Tuscan Run: Drama, Comedy, Action! The Shooting Star Series by Northouse Simon

Author:Northouse, Simon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flabbergasted Publishing
Published: 2022-08-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

The Gardener Calls

We return from the old town after a light meal of pasta. The mood is sombre as we sit silently in the living room, staring morosely at the glistening pool water as the sun begins its customary descent into the sea.

‘Every second weekend and school holidays. That’s just cruel,’ Geordie says softly.

My mind turns to Mary. I feel nauseous at the thought of not seeing her every day.

‘Maybe signing with a major label isn’t such a bad idea,’ Robbo begins. ‘All we’d have to worry about is the music. They’d take care of everything else.’

I know he’s trying to be optimistic, but the very idea of handing over my songs to some monolithic, soulless corporation again fills me with dread.

‘I’m sure they’d want at least three new albums from us. Not just the one. You know how they work,’ Geordie says.

‘And three world tours to back them up,’ Flaky adds.

‘That’s the best part of ten years gone—working for the man,’ Robbo says wistfully. ‘We’d be in our early fifties by then.’

‘I’m not sure you’d be able to handle it, Bill. You’ve barely been able to manage the last year. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to retiring and doing something new. Another decade on the treadmill would kill you.’

He’s right. ‘You want the truth?’ They all nod. ‘The truth is…’ my words are interrupted by the doorbell.

‘Who the hell’s that?’ Geordie asks suspiciously.

‘I’ll get it,’ Robbo says as he saunters out of the room.

‘If it’s nuns looking for donations, tell them to come back next year!’ Geordie shouts after him.

Muted voices drift through to us before Robbo reappears, followed by four smartly dressed men. I recognise the first one as the man from the wrong villa we entered on day one. I undergo a sudden pang of anxiety as pieces of the jigsaw puzzle fall into place.

‘It’s the gardener,’ Robbo says, raising his eyebrows. ‘He says we have something of his.’

We jump to our feet as three of the men begin a quick inspection of the room. I know exactly what they’re after. The gardener casually takes a seat and relaxes, crossing his legs.

‘Can we help you?’ I ask, annoyed by the men’s obvious arrogance.

‘You have taken something of mine,’ the gardener says in his soft Italian brogue.

‘What exactly do we have of yours?’ Geordie demands. ‘If you think we stole something from your villa, then you’re very much mistaken.’

One lackey picks up the Tupperware tub from the table and peels back the lid. He dips his finger into the powder, then places it on his tongue.

‘Capo,’ he says, turning to the gardener, and nodding.

‘I see,’ he replies, gesturing for him to bring the box over.

‘Oi, who the fuck do you lot think you are?’ Geordie bellows.

I study the men; Armani suits, Gucci shoes, mirrored shades, overpowering aftershave, slicked back hair, manicured nails. Walking stereotypes. It never rains but pours.

The other two men stop their search and stroll back to their boss, as Geordie lurches forward, blocking the man with the coke box.

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