| Subject: 'Carnival' - Part Two |
Author:
Daenar
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Date Posted: 14:30:28 07/24/02 Wed
In reply to:
Daenar
's message, "'Carnival' - Part One" on 14:27:40 07/24/02 Wed
‘Carnival’ – Part Two
Author: Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One.
1538 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice
Mac was getting angry. There was only one receptionist and he had been on the phone ever since they had arrived at the small hotel where they were supposed to stay during their investigation. The guy, a short, stout, balding middle-aged man with a black moustache, kept shouting into the receiver and didn’t seem to bother the slightest bit to get back to work. Every time Prumetti tried to approach him, he waved impatiently and threw him some kind of remark.
„I’m so sorry, ma’am, sirs,“ the young lieutenant apologized, shrugging, „But Sergio has never shown much respect to the military, mainly because his brother is a colonel in the army. But with the carnival season we were lucky to even get hotel rooms for you, so Admiral Della Rosa decided we would have to put up with it.“ He looked around. „I know it’s small and Sergio’s... well... particular, but we didn’t want to host you inside the Arsenale.“
So they continued waiting for Sergio to finish his call. After ten minutes, his agitated voice was beginning to very much get on Mac’s nerves. She suppressed a sigh and a frown and went over to the window.
Their hotel - to call it thus was highly exaggerated - was situated in a small street at the end of which opened the plaza in front of the Arsenale. Mac had been very much impressed by this intimidating brick complex with two castle-like towers crowning the bridge near the main entrance. Venice’s Navy headquarters - in former times it had been a huge warehouse, stuffed with supplies of all kinds for the population of the city. But since Venice had been part of the Austrian Empire and the Austrians, in the 19th century, had built the railway bridge that connected the lagoon city with the mainland, the Arsenale had lost its importance, especially since, in the 1930s, a motorway bridge had been constructed as well. Mac wondered what the enormous building looked like inside. Well, she would soon come to know as they were supposed to meet the commanding officer later on. For the moment, Mac only longed for a shower.
Finally the receptionist put the receiver on the cradle and, smiling broadly, called out to them.
“Ixxcuse me, signori, ‘dis was so importanta I ‘ad to feenish ‘de converationna.”
[Author’s note: The Italian accent in English tends to pronounce very heavily every terminating consonant. That is why people put an ‘a’ at the end of the word, to render the tendency when laying down accented speech in writing. So just read normally and think of an audible ending when you find an ‘a’-word. Excuse me, folks, that’s the linguist in me speaking...]
‘Sure, tell me,’ Harm thought, frowning. He lifted himself from a tiny baroque armchair he had been crouched into and, together with the others, went over to the reception desk.
“My name ees Sergio Bartolini,” the man introduced himself, still smiling - especially in Mac’s direction, Harm noted and deepened his frown. His protective (and possessive?) instincts instantly came to life and he put his hand on the small of Mac’s back, without noticing that he did. Mac inwardly jumped but maintained her professional composure. Only her smile let show something of her reaction to Harm’s surprising gesture: It deepened from ‘business style’ to ‘heartfelt’.
“Letta me welcome you to Venezia,” Sergio went on, watching with interest Harm’s little display of jealousy. “Ammiraglio;” he then addressed AJ, seemingly recognizing their rank insignia, “I was tolda ‘datta you would needa ‘dree rooms, but obviously eet’sa only a single one forr you and a double one forr your officers. I weell immediately correcta ‘de mistaka.” He bent down and opened his reservation book when Harm woke from the shock Sergio’s little speech had thrown him into. He at once removed his hand from Mac’s back and cleared his throat.
“Uhm, uh, thank you, but that’s not necessary. Your information was correct.” He gave the receptionist a smile that failed to hide his embarrassment. Prumetti saved him by stepping forward, giving Sergio all the names and facts and negotiating the remaining bureaucracy in rapid Italian. They were then given their keys and, having made an appointment with Prumetti in front of the Arsenale at 1800, headed to their rooms. Sergio watched as they walked up the stairway, wondering why Comandante Rabb, who would be judged good-looking and charming even by sophisticated Italian standard, seemingly didn’t know how to act on his ‘amore’ for Colonello Mackenzie. He would have to teach them some details of ‘dolce vita’.
1657 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice
Harm grabbed his coat and cover, left his room, slammed the door shut and locked it. Taking two steps at a time, he hurried down the stairs and reached the small entrance hall. No Mac, no AJ. Damn that jetlag. But he had felt that he needed a little relaxing after his shower, so he had lain down for some minutes and then he had fallen asleep. He was thanking God again, this time for at least letting him wake up before their meeting time, not after. Slipping into his coat while leaving the hotel in a run, Harm prayed he would be able to catch up with Mac and AJ before they met Prumetti. Sergio watched him leaving in silent amusement.
Harm ran down the lane to the Arsenale at full speed, spotting his colleagues walking a little ahead. In his eagerness to reach them Harm didn’t notice people turning their heads in amazement at the navy officer that whooshed past them in a very un-officer-like manner. Finally Harm had caught up with Mac and AJ and slowed down, panting.
“I’m sorry, sir...” he started but AJ interrupted him.
“Traffic, Commander?” He raised his eyebrows. From Mac’s direction Harm heard something that sounded like a suppressed snort.
“No, sir, jetlag. Let me add that I am fully aware of my conduct not being appropriate for an officer of the United States Navy and that I am willing to face the consequences, sir,” Harm stated, actually coming to attention in the middle of the street. He sincerely hoped it helped. Mac quickly pulled out her handkerchief, turned and started to excessively cough and blow her nose. AJ wished he could do the same but as the situation was, he, with every bit of effort he could master, maintained his stern countenance.
“Postponed until later. At ease, Commander,” he said quickly and added in a sharp hiss, “And don’t pull off any stunts like this again, or do you want to ridicule us before all Italy?” His glare could have killed.
Harm gulped. “No, sir.”
“Good. Let’s go to work then. And, Commander, I heard they have many clockmakers around here. Go and get yourself an alarm-clock. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.” Another snort from Mac. ‘Someday, Marine, some glorious, singular day...’ Harm silently swore.
They met with Prumetti who guided them inside the Arsenale. Mac was disappointed. From the inside it looked more like some office building, not like the castle she had imagined. ‘Well, so much to prejudices,’ she thought.
They stopped in front of the CO’s office. ‘Amm. Div. Salvatore Della Rosa’ Harm read at the door. While they waited for admission Harm summoned Prumetti to step closer. “What’s ‘Amm. Div.’, please, Lieutenant?” he asked in a low voice.
“Ammiraglio di Divisione, that would be...,” Prumetti studied the ceiling, silently counting and calculating ranks, “Rear Admiral Upper Half, sir.”
So Della Rosa and AJ didn’t outrank one another. This fact could facilitate matters with their investigation quite a bit, especially as this case was considered diplomatically tricky. Harm was relieved.
A petty officer bid them come in and in a very court-like manner announced their names. “L’Ammiraglio di Divisione Alberrta Chegwidddden, Judge Avocaita General della Marina degli Stati Uniti,” [A.N.: The United States Navy’s JAG] he announced. AJ cringed slightly at the P.O.’s pronunciation. Harm and Mac exchanged an amused wink. “...il Capitano di Fregata ‘Armon Rrubb,” the P.O. went on. Mac’s mouth twitched. ‘Wait till he gets to you, jarhead,’ Harm frowned. “...e il Tenente Colonello Sarah Mackenzie.” Mac, having greeted, gave Harm a quick glance of ‘Ha, ha...’ that left him fuming. There was no justice in the world. Why did Mac, from whatever situation, always come out without the slightest spot on her blouse? ‘Some glorious day, Marine...’ The words kept turning in Harm’s mind.
“Admiral Chegwidden, Colonel Mackenzie, Commander Rabb, I am pleased to meet you,” Della Rosa greeted them warmly. He was a distinguished man, slightly shorter than Mac and a little stout, but he must have been very handsome some years ago. His uniform fit perfectly, and his manners and way of moving were of the same school as they had seen with Prumetti, a little pompous and old-fashioned maybe, but agreeable to deal with and certainly fitting the known image of an Italian gentleman. His slight accent only added to his credit.
“So are we, Admiral,” AJ answered.
They shook hands and Della Rosa bade them sit down. “Would you mind if Lieutenant Prumetti stayed while we discuss the case?” Della Rosa asked. “I feel more at ease having a native speaker at my side to negotiate the difficult parts,” he added, smiling.
“Absolutely no objection, Admiral,” AJ retorted, “Although I doubt you would need help.”
“Thank you very much,” Della Rosa smiled. “Si accomodi, Tenente,” he then addressed the young lieutenant. [A.N.: Sit down, Lieutenant.]
“Sì, Ammiraglio.” Prumetti pulled up a fourth chair and sat down next to Harm.
Della Rosa’s face sobered. “This is a very ugly affair, Admiral,” he began, referring to the theft of the gondola. “It has caused quite a bit of a bad echo with the media. You have to know that, given the direction in which Italian society keeps changing, preserving traditions isn’t too popular any more with many people. When we had our gondola built, many were saying it was just another reactionary and over-conservative act by a reactionary and old-fashioned navy that was unfit for the challenges of today’s world. You would hear that using a gondola for representative occasions would expose the military to ridicule. Or people were arguing that this was just another way of throwing away taxes, firstly by purchasing this rather expensive but little efficient vehicle and secondly by having to instruct seamen to row it – that’s a very special technique, you know – and then to pay them for doing nothing than that. So, at first, we faced quite a bit of opposition with our tradition-keeping. But then, gradually, people began to understand that the gondola and my using it for official purposes created a very special image abroad. What do non-Italians – and many Italians as well – first think of when they hear of Venice? Mostly gondolas, isn’t it? And the gondola itself is kind of a symbol for the century-long and glorious history of the ancient Repubblica Serenissima di Venezia. Which, by the way, is what attracts most of Venice’s tourists. So the general image of what we achieved by holding to Venice’s traditions was reported to me like this: People respected and valued the way we live our history, and the impression we made on such occasions added much to the esteem the navy always had in our country but seems to lose with the recent changes in society. In short, public opinion reluctantly changed from – excuse me if I put it rather drastically – ‘What the hell do those sailors think they’re doing?’ to ‘At least the navy is showing people how to honor tradition.’” Della Rosa sighed. “Your two young men have achieved the miracle of destroying this change of opinion in one night’s time. I think you can imagine what we went through when word of it leaked out to the press.”
He opened a drawer and handed the JAG officers a folder with some newspaper articles on the theft. Harm, with his basic knowledge of Spanish, was able to make out the sense of some of the headlines. ‘Drunk Americans open navy’s eyes’ he read, or ‘Navy, return to your real ships’, or ‘American sailors ridicule Venice Port Authority’. This sure was a highly embarrassing matter to the U.S. Navy, he felt, and he was glad AJ himself had insisted on going to settle the affair.
“We do see your point, sir,” Mac said, “And I am sure I can speak for my colleagues if I say that we are deeply ashamed of the embarrassing conduct of two of our personnel and we guarantee that they shall face the proper consequences.” She gave the Italian admiral one of her sincerest smiles, those reserved for very special occasions. Harm caught himself wishing he were the one sitting on the other side of the desk. Did she know how beautiful she was? ‘Focus on the case, Hammer,’ he scolded himself immediately.
“Where are the suspects now, sir?” he asked, banishing Mac’s smile from his thoughts.
“In custody. The Cole had to leave Venice so the CAG agreed to let them be kept at the Arsenale, hearing that you were due to arrive a few hours later,” Della Rosa explained.
“Did they see their lawyers?” AJ asked, knowing the formal question could sound like an insult. Della Rosa didn’t seem in the least offended.
“Of course. The Mediterranean JAG office sent... excuse me,” he searched his file, “Lieutenant Terence Baxter and Lieutenant, j.g. Carrie Johnson. They returned to the office to report the case and then you were sent over here. We were informed that the prisoners both made a thorough confession, so we expect the case to be quick to handle. Lieutenants Baxter and Johnson will be back to Venice tomorrow evening. And I wanted to thank you in person, Admiral, Colonel, Commander, that you chose to come. This should be enough evidence even to the densest of journalists that our NATO partners appreciate traditions being kept and valued just as we do.”
“It was the least we could do, sir,” Harm replied. “Could we talk to them?”
“Of course, Commander. The lieutenant will take you to them.” Della Rosa rose, as did the other officers. “I hope I’ll see you at tomorrow’s reception of the diplomatic corps of Venice,” he said, extending his hand to AJ. “We have to offer the press an occasion to get to know you’re here, don’t we?” he added.
AJ shook hands with him and confirmed that they would be there. ‘Good one, this one,’ he thought. ‘No beating around the bush, no over-sensitivities, no offence taken but no compromise, either. Would have made a good SEAL.’
They took their leave and AJ excused himself from his officers. He had to get back to the hotel for he had a telephone-appointment with Francesca at 1900.
Prumetti led Mac and Harm to where P.O. Merriner and Seaman Quinn were being held.
“You can go in, ma’am, sir. I’ll see to it that you get permanent visitors’ badges and free access to the prisoners at no matter what time,” the lieutenant said as they stood in front of the cell door.
“We’d appreciate that very much, Lieutenant,” Mac said.
“May I suggest something to you, ma’am, sir?” Prumetti ventured, seeming a little unsure if to go on or not.
“Go ahead,” Harm answered good-naturedly.
“Ma’am, sir, I think I understood you have never been to Venice before and I was thinking if you, and of course Admiral Chegwidden if he is inclined to, would like to go to dinner with me and my fiancée tonight. We could take you to a typical Venetian place, in order to prevent you from ending up in one of those tourist traps that pull your money out of your pockets and serve only third-class food.” The slight stiffness had returned to Prumetti’s attitude, clear indication that he was feeling uneasy.
Mac instantly relieved him from his inward tension. “We would love to,” she answered with a huge smile, “Wouldn’t we, Harm?”
“Sure,” Harm agreed. “Thanks for your offer, Lieutenant. You have to know,” he added, grinning, lowering his voice a little bit, but still keeping it loud enough for Mac to hear, “Feeding a hungry United States Marine is quite a mission. I could use any help I can get.”
“Jerk!” was the only hissed reply he got. It made all three of them laugh.
“I see, sir,” Prumetti said. “I suggest we meet at 2000 right in front of the main entrance to St. Mark’s Cathedral. Every Venice-freshman is able to find it.”
“You just got yourself an appointment. Till 2000 then,” Mac replied, still chuckling. “And the food better be good, or you and you, too, squid, will learn not to trifle with a big bad Marine.”
“Aye, ma’am,” Harm and Prumetti chorused, the lieutenant not intending to joke, though. At seeing Harm snap to attention as well, Prumetti lost his guard for a moment and looked from one JAG officer to the other in confusion. Then he came to attention again. “I’m sorry, ma’am, sir!”
Mac and Harm laughed sympathetically at the poor young man’s embarrassment. It must be hard to deal with their unorthodox behavior to one another.
“See you at St. Mark’s, Lieutenant,” Harm said, grinning, and saluted back as did Mac.
“Aye, ma’am, sir!” Prumetti turned and went away, his shoulders relaxing when he was a little farther off.
“He must find us scary,” Mac said in a low voice. “Let’s try to make a more serious impression tonight, sailor.”
“You’re on, Mac. Just, please, don’t eat strange things tonight or I might find it hard to play cool.”
Mac just rolled her eyes heavenward and opened the door to meet the prisoners.
Petty Officer Second Class Alan Merriner and Seaman Paul Quinn were playing poker when Harm and Mac entered. They instantly dropped their cards and came to attention.
“At ease,” Harm said, “I’m Cmdr. Rabb from the JAG and this is my partner Col. Mackenzie. We’ll handle the prosecution of this case. Sit down, please.” The foursome gathered around the small table.
“I heard you met the defense counselors?” The young men nodded. “Good. Let me be straightforward with you,” Harm went on, “What the hell were you thinking to pull off a stunt like that?” At this he felt Mac’s hand exercising some gentle pressure on his thigh, as if to say ‘Easy, sailor.’
“I guess we weren’t thinking at all, sir,” Merriner admitted with a rueful grin. “We had met some guys who knew English in a bar near the Piazzetta. As you may have noticed, sir, it’s carnival and people tend to dress up in rather funny ways. Well, so were those guys, dressed up with masks and dominos, and we started to make comments on their costumes and that we would like to get some, too, you know, to be real Venetians. They said, being Venetian started with having Venetian drinks and that we had to try quite a lot of stuff. After... I don’t know how long, we were pretty much clouded in our minds, sir. I only remember that they said you couldn’t be Venetian without knowing the city. So we took quite a long walk, but I don’t remember very well where we went. After some time they stopped and said that you had to know how to row a gondola to be Venetian. And they were boasting how difficult that was and how no one could learn it by doing. I guess they were pretty much drunk, too. Anyway, at a certain point I said that I had always learned everything by doing. It isn’t true, sir, of course, but their cool remarks were getting on my nerves. So I said of course I could row a gondola without their help. And they told me to prove it. We were in front of a huge building and there was a gondola on the canal in front of it. Inside seemed to be many people but outside there were few. So Paul and I got onto the boat and began to row. Paul took the front row and I the one in the back. I fell into the canal twice because, being drunk, I wasn’t very good at anticipating the movements. But the water cleared my head a little and then I managed. We went on the Grand Canal for quite a bit because we had difficulties to maneuver. Eventually we were getting better and decided to try one of the smaller canals. But then we underestimated the size of the boat. Suddenly we were stuck. And the alcohol still made us drowsy. So we just lay down in the boat and decided to wait for the morning. And that’s it, sir.”
Harm and Mac had listened quietly. “Do you want to add anything, Seaman Quinn?” Harm asked.
Quinn shook his head, intimidated by their icy silence. “No, sir.”
“Are you two aware that your behavior is embarrassing to the highest degree and is affecting the reputation not only of the USS Cole but of the whole U.S. Navy?” Mac asked, deadly calm.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Were you aware before the incident that alcohol can diminish your power of judgement?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Were you aware of the alcohol you consumed beginning to have a negative influence on you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you consider stopping to drink, then?”
“Yes, ma’am, we did but we...”
“But what, Petty Officer?” Mac interrupted him shouting. “Would it have been... impolite? Old-fashioned? Uncool? A threat to your self-esteem?” Mac had risen from her chair. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sent daggers. She was breathing heavily. The young men jumped to their feet, staring at her.
Until now Harm had been watching in silence but now he knew he had to step in. The conversation, by turning to the topic of alcohol and its negative influence on human judgement, was on dangerous territory. Harm knew that if there was one topic that Mac considered a zero-tolerance issue, it was misuse of alcohol and the consequences it could have - from disorderly behavior up to abuse of women and children. If he didn’t cool the situation now Mac wouldn’t be able to guarantee for her actions. He, too, stood up and, willfully misunderstanding her behavior, in a gruff calmness said to his partner: “I think you did a good job intimidating them, Colonel. Now let’s see if it worked.” With this he casually put his hand on her shoulder, like she had earlier on his thigh, and hoped she understood that he was only trying to save her from herself.
Mac felt the reassuring warmth of Harm’s hand on her shoulder and took a deep breath to calm down. She was embarrassed that she had let go of her control, especially before him, but another feeling was dominant. She was forever grateful that he had been there for her, helping her to stay in line, rescuing her once again from the effects of her past and even offering her a way to step out of the mess that she had created by her uncontrolled interrogation. She put on a grim smile. “You’re right, Commander. No need to exaggerate. Let’s sit down again, all of us.” With that she let Harm pull up her chair for her. Sitting down she turned and gave him a quick glance of sincere gratefulness. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed. He acknowledged with only the hint of a grin.
“As the colonel has already pointed out to you,” he then addressed the two young men who had visibly paled at Mac’s outburst, “You have to be aware that your conduct will have consequences on your careers. We will pay attention in your favor to the fact that you cooperated with local authorities and confessed. All further details will have to be regulated between your lawyers and us. If you want to reach us for any reason, call me on my cell-phone.” He handed his card to the petty officer. “That would be all for now.”
Harm and Mac rose. The two young men sprung to their feet and came to attention. The JAG officers greeted back and left the room.
1845 ZULU
Hotel Bartolini
Near the Arsenale
Castello, Venice
Mac surveyed herself critically once again in the mirror. She had changed into black trousers and a simple white turtleneck and after having showered she felt much better than she had on the way home. Harm hadn’t said a word about the incident and she was grateful for his understanding. But at the same time she could have beaten herself unconscious with rage that she still let her past affect her to such a dimension in simple situations as these. And that she had let this happen in front of Harm. She had seen nothing but compassion and understanding in his eyes, but she didn’t want him to see her like that. Not that he hadn’t already, but still... Mac sighed, corrected her lipstick and was putting on her coat when she heard a knock on her door.
“Mac, you ready?”
“Yeah, just a second,” she called back.
“You are on time, squid,” she remarked with a smirk when she opened her door. “And compliments for your choice of clothes.”
Harm was wearing dark blue trousers and light blue shirt under a gray pullover. He looked... Italian, she decided.
“Same goes to you. Nice sweater.” White became her, he observed.
“Thanks. Now that we’ve exchanged enough flatteries, can we go?” Mac locked her door.
“Lead the way, Colonel,” Harm replied, zipping up his blue oilskin.
As they crossed the hall, Sergio greeted them. “I weesh you a pleasanta evening, Signorina, Comandante."
“Why does he call you commander and me miss?” Mac complained when they had left the hotel. “That’s discrimination.”
Harm shrugged. “I guess that’s the Italian understanding of roles. At least with elder men.”
Mac frowned.
Passing the Arsenale, they went down to the shore and followed it in the direction of the Piazzetta. Both were rather quiet but enjoyed walking side by side, watching the many people that were underway in the orange light of the street lanterns. As P.O. Merriner had observed, people were taking their evening walks in full costume. They saw dozens of richly ornamented and extravagant dominos, figures clad in black with masks shaped like huge beaks who wore spectacles and black hats, or just people in ordinary costumes you could find in any country. The atmosphere was light and joyful. Up and down Mac and Harm climbed the many bridges that they encountered on their way to St. Marks, on top of each stopping for a moment to take a look at the canal that opened itself to their view between the houses.
They had almost reached the Piazzetta when they stopped on top of the last bridge separating them from St. Mark’s. In the darkness they hadn’t recognized the building they had come across, but looking at the canal they instantly knew that they were standing between the palace and the ancient prison. There was the Bridge of Sighs.
Harm immediately thought of the promise he had made to himself the day before, but he hadn’t expected to be given so soon the opportunity to act. He looked at Mac who was thoughtfully watching him with her huge, kind eyes. He took a deep breath... He couldn’t do it. Not yet. He didn’t know how.
‘I’m sorry, Mac,’ his eyes tried to convey to hers. ‘I can’t. Not now. But I’m working on it, I promise.’ And as if to stress his thoughts he held out his hand to her. “I think we’d better go. Shall we?” he asked softly.
Mac’s brown eyes gave away the hint of a smile. She wasn’t quite sure what exactly was going on inside her partner, but she sensed his struggle and wanted nothing more than to help him find a way through the rapids down to calm waters. And the best way of doing so, she knew, was to take up his timing, accept the way he acted and rejoice in the little gestures he was ready to offer. So she just put her hand in his and enjoyed the warmth, her smile now fully perceptible. “Yeah, let’s go,” she said gently, maintaining the eye contact until she found her own smile reflected on his features.
Still hand in hand, they reached the cathedral and found Prumetti waiting in front of the entrance, his arm around the shoulders of a slender young woman. As he saw them coming he started walking in their direction, smiling. The young woman followed.
“Ma’am, sir, good evening,” he greeted. “May I introduce my fiancée to you? Claire Farnham from London.”
“Good evening, ma’am, sir,” she greeted, smiling shyly, unsure if to offer a handshake or not.
“Good evening, Ms. Farnham,” Harm greeted politely, “Pleased to meet you.”
“Call me Claire, please, sir,” she replied.
“Okay,” Harm said with a genuine flyboy grin. “And that’s Harm to you, not sir. And also to you, Lieutenant, as long as we’re off duty.”
“Mac,” Mac introduced herself to the young couple in the same simple way she had introduced herself to Harm in the Rose Garden, years ago, holding out her hand.
Prumetti answered likewise. “Fred,” he said simply, shaking her hand.
“Isn’t Fred a very un-Italian name?” Harm asked as the four of them slowly crossed the huge plaza that was crowded with tourists, many of them in full costume.
“My mother calls me that,” Prumetti answered. “My given name is Federico, that’s Italian for Frederick.”
“So, Fred, where are you going to take us?” Mac asked, feeling her stomach growl deeply.
“I told you we were going to get something typical to try for you. So we’ll be doing a tour of the so-called ‘bàcari’. A bàcaro is a typical Venetian bar where you can choose little mouthfuls of typical stuff to eat and have a drink. When you’re finished you go to the next one where they’ll be offering other specialties and so on,” Fred explained.
“Sounds like fun,” Mac observed.
“It is,” Claire replied with a smile, “Although you have to get used to some of the stuff.”
Harm frowned. “Uhm... they do serve vegetables, right?”
Fred gave him an astonished glance but then decided not to ask. “Of course, sir... er... Harm.” With that they entered the first bàcaro that Fred and Claire had picked out for their tour. It was crowded, but there didn’t seem to be any tourists - and no costumes either.
“Don’t Venetians dress up, too, for the carnival?” Mac asked, a little confused.
Fred grinned. “Nope. During the carnival we mostly stay inside our houses or leave the city. Too crowded. The guys in the costumes are tourists who tend to come every year and dress up in order to pose for other tourists. Vanities, you know.”
“You’re kidding!” Harm laughed.
“It’s true,” Claire acknowledged. “I used to go to university here for some time. And when I asked all my Venetian friends to go out with me in disguise, they would first stare at me and then laugh.”
“But it’s true that you should have seen the Venetian carnival once in a lifetime,” Fred admitted. “It’s really special, even though it sucks being exposed to it every year.” His dry observation made them all laugh even more.
A waiter approached them at the counter. “We should open the evening with a real Venetian aperitif. It’s called ‘spritz’ and it’s made of Campari, white whine and soda with a slice of orange,” Claire suggested.
Mac smiled apologetically. “I don’t drink but don’t let that prevent you. I’ll just take a San Pellegrino with a bit of lime or lemon.”
Fred nodded, again not asking questions. ‘Quite a gentleman,’ Harm observed. He looked at Mac, unsure what to do. He normally didn’t drink when she was around, but on the other hand he didn’t want to be impolite towards Fred and Claire. She relieved him from his uneasiness.
“But I’m sure Harm would like to try that stuff, right?” she smiled encouragingly.
Harm grinned back. “Sure.”
Fred ordered three spritz’ and Mac’s water. “What would you like to eat?” he asked, indicating the platters exhibited on the counter. Harm gave them a critical survey and decided on some fried zucchini and eggplant.
“If you like veggies you should try those,” Claire indicated to Harm something he wasn’t quite able to identify.
“What’s that?” he asked curiously.
“It’s Radicchio di Treviso. A little bitter but really nice. Trust me. I’m a vegetarian as well,” she added, grinning.
“Okay then,” Harm agreed.
Mac meanwhile had her plate packed with all kinds of seafood Harm chose not to look at too closely. The barman mixed their drinks, warmed up the food they had chosen and took it to a small table in a corner where they settled down. It was a really cozy place, Mac decided. Outside one of the guys with black hat, beak and spectacles passed their window.
“What kind of costume is this?” Mac wanted to know. “It’s kind of odd, I think.”
“That’s the traditional medieval pestilence doctor,” Fred explained. “You know, they were dressed in black coat and hat to be immediately spotted and in the huge beak they put cotton with herbs and perfume because they thought that the contagion occurred with the stench. The doctor is typical for Venetian carnival just like the colombine and harlequin.” Harm and Mac looked at each other, not knowing what to make of such a strange choice of costume.
They were chatting happily, Mac and Harm being eager to learn more details of the ongoing festivities that seemed more and more complex to them to understand. Just then Harm’s cell-phone rang. “I’m sorry, guys,” he said with a helpless shrug, getting up and leaving the bar to diminish the background noise.
As he spoke he was pacing to and fro in front of the window where Mac and the others were seated. Mac watched him greeting someone, smiling, then suddenly sobering while his face took up an expression of utmost shock and horror. Harm turned to her and motioned her to quickly join him. By now, Fred and Claire, too, had understood that something must have happened. Fred put some Euro bills on the table and they quickly left the bàcaro. When they got to Harm he was slipping his cell-phone into his pocket.
“I fear the evening has to end here,” he said quietly.
“Why? What’s up?” Mac asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and feeling her concern growing when she noticed that her partner was slightly trembling.
“That was the admiral,” Harm explained. “You know Della Rosa invited him to dinner. Well, they just got a call from the local police. Near the spot where the navy’s gondola was stolen they found a body in a hidden corner of a canal. A young girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, stabbed to death. At least twenty stab wounds all over the body.”
“Oh my God...” Mac whispered, paling. Fred put his arm around a trembling Claire, too shocked to speak.
“There’s more,” Harm went on, his voice strained. “They found the murder weapon. A pocketknife that has been identified as Seaman Quinn’s. And it’s got Merriner’s fingerprints on it.”
At this Mac just grabbed Harm’s hand and he pulled her over to him, encircling her in his arms and holding her close.
To be continued...
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