Chapter 267: I’m Bad People, Too
(TYLER)
Obtaining a gun and a knife is a surprisingly simple operation, although the contact Miles gave me took some convincing that I was who I said I was. Even after using the password, he looked doubtful. It was only when I told him that I was there on behalf of Sasha Adonis, that he nodded. Then he took me through into a cement-walled backroom, and let me take my pick of the weapons he had to offer.
I took the smallest caliber gun he had, because was most similar to the one Sasha had trained me with, and a knife, stubby and squat, but deadly in the right hands. Mine are not the right hands; in fact, if I get to a point where I’m left with no other option than the knife, it’ll be pretty much the end, but I took it just in case I’ll need something to cut ropes or zip ties.
I asked about the location where I saw Sasha’s bleeping icon. The guy swipes around on the map on his own phone, zooming in and out of the position I pointed out until I was ready to stick the knife in between his ribs, and then he nodded and said something in rapid Italian.
"Slow down, please," I begged.
"Cat-a-comb," he said slowly and deliberately.
"Catacomb?" I grabbed the map back and stared at it. "This signal is coming from a fucking maze under the city?"
And now, in the back of another taxi, I’m checking the Wikipedia entries on Roman catacombs. There are over forty catacombs, and the one in which Sasha—or his ring, anyway—is in, is not one of the ones open to the public, and is mostly used by homeless Romans as shelter at night.
When I arrive, I’m actually guided by some of those rough sleepers to the hidden entrance. "No, no," one says, when I nod my thanks and turn away, making for the entrance.
"Sorry," I say. "I’m forgetting my manners." I hold out a twenty-euro bill to him, but he slaps my hand away.
"No, no," he insists, trying to pull me back. "Not in there." He abandons any attempts to speak English, but his Italian is easy enough to understand. "There are bad people in there."