Cosi Fan Tutti - 5 (22 page)

killed over a hundred men. Eighty is probably nearer the mark, but his technique is more remarkable than his sheer output. He works in various media, but his speciality is the garrotte. They say he can make the process last as

much as fifteen minutes/

Zen gaped at him.

‘You mean this man is well-known?’

Professor Esposito shrugged.

‘Notorious, in certain circles.’

‘But we had him in custody for days, and were unable

to identify him!’ Zen protested. ‘We sent his prints and that mug shot over to the Questura. They said they had

nothing on him.’

‘Naturally. These people are not film stars or politicians.

In the circles I just referred to, fame is inversely proportionate to how much is known about you, especially

officially. With the very top people - Don Gaetano or Don Fortunato - the only data extant are the time and place of birth, and both are almost certainly false.’

Zen acknowledged the point with a nod.

‘Have you any idea where this Marotta is now?’ he

asked.

The professor stared at the photograph for a long time.

Outside in the street, above a cacophony of car horns,

shouts, whistles and revving engines, a lone cock crew

three times. Inside the room all was still except for the buzzing of a fly circling in the hot air above the lamp. It plunged sideways and fell, spiralling down to land on its back on top of the mug-shot of Giosue Marotta, legs waving feebly.

‘In Hades/

The voice appeared to come from a great distance.

‘You mean hell?’ queried Aurelio Zen, frowning.

There was a long silence.

‘That’s the best sense I can make of it/ Professor Esposito said with a sigh. ‘The images are very faint. Good

reception is almost impossible without an object of reference, something imprinted with the subject’s personal

aura. But I see him somewhere deep underground, with

flames and figures milling around. Do you know The Last Judgement they have up at Capodimonte? Or you may be

familiar with the Roman copy by Michelangelo. In the

glimpse I had, Don Giosue might have been posing for

one of the figures towards the bottom of the picture.’

Zen made no attempt to hide his disappointment.

‘That doesn’t help me much.’

‘A time may come when it all makes sense/ the professor replied blandly, pushing the photograph back down

the table. ‘May I offer you a refreshment of some kind?’

Zen hesitated a moment.

‘As a matter of fact, there’s someone else I’m anxious to trace.’

‘Then you’re in luck, dottore. This week only I’m offering a thirty per cent discount on the second consultation.

Who is it this time?’

‘My mother. But I have no photographs, no personal

belongings, nothing.’

The professor smiled.

‘Stand up and come here/

Zen obeyed. Professor Esposito undid the two middle

buttons of his client’s shirt and inserted the little finger of his right hand into Zen’s belly-button.

‘Where your mother is concerned,’ he remarked, closing

his eyes in concentration, ‘you yourself are the only

object of reference required/

Cor difemmina

‘What’s the matter with you?’ demanded Libera as

Iolanda walked in looking, as her companion tactfully

added, like a cigarette butt fished out of a urinal.

‘Mind your own fucking business!’ was the angry reply.

‘It is my business, darling/ Libera reminded her.

‘They’ve both got to come across or we don’t get paid.’

‘If it’s the money you’re interested in, you can kiss it goodbye right now!’ snapped Iolanda, throwing herself

down on the sofa, legs akimbo.

‘What else would I be thinking about?’ Libera asked

innocently.

‘Well, forget it! Gesualdo is straight as a die/

Libera put her head on one side and nodded slowly.

‘Not even a hint of any action?’

‘Not a damn thing. You want to hear about it?’

‘I’m all ears, darling!’

She came to perch on the edge of the sofa. Iolanda sighed mightily.

‘I caught up with him on the steps outside and gave

him the big sob story. Pretended to weep and be nervous and tongue-tied, the whole production.’

‘Well done. And?’

‘At first he took a really tough line. Said he couldn’t help me, it was nothing to do with him, and he was sure De Spino would fix us up with something. “I can imagine what that creep has in mind,” I told him. “Do you want to force my sister and I out on the streets?’”

‘The very idea!’ murmured Libera.

‘He seemed to soften a bit at that. I mean, he’s basically a really decent guy, you know? That’s what makes it so

tough.’

She looked away distractedly. Libera’s jaw hardened.

‘You’re not falling for him, are you?’ she said insinuatingly.

Iolanda

flashed her a furious look.

‘Don’t be so fucking stupid!’

‘All right, dearie, all right. No need to get your tackle in a twist. So what happened?’

Iolanda sighed again.

‘He said he felt very sorry for us. I told him to stuff his pity. And he said

‘Yes?’

‘He said it wasn’t just pity.’

Libera’s eyes opened wide.

‘He did?’

‘So of course I went ahead and made a total fool of

myself. I told him I’d always known there was something between us from the first moment I’d set eyes on him, and that someone so handsome couldn’t be cold and selfish,

blah, blah. And then it all came out.’

‘What did?’

‘Abig speech about how he was engaged to be married

and would never do anything that might hurt his future

wife and the mother of his children. Then he turned on

his heel and walked off without a word or a look, as

though I was a piece of dog shit…’

She started to weep.

‘And now he’s probably on the phone to that bitch in

England, giving her an earful about how beautiful and

sweet and feminine she is…’

Tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed on to her

blouse. Libera embraced her briefly and patted her back.

‘Never mind, dear. You’ll get over it.’

Iolanda sniffed.

‘What about yours? Same story, I suppose. Bastards!

They’re all the same!’

Libera inspected her nails.

‘Well, maybe not quite all/

‘What do you mean?’ snapped Iolanda.

Libera tossed her hair and laughed archly.

‘Oh, nothing in particular/

Iolanda stared at her intently. Her tears had dried up.

‘You expect me to believe that he fell for you?’ she

demanded with a harsh laugh. ‘Oh, sure! And you started your period too, I suppose. Another miracle of San Gennaro!’

Libera shrugged modestly.

‘Miracles sometimes happen, nevertheless.’

‘Stop pissing me about!’ exclaimed Iolanda. ‘Let’s face it, there’s no way those two are ever going to come across for the likes of us.’

“I suppose you’re right/ replied Libera. ‘That must be

why he gave me this…’

She displayed the key, dangling on a chain around her

neck, and the address inked on her wrist. Iolanda stared at them in silence.

‘That cunt/ she said at last.

Rolling up off the sofa, she strode rapidly to the door.

‘Where are you going?’ Libera asked in a tone of alarm.

‘Back to the streets! At least there I can turn an honest trick and make some honest money/

Libera ran and grabbed her.

‘Are you crazy? Do you want to throw away the money

Zembla promised us when it’s practically in our hands?’

‘I’ve had it, understand? All this bullshit about love is driving me round the bend/

She threw herself back on the sofa and burst into tears.

‘I’ll fetch Dario/ said Libera, heading for the door. ‘I’m sure he’ll have some ideas. Stay right here!’

“I feel like I’m being torn apart,’ Iolanda muttered to herself. ‘And there’s no one I can confide in or ask for advice, no one at all. To fall for a client! The shame of it! I’ll be the laughing-stock of Naples.’

She sat up and sniffed loudly.

‘But it won’t happen. I’ll just forget the bastard, wipe him out of my memory for ever

Her face collapsed as she started to weep again.

‘Only I can’t! Whatever I do, I think of him. Whatever I look at, I see his face.’

The door swung open and in came Libera with Dario

De Spino, who had been having a nap in the upstairs flat.

“I hear we have a little problem,’ he said with an

encouraging smile.

‘Piss off, you asshole!’ shouted Iolanda.

‘Now, now, calm down, signorina. Your sister tells me

that she’s managed to win over Sabatino, but that you can’t seem to make any impression on Gesualdo. Is that right?’

With a shriek of impotent rage, Iolanda hid her head

under the sofa pillows.

‘Don’t take it so personally, darling,’ said Libera, gesturing languidly. ‘You don’t really think that any man could

resist a woman like me, do you? I don’t want to boast, but … well, the fact remains that some of us have got what it takes, while others…’

‘You bitch!’ screamed Iolanda, hurling an ashtray at her head.

Libera stepped back just in time and the projectile flew past and out of the window.

‘Grazzie assaje, duttd/ called an elderly male voice from the house opposite. ‘First the cigarettes, now the ashtray.

Too kind, I’m sure. But listen, next time just give me a call and I’ll come over and pick it up, OK?’

‘Ladies, ladies!’ De Spino remarked in a soothing tone.

‘We mustn’t let a little setback like this ruin everything.

Don’t worry, we can still wrap up this little scam before I find some more, ah, permanent employment for you.’

Un ladroncello

Gesualdo was shaking down a small-time scippatore and

sneak thief when Sabatino caught up with him. The proceedings had started with Gesualdo reminding Ciro that

he was behind with his payments for the para-legal intervention which had kept him out of Poggioreale after

being caught in a Carabinieri sting operation designed to clean up the centre for the Gj conference.

Under pressure - a discreet knee in the crotch, a teasing glimpse of a holstered pistol, the pitiless glint in his interlocutor’s eyes - Ciro had conceded that there was

indeed a substantial discrepancy between the terms

mutually agreed at the time (100,000 lire per week for six months) and the actual reimbursements which had been

effected 10 lire per week for two months). But it was not him that was at fault, he protested, it was the market.

‘They promised us rich pickings once the politicians

went home! The tourists were supposed to start coming

again, they said. The city was going to be a major holiday destination, its bad old reputation a thing of the past, right? You know what? It’s worse than ever! Because they cracked down so hard while the big shots were here,

everyone had to make up for the lost income afterwards.

There was a spate of muggings, the foreign press ran

scare stories and now there’s almost nobody worth robbing in town! I’m sorry, Gesua, but there’s only so much I

can do. This is a market economy, like they say. When

times are bad, we all have to tighten our belts.’

Gesualdo grinned at him.

‘You don’t need to do that, Ciro. If you don’t come up

with the cash by the end of the week, we’ll tighten your belt for you. So fucking tight that your lungs are sticking out of your mouth like bubble-gum while your intestines fill your pants at the other end. Understand?’

‘You’ll get the money, no problem! Just give me a couple of days. Trade is starting to pick up again. If only the cops hadn’t made a big deal of cleaning up the streets, everything would be just fine.’

Gesualdo nodded.

‘Speaking of which, what have you heard about that?’

The thief shifted his ferrety gaze this way and that.

‘About what?’

‘About “Clean Streets”.’

Ciro shrugged hastily.

‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’

Gesualdo ran his forefinger along the side of Ciro’s

throat.

“I just thought I’d mention it/ he said casually. ‘Because if you do hear anything, it might help in regard to the arrears we were just talking about. Question of a couple of notches on the belt, so to speak. The capo is in a bit of a snit about this. Don Ermanno was a close associate of his.’

Ciro’s expression of terrified confusion grew even

more marked.

‘But…’ he began, and then thought better of it.

‘But what, Ciro?’

‘Nothing.’

Gesualdo laughed heartily, as though at a shared joke,

and embraced the thief. Ciro emitted a loud groan, covered by Gesualdo’s laughter, and collapsed in a limp heap

on the cobbles. Grasping his ears good-naturedly, Gesualdo hauled him to his feet.

‘For the love of Christ!’ the thief moaned.

‘To every thing there is a season, Ciro,’ Gesualdo

remarked pleasantly. ‘A time to live and a time to die, a time to talk and a time to shut up. This is a time to talk.’

Ciro nodded.

‘It’s just - forgive me, I’m obviously ill-informed - but I’ve been told - no disrespect intended..
p>

Gesualdo stared at the man’s sweating face.

‘What have you been told, Ciro?’

‘Ididn’tbelieveit,understand?Notforamoment,but..
p>

‘What were you told?’

Ciro swallowed hard.

‘Last night over cards, Emiddio ‘o Curtiello said that it was Don Gaetano - may God preserve him! - who had

given the nod to the whole thing in the first place.’

He stepped back with the look of a gambler who has