“I felt I needed a holiday. After all, there’s no place like home. And what’s home without a woman?” Urselli jerked his thumb slyly towards the girl. “I didn’t know you had a family.”
“There is only Lucia. Her mother died when she was born.”
“Pretty girl,” said Urselli approvingly.
Intuccio drank again, moving only his arm. “This is a long way from Chicago,” he said. “Where do you go now?”
“I thought I’d stay here for a while,” said Urselli comfortably. “It looks restful. Can you find room for me?” He looked at the girl as he spoke.
“There is always room,” she said.
Intuccio raised his deep-set eyes to her face, and lowered them again.
“What we have is yours,” he said formally.
“Then that’s settled,” said Urselli jovially. “It’ll be great to sit around and do nothing, and talk over old times.” He unbuttoned his coat and fanned himself energetically. “Jeez, is it always as hot as this? I’ll have to copy your costume if I’m making myself at home.”
Intuccio shrugged, watching him dispassionately, and Urselli took off his tight-waisted coat and hung it over the back of his chair. Something clunked solidly against the wood as he did so, and the Saint’s eyes turned absently towards the sound. One pocket was gaping under an unusual weight, and Simon looked into it and saw the gleaming metal of a gun butt.