The Venetian Job Read online

  "We have very little crime." He stood taller and smiled down at me. "Venice is a pleasant place with pleasant people. Sorry, Max."

  "So what do you do?" I asked as we left the hotel and went out into a stone-paved courtyard.

  "Yeah," repeated Charlie, "what do you do?"

  Charlie and me stopped walking and waited for his answer. The courtyard was empty, except for a couple of pigeons. Still it felt like the different-colored two-storey houses surrounding us were leaning in to listen.

  "I keep my finger on the pulse of Venice. I talk to the residents." Santo stuck his chin in the air and kept walking.

  Charlie frowned and ran to keep up with him. "So you're a public relations officer?"

  Santo shook his head. "No, no. It's my job to look out for the detail that doesn't make sense."

  "Have you ever solved a crime?" I had to know the truth. All my dreams of seeing real action and catching real bad guys weren't sounding too likely.

  Santo looked uncomfortable for a second before he rubbed his chin. "We don't have much day-to-day crime, but three years ago there was a clever theft of twelve priceless paintings. I'm surprised no one has made a movie about it."

  "Really?" I said too loud as we entered a narrow alley. "Were you on duty?"

  Santo laughed. "The night it happened no one realized there was a robbery. This is what we think happened. The mastermind of the robbery knew that every year a very famous composer, who owned a palace on the Grand Canal, hosted a big New Year's Eve party."

  "Mozart?" I asked as Santo opened a big iron gate for us.

  Charlie elbowed me. "He's dead!"

  "The composer's name is Pierre." Santo continued. "I suspect the mastermind even went to one of those parties and that was where he got the idea. We are sure that over a year before the thefts, he began to plan. He arranged for his own people to work in the organizations that looked after the New Year's Eve party. Pierre used the same businesses every year, because they knew what to do and they understood his taste."

  I nodded, but part of me wondered if he was making up a good story.

  "The accomplices took all sorts of jobs. One did the flowers, a couple were involved with the catering, two helped set up the orchestra and the most important person of all was in charge of security."

  We stepped out into Piazza San Marco. It was early, so there were lots of pigeons and hardly any people. "Wow!" I wanted to run through the middle of the piazza and make the pigeons fly off, but Santo headed away from the piazza. "Are they in jail now?" I asked.

  Charlie elbowed me again. "Don't jump to the end. I want to hear the story as it happened."

  Santo grinned. He loved that we couldn't wait to hear the whole story - I could tell. He continued, "The brilliant part was that none of the accomplices knew the others were accomplices before the night of the theft. They each had a job to do and they did it. On the night, they identified each other by a silver ring they wore on the middle finger of their right hand."

  "You must have caught them, if you know that!"

  "No," said Santo, "I worked that out from the security tapes." He sighed. "Anyway, what we think happened is that the man in charge of security was able to deactivate the alarms protecting the stolen paintings. He did it one by one during the course of the night. Nothing was done in a hurry. It was done slowly and carefully."

  Charlie sounded impatient. "So how did they take the paintings without anyone noticing?"

  "When the alarm had been switched off, the lookouts who were security guards made sure no one was nearby and the painting, including the frame, was switched. We're pretty sure copies were made up and they were brought in by either the men who set up the orchestra or the caterers."

  "When did the owner of the palace discover the paintings were fakes?"

  "Over a week later. When there was no trace of the thieves. They'd all left their jobs and they'd used fake names and identities. We had no leads at all. The mastermind, whoever he was, was very clever."

  "Does that mean you didn't see the detail that didn't make sense?" I asked.

  4. THE CURSED MANSION

  "No," said Santo. "The mastermind pulled off the perfect crime."

  "I'd love to catch a mastermind." I imagined standing in front of my class and telling them about it.

  It just so happened that Princess Mary was also on holiday in Venice with the prince and their children. They were kidnapped ... but Charlie, Santo and me found the kidnapper's hideout and rescued the royal family.

  After the whole class agreed I'd made up the story, I'd hold up the front page of the newspaper with our photo in it.

  "Yeah, that's exciting," Charlie said to Santo about the art theft, "but what do you do day to day?"

  "As I said, most of the time, I satisfy myself that life in Venice is in order." He pretended to be offended and stuck his nose in the air. "That life is traveling along as it should."

  That didn't sound exciting; it sounded boring. "So," I asked, "when do we get to go on the police boat?"

  "Soon," he replied.

  After walking the streets of Venice with Santo for ages, I wondered if he'd lied to us about having a ride on the police boat. First, we visited his favorite coffee shop, so Santo could have the best coffee in all of Venice. He introduced us to the owner of the café and every single customer who walked in. They gasped when they discovered we were from Australia. So far! they said. Aussie relatives seemed to make Santo feel important, so we didn't mention that we were actually related to Caterina.

  Then we dropped in to a church, so Santo could check on Father Francesco, who had been very ill. We discovered Father Francesco had recovered and had been absolutely healthy for the last six months.

  After that we followed Santo to a place where gondoliers hung out and waited for tourists. Santo chatted with them in Italian. They might've been chatting about the weather or football, or they might've been planning to lift the whole of Venice up a bit higher so it wouldn't flood. Charlie and me couldn't be sure.

  When Santo joined us, I said to him, "I've got a good name for you."

  "Yes, Max, what name is that?"

  "Mr. Have-a-chat."

  Charlie laughed, then, luckily for me, Santo laughed too. Santo rubbed his chin and said with a smile, "Let me think ... whom could I have a chat with now?"

  "Someone who sells gelato," suggested Charlie.

  As soon as we got our gelato, Santo's cell phone rang. He announced, "The police boat is ready."

  On our way to the police boat we saw a shop full of carnival masks, a shop full of colorful Murano glass that's made on one of the islands of Venice, a shop full of colorful marble paper, a shop with miniature gondolas and a shop full of Venetian lace. I reckoned he was taking us the long way so we had to see tourist stuff, and I told him that.

  "Be patient," he replied. "Soon we'll see the magnificent Grand Canal."

  "What's so magnificent about it?" I asked as we wandered through narrow stone streets.

  "There are many magnificent palaces either side of the Grand Canal," he explained. "You'll see them."

  "Are you going to chat with the people who live in the palaces?" I was a bit suspicious; his best friend probably lived in one of the palaces.

  Santo laughed. "No, no, I don't know anyone personally who could afford to live in a palace. They cost millions and millions of euros."

  We kept going through a maze of random narrow streets. It was like the streets were designed to make us feel lost and then suddenly we'd arrive in a square or at a small bridge going over a canal and we'd feel found again.

  Finally, we reached the boat and we met Luca, a policeman who worked with Santo. I took a photo of Luca and Santo in the police boat. The boat was pretty cool. I reckoned it could go fast.

  "Don't you need this boat to catch criminals?" I asked Luca.

  "Not this afternoon. I asked the criminals to take the afternoon off," he replied. He started the engine and steered the boat through all the ot
her boats on the canal.

  I had a bad feeling that Santo had been telling the truth when he said there wasn't much crime in Venice.

  We reached the Grand Canal. In front of us, on the other side of the canal, stood a line of colorful four-storey palaces. They looked like they belonged in a storybook land.

  Charlie pointed to the palaces and asked, "Why are there are so many palaces?"

  "Ah ha," said Santo. "Venice had many wealthy, powerful families. They liked to show off their wealth by building grand palaces. They supported architects and artists. That's one reason why Venice is a famous center for art."

  Then he pointed out The Cursed Mansion. I sat up straight and Charlie moved closer to us. A sly smile spread across Santo's face.

  "The Ca' Dario palace," said Luca.

  It looked pretty cool; I liked the round windows. "Why's it cursed?"

  "Venetians like to say it's cursed because so many of the owners have died. Even people connected to the palace have died. Very mysterious."

  "Well tell us," demanded Charlie.

  "Well," Luca said, "the palace was built in the fifteenth century by Giovanni Dario, a Venetian diplomat."

  Charlie interrupted, "How'd he die?"

  "It was his son-in-law. He was publicly disgraced and murdered. Later his wife died, they say of shame. After that many bad things happened to owners of the palace. There was a diamond merchant who went bankrupt, an English historian who committed suicide or was murdered, many European nobles ... I can't remember the details. There was an eccentric American owner in the 1950s who was thrown out of Italy. There was a count who was beaten to death by his butler. Not so long ago, a manager of a famous rock group died. Then there was Mr. Gardini, a businessman who committed suicide before he was about to be arrested."

  "What for?" I asked impatiently.

  "Something to do with one hundred million dollars worth of bribes to Italian politicians."

  "Wow," Charlie and me said at the same time.

  Santo laughed. "The curse is just a good story. It's good for Venice to have a cursed palace. It adds a bit of ... spice to the Grand Canal."

  I noticed a whole lot of people and activity in through the windows of The Cursed Mansion. "Is something going on in there?"

  Santo's eyes lit up. "A film is being shot there. Venice is a favorite location for TV shows and films."

  If the film star got kidnapped, we could rescue her. Not as good as Princess Mary, but a film star would do. "Are there any famous actors in the film?" I asked Santo.

  "I don't know. It's a French film. I know the director; he used to make a TV show here. He's well known in Europe."

  Suddenly an even better idea came to me. I could see myself standing in front of my class, telling them:

  I met this famous film director in a cursed palace on the Grand Canal ... and he happened to need a boy my age for a small part ... so, to help him out, I played the part ... he said I was a natural actor ... then he asked me if I could return to Venice for the opening of the film next year ... and, very humbly, I agreed so Mom could come back with me and see her relatives.

  "If you know him," I said, "you can visit him and we'll watch while he's filming. We won't get in the way." At the very least I could get a photo of a famous actor to show my class.

  5. SEVEN SILVER TUBES

  An uncomfortable look spread across Santo's face. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "The film director is a busy man. Time is of the essence when shooting a film."

  "We wouldn't get in the way," I repeated.

  Charlie told him that'd be great, because then he could tell his friends at home and they'd all be envious. But I reckoned Santo was exaggerating to make himself look real important. He might've met film director once, maybe twice. I reckoned he was better than me at making up good stories.

  I went over to where Luca was driving the boat. I asked real casual, "Were you a policeman with Santo when that big art robbery happened?"

  He frowned. "Si. Crimes like that make us look bad. The bosses in Rome think we should've known something suspicious was going on. Only after, Santo noticed that the thieves were wearing the same silver ring on their right middle finger." He shrugged. "How could we know?"

  "You have to trust your gut when you have a bad feeling," I replied as though I were a famous detective.

  "Si," he admitted.

  Luca steered the boat alongside the platform. Santo jumped out and went to talk to the film director while we waited. Eventually he returned and said they were having a break, so we could take a look around. Luca stayed with the boat, while we followed Santo up the stairs and into a mega-big room filled with lots of people. It was easy to tell the crew from the actors, because the actors were dressed up in old-fashioned clothes and the crew were all in jeans and T-shirts.

  I couldn't believe it. Half the people on the set knew Santo. They nodded, shook his hand, said Buongiorno or whatever. Did he know almost everyone in Venice?

  The crew and the actors were all getting something to eat and drink from a long table with heaps of food on it. My tummy rumbled. I tried not to stare at the food.

  Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and a man introduced himself as André, the film director. He looked normal, even though he had a wild gray beard and funny glasses, because he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. After a minute, it was obvious he and Santo were friends. Maybe Santo wasn't such a big storyteller. André virtually forced us to have something to eat. As if we were going to say no. He also told us that we should take a look over the mansion while we were here.

  Santo, I reckoned, had the best job in Venice. Would a half-Italian from Australia be allowed to become a policeman in Venice? I could own a shiny-red speedboat and race up and down the Grand Canal.

  After Charlie and me had stuffed ourselves full of pizza slices, Santo took us on a tour. Lots of the rooms just looked like a normal house - well, sort of normal. There were old paintings on every wall and all the furniture was real posh. It didn't feel like a home. I liked Caterina's hotel better. A few of the rooms were filled with stuff for the film. One room had racks and racks of women's dresses and shoes. Some of the doors were locked.

  Santo told us about some of the old paintings hanging on all the walls. He seemed to know something about art. He said the security guards standing round were there to protect the artwork. The big vases sitting on tables were copies of the original valuable vases, in case they got broken.

  We took the stairs down to the water-level floor and wandered into another room where there was lots of equipment. As we entered, a guy from the crew wearing a green Save the Planet T-shirt threw a blanket over something and turned to us. He gave me an evil glare before he noticed Santo, then he smiled and mumbled something to Santo in Italian before he began to rearrange portable lights and leads in another corner. I wanted to see what was under that blanket. But the guy with the evil glare didn't leave the room and we did. That guy gave me a bad feeling.

  What could be under that blanket? A million euros? A photographer who wanted to get a photo of one of the famous actors and sell it to a magazine for lots of money? Yeah, that'd be it. Or maybe he was the photographer and it was his camera with a mega-big lens under the blanket. Should I tell Santo? He wouldn't listen to me if I told him I had a bad feeling. I'd need evidence. I had to get a look under that blanket. And if the guy with the evil glare was one of those bad paparazzi guys, then everyone would thank me and the Venice police force would probably beg me to work for them. Maybe I should start checking out shiny-red speedboats.

  Santo led us back down the hallway and up the stairs. I glanced back down the hallway and noticed the guy with the evil glare leaving the room. That gave me an idea. Once we reached the big room where all the people were, I said to Santo, "I've got to go. Back in a minute!"

  Santo nodded, but Charlie gave me one of his weird looks because he knew I was up to something. I turned and took off.

  When I was within sight of the landing w
here I had to go down the stairs, I noticed another weird thing. One of the crew walked past a painting hanging on the wall and he stopped and pressed on the bottom right-hand corner. He wore a Save the Whales T-shirt. That was weird; did everyone want to save the world today? As soon as he noticed me, he stopped what he was doing and continued walking.

  My heart thumped real loud. I felt all hot. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Still, I'd got this far. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what was under that blanket. When I reached the staircase, I crept down without making a noise. The hallway was clear. I got to the room without anyone seeing me.

  My bad feeling told me my whole life was about to change. I took a deep breath and lifted the blanket. My hopes vanished. It wasn't a camera; it was nothing. Seven nothings, actually. Seven silver tubes sat upright. As I picked one up to see if I could open it, I heard footsteps.

  I put the tube back, threw the blanket back over the tubes and looked round for a place to hide. There was a door I hadn't noticed before. I tried it and it was unlocked. When I stepped inside, I realized it was a small room like a storeroom. I closed the door behind me, which meant I couldn't see a thing. Everything was black. Lucky I wasn't scared of the dark any more.

  The footsteps entered the room. There were two men. They began to whisper in Italian. They sounded excited.

  A million what ifs raced through my head. What if they opened the storeroom door? What would they do? What if Charlie and Santo began to worry because I hadn't come back? What if they came to find me when the two Italian guys were still in the room? I began to feel sick. What if I ran out of oxygen?

  6. A BAD FEELING

  The men stopped talking, so I held my breath. I heard the sound of the blanket being taken off. If I were Superman, I'd be able to see through the door and see what was inside those silver tubes. They were like the cardboard tubes you could buy at the post office to hold something you needed to roll up. Mom kept old tubes to protect our school projects when we carried them to school. I had to breathe again. As quietly as I could, I breathed. Then I heard the sound of metal being placed on the floor. The men began whispering again. The last time I'd used one of those cardboard tubes was for a painting I did of a bunch of aliens from different galaxies having a party in my imaginary Star Wars movie.