The Venetian Series 05: Dead in the Water

Bedrich chuckled and said, "I come to visit you, Michela."

Michela drank her whiskey to the dregs, then purred as she leaned down to rub her cheek against the bulge in Bedrich's pants. She felt the juices seeping out onto her thighs as his cock swelled to its full length and twitched beneath the thin cotton of his slacks. She hoped that he could smell her arousal.

She felt Bedrich's fingers, tugging at the hem of her robe, pulling it up to expose her thighs, inch by inch. Her lips sought the outline of his cock head, and finding it, she began to suck it gently though his pants. Her breath quickened, and she squirmed a little, feeling her slippery thighs rub against each other. She parted them and felt the cool air on her sex.Smell me, she thought to herself.Smell my hot, wet, aching cunt.

Her juices were seeping down her thighs, as Bedrich's fingers explored them from below, drawing ever nearer to her wellspring. It was only a matter of time now before his fingers found her wetness, and Michela was clenching and unclenching the muscles in her hips impatiently. Finally the moment came.

"Ó můj bože, Michela, you are wet!" he groaned.

Michela answered by spreading her thighs wide and thrusting her crotch toward his hand. She could no longer abide the obstruction of his trousers, and she began to claw at his belt, unfastening it and pulling down his zipper.

Bedrich raised his ass from the couch long enough for Michela to push his slacks and underwear halfway down to his knees, then flung himself back down on the couch, with his back to its back, in the 69 position with Michela. He pulled her close as he plunged his face between her wet thighs, and with a cry of hunger she closed her mouth on his erection. Michela sucked him frantically; all her thoughts of what she wanted from him, of how he might serve her purposes, had fled her mind for the moment. She took his hard cock deep in her throat as one of her slender fingers probed his ass.

Abruptly she jumped up, threw off her robe, and stood with her back to him with her forearms on the bed, moaning his name in guttural tones. Bedrich struggled out of his pants and walked quickly to her, impaling her roughly with his cock. There was no pretense of tenderness or finesse; he fucked her hard and in haste, just as she was loudly begging him to do. She howled her appreciation as they both came.

Somehow they had moved to the bed and were lying side by side. Michela basked in the afterglow of her orgasm, which had slammed into her with unusual force. This is what she lived for. But now she was beginning to collect her thoughts.

"Bedrich, that was wonderful," she said.

"Yes," he replied, his voice rasping. Michela reached for a pitcher of water from the bedside table, filled a glass, and handed it to him. He drank it down.

Michela waited judiciously, then said, "Bedrich, I didn't mean to argue with you about Till."

Bedrich stretched his limbs and said, "It wasn't an argument."

"It seemed so."

"I don't know why. You know my opinion of Signor Acquati."

"Is he still in trouble with the law?"

"You tell me, Michela. Should he be? I'm not the law."

"But you talk to Durante, probably to others as well."

"But I'm a private citizen. I don't know what they know."

Michela stifled a laugh. "Bedrich, you know many things."

"I used to know many things, but I'm retired now. I prefer to be ignorant."

Michela was laboring to hide her impatience. "Maybe I can talk to Till. If he is doing something wrong, I could persuade him to stop. He's not an unreasonable man."

Bedrich rolled on his side and looked silently into Michela's eyes. After a minute, he gave her his customary kiss on the forehead, then rose from the bed, dressed himself, and left her dwelling.

***

The mustachioed desk sergeant at the offices of theGuardia di Finanza evidently had a short memory, for he found it necessary to scrutinize both Helmut and his I.D. for entirely too long. But after finally passing inspection, Helmut was ushered once again into the inner sanctum of Lieutenant Antonio Durante.

The two men exchanged collegial greetings, and Helmut placed a computer printout on Durante's desk. The Lieutenant picked it up to peruse the title page. It read, "INTERPOL - ENVIRONMENTAL CRIME PROGRAMME - Guide to Carbon Trading Crime." Looking further inside, he found a table of contents which included a description of carbon trading, analysis of the practice in major markets around the world, and a lengthy section entitled "CARBON TRADING'S VULNERABILITY TO CRIMINAL ACTIVITY."

He restored the report to its former place on his desk, and spoke in English: "Yes. You are thinking that Acquati does this?"

"I've been looking at his trades. He's a major player. I see indications that he's involved in every angle: manipulating measurements to fraudulently claim carbon credits, selling credits that don't exist, false or misleading claims about the benefits of credits, exploiting weak regulations in various countries, tax and securities fraud, and money laundering."

Durante looked skeptical. "That is plenty of crimes. But are you thinking that we can, yes, nail the bastard with these things? We had some solid evidence for Iceland. But his lawyers,porca vacca!, they got him offrapidamente." He opened his mouth and placed two fingers significantly on his tongue.

"Lieutenant, I've followed the trades, and his funds are into every one of these things. But you can see things I can't. We need warrants."

Durante sighed. "Yes, warrants." He pressed a button on an intercom and said something in Italian.

Thirty seconds later, a studious-looking young woman in the slate-gray uniform of theGuardia di Finanza entered the room. Her jet-black hair was done up in an efficient bun, and her silver-framed glasses drew attention to penetrating dark eyes.

"Mr, Pagel, I am introducing you to Sergeant Moretti," said Durante. "She has a team, yes, very very capable, they are applying for warrants and serving them. She knows how to do it. Very experienced."

Helmut thanked Durante and accompanied Sergeant Moretti down the hall to another identical office, where he took the seat across from her at her desk and handed her a file folder. Sergeant Moretti gave him an appraising glance, and began to speak.

"So, Mister Pagel, you would like to bust Till Acquati." She spoke English like an American, probably educated there, thought Helmut. Her voice was low-pitched and confident, and her eyes were quick and observant behind her glasses.

"Yes, I would. It's my assignment. You can call me Helmut, by the way."

"OK. I'm Fiammetta." She was leafing through the contents of the folder. "So you want to look at all these accounts?"

"Every last one of them."

Fiammetta arched an eyebrow. "That's a lot of warrants, and a lot of looking."

"Acquati is a big fish."

"Tell me about it. We've been looking at him for years. A big fish, and a slippery one."

"I have reason to believe that he's just about to make a big move in carbon trading. That's when he will be most vulnerable, before he has a chance to cover his tracks."

"I've read the Interpol Report on carbon trading."

"You have? Good. It tells you all the ways it can be exploited for criminal purposes."

Fiammetta corrected him. "All theknown ways. Acquati is an innovator."

Helmut shook his head in agreement. This young woman seemed sharp and well informed. It was good to have her on board.

Fiammetta continued. "I should be able to get the warrants with no trouble. The tough part will be finding the right people and locations to serve them."

"How many people are on your team?"

"A dozen."

"May I make a suggestion? Figure out as much as you can about where he keeps his files before you make your move, and try to conduct all the searches simultaneously, so that none of his offices can hide or destroy things before you get there."

Fiammetta simply smiled and said, "Yep."

Helmut added, "If there's any way that I can help..."

"There may be. Give me your card and I'll let you know when this is ready to go down."

"My pleasure," said Helmut. He handed her his card, then took his leave.

***

Sargeant Fiammetta Moretti stood with her cell phone near the entrance of the Trolese Art Hair Studios. She appeared to be texting. She had been waiting for the attractive blond woman to emerge, and now her wait was over.

As the woman exited the salon, Fiammetta stepped into her path, showing her her badge.

"Silvia Manco?" she asked.

"Yes, I am she," the other timidly replied.

"I'm Sergeant Moretti of theGuardia di Finanza. I need to ask you a few questions."

The blond woman seemed puzzled. "Yes, OK. What about?"

Fiammetta replied, "Why don't we find a place where we can talk."

They walked along the Calle Traghetto Vecchio until they found a coffee shop, and took a seat in the back.

Fiammetta said, "I need to speak about your husband's relationship with Till Acquati."

Silvia blanched. "I have met Acquati. He is... an unspeakable man."

"How so?"

"I don't wish to discuss it. I have met him... socially."

"We need to know about his business relationship with your husband."

"Sergeant Moretti, Luca is no longer my husband. Although technically the divorce is not complete, I no longer live with him nor share my life with him."

"Signora Manco, I'm sorry if this is making you uncomfortable. But we need to know whether you can tell us anything at all about the business they conducted."

A solitary tear dangled from Silvia's lower eyelid, then traveled slowly down her cheek. "I was not involved in their business. All I can tell you is that Luca seemed to worship him. He would do anything Acquati asked. He was no longer the man I married."

"Did they ever discuss their financial agreements when you were in the room?"

"No, Sergeant, they did not. I really do not enjoy thinking about the two of them together. I would rather not discuss it any further." Silvia's eyes were wet and haunted-looking.

Fiammetta rose to her feet. "Thank you, Signora. Here is my card. If you think of anything else, please call me."

***

Christmas had come and gone, and now the city was experiencing the lull between that holiday and the New Year's celebrations which were only a few days away. Those who had not yet purchased their outfits to wear to the celebrations were shopping; the rest were conserving their energy for a night of serious revelry.

It was a beautiful morning. The salt air smelled crisp and clean, and the Venetian landscape looked unusually bright and colorful under the probing gaze of the winter sun. The world seemed like a cheerful place, but Bedrich Farkas was out of step with the world as he sat at his customary spot on the patio, in front of the cafe on the Piazza San Marco.

As time had passed, Bedrich had become convinced that he had been responsible, through some indiscretion with Michela, for Acquati learning of Helmut's undercover status. He had reminded himself many times that the point was moot; the investigation had shifted away from Helmut's intended sting, to the line of inquiry about Acquati's role in the death of Heather O'Shaughnessy. But it didn't matter. Bedrich hated to make mistakes. As a young man, he had never made those kinds of errors, until, of course, he made the big one, the error of trusting Acquati with the lives of his wife and daughter. And that one mistake changed his life forever - while ending the lives of his loved ones.

Bedrich couldn't seem to stop torturing himself this morning, no matter how lovely the world around him might look. Suppose Acquati had not learned that Helmut was a financial cop. That knowledge must have put him on his guard. Had he not been on his guard, perhaps he would have made a false step. Perhaps the tactic with the authorities in Iceland might have worked. Bedrich chided himself, once again, for dwelling on the past.

But there wasn't much future for him to dwell on. He had distanced himself from Durante's investigation of the carbon trading. He didn't understand it, anyway - why were people buying and selling things that didn't exist, promises to somehow help nature? It seemed like the perfect playground for predators like Acquati.

It dawned on Bedrich that he hated being retired. Earlier in his life, his reaction to disappointments would be to work. Work heals all things. But there was no work for him now.

His reverie was interrupted by the sight of Helmut making his way across the Piazza San Marco, with several dozen pigeons hurrying in his wake. Helmut took no notice of them. He waved solemnly at Bedrich, and in a minute he was there, sitting across from him.

"I have news on the Acquati case," said Helmut.

"You don't look like you are doing the victory dance."

"No, I'm not. The bastard was ready for us. He had every single crooked transaction in the name of a banker, Luca Manco. Head of Banco della Laguna. The two were working together, it's clear, but legally, Acquati set up a Chinese wall between himself and Manco. I'm sure he collected huge amounts of commissions, but he's not culpable. I still don't fully understand how he did it. We can't touch him."

"What's your next move?"

"We have no next move. Luca Manco is going to pay some big fines and he might even see the inside of a jail. Acquati is free as a bird."

"I keep wondering whether we could have got him if we had done something different."

"Maybe we will get him, eventually. Listen, I'd like to thank you for your help on the case."

Bedrich smiled, a little grimly. "I was glad to do it. It kept me busy for a while. I get tired of just sitting here and drinking espresso. But I'm out of touch. The business of investigating people and maybe causing them trouble has changed. I haven't kept up."

A little furrow appeared in Helmut's normally placid brow. "Do you remember the first time I met you, here at this cafe, and you spoke to me about the history of Venice? You said that Europe doesn't change much, and that it was especially true of Venice."

"Well, people don't change. Technology changes, and the wolves find new ways to prey on the sheep. But in a way, it's true. There have always been people like Acquati here. The law can't control them. They control each other. The strongest get what they want." An expression of great fatigue came over Bedrich's face.

Helmut was perplexed. He had become fond of Bedrich, and now he searched for the words that might breathe some life back into him.

"Bedrich," said Helmut, "do you like art?"

Bedrich was caught off guard, but then found his equilibrium. "Yes, yes I do. Very much. That's why I became friends with Rodica."

"I like it, too. It seems to me that we need art to help us think about an ideal world, a world where we can apply our ideas and philosophies without getting so bogged down in the small things that go wrong out here - " Helmut swept his arm in the air, describing an arc that took in the Piazza San Marco and the city that lay beyond it.

Helmut continued, "Let's take the case of Till Acquati."

Bedrich replied, "We are taking him down with art?"

"No, I don't think so. But I remember a poem that we learned when I was growing up, calledDie Kraniche des Ibykus, The Cranes of Ibykus. Ibykus is a musician and everybody loves him, but then one day he is walking over the mountains to Corinth, and two highwaymen rob him and kill him. No one sees them do this except a flock of cranes. So they think that they are getting away with it, and they head into Corinth to spend the money they stole from Ibykus, and they go to a play. The play is very scary, and then right in the middle of it a big flock of cranes flies overhead. And one of the robbers jumps up and shouts, 'Look, the cranes of Ibykus'; So he has incriminated himself and the thieves are brought to justice."

"I think maybe I know that one."

"Well, there's also a shorter way to say it. Martin Luther King said that 'The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.'"

"So in your opinion, does that mean that we're going to finally catch Signor Acquati?"

"Maybe not us. But someone or something will catch him, sooner or later."

Bedrich looked pensive. "Interesting idea. Have you ever thought of becoming an artist?"

"Yes, many years ago. I gave it up. But Rodica has talked me into enrolling in some art classes."

Bedrich chuckled. "Will you become a sketch artist for the local police?"

"No, that's not the plan. I just have a feeling that learning to paint will make me a better cop."

"You really think so?"

"I think it made da Vinci a better scientist. Or wait - maybe it was the other way around."

This made Bedrich laugh. It was good to laugh.

***

Rodica served spaghetti with clam sauce, and Helmut ate it with gusto. They sat at the table in her little apartment, drinking wine and listening to a piano quintet by Ernő Dohnányi on Rodica's tablet computer. Rodica gazed periodically at Helmut's lean and handsome face and marveled at her good fortune. He looked strong; he looked disciplined; he looked kind, and he was hers.

Afterward, as they sat together surveying the empty serving dishes, she asked him,

"When I heard those guys at the museum, talking about carbon trading derivatives - did you find out who they were?

"I think so. We think they were Till Acquati and Luca Manco, the head of Banco della Laguna."

"Isn't Acquati the man you and Bedrich were trying to catch?"

"Yes, but we didn't catch him. We caught the other guy, Manco."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?"

"Not as good as catching Acquati."

"Are you disappointed?

"I might have been, but I decided just to work on the next case. And learn to paint."

Rodica walked behind where Helmut was seated and draped herself seductively over his shoulders. "I like you learning to paint. I think you can do it."

"I want to try. I want to feel close to you."

Rodica blew softly into his ear and murmured confidentially, "I feel close to you already. Want to see?"

Helmut turned in his chair to face her with a quizzical expression. Rodica smiled down at him and made certain that she had his full attention, then she slowly and dramatically lifted her dress to display her emerald green panties. At the front of the panties was a big dark stain that extended along the entire area of her pussy.

Helmut fell to his knees, then looked up at Rodica, asking, "May I?"

Rodica nodded, swallowed, and said, "Yes."

Helmut extended his tongue and pressed it to the wet spot. It was incredible - a little pond of her viscous juices that had soaked through and collected on top of her panties. He dipped his tongue very lightly into it and pushed further until he could feel the fabric below. Then he swirled his tongue voluptuously in the puddle of her cunt's bountiful secretions. It tasted like the first day of spring.

"Do you like it, Helmut?"

Helmut croaked out an answer. "I love it." He licked voraciously up and down her panties until he had entirely consumed the pool of juices. His lips began to worship her clit through the fabric.

Rodica moaned her appreciation, and her hips began to buck against his face. Helmut cried out in excitement, and he seized the backs of her thighs with an iron grip, forcing her against him. She fought his attempt to immobilize her, spasmodically grinding her crotch against him until her voice dropped and octave and she moaned, "Oh, Helmut!"

An astonishing gush of her cunt juices suddenly flooded her panties. Helmut cried out, "Mein Gott!" and frantically lapped up as much as he could.