Chapter Text
Antwerp, Belgium, November 1969
November was not the busiest month of the year in the central station, at least not in the middle of the month. It was too late for the procession of flowerpots to be placed on the graves, too early for the shopping frenzy of Saint Nicholas, a children’s holiday that is much more popular over here than Christmas.
So the two hippy-looking friends sitting on a bench in the hall had no trouble spotting a third man, standing right in the middle of the great hall, apparently lost in a world that was completely foreign to him.
"Here he is! There’s our patsy of the day!" said the taller of the two men to his companion. Well dressed, and definitely not from the local department stores’, ring and chain of value... A bloody stylish haircut...
His friend smiled, wrinkling his nose:
- The Sherlock Holmes of robbery, without a doubt, is you, Zo!
- So? Shall we tackle him?
- I’ll approach him, you keep your distance.
- I see.
- What?
- No, that’s all I’m going to say... I just know, that’s all... Go and flirt with him, I’m going to the platform.
- Platform 5, remember!
- I’m fine, I’m fine!" the tall man grumbled.
Leonardo smiled, got up and went to try an approach of their target.
The closer he got, the more Zo’s deductions were confirmed: the cut of the Mao collar jacket and jeans – bell-bottoms, in fashion – was impeccable, the circle beard and the hair trimmed to the tenth of a millimetre... A discreet eau de toilette – not the most luxurious, but Dior all the same! "Eau Sauvage", Leo’s favourite, the one he was happiest to find amongst Zo’s booty as he returned from his pilfering.
"If I may suggest, you seem lost. Can I help you?“
He’d spoken in English by default, it was the most widely understood language.
The man looked at him from head to toe and couldn’t quite hide his contempt of Leo’s nonchalant attire. The leather jacket had served its purpose, the half-length hair in disarray, the brightly coloured shirt depicting yellow surfers on a blue South Sea background... And on top of this still wide open, despite the cold, over pecs that screamed out: “look at us and drool!"
‘You don’t often have to take the train, do you? Leo persevered, despite the icy wave radiating from the stranger.
He was happy to have done so for in one word, the man provided him with a foretaste of his voice, which sent a gentle shiver down Leo’s spine.
- Never, he said — this still from the snowy heights.
—Do you have your ticket yet?
—No, I haven’t. I’ve just spotted the platform number and departure time of my train on the board.
—Paris? Brussels...?
—Amsterdam.
—Ha! I’m going there too! Come on!
Leo took the stranger’s elbow and noticed the recoil. He let go of him at once...
- First the ticket counter. You’re lucky, there’s no queue. My name is Leonardo Vinci... I’m of Italian origin, as you may guess.
He held out his hand, the other man did not take it:
—Me too: Giròlamo Riario, Company Security Assessment Missions, he said with a brief, slightly rigid and very formal upper body salute.
—You, I can tell you did your compulsory military service! Leo smiled, as they reached the desk
—I was in the regular army, I’m still in the reserves, Riario acknowledged.
Leo held back a grimace of disapproval just in time and said:
—Leave it to me: there’s an eighty percent chance that this man doesn’t understand English... Return ticket or one-way?
-One way, first class... From Amsterdam I’ll fly.“
Leonardo asked for the ticket in flawless Dutch, and the old ticket collector told him in the same language that he would be the very last customer of his career, which was coming to an end in precisely five minutes.
Leo clapped his hands in joy and wished him a happy retirement.
Then he explained to his companion the reason for the cheers as he handed him his fare.
“‘Do you speak many languages? Riario asked.
—I’m working for a small Dutch magazine at the moment. I wanted to be an artist, but my parents disapproved of that choice and directed me towards more pragmatic studies, which I let down the very day I left the prison!
—Oh, you were in prison?
—Not the kind you’re thinking of ... well, not yet. I was talking about the prison of my family.’
Riario wondered how one could joke about such a serious subject, but said nothing.
His guide’s spontaneity was beginning to distract him and intrigue him a little: how could anyone take things in life so casually? It seemed to him that this Vinci was doing just that.
Nevertheless, he would remain on his guard, he would not let himself be influenced by this easy-going attitude, which was certainly refreshing to a certain extent, but dangerous when carrying out a mission such as his.
To reach the platform number 5, they walked through a foul-smelling subway littered with cardboard chip cones, sometimes half-full, a multitude of cigarette butts and stained with the marks left by gentlemen who considered the toilets useless, for the exclusive use of the ladies and ‘sissies’.
“It’s disgusting! Riario growled.
—Yes, isn’t it? The human being in all its glory! ... To make a misanthrope, suffice to have a saint go through all kinds of our tunnels.
Leo noticed the frown on his companion’s forehead and remembered the ostentatious cross around his neck.
Military and bigoted: apart from his voice and his awesome looks, this man had nothing to appeal to him.
***
They emerged into the fog, the dense November pea soup, only partially lightened, as if sliced through by the shelters, the brick waiting rooms, the platforms and the rails. As the train pulled into the station, Zo rushed towards them:
I thought you were going to miss the damn train... What’s he doing here? he added sharply, pointing at Riario with his chin.
- Show some civility to a fellow countryman, Zo: this is Giròlamo Riario...
- Who, if you don’t mind, will take the same train! smiled the man, without the slightest hint of sympathy.
- Well, Leo said, I think our paths separate here: we are in the second class, in the smoking compartment... Enjoy your stay in Amsterdam!
- Same to you, Sir!“
Same greeting as earlier, exclusively to Leo, who watched him walk away with a touch of regret.
"So, are you going to move, or do you intend to take out your white handkerchief and stand there waving you snob goodbye?
- Did he seem the type to wave back at the window?
-. No, he didn’t. Hell, no!
- There, you’ve got your answer! He grabbed his friend’s arm: come on, let’s go to lovely Amsterdam!
When they were seated in their compartment, Zo wanted to know:
- Well?
- Like you said, probably pretty rich, expensive clothes, jewellery and “Eau Sauvage“.
- Ouch! Honey for Leo the bee... You’re a slut, you know that, right?
- Whereas you...
- I’m a whore, that’s the difference: I don’t offer my Greek god body for free, sir, I have more respect for it than that!
They both laughed
- Did you know that there are organizations responsible for monitoring the safety of companies?
- Is that what this Minotaur does? asked Zo, scratching an itch under the flap of his oriental tunic.
- Ha! Ha! Minotaur! Where do you get your images?
- To answer your question ... note, by the way, that it’s you, the journalist who should know that: yes, it’s new, I read that in an article in the newspaper under my maatjes’s (*) carton tray... Private organizations that, for financial consideration, of course, take care of managing the security, buildings and transport, of companies of various sizes ... it seems that they also rent their services to private individuals in the upper classes. Well, according to the article.
- Do you remember the name of the newspaper?
Zo stared at him:
- Don’t push it, eh! If the fishmonger hadn’t put the page under my dinner, there’s a thousand chances in a thousand that I wouldn’t have seen that damn article.
- Hm! I’ll have to find out...
- I can’ t believe it! So, he really did hook you up, this undertaker, huh?
Leo shrugged and decided to make his friend a tad angry:
- I wouldn’t mind tasting that beautiful voice of his at the source.
- Ugh! You disgust me," Zo said with a gesture of contempt of his hand.
Unfortunately, an incident on the station platform in Amsterdam was going to test his patience still further...
(*) Maatjes: fillets of young raw herring salted and served with finely chopped onion