Chapter 8.
Che palle!
Vincenzo! Alonzo! Porca vacca! What you doing? You stupid! Teste muti!
The three men froze, as a tiny, but wide, black clad dame, holding a huge, wax candle, bowled toward the pair, like an ill west wind.
The two thugs quickly dropped their guns, and hung their heads, as the woman with a head like an old potato, who had emerged from a huge, elaborate burial vault, continued to berate the duo in gunshot fast Italian.
Agent Johnson took the opportunity to run toward the cliff, to see if he could see Agent Cleo Carras. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that he could see something bobbing around in the swelling water down there. Such a jump from this height, could easily kill a person, he thought soberly, his blood running cold. He took out his phone and rang his mate, Benji, who manned a surf and rescue helicopter in Bondi. ‘Be out there in two ticks’, Benji said.
Johnson turned around, the old woman was still going strong, and so, he slipped away, back to his car, and took off. Wherever Agent Carras was, Johnson, felt sure she would understand why he didn’t wait around. He had work to do.