See Naples and Die Read Online Free Page A

all followed, and outside was a
slightly beaten-up Mondeo estate. They were all thinking the same … “What a
shit taxi – but so what? Let’s just get home.”
    It was a bit of a struggle to fit the
suitcases in and Brenda and Megan, who were sitting in the back, had to have
all the hand luggage on their knees. Chrissie sat with the driver, who
introduced himself as Salvatore.
    Salvatore pointed at the airport’s name.
“John Lennon: very good … The Beatles: great.” Chrissie and Brenda had switched
off and weren’t even listening, but Megan thought it strange that a taxi driver
would make that reference. It was as if the airport was new to Salvatore.
    On leaving the perimeter they turned
left towards the city centre. The girls closed their eyes and tried to relax,
but Salvatore was a chatty guy. “You have been on the cruise, yes?”
    “That’s right,” replied Megan, trying
her best to sound polite.
    “What did you think of Naples?” he
enquired.
    “Loved it,” said Chrissie, with eyes
still closed.
    “Did anything unusual happen when you
were there?”
    “Like what?” asked Megan.
    “I don’t know,” said Salvatore. “Anything
out of the ordinary?”
    “Factory workers were lying down in the
road and stopping traffic,” said Megan.
    “Oh … they do that,” said Salvatore, and
then seemed to concentrate on the road signs.
    They drove the next three miles with
their driver looking ever more anxious – and then, at the end
of Aigburth Road, Salvatore carried on to Toxteth. Even Chrissie was taking
notice now.
    “Wouldn’t it have been better to have
done a right there?”
    Salvatore slapped his forehead. “I keep
doing that,” he said, and slapped his forehead again, as if chastising himself
for being so foolish.
    After a moment of silence Salvatore
said, “To be honest, I am new to driving in Liverpool. It’s probably best if
you direct me to your address.”
    This was followed by another moment of
awkward silence, broken when Chrissie said sternly, “You’re not a taxi driver
at all, are you?”
    “Well … sort of,” stuttered Salvatore.
    “What do you mean, ‘Sort of’? Either you
are or you’re not,” said Chrissie, now beginning to get wound up.
    “Well, I’m here to drive you home,” said
Salvatore. “That’s sort of like a taxi driver.”
    “No, it isn’t,” said Chrissie, now fully
wound up. “Who the hell are you? And why did you have a sign with my name on
it? Now you talk or I’ll punch you so hard you’ll wake up with John bloody
Lennon.”
    “Maybe we should stop the car first,”
said Brenda.
    “I think that is a good idea,” agreed
the flustered Italian, and drew the car to a halt, leaving the engine running.
He unclipped his seatbelt and turned to face the girls. Three angry faces
stared back at him, with Chrissie the angriest of all.
    “Okay,” said Salvatore, with his hands
held up as if the girls had a gun pointing at him. “This is all going to sound
very crazy. It’s a strange story and hard to explain, but I will try.” He
cleared his throat. “I have a cousin in Italy. His name is Fabio, and he saw
you in the market in Naples. He had a USB data stick –
you know, the memory sticks? This contained very important information … and he
dropped it into your bag, Miss Chrissie McGuire. You had written your name and
address, and he remembered it. He knew you would be from the cruise ship, so he
contacted me – I live in London – to intercept you at the airport. Is that what
you say … intercept?”
    “Yes, that’s correct, Salvatore,” said
Megan, as if this was a language class.
    “Never mind that,” said Chrissie, now
only a few degrees below full-blown rage. “Why did he have to get shut of this
memory thing so quickly? And why me?”
    “There were people in the market looking
for him … bad people. And you just happened to be there. He had no other
choice,” said Salvatore, putting his hands up again.
    “He could have stuck