See Naples and Die by Ray Cleveland

It’s something
he would normally have to pay a fortune for. So, as I see it, you’re getting a
good deal from us. Now start treating us as equals and not some scared-shitless
Neapolitan teenagers. We will hand over the data stick, but it will be on our
terms and at a place that we choose.”
    Chrissie threw back her shoulders, which
automatically thrust out her breasts, and looked hard into Armando’s eyes while
waiting for a response.
    The Mafia negotiator looked first at her
breasts, then raised his eyes and said, “Okay. Where and when?”
    Chrissie was familiar with Central
London, and thought quickly. “There’s a bar called El Dorado’s on Old Compton
Street in Soho. We will meet you there at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
    Then she motioned for the others to
follow and they set off back to Bayswater Road, with the bemused Italians
watching them go. After a few steps Chrissie turned and spoke directly to
Armando. “And there will be no exchange unless we speak, in person, to Roberto
Vialli.” She didn’t wait for an answer, and strode defiantly away.
     
    Once they had put a little distance
between themselves and the two men they took a separate path towards
Kensington. They were staying in a hotel in Earls Court, and thought the walk
back would clear their heads and encourage some positive thinking. On the way
down Kensington High Street Chrissie spotted a pub sign down a side street, and
suggested sharing a bottle of wine. It was a typical West London pub – scruffy,
with absolutely no atmosphere – but with an extensive wine list. They sat
around a funny-shaped table and poured the wine. Even Bruno was drinking so the
bottle only managed one glass each, but that was enough for now.
    This wasn’t the time to go over their
situation again, so they drank and talked about this and that. They listened to
some more of Chrissie’s tales of the unexpected and Megan’s time in East
London. Bruno was more or less back to his old self, and told some surprisingly
good anecdotes about life as a novice priest. Another bottle of Pinot Grigio
made the conversation even more light-hearted, and when they stepped back out
into daylight it was as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
    They ambled towards Earls Court like
lost tourists, with London surrounding them for miles on every side, and
Chrissie finally understood Brenda’s illogical remark when they first arrived.
She had said that London is so big it makes you feel claustrophobic.
    They arrived at the hotel and walked
through the lobby. It was only a small hotel and the reception area was
unmanned, with a bell to ring for assistance. Their room was only on the first
floor, but they still took the lift. The walk and the wine had sapped their
strength, and their feet hurt.
    There were only eight bedrooms on each
floor, and they had taken two of them. Halfway down the corridor they saw the
shape of a man coming towards them. Brenda thought it strange that she hadn’t
noticed him before, but they were so weary.
    Then everything seemed to happen at
once. They heard footsteps behind them and turned to see, only a few feet away,
a man with a raised gun. There was a small thud as the gun was fired, and they
scattered to either side of the corridor. A moment ago their legs couldn’t walk
another ten yards, but now they ran like the wind. As they rushed past the man
with the gun Megan was, for a brief second, face to face with him. She saw his
dark eyes, and the scar that ran in a jagged line from temple to chin.
    They reached the end of the corridor,
and crashed into each other like skittles in a bowling alley. Then they all
tried to fit through the door to the stairs at the same time and almost became
jammed. It was farcical – but panic does that, and they were panicking. They
ran down the stairs, across the lobby, and into the street. This was the second
time they’d done this in the past two days, and they were learning. This time
they didn’t stop outside.