FIFTEEN MINUTES.
That's about how long it took for Montey Greene and Alejandra Lasprilla to make their way through the now packed streets leading to Piazza della Scala.
"Where's your driver?" he asked as his eyes instinctively darted about when they stopped at the red light on the corner as trams and other traffic whizzed by.
Alejandra fidgeted, looked around. "There," she said pointing out the dark sedan with the dark tinted windows parked beyond the two blue and white police cars and the waiting taxi cabs across the street.
"Perfect," Montey thought to himself when he saw the car parked directly in front of his Vespa Scooter.
When the light changed green Montey grabbed her by the arm, hurried across the street. Reaching the car Alejandra handed Montey a bag.
"What's this?"
"It's the least I could do for what you did back there and for seeing me to my car," she said as she pulled on the door handle. It was locked.
Montey stole a quick peek in the bag to find the shoes he had his eye on in the store.
"You didn't have to.....," he began when he looked up from the bag and saw Alejandra tapping on the car window as she peered through the tinted glass.
"Everything okay?" he asked as he placed the shoes in the storage compartment under the seat of his scooter.
"My driver is passed out."
"Passed out? What, is he a narc?"
The look Alejandra shot him told Montey that she didn't understand what he was talking about.
"Does he have narcolepsy?" Montey elaborated. "You know, the condition when people just doze off in the middle of doing something."
Montey made the comment knowing everything in his body told him something wasn't right.
The thugs he disarmed in the store were nowhere in sight, so why did everything feel wrong right about now? Mounting his scooter his eyes scanned for the source of discomfort.
Alejandra walked around the front of the car, did a double-take when she peered into the windshield. Then came that piercing yell which would ring in Montey's ears for years to come.
Montey's head snapped up. And everyone within earshot appeared to have the same knee jerk reaction as they turned in the direction of Alejandra's blood curling scream.
That's when Montey Greene saw the twin barrels of a 12-guage scattergun being leveled out the back passenger window.
He leapt from the scooter grabbing a hold of the barrel causing the unseen assailant to inadvertently pull the trigger—
BLAM
—the roar of the shotgun blast echoed across the square.
The kickback from the shotgun and Montey's actions caused the barrel to smash upwards into the window frame and the assailant to be thrown off balance inside the car.
Montey's follow through momentum and the shotgun blast had carried him close enough to tackle Alejandra to the ground, the contents of her oversized bag spilling onto the cobblestoned street.
The back passenger door of the car began to open as the still unseen assailant began to get out.
Montey rolled over on top of Alejandra palming one of the handguns that spilled out of her bag releasing the safety just as the assailants' foot hit the pavement.
It was close to mid-afternoon when his gun barked.
Barked three times in quick succession like a cornered fire breathing dog snarling at its would be capturer—
BANG-BANG-BANG
—the bullets ripped through the assailants lower extremities causing the upper half of his body to slump over the car door frame.
Then his gun barked again—
BANG
—the flattened hollowed out projectile found a home in the man's nose, blasted it right through his face and exploded out the back of his skull, splattering blood, bone particles and brain matter atop the roof and windows of the midnight blue Audi 8 sedan.
The gunshots sent echoes of panic through the midday crowd reveling in one of Milan's most famous squares as the assailant's now lifeless body slid down the side of the car still clutching the shotgun.
Montey tucked the handgun in the small of his back. Crawled over to the bespectacled lifeless body and pried the shotgun from its stiffening fingers.
He patted the stiff down—bingo—spare shotgun rounds in the dead man's pockets.
Then he yanked the driver's side door open to see the cause of Alejandra's blood curling scream. Her driver was slumped over the steering wheel. Montey didn't have to pull the slumped over body back to know that his throat had been slit from ear to ear. The beginning of the smiley face incision was clearly evident as was the pool of blood that stained his lap.
Police sirens were heard wailing in the near distance as Montey began to crawl back to a visibly shaken Alejandra. He started helping her to her feet when—
SPIT-SPIT-DING-SHATTER
—projectiles ripped through the front right side of the car shattering the windows and kicked up chips of concrete from the solid objects and pavement around them.
Montey knew that sound all too well.
Someone was shooting at them with an automatic assault weapon with a sound suppressor attached to the muzzle.
The way the bullets ripped through the right side of the car told him that whoever was doing the shooting was coming at them on a diagonal line from about a forty-five degree angle.
The police sirens which sounded as if they were right on top of them seconds ago came to an abrupt stop. What followed was the sound of tires screeching, fiberglass crunching, glass shattering and metal twisting as cars careened into each other.
Montey dropped back down to the ground yanking Alejandra down with him yet again just as—
SPIT-SPIT-SPIT-DING-SHATTER
—more bullets ripped through the car shattering more windows and flattening the tires.
"Jesus Christ," Montey said to Alejandra. "I just had to play the nice guy. You hear that automatic gunfire? That means somebody wants you dead awfully bad lady. Who in the hell did you piss off?"
"Me," she shouted back. "I...."
"Well it damn sure ain't me," he snapped back, "I'm on vacation."
Ever since he botched what appeared to be a holdup attempt in the store about thirty-five minutes ago the inner workings of Montey's body was getting stirred up for action. Now fully spiked with adrenaline he started to creep to the rear of the car only to have his progress impeded by Alejandra tugging on his arm.
"You can't leave me here," she screamed terrified.
"Just stay down," Montey commanded swiping her hand away.
Peering from behind the front bumper of the car he scanned the streets for the gunman, left-right-right-left.
A flock of birds took to the sky.
Now he spotted his adversary's position—one hundred yards away cradling an automatic assault rifle with a shell catcher strapped across his chest.
"What the fuck had he gotten himself into?" Montey asked himself. All he wanted was to buy a pair of shoes when he walked into that high end woman's boutique on Via Della Spiga. That's where he met the beautiful Colombian woman he now knew to be Alejandra. She knew just the right pair she said. Maybe they would help patch things up between him and his soon to be ex-wife, Patricia, back home in the States. Maybe they could be a family again and he could see his two kids on a regular. Then those three thugs walked in. Locked the door. Mistook Montey for just a tourist. Bad mistake.
Now he was pinned down and had what looked to be a professional assassin trying to make his wife a widow before she could even become an ex, and his kids fatherless.
The gunman was walking at a fast deliberate pace. Montey knew they would only have one chance to make a run for it.
"I see him," Montey shouted back to Alejandra "I'll draw his attention you get the scooter." He reloaded the shotgun.
"The scooter," Alejandra exclaimed in disbelief.
"You have a better idea?" Montey shot back "Wait for my signal," he continued as he drew the handgun from his waist hitting the release button near the handle. The magazine slid out—he had four rounds left. He jammed the clip back into the handle and slipped the gun back in his waistband.
He peeked around the front bumper of the car again—the shooter was now about seventy-five yards away. Montey could make one hundred yards with a 12-guage shotgun with standard slugs, but that was on a range at a stationary target that didn't shoot back. This was a moving target with the preferred weapon of choice that had him pinned down.
"Go-go-go!" Montey barked at Alejandra as he worked the slide of the shotgun before cutting loose with both barrels—
BLAM-BOOM
—the sounds ricocheted across the square.
Alejandra raced to the scooter at that exact moment.
Montey didn't know if he made contact or not when the shooter momentarily stopped his advance, but those few seconds were all he needed to create a moving shield with Alejandra's bullet riddled car as he reached inside starting the engine. He turned the steering wheel just enough to point it somewhat in the direction of the shooter before putting the gear in drive and letting the weight of Alejandra's dead chauffer's foot do the rest.
As the car rolled slowly toward the shooter Montey made a mad dash for the scooter himself as suppressed automatic gunfire ripped around him once again.
Hopping on behind Alejandra he reached around her opening the throttle with his free hand. The shotgun in his other hand suddenly felt heavy. Montey let it slip to the ground as they sped off. Now with both hands on the handlebars he zig-zagged through the scattering street crowd.
Not being able to get off a clear shot the gunman knocked an unsuspecting motorcyclist off their motorbike, mounted it and gave chase.
Police sirens sang in the distance once again as pedestrians scrambled out of the way of the approaching motorbikes.
"Okay, where to?" Montey shouted to Alejandra his voice barely audible above the high pitched sounds of the scooter. Though his mouth was within a tongues length of her ear she never heard him as her thought process was still scrambled with fear.
"Where to?" Montey shouted again as he peeked in his shattered side mirror to see the gunman on the motorcycle gaining on them, followed a few seconds later by the Italian police in their high performance Alfa Romeo vehicles.
"Lake Maggiore," she stammered.
"Is that where you live?"
"Yes, at the Villa Monet."
"Like I said lady I'm on vacation, you gotta show me where that is."
Montey stole another look through his shattered side mirror just as a black van shot out of an alley sideswiping the motorcycle sending the gunman airborne which set off a chain reaction of events that snared the leading police vehicles.
Montey opened the throttle of the scooter and made a daring maneuver between two approaching trolley cars, succeeding at least momentarily in evading the authorities.
Exhaustion and fatigue overtook adrenaline when Montey suddenly pulled the scooter over to the side of the road a few moments later on the outskirts of town.
"Why are we stopping?" Alejandra wanted to know.
Montey's answer came when he slumped forward causing them both to fall off the scooter.
She gathered herself and crawled over to Montey who was sprawled out, with one side of his face pressed against the pavement.
Small snowflake like objects floated up from the ground beneath them and began sticking to her face.
Instinctively Alejandra raised her hands to swat away whatever it was. When she peeled some of the sticky substance off of her face the realization hit her that it wasn't snowflakes at all, but blood soaked feathers.
She nudged Montey's now unconscious body ever so slightly and more blood soaked feathers floated up from behind him revealing the four bullet holes in the back of his down vest.
"Oh my God," she said under her breath halfheartedly slumping on the ground next to him. "Somebody help me!! Help me," she screamed at the cars whizzing by.
The brisk air surrounding them on that piece of pavement leading to Lake Maggiore suddenly appeared to turn that much colder.