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"Stradella" Excerpts Continued

 

Rome--1677

 

     Stradella bled from a superficial wound in his left arm that he received from a thrust of Astorino's sword. It was a close call. If he had not twirled out of the way so fast, that thrust could have finished him. He was lucky to have deflected it and, as part of his twirl, he spun and delivered the point of his own sword into Astorino's abdomen and all the way through the man's body.

     Carlotta Astorino's brother dropped like a sack of pomegranates, his reward for his brave attempt to avenge his sister.

     "We must get out of here," Stradella said looking all around the piazza. "I wish I did not have to kill him."

     "You had no choice," Lonati said. "It was him or you. I cannot say that I blame him though. You are my friend, but I have to say, I think you went too far with his sister."

     "I do not know what came over me, Carlo. The moonlight and her beauty were too much for me. I felt I would explode if I did not have her. All my judgment went away. It was stupid."

     "More than stupid, if you ask me. You know I am no saint. I may be a reasonably talented musician, and a bit of a crook, but I could never do that to a woman."

     "No disrespect intended, but look at yourself, my crippled friend. What woman would ever give you the chance?"

     Lonati stopped in his tracks and sneered. "That is insulting. I have had the chance. Many times. Maybe not with the kind of beauty you attract, but I do okay."

     Stradella put his hand on Lonati's shoulder. "I am sorry. I did not know you were so touchy."

      "You are a testa di cazzo, Alessandro. Your insensitivity is well known to me. Anyway, my concern isn't for me. It is for that young woman's future."

Stradella glared at Lonati. "What about her future?"

     "Thanks to you, it is ruined. She has no happy future. No man will have her now."

     Stradella mocked this idea with a wave of his hand. "The Church will still take her and heal her wounds. She will be okay."

     "You really are a cold-hearted bastardo." Lonati shook his head in wonder.      "Well, I have something else to tell you that you will not like."

     "Oh?"

     "We're in trouble with the Church."

 

 

Maple Park, Michigan--1997

 

     The danger was real. Now, in the middle of the night, it felt crisp and intimidating. He fled to the bedroom and tried to get some sleep. But he was too wound up. Every new noise caused his adrenalin to pump tension into his muscles and terror into his heart.

     He tried lying on his back, but started to choke. He tried his right side and then his left, but his legs cramped. His blankets were uncomfortable.

     He was either too hot or too cold, depending on whether he kicked them off or pulled them up to his chin. He couldn't control the flow of disturbing images that haunted him. Finally, giving up on sleep, he crawled out of bed and tried, without success, to concentrate on his novel.

     When the dim light of dawn finally intruded into his space, it felt like a month had passed. He snuck a weary look at the clock on the kitchen stove and cursed. 6:40 A.M. Might as well forget about sleep on this night, he thought. He got washed and busied himself by making some coffee and toast.

     A loud thump against the front door had his heart in his mouth and his hair on end. He jumped a few feet out of his seat, but calmed down as his mind caught up with his body. It was just the daily newspaper delivery, he realized.

     Tom Albinoni swallowed the last of his coffee and opened the front door. As anticipated, the Detroit Free Press lay there. He spied a small square package under the newspaper. He stooped and examined the package, turned it over, and in an instant of panic he dropped it. It landed on the Free Press without damage.

     Breathing deeply, he bent and retrieved it again. It was a CD recording. On one side were baroque concertos composed by his ancestor, Tomaso Albinoni around 1700 A.D. On the reverse side were works by another notable baroque composer, Alessandro Stradella.

     The voice on the phone had used the name Stradella, but what does       "Stradella" have to do with me, Albinoni wondered?

     He read the handwritten note pasted on the CD. It said, "Enjoy your days. They will soon be over."

     Albinoni couldn't understand why he'd received such a message, but there was no doubt in his mind that the threat was intended for him. Puzzled and very frightened, he searched his memory for possible enemies capable of this but couldn't think of a single one.

What kind of lunatic is this?

     He now realized he needed objective help, and who better than Harry Grouch and Judy Pacas?

 

 

Excerpted from Stradella's Revenge, Copyright © 2016 by Robert Tell, All Rights reserved.