.
The next couple of hours passed slowly. Most people only ventured as far as the far end of the little row of stalls, looked at the three stalls from a distance and then moved on. Giacomo tried his best to tempt them in, but despite his earlier success his takings remained low. By nine o’clock he had only sold three pair of earrings, a child’s watch and a cheap bottle of men’s aftershave. He worked out that at the currant rate he would take barely enough to cover his pitch fee and petrol money. Guido was right, he thought too small, he would end his days, not bent double on the farm, but like the old couple opposite. Rising at the crack of dawn to supplement a meagre state pension with what they could make working all hours on a market.
The main body of the market was full now and Giacomo could hear the cries of the traders and the haggling of the buyers, but back where Giacomo was, in the little backwater for life’s losers, all was quiet. The couple opposite looked to Giacomo as though they had accepted the hand that fate had dealt them. They appeared to be quite happy to sit there, nibbling at the bread and cheeses they had bought with them for breakfast and drinking the coffee the woman had prepared on the small gas ring.
The Mad Englishman appeared to be asleep, his eyes were closed, his head had flopped back and his mouth gaped open. The newspaper lay across his chest, his left arm over it as though he were protecting it from theft. His right arm dangled limply by his side. Giacomo watched the Mad Englishman carefully, he could not see if he was breathing or whether he was dead. After a few minutes curiosity got the better of Giacomo and he stood up and approached the inert figure. The old man at the kitchen stall had also noticed the apparent corpse and pantomimed to Giacomo that he should give the body of the Mad Englishman a poke. Giacomo looked around then shrugged his shoulders, the old man pointed to a stack of long, garden canes at the end of his stall. Giacomo smiled, took one of the canes and edged slowly forward.
When he was about two and a half metres away he reached forward with the cane and gave the hand of the Mad Englishman a gentle prod. Nothing happened. Giacomo prodded again, a little harder this time, the limp, dangling arm swung slightly, but there was still no sign of life. Giacomo looked at the old man, the old man signalled that Giacomo should give the hand a hard tap.
Giacomo edged forward again and when he judged himself to be close enough he flicked the cane, as though he was fly fishing, against the back of the Mad Englishman’s hand. The hand shot out and tried to grab the unseen assailant. The Mad Englishman grunted and snorted as the hand groped around for a moment searching the air, then he fell silent, after a second or two he settled again and started to snore lightly.
Giacomo turned to the old man and the two smiled at each other. Giacomo started to replace the cane when a familiar voice spoke behind him, “Going fishing Giacomo?”
Giacomo did not have to turn round to know who was standing behind him. It was Little Paulo. The old man was looking past Giacomo and up to where Giacomo knew Little Paulo face would be. There are times when life presents you with two very clear choices, no ambiguity, no areas of grey, just black and white. This was one of those times. Giacomo’s choices, Should he turn and talk to Little Paulo, or should he run like a boar in the hunting season?
His legs made the decision for him. He moved forward and turned slightly to his left, as though he was about to replace the cane, then he quickly spun on his heel to the right and ran for the main body of the market. He glanced round on caught a glimpse of Little Paulo and tall guy, running after him.
The market was packed, but Giacomo work his way through the crowds quickly, moving left and right, dodging between stalls, customers and traders alike. He looked behind and could see Little Paulo pushing his way through the crowds, he was quite a way behind and Giacomo knew that once they were out in the open he would definitely be able to outpace the big, lumbering man.
Giacomo burst through the crowd and in to the relative peace at the edge of the square. It was then that he realised his mistake, he had been watching for Little Paulo and had not concerned himself with where the tall man was, he soon found out.
The tall man appeared as if from nowhere, he stood directly in Giacomo’s path, blocking his route to his car. Giacomo looked back and could see Little Paulo getting ever closer. He was back to those two choices again, stand and hopefully talk his way out of any situation or run, run like a rabbit in a field full of dogs. Again his legs made the decision for him.
Giacomo darted to his left and sprinted across the steps in front of the cathedral. He headed for one of the many narrow side streets that led off the square. Behind him he could hear the nearing footsteps of the tall man and the lumbering, thundering steps of Little Paulo. He turned in to the side street and nearly lost his balance on the wet slippery cobbles. The women of the apartments along the short narrow street had been out cleaning their front steps, a daily ritual, that allowed them to catch up on the local gossip and prove how much more house proud they where than the other women. This is beginning to make no sense but what the expletive deleted. Giacomo skidded and managed to steady himself against a dustbin. He glanced up and saw the tall man round the corner, he too nearly lost his footing but steadied himself and ran towards Giacomo.
Giacomo grabbed the bin and threw it in the tall mans path, the tall man neatly jumped the bin and carried on advancing towards him. Giacomo turned and started running again, he could here the soft long strides of the tall man getting ever closer. From a window, some where above, them a woman’s voice cried out, she cursed and swore, she screamed and shouted moaning about the noise and the bin on its side, its contents spread across the little street. Giacomo turned down another little street making his way deeper in to the thieves kitchen, at every step he could hear the tall man drawing closer. The streets where quiet, save for the occasional voice calling from a window above, shouts to be quiet, cries of encouragement to Giacomo, cries of encouragement to the tall man, cat calls and curses, laughter and jeers.
Giacomo could feel his heart pounding in his chest, he had considered himself quite fit, he played football in the Sunday league, he occasionally went to the gym, albeit to look at the women and try out new chat up lines, but now the years of smoking where beginning to show. His lungs screamed out in pain, his muscles begged for oxygen, his racing heart leapt up and tried to claw its way out of his throat, his mouth was dry and full of bitter tasting adrenaline. His body wanted to give up. To sit down where it was and recover. Every fibre, every sinew, every muscle, every cell was begging him to stop. But there was a bit of him screaming the loudest, urging his body on, and spurring on the tired muscles, asking the aching sinews for one last effort, the bit of his brain that dealt with fear.
The survival instinct is very strong and was, at that moment, proving exactly how strong it was, by driving Giacomo on when he should have sat down and collapsed. Without realising it his brain was doing its best to save him, from what it did not know, it just knew that if it allowed the body to stop it would be in danger. How great the danger was it had no idea, but any danger was enough to keep the legs moving, the muscles pulling, the heart pumping, the lungs dragging in air.
Giacomo turned down a small alley way and as he ran pulled over the bins and boxes, that lined one wall, in an attempt to block the path of the tall man. Somewhere, deep in his brain, he realised where he was heading, his brain was taking him to a place of safety, a place where it knew he could come to no harm. He turned in to the small square on the other side he could see the small bar and the rusting table and chair outside it on the pavement, he could see, he could see that the chair was empty.
His brain made its first mistake, it stopped to think. The legs stopped moving, the muscles noticed how tired they were and how much they ached, the lungs realised how much they burned and how little oxygen they were taking in. the body realised in how much pain it was and it let the brain know. The brain decided, without considering the outcome, to tell Giacomo.
It was the disappointment that hit him first, the fact that Mario was not where he should be, that he had been let down by someone he thought he could trust, someone he thought would be there for him. The pain followed a very close second; every tissue of his body screamed and cried out in agony. It was the tall man who hit him thirdly, a large, solid fist catching him on the side of the head.
It might have been the exhaustion, it might have been the heat, it might have been the blow to the side of the head, whatever it was the effect was the same, Giacomo crumpled and folded, he fell to the floor, hitting the pavement with a sickening thud and lay there like a heap of abandoned laundry.
So Dear Reader we will leave poor Giacomo unconscious on the pavement. There are now about thirteen hours to go and I need to move this story on and will therefore start a new chapter. It will be a big chapter, it will make no sense, it will wander and meander it will be a desperate attempt to reach the word count, a futile task I know, before midnight tonight.