(6) The Woman in the Red Vinyl Raincoat

It was just after midnight when the assassin reached the yellow metal railing near the edge of the bluff.

He attached one end of his rope to a stanchion of the railing. He began to repell down the face of the cliff with a ballet-like grace. Dressed all in black, he looked rather like a black spider dropping down about ten feet at a time, pushing off with his steel-toed black boots and letting the rope slither quickly over the leather palm of his right hand held at his hip, while his left, above his head, helped to steady his descent. In less than thirty seconds he was standing on a ledge above the craggy rocks where the sea sloshed, and swung, in eddies colored a bluish silver by the moon.

Sanguineus took a drill and a pick from his backpack. When he had made six large cavities in the rock face, each spaced exactly twelve feet from its neighboring holes, he removed packs of C-4 plastique explosive from the backpack, and a coil of electrical wire. He worked with precision, wasting no time or energy. Within the hour he was scaling the cliff hand over hand, thankful for the plentiful footholds. By 2am he had finished what he had set out to do. As to whether his work was satisfactory,  the morrow would tell.

The limo rolled smoothly to a halt just past the line of closed vendor booths. It was Sunday afternoon and the beach was almost deserted. The tide was in and the seagulls were hoping for sand crabs. This was a poor substitute for the scraps of food left by the battalions of bathers on all the other days of the week. The mewing of the gulls, as Tony Bertolucci stepped out of the limo, seemed plaintive and weary. But Tony didn't notice. He was in high spirits. He had reaped a good deal of scraps from Isabel Consuela Manzini. The yacht he had coveted for longer than he could remember would soon be his.

He felt so carefree that he took off his white serge coat and slung it over a shoulder. Today the steep walk up the path along the rising bluffs was invigorating. He hardly sweated at all. On an impulse he unbuttoned his shirt down to his belt buckle and rejoiced in how the sea breeze ballooned the fabric. It made him think of the yacht running before the wind, its jib sail swelling like a white breast. He was lost in such thoughts until he saw Signora Manzini unfolding her red-vinyl self from the backseat of a Volvo, perhaps a hundred yards ahead.

Tony smiled broadly. It was not that he despised the old bitch any less, but that the sight of her raincoat glaring redly in the sun brought thoughts of bloody marys in the yacht's forward cabin, the glossy lipstick of bikini'd girls sprawled on deck, and a rich tomato sauce on the square-panned pizza that was his speciality on 'cheat days,' when he set aside his stringent diet.

He watched Isabel cross the stretch of ground to the railing, the yellow railing that looked like crime-scene tape strung tightly along the edges of the bluffs. She saw him, and stopped to give him a wave, her rings flashing like the sunglasses of the bodyguards. Was he imagining that joyous smile on her face, a smile so full of anticipation, or was it true that this horrid creature really did constitute his worst fear, the fear that his job, his career, would depend on satisfying the lust bubbling in the veins of Isabel Consuela Manzini?

He waved back. It occurred to him then that The Bambino, breaking with tradition, was a male concept. How ironic, he thought, that it was a female who had made it possible for him to own a boat with a male name. It was a reversal of roles. But this did not amuse him. It was not a small price he had to pay to possess the yacht, not if making love to Signora Manzini was the price involved.

Isabel put her hands on the yellow metal railing and breathed deeply of the salty air with its tang of seaweed, while Tony's smile, as he trudged up the path, grew progressively more sour.

A quarter mile away, on a rise above the residential colony, Sanguineus sat comfortably in the driver's seat of the Peugeot, smoking a cheroot, watching the bluff through binoculars. When Isabel placed her hands on the railing, he set the detonator with its thin aerial on Tanya's lap. "You are allowed," he said.

Eagerly she snatched it up. "You won't regret this!"

The railing gave way. The smallest smile appeared on the lips of Sanguineus.

An object falls at 32 feet per second, squared. In roughly two seconds the Signora Manzini would strike the ledge above the drenched rocks. Sanguineus counted to four, in case the woman in the red vinyl raincoat slowed her fall by glancing off the uneven surface of the cliff. "Now," he said.

Tanya pressed the clacker. Moments later the sound of the explosion rushed up to them. The five bodyguards and Tony Bertolucci staggered, and two of the men lost their balance and fell to a knee. The inshore breeze brought the smoke and rock dust swirling up over the edge of the bluff, temporarily fogging the place where the yellow metal railing lay like a fallen hitching-post.

Sanguineus looked at the brightly smiling face of his assistant operative. Without emotion he said to her, "Habits can be deadly, if read by an enemy."