The Tailor's Razor

13. Larrikinism is Actually the Key to Success

Later in the afternoon, almost time for a cocktail
Apice Globale, EUR, Roma

"So they just jumped on their bike, with the dog in the sidecar, and sped off?" Enrico was hysterical, losing his mind at the video report of Taylor and Madison's break-in at Casaccia.

His head of security was less jovial, her eyebrows threatening to express utter indifference to the morons.

"Not impressed, Yuri?" Enrico shrugged, "These... these idiots... I prefer these idiots to the other... idiot chasing me."

"Interpol's as useless as the UN," Yuri shrugged, "Why does it even surprise you anymore?"

"It's insulting that they'd send such..." Enrico weighed up the sentence again, stroking the purple bars of his tie, "I'm insulted when they don't respect me enough to send someone who knows what they're doing."

"Romauld's good," Yuri assured the boss, her face softening, "They're lucky to have him, but he'd be better off pimping his services. Interpol bureaucracy's cut his balls off."

Enrico grimaced, "You've got a way with words... I still think it was a stupid plan to go undercover as a model."

"That would've been Interpol," wobbling her head the Raffica Beretta that dangled from her armpit swung rapidly from side to side.

"You're defensive of the guy."

"Wanna cigarette?" Yuri offered, and though Enrico tried to discern the look in her dark eyes he was hopeless before the façade she'd built. Giving up he took a filter-tip from her packet.

"But we've got to stick our heads out the window; bellina mio thinks I've quit," being the boss, old boy had one of the panoramic panes retrofitted to swing open. However that's hardly a bright idea when you're on the twenty-first floor. Even when the air is still enough for a feather to drop on the street there's often a gale being whipped round the crown of each skyscraper. Today was no different; soon as Enrico opened the window a gust of wind rushed in and played havoc with the paperwork. Yuri cried out, long hair whipping round her face while Enrico struggled to shut the window, "I need a bit of help!"

The pane was taller than either of them and weighed a false tonne, making it an inordinate struggle to swing it back into place. When they finally succeeded in locking the glass in its rightful place Yuri rounded on the boss, grimacing.

"It's never been that violent!"

"Yes! Let's all..." she cut her vaudeville performance short when she realised "My cigarette's out," flicking it onto the floor in defiance, "What do you want to do about Taylor and Hourman?"

Enrico dropped his hands into his pockets and narrowed his eyes, "Well, when you're done littering in my office I'd like you to notify security that Will Taylor should be welcomed into the building when he arrives."

"Yeah?"

"Si. But make sure Hourman's daughter gets turned away; I need to drive them apart."

"Whatever," Yuri shrugged, heading to the door.

"Politeness may not be written in your contract, but I'd appreciate it!"

Yuri didn't bother acknowledging him; she had more important tasks than meditating on her history of dismissals and the half-dozen severance packages that had helped fund her small bungalow in Chiang Mai. Enrico, for his part, felt sweat all across his palms; that cigarette had teased him and he was hankering for a hit. Lord knew how long it would take Taylor and Madison to make it back to Rome; he'd have enough time for a sneaky ciggie outside.