They Call Me...Montey Greene

Chapter Thirty Four

EXASPERATED!

That's what Montey Greene was when he finally passed under the grand clock outside Milan's central train station—Milano Centrale. It was 9:30 in the evening.

He had holed up in the Hotel Berna not long after discovering Maria dead on the floor of his flat hours ago. His friends, the Coopers, had walked in on him cradling the woman they considered a mother to them in his arms when they almost got their heads blown off.

They never even questioned him about the gun that was pointed at them. The gun that stopped them from crossing that threshold until the look of death disappeared from Montey's eyes and he un-cocked the hammer. But then again, they'd seen that look before. And bad things always happened to people soon thereafter

It was at their urging that he take off. Said they would handle it. The way they figured it, Montey going to Paris with Alejandra whether to fuck, for fun, or both, was the unforeseen blessing no matter its guise. Friends in foreign places, at that particular impasse, Montey was glad to have them.

Annette stayed with the body, Daniel dropped him off at the hotel he had just walked from not even two-hundred yards away.

So here he was fighting through the throngs of commuters as he descended into the bowels of the station's main ticket hall. He walked up to the ticket counter. The ticket was there just as Juan Carlos said it would be. But there was no sign of him, Alejandra or that bear masquerading as a man named Bruno.

Montey half-wished that they didn't show up, that this was all a bad dream and pretty soon he would open up his eyes and be back in his little apartment above his friend's bodega in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

He looked up at the wall where the display boards for train departures and arrivals were mounted and there it was: the Artesia leaving Track-3 at 10:15.

Then his eyes shifted to the clock in the center of the ever blinking train schedule boards then to his watch—it was now nineteen minutes before ten. He had no idea how long the trip to Paris was but he knew it was going to be more than a couple of hours so he made his way to, Le Goloserie, one of the grocery stores located in the station. He grabbed an ice cream bar, some water and was looking over the magazines when he felt someone side-up next to him.

Out of his peripherals Montey could see the black shoes and dark colored pants the person wore. Then he saw the utility belt and realized it was a police officer. Montey dared not make direct eye-contact and his inner voice kept telling him to keep calm. Montey grabbed the few magazines that he wanted then made his way over to the cashier.

The police officer did the same, though Montey didn't know if he selected any magazines or not. He could feel the officers' eyes burning through the back of his head begging for him to turn around as he paid for his purchases. But Montey remained disciplined, even when he heard the faint crackle of a voice come over the officers' radio saying something in Italian which Montey couldn't make out. He knew from experience that even if the police officer wasn't paying him the least bit of attention, the moment he turned around and made eye contact that could change everything.

Montey paid for his purchases, ripped open the ice-cream bar as he exited the store. His eyes went to the farthest corner of their sockets, when they didn't pick up the officer following him they straightened out and Montey breathed a sigh of relief. As he passed a trash can he dropped the ice-cream bar wrapper into it and only then did he steal a look over his shoulder.

He propped the ice cream bar in his mouth just as he was turning back around only to see two other police officers rushing in his direction. He almost swallowed and choked on the whole damn thing right then and there until the officers ran past him. Montey had no idea who they were after and didn't care just as long as it wasn't him.

The face of his watch showed the time to be ten o'clock-straight-up when he walked up to the information booth located in the center of the ticket hall which reminded him of Grand Central Station back in New York. It seemed like every grand rail station he ever stepped into, regardless of the city, was designed by the same architect with their cathedral high ceilings and centered information booths. He had finished his ice cream bar and grabbed a train schedule. He tried to read through it but that clock kept ticking in his head. He glanced at his watch, it was 10:08 and still no signs of Alejandra.

Every fiber in Montey's body was telling him this was his chance to make a run for it. He had fifty-thousand dollars in United States currency in his pocket and a loaded gun in his bag that could be traced back to an international federal agent telling him so. Add a dead woman he left on the floor of his Milan flat, his passport he gave to the front desk clerk at the Hotel Berna for identification purposes, the inability to locate his wife or kids, the sound of a clock counting down in his head, and a little uncommon thing called common sense that kept his ass standing right where he was.

"They must be down at the track," he said to himself as he started to head in that direction, glancing at the arrival and departure boards one last time as he did.

He stopped in his tracks when the departure and arrival information for the trains flashed again and showed the Artesia had been delayed by fifteen minutes and was now scheduled to depart at 10:30PM.

Seeking out the restroom he spotted it across the ticket hall.

Though he didn't see anybody or get that feeling that he always got when something wasn't right, there was no doubt in his paranoid mind that someone had eyes on him.

Montey made a bee-line for the restroom stopping a few feet from the entrance when he saw an out of service sing on the floor.

"Shit," Montey said to himself turning on his heels as he habitually pulled out his cellphone yet again, only to further torture himself when he called back to the States trying to reach his wife again, to no avail.

The announcement came over the public-address system that the Artesia was leaving in fifteen-minutes. Montey hurried through the ticket hall making his way to the platform.

When Montey hit the platform to Track-3 he still saw no signs of Alejandra. The announcement came over the public address system again—the train was leaving in seven minutes. That seven minutes seemed liked seventy as Montey looked up and down the platform. He checked his cellphone again thinking maybe Alejandra called or texted him. Maybe there was a change of plans and she wasn't going to Paris tonight after all, which would be ideal for him considering the circumstances. But nope, nothing there either.

Then the "all aboard" announcement came.

"Forget this," Montey said to himself as he turned around to leave, only to find his face almost buried in the chest of that bear named Bruno.

He stepped back to see Alejandra and her father Juan Carlos a couple of yards behind. Now Montey saw the guns as he noticed the men dressed in black men strategically stationed on either side of all platforms—he counted a dozen in all. He expected to see Paolo and was surprised when he didn't.

Juan Pablo kissed his daughter on each cheek then he turned to Montey and said, "Take care of my daughter," as he extended his hand.

It was telling by the way Montey just stood there for what seemed like eternity staring at Juan Carlos' outstretched hand that Juan Carlos' gesture threw him off. How could the man who presumably had Montey's own family kidnapped, forcing him to take this job of preventing the same from happening to his own daughter, expect him to shake his hand?

The train horn bellowed, snapped Montey back to his reality. He shook Juan Carlos' hand and boarded the train.