Relentless: A Tony Spinella Novel

Chapter 1

A nita, still slightly groggy from the pills the prison doctor had given her, slowly opened her eyes. Looking around, she didn’t immediately recognize her surroundings. Lying completely still, it took a few moments for her to gather her wits enough to notice the small, metal-framed notice attached to the back of the door to her room. Frantically searching her memory, she recalled it being dark outside when she was placed in the back of a small van smelling of cigarettes and stale wine.

Her memory of the previous night’s events now quickly returning, she remembered being hurried out of the van by two men and guided through an empty lobby, accompanied only by the echo of their footsteps as they passed a deserted front desk and ascended a wide marble staircase to a room on the second floor. They whisked her inside and one of the men handed her a room key, along with a handbag. Then, in heavily accented English, he gave her instructions as to where she was to meet her benefactors the next day. Both men then abruptly left her alone in the room.

She was free! She was no longer a prisoner in the aptly named Italian prison called La Rocha, originally built by the Romans in the fourth century as a papal fortress and later converted to a prison in the early twentieth century. No more would she be restricted to her cell twenty-three hours a day: her life for the last two years. During that time, even though she had a lawyer, she was never given the opportunity to appear in court to defend herself. Months after her arrest by Interpol in Venice, she had learned from other non-Italian prisoners in the exercise yard that the Italian court system could sometimes take up to two years to begin prosecuting cases involving foreigners. It was now 2010, two years after her arrest, and she had yet to appear in court.

She had fallen into such a state of depression that she refused to eat and became so weak that the prison doctor was put on alert. After a cursory examination, he bluntly told her she would have to start eating or eventually her system would begin to shut down and she would die.

Frightened by the doctor’s words, she began to eat everything she could get her hands on—even the hard bread that accompanied every meal. Because she was not an Italian citizen, she and the other foreign prisoners were denied access to the cafeteria and were served meals in their cells. This proved to be beneficial for Anita, who had built up a friendly relationship with Marco, one of the guards assigned to her cellblock.

Feeling sorry for her, the guards assigned to her cellblock began sneaking her extra food from the cafeteria. With their continued coaxing, she began to eat again, and during the next several weeks gained back most of the weight she had lost. As her condition began to improve and she started to regain her strength, the realization that she would probably never get out of prison, hit her hard. At that very moment, she decided that if she wanted to be free, she would have to rely on herself, and start planning her escape.

Free! She looked down at her clothes. Someone had undressed her while she was unconscious, and then redressed her in a brightly colored yellow blouse and dark blue slacks. No big deal. I don’t feel as though I’ve been violated, and anyway, when you’re in prison for any length of time, privacy is the first thing to go.

She walked over to the only window in the small hotel room, opened it and gazed out at the nearby sun-drenched hills that were covered in sunflowers. Below her were the cobblestone streets of Spoleto. As if to reaffirm that she really was free from the nightmare of the past two years, she took several deep breaths, filling her lungs with the fresh, cool air. Looking down, the street below her was deserted except for an elderly woman sweeping the gray cobblestones in front of the hotel entrance. Knowing she had a lot to do before meeting with the people who had helped her escape; she reluctantly turned from the window and walked the few steps over to the small table next to the bed, picked up the purse she had been given the night before and emptied the contents onto the bedcovers.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Anita picked up what appeared to be a brand new United States passport along with two credit cards in the name of Debra Gwynn. Looking closely, she was amazed at the quality of her passport picture. She had been advised that the passport and credit cards would stand up to scrutiny, but to destroy them as soon as she arrived at her destination. Along with the passport and credit cards was the blue leather wallet she had had in her possession at the time of her arrest.

Inside the wallet, she found a thousand Euros in small denominations. She counted the money twice, just to make sure it was all there as arranged. She had made the right decision to put her trust in these men, though Anita could never completely trust anyone. She noticed the small blue suitcase sitting at the foot of the bed. She didn’t remember seeing a suitcase in the room the night before. Curious, she cautiously opened it and looked inside.

Anita was pleased to see what appeared to be all new clothes, neatly folded, with price tags still attached. Looking further, she found a plain paper bag tucked in a corner of the suitcase. Ignoring the paper bag for now, she took a closer look at the clothes: three blouses and two pairs of slacks, all in her size. Her plans to return to the U.S. were materializing before her.

The only things her patrons seemed to have missed were underclothes, which she chalked up to the Italian male sense of propriety. Hopefully, she could pick those up along the way.

Anita picked up the brown paper bag and saw that it contained the personal effects that had been taken from her two years earlier—when she had been arrested by Interpol while having lunch at an outdoor restaurant in Venice. She could still hear the gloating voice of her old boss, Detective Sergeant Anthony Spinella, asking if he could join her for lunch while Interpol agents surrounded her table. Forcing those thoughts out of her mind, she put the bag back in the suitcase for the moment. She needed a quick shower before her meeting with her newfound friends, who would tell her how they planned to get her to Naples and from there, back home.

While she was a prisoner, Marco had informed her that once she was in Naples, she would be met by a different group of people who would arrange her transit from Naples back to the States. Adding to her already heightened sense of paranoia, she began to think about her benefactors’ seeming lack of concern about her moving freely around the small city without any supervision. Was it carelessness, or just confidence on their part? Because it was so critical to her plan, she would have to ask the right questions to find out. At this early stage of her escape, she couldn’t allow their lax attitude to derail her plans for getting back to the States and making those who ruined her life pay for what they had done.

After a quick shower in a cramped bathroom, its aging lapis and white tiles cracked or missing, Anita felt like a new woman. She threw on one of her new outfits, gathered her things and exited the hotel room. To avoid encountering too many people, she took the back stairway down to the lobby. She admired the ancient white marble steps, worn down in the center from years of use, and almost laughed out loud at the irony of her taking the time to admire a set of centuries old marble steps while on the run from authorities in two countries.

The lobby of the Hotel San Luca—according to the business card she took from the front desk—was deserted. After looking around to make sure no one saw her, she paused for a moment to admire the ornate frescos and towering marble columns that flanked the huge carved oak reception desk. She exited the front door of the hotel and walked past the elderly woman, still busy wielding her broom.

Anita’s heart jumped at the thrill of walking freely down the narrow cobblestone streets. All around her, residents went about their daily routines, carrying colorful string bags filled with groceries and loaves of freshly baked bread. She resisted the urge to let her guard down in any case: she was still an escaped convict. Her eyes darted in every direction, scanning for any person who seemed to show an interest in her.

Anita paused to look into several shop windows, using their reflective glass as mirrors to check behind her for surveillance. Other than a young teenager who mistook her for a naïve tourist and tried to strike up a conversation, she detected no one who aroused her suspicion. She began to relax and let her guard down enough to enjoy the babble of the local townspeople as they passed. She continued on toward her rendezvous point, enjoying the bright sunshine all around her: a stark contrast to the dark, dreary cell she had occupied for the last couple of years. Anita began to feel like a normal person again.

She marveled to herself over the circumstances surrounding her escape from the Italian authorities. A chance remark to Marco, one of her guards whom she had suspicioned was a little sweet on her, had been all it had taken to set her plan in motion. On the guard’s routine weekly search of her cell, she had innocently mentioned how sad she was to be unable to use any of the money she had stashed away before she was locked up.

Over the next two months negotiations had led to a face to face meeting—in her cell—with two members of a local group who convinced her they had the connections needed for her escape. For a price! After the men left her cell, she anguished over her decision but rationalized that, even if it turned out to be a scam, she had to try. She would only be out the money, and still be no worse off than she was at that moment. A few days later, after her new friends arranged a meeting between her and their local banking contact, who was thoughtful enough to bring his laptop with him, she was able to gain access to one of her accounts.

It wasn’t easy to find a spot in her cell where the men couldn’t look over her shoulder at her account information, but she used her body to block their clumsy attempts to spy. She quickly gained access to the account that held the least amount of money and authorized the first payment of the outrageous sum demanded by the group. Shaking her head, Anita still had to admire how quickly and efficiently her new acquaintances had put together their plan for her escape.

A week after the first payment was made; Marco entered her cell and quietly began explaining to her that she would have to die to gain her freedom. Because of his thick accent, Anita at first misunderstood what he was trying to say and was instantly paralyzed with fear that they were going to kill her and take her money.

Bolting from her cot, she stumbled towards the cell door on legs suddenly turned to jelly and tried to scream for help. Before she could utter more than a squeak, Marco was all over her, roughly yanking her off her feet in a tight hug and at the same time tightly covering her mouth with a huge hand that reeked of cigarette smoke. After struggling for a few moments while he continued to speak softly to her, she realized that he wasn’t going to hurt her and stopped resisting. He removed his hand from her mouth and released her.

Gasping for air, she felt sick to her stomach as Marco helped her back to her cot. He sat down beside her on the bunk and quietly explained how she would be freed from prison by making it look like she had suffered a fatal heart attack. They were interrupted by Lino, another guard who occasionally patrolled her cellblock, bringing her lunch. After a brief and very angry conversation between the two guards, which she couldn’t understand, Lino, who obviously knew about the escape plan, took her hand and wished her good luck. He shot an angry look at Marco and left. Anita, still frightened and confused, could see from the look on Marco’s face that he was upset by what the other guard had told him.

Marco, what’s happened? Please, tell me what he said. It’s still going to happen, isn’t it? They aren’t going to kill me, are they?

Everything is going to be okay, Signorina, Marco replied quietly, adding you must trust me. It is just a small change in the plan, nothing for you to be concerned about—just a minor detail concerning your transportation.

What detail? Anita persisted.

I had asked to be able to meet you when you arrived in Naples, to make sure your transfer from our hands to the boat captain went smoothly. Lino says that has now been changed. He’s jealous of me! Don’t worry. I will fix that. The boss is my uncle, so please do not concern yourself—I will see you there. Marco went on explaining the plans for her escape, stopping occasionally whenever she had a question.

As she listened to Marco, Anita became even more frightened and confused. She began to have second thoughts that the plan might not work, and she would end up dead. She peppered Marco with more questions about the medicine they wanted her to take that would convince her jailers she was dead. He paused as if thinking then leaned in and whispered that he would get her the information she wanted, and then left.

The following afternoon, Anita was sitting on her bunk reading a dog-eared, year-old Italian food magazine that one of the guards had been kind enough to give her; she had become proficient enough in Italian to be able to read most of the papers and old magazines given to her by the sympathetic guards. Lost in the magazine, she was startled when her cell door opened and a distinguished looking elderly gentleman, wearing a lab coat and a stethoscope, entered.

It was the same man who had examined her when she had had her emotional breakdown. He quietly closed the heavy metal door behind him and re-introduced himself as the prison doctor. He nervously put a finger to his lips, motioning her not to speak. He began to describe in accented English what would happen to her after she ingested the tablets he was about to give her, noting the symptoms she would experience. He reached into the pocket of his coat and dropped two white pills into her palm.

Take both of these with lots of water right after your lunch tomorrow. Good luck. Without another word, he quickly left her cell.

The next day, after a sleepless night, she made the decision to throw caution to the winds and go through with the escape plan. She reasoned that dying would be preferable to living the rest of her life in jail. It also made sense to her that, if she were to die, then her accomplices wouldn’t get their final payment—and it was a lot of money. They had a vested interest in keeping her alive.

She ate lunch that day, savoring every morsel as if it were the last time she would ever taste food. She finished every bit of the lasagna and creamed peas, noting that Italians at least fed their prisoners well. After she finished, she went to her bunk and retrieved the pills from under the mattress. After filling her metal drinking cup with water from a corroded tap in her cell, she gulped down the pills without hesitation—before she could change her mind.

Anita went over to her bunk and stretched out on her back, pulling the coarse, prison-issue blouse down and tucking it into her prison slacks so she would at least look presentable if something were to go wrong. As she lay there waiting for the pills to take effect, she felt a sudden rush of hatred for her former boss, Sergeant Anthony Spinella, and that bastard, Mark, for getting her pregnant and causing the problems that had put her in her position.

The next thing she remembered was waking up in a dark room that smelled of raw sewage, with two tough looking men standing over her urging her in heavily accented English, to quickly get up and follow them.

Turning her thoughts back to following her instructions to the meeting place, she turned the corner into the crowded Piazza Del Duomo and was amazed at the number of people casually strolling around the piazza, looking into the various shop windows while enjoying the beautiful warm sun and the mild breeze.

After walking a short distance into the ancient, cobblestoned piazza, she stopped for a moment next to what appeared to be an old stone well situated near the center, to see if she could spot her contact. As she stood there, inhaling the mouth-watering aromas coming from the various cafes, she was approached by a tall, handsome, middle-aged man with thick white curly hair. He wore a tailored tan suit as he addressed her in a smooth baritone voice.

"Ciao Signorina. I am Bernardo, your contact. Please walk with me as if we are just another loving couple going to lunch."

Reacting instinctively, she grabbed hold of the man’s extended arm as they continued walking into the piazza. He led her underneath a large blue awning covering an outside seating area, past several empty tables covered with the traditional red and white checkered tablecloths, and into a small restaurant abutting the square. She was guided around several empty tables towards the back of the large dining room where, next to a stage and small dance floor, sat a single table occupied by a tall, nicely dressed older man who stood as she approached.

Reaching out to take her hand, he bowed slightly and introduced himself in English as Francesco Martino. He then invited her to join him for lunch. Anita looked around the room. Several men seated at various tables seemed to be trying very hard not to look at their table.

Turning to her host, she was impressed by how impeccably dressed he was, with his light gray linen suit, soft blue shirt and a royal blue tie that complimented his olive complexion. Any good thoughts she might have had about this man quickly evaporated as he began to speak English to her in a harsh, gravelly voice.

Signorina, I’ll order for you so as to save time. Francesco turned and nodded towards the waiter who was standing nearby. He spoke in rapid fire Italian, and after the waiter hurried off, he turned and stared at Anita. His voice was flat and menacing.

It is very important that you listen carefully to what I’m going to say to you. You must be on your way within the next hour, if not sooner. We have many good people taking care of our interests, but of course, I cannot expect our deception to go unnoticed indefinitely. As a business man, I must also tell you that we have made a business arrangement, and I will expect the rest of my payment immediately upon your arrival in Naples, is that understood? Before Anita could speak, he went on: You will not be allowed to leave Naples until you have given the agreed upon money to Marco, whom you already know, and to no one else. If you attempt to disappoint me, you will regret it! Do you understand what I am saying to you?

Yes, I understand completely. I was able, with the help of your people, to make the arrangements earlier so there should be no problems.

Excellent! You will not be going back to the hotel. Your room will be as if you were never there, and I’ve arranged for your personal belongings to be brought here. After today, you will not see me again, and we have never met! Right now, we should enjoy our lunch together and get you on your way.

After a short but delicious lunch, during which she was impressed by her host’s display of his knowledge of world events, Anita was immediately escorted to a small dark van occupied by two rough-looking men. She was placed in the back of the van, her eyes covered with a blindfold. After what seemed like hours of driving, along with several fruitless attempts to get the men to stop so she could use the bathroom, the van slowed and then came to a complete stop. When the blindfold was removed, she saw that they were in a large parking lot filled with cars and tour buses. A large restaurant was nearby with a bright red neon sign on the roof announcing the Auto Grill.

She was allowed to go inside, alone. The restaurant was very busy, with lines of people standing patiently at the food counter waiting to place their orders, while a small group of mostly men stood at the nearby coffee bar, smoking and drinking espresso.

After giving some coins to the female attendant outside the entrance, Anita entered the crowded lavatory. Some of the women were obviously tourists from the buses outside—they spoke with perfect English accents. Anita was instantly on her guard. After using the facilities, she made her way back to the line of people waiting to order food. A few minutes later after showing her paid receipt to a surly, overworked lady behind the counter, she picked up her food and returned to the van.

The driver, who looked to be in his early twenties and resembled Al Pacino with a broken nose, instructed her to finish her sandwich and then put her blindfold back on, and leave it on until they reached their destination. Anita was reluctant, but the young man assured her it was only a short distance. Twenty minutes later, the van came to a stop once more.

Anita heard a muffled exchange outside the van between her traveling companions and someone unknown to her. A minute later the door slid open and she was gently helped outside. When her blindfold was removed, she blinked a few times and saw that she was standing in a deserted gravel parking lot adjacent to a dilapidated wooden pier. Several large fishing boats were moored nearby, bobbing and swaying as the water pushed against their hulls. The next thing she knew, the van was backing away and she was left with a new companion: a young boy who looked no more than thirteen or so. He had an olive complexion, large green eyes, and a mop of unruly black hair. Dressed in what appeared to be new jeans and tennis shoes, he addressed her in English:

Lady, you’re safe now. Please follow me. He led her towards the pier. How did you learn to speak English so well? Anita asked as they approached one of the boats.

The young boy smiled broadly, showing his perfectly straight teeth. Clearly his parents could afford braces. Anita was on her guard.

I’m half American, he said. My father works for the US Government, at the embassy in Rome. I’m an American citizen, too. Cool, no?

That is pretty cool, but what kind of work does your father do at the embassy?

He’s one of those communications geeks who helps keep their radios and other stuff operating—but before you start worrying; I know how to keep my mouth shut! These guys take care of me, and I take care of them. They are honorable men, but they can be dangerous. The boy’s expression darkened.

Anita was relieved enough she asked no further questions. The boy helped her aboard the big trawler, wished her safe travels and then waving goodbye, strutted back down the pier toward the parking lot. She was alone on the weathered deck of the old boat.

The trawler was in good condition: the deck was swept clean and Anita smelled the odor of fresh paint. There was several medium-sized work boats anchored nearby. The marina itself was showing its age, and in desperate need of major repair.

She heard footsteps coming down the pier. Turning around, she spotted her former guard, Marco. Anita’s heart jumped as she waved. The handsome Italian had a new haircut, and he looked much better out of his prison guard attire: tight jeans and a light blue shirt open at the collar. Marco boarded the vessel and went into the wheelhouse. Anita followed him and saw that he was addressing an older man who by his sun-baked features and faded seaman’s cap appeared to be the boat’s captain. After speaking to the man in Italian, Marco turned to her and held out his hand.

Anita removed an envelope from her new purse and handed it to him. Thank you, Marco, she said.

Marco kissed both her cheeks and embraced her for a moment or two longer than necessary before whispering in her ear:

"The captain is a good man. I spoke with him and he will take very good care of you. Listen to him and do as he tells you. You must promise to return to Spoleto someday, Signorina. I will cook for you and show you my beautiful country. He took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. Before I leave you, here is a warning: you must be on your guard from this moment on. Other than the Captain, I do not know the people who are now responsible for your safety. Please be careful."

With that, Marco made his way back down the pier, leaving Anita confused by the sense of loss that she was feeling.

Tony sat behind his old boss’s desk, sipping his morning coffee. Without making it too obvious, he got up and ran his fingers over the small gold lettering on the door: Lieutenant Anthony Spinella, Robbery Squad. Without the recommendation of his former supervisor, Captain Frank McCathran, and his glowing suitability for promotion rating Tony wouldn’t be where he was. It didn’t hurt that Tony had been instrumental in solving a big drug case two years prior, involving dirty cops. The chief had even gone along with the captain’s request that Tony be given command of the squad after he passed the Civil Service promotional exam for Detective Lieutenant—even though it was customary for squads within the Detective Division to be commanded by a captain or higher.

Tony was proud that he’d been given the Robbery Squad assignment. At the same time, he was acutely aware he had pissed off several senior police officials, who had had their sights set on his position. Most had set aside their hard feelings over the last two years, but a couple of grudge-bearers still hoped he would fail.

Tony had streamlined the reporting process within the squad, and he had worked hard to get several good detectives assigned to Robbery. His new team wasted no time in making an impact on a large backlog of old cases that had been gathering dust. Tony regularly visited the squad room, chatting with his detectives about their various assignments, making them keep him up to date on problems as well as progress. He also stayed in close daily contact with his three civilian employees, who ensured the office paperwork flowed smoothly. All the while, Anita Clark hovered in the back of his mind.

Tony still burned with anger and embarrassment over how she had fooled them all—especially him. She had used her position as the Robbery Squad civilian office manager to gather information that helped her infiltrate the Police Property Room and steal large quantities of confiscated narcotics. She had also recruited a group of corrupt detectives, as well as a local drug dealer named Jo-Jo, to help steal and distribute the stolen drugs.

The scheme had lasted two years, resulting in several deaths, before it was uncovered and ultimately stopped by Tony, a few other honest cops, and a couple of trusted civilians. Anita was arrested in Venice, Italy, after fleeing the States and was now locked away in an Italian prison after successfully fighting extradition back to the states.

Tony wondered how she had been able to afford all the legal help she would have needed not