The Doomsday Conspiracy

Robert looked around, studying his surroundings. No police. A few cars and a handful of pedestrians. There were more than a dozen whores cruising the street. In the spirit of “let’s round up the usual suspects”, the police had conducted their bi-monthly sweep to satisfy the voices of morality, and moved the city’s prostitutes from the Via Veneto, with its high visibility, to this area where they would not offend the dowagers taking tea at Doney’s. For that reason, most of the ladies were attractive and well dressed. There was one in particular who caught Robert’s eye.

She appeared to be in her early twenties. She had long, dark hair and was dressed in a tasteful black skirt and white blouse, covered by a camelhair coat. Robert guessed that she was a part-time actress or model. She was watching Robert.

Robert staggered up to her. “Hi, baby,” he mumbled. “D’you speak English?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Le’s you an’ me have a party.”

She smiled uncertainly. Drunks could be trouble. “Maybe you should go sober up first.” She had a soft Italian accent.

“Hey, I’m sober enough.”

“It will cost you a hundred dollars.”

“Tha’s okay, honey.”

She made her decision. “Va bene. Come. There is a hotel just around the corner.”

“Great. What’s your name, baby?”

“Pier.”

“Mine’s Henry.” A police car appeared in the distance, headed their way. “Let’s get outta here.”

The other women cast envious glances as Pier and her American customer walked away.

The hotel was no Hassler, but the pimply-faced boy at the desk downstairs did not ask for a passport. In fact, he barely glanced up as he handed Pier a key. “Fifty thousand lire.”

Pier looked at Robert. He took the money from his pocket and gave it to the boy.

The room they entered contained a large bed in the corner, a small table, two wooden chairs and a mirror over the basin. There was a clothes rack behind the door.

“You must pay me in advance.”

“Sure.” Robert counted out one hundred dollars.

“Grazie.”

Pier began to get undressed. Robert walked over to the window. He pushed aside a corner of the curtain and peered out. Everything appeared to be normal. He hoped that by now the police were following the red truck back to France. Robert dropped the curtain and turned around. Pier was naked. She had a surprisingly lovely body. Firm, young breasts, rounded hips, a small waist and long, shapely legs.

She was watching Robert. “Aren’t you going to get undressed, Henry?”

This was the tricky part. “… tell you the truth,” Robert said, “I think I had a little too much to drink. I can’t give you any action.”

She was regarding him with wary eyes. “Then why did you …?”

“If I stay here and sleep it off, we can make love in the morning.”

She shrugged. “I have to work. It would cost me money to …”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that.” He pulled out several hundred-dollar bills and handed them to her. “Will that cover it?”

Pier looked at the money, making up her mind. It was tempting. It was cold outside, and business was slow. On the other hand, there was something strange about this man. First of all, he did not really seem to be drunk. He was nicely dressed and for this much money he could have checked them into a fine hotel. Well, Pier thought, what the hell? Questo cazzo se ne frega? “All right. There’s only this bed for the two of us.”

“That’s fine.”

Pier watched as Robert walked over to the window again and moved the edge of the curtain aside.

“You are looking for something?”

“Is there a back door out of the hotel?”

What am I getting myself into? Pier wondered. Her best friend had been murdered, hanging out with mobsters. Pier considered herself wise in the ways of men, but this one puzzled her. He did not seem like a criminal, but still … “Yes, there is,” she said.

There was a sudden scream, and Robert whirled around.

“Dio! Dio! Sono venuta tre volte!” It was a woman’s voice, coming from the next room through the paper-thin walls.

“What’s that?” Robert’s heart was pounding.

Pier grinned. “She’s having fun. She said she just came for the third time.”

Robert heard the creaking of bed springs.

“Are you going to bed?” Pier stood there naked, unembarrassed, watching him.

“Sure.” Robert sat down on the bed.

“Aren’t you going to get undressed?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” Pier moved over to the bed and lay down beside Robert. “I hope you don’t snore,” Pier said.

“You can tell me in the morning.”

Robert had no intention of sleeping. He wanted to check the street during the night, to make sure they did not come to the hotel. They would get around to these small, third-class hotels eventually, but it would take them time. They had too many other places to cover first. He lay there, feeling bone-tired, and closed his eyes for a moment to rest. He slept. He was back home, in his own bed, and he felt Susan’s warm body next to his. She’s back, he thought, happily. She’s come back to me. Baby, I’ve missed you so much.

Day Seventeen

Rome, Italy

Robert was awakened by the sun hitting his face. He sat up abruptly, looking around for an instant in alarm, disorientated. When he saw Pier, memory flooded back. He relaxed. Pier was at the mirror, brushing her hair.