Mazzeri by Peter Crawley

Author:Peter Crawley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd

36

The blue helicopter zipped overhead in the opposite direction as Ric rode his motorcycle up out of Zizula. He ducked as it passed a few metres above him. But as he accelerated over the next brow of a sweeping curve in the road, he came face to face with the chopper, nose-down, hovering above the tarmac. It didn’t scare him as much as frighten the living daylights out of him. He felt as though he was going to ride right into it.

He hit the brakes too hard as he crested the rise and both wheels locked up. The tail of the bike slipped round, but he managed to catch the slide, turning the front wheel into the road, allowing his weight to fall back, leaning his shoulders forward over the centre of gravity to maintain balance. He skidded pretty much sideways down the road beneath the irritating blue wasp that buzzed above.

There had been no time to swear.

Ric got the bike back under control and slowed to look round for the helicopter. He was aware of the screeching whine nearby. As he did so he saw it flying parallel to him in the same direction on the seaward side of the road. He could not see the occupants because of the darkened glass of the cockpit windows, although he had a pretty good idea who might be inside. He could almost hear the Armenian laughing above the sound of the engine and rotors, and he considered giving him the appropriate salute. But just as he took his left hand off the handlebar, the noisy blue machine pulled up and shied away in a great screaming, banking arc towards the sea, and then disappeared from view back in the direction of the town.

Now there was time, Ric swore and then broke into a laugh that was as much a reaction to his relief as his amusement.

Kamo possessed some unpleasant habits, but he had a distinctive style; Ric had to give him that.

Back at the house Ric showered, respectfully grateful to the plumbing for granting him the necessary water.

The heat of the afternoon was, if anything, more intense than at midday. Even the passage of his bike through the air had provided no relief. At times Ric had felt as though he were speeding towards a great wall of fire around the next bend.

As he showered he thought of Camille’s strange reply to his questions about Manou. His response had been so veiled, so enigmatic that Ric wasn’t sure from which angle to approach it.

Was it a warning that Manou was going to metamorphose into some many-headed Hydra? If so, she hadn’t so far, but then he remembered that she did have the habit of leaving his bed before dawn.

Was she a descendant of the Laestrygonians he had heard about; the giants who’d destroyed Odysseus’ fleet at Bunifaziu? Ric grinned a little lasciviously. If she was, depending on how big her cousins were, he could put up with their association in return for Manou’s many charms.

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