This is exactly what’s going to happen to Siviero. Blackmail will be the weapon of my justice. Bit by bit I’ll strip away the life he’s stolen from me. And he’ll wind up in prison anyway.
I’d never blackmailed anyone, but I didn’t feel I needed a plan. I just had to make things clear to Siviero. Then, as Clara always used to say, one thing would lead to another.
“Your clothes aren’t ready yet,” said the woman behind the counter at the cleaners.
“I want to talk to your husband.”
The woman swept back the curtain. “Oreste, there’s a customer looking for you.”
I heard Siviero’s voice ask who it was. She turned towards me.
“Silvano Contin.” I said it real clear. “Your husband knows me well.”
The man came out of the back room. He was wearing a blue smock so he wouldn’t dirty his designer clothes.
“What do you want?” he asked, his tone hard.
“Let’s have a chat.”
He took off the smock and nodded at the door.
“What’s going on, Oreste?” asked the woman, worried.
“Everything’s fine, Daniela. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He led the way on the sidewalk for about twenty meters. Then he suddenly turned around: “So what do you want?”
“It took me fifteen years, but I finally found you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know damn well. A robbery, two dead, a convict up for life, an accomplice who’s been free too long.”
“I still don’t understand. If you think I’ve done something wrong, why don’t you tell the police? Maybe you’re just suspicious and don’t have a shred of proof.”
Siviero was sly. He was sounding me out to see what I knew. “I was looking to make a deal,” I shot back. “But if this is how you want to play, I can go straight to Superintendent Valiani. I really don’t think you’ll get the passport and cash to Beggiato. He’ll be put out by the way you handled this.”
He looked as if he’d been cold-cocked. It was enough to see his lower lip quiver to know I had him by the balls.
“What kind of deal are you talking about?” he asked, cagey.
“You’re the crook. You should know better than me.”
“We should have a sit-down and talk it over calmly.”
“You’re right. Invite me to your place for dinner tomorrow night.”
“My wife doesn’t know anything.”
“That’s your problem.”
“It’s best not to complicate things. You and I can reach an agreement.”
“I can’t think of anything more complicated than doing life. Can you?”
He shook his head, beaten. “See you tomorrow at eight then,” I said. “And don’t get any crazy ideas. You won’t get anywhere if you try to take me out. You follow?”
The next morning I was laying for Siviero outside his house, just to make sure he wouldn’t make a getaway. During the night I was convinced he’d do it. He already had a passport and the cash he was planning to give his sidekick. Criminals like Siviero are used to being on the run. But the two of them came out like every morning. I followed the SUV to the bar and then to the cleaners. I waited about ten minutes before I went into the shop. The woman was behind the counter as usual. Her eyes were puffy like she’d been having a good cry.
“Oreste!” she shouted, scared when she saw me. Luckily it was still early, and there weren’t any customers.
Her husband came out right away. I smiled at them. “I’ve come to pick up my clothes.” Siviero went into the back, and she got busy looking for them, her hands shaking. I grabbed the pair of trousers and pretended to examine them closely. “The crease isn’t perfect,” I said. “Maybe they need another press.”
The woman covered her face with her hands and started whimpering.
“See you tonight,” I said as I opened the door.
At eight on the dot I rang the bell at the house on via San Domenico. Siviero-Borsatto was printed on the nameplate. He met me at the door. He didn’t say a word, just invited me to follow him with a nod. I entered a large living room filled with expensive but tasteless furniture. Over the fireplace hung an oil portrait of the woman in a wedding dress, as if she might be a countess in some important family. On the facing wall was an enormous TV, one of the latest models. A door led to the kitchen. The wife appeared. She was wearing a tracksuit and department store slippers.
I chewed her out. “You don’t receive guests dressed down like that. Go put on some proper clothes.”
The woman rushed up the stairs as if I’d threatened to whip her. Siviero dropped into an armchair. He lit a cigarette.
“I didn’t think you smoked.”
“I started again last night.”
“You’ve got a cute little nest.”
“I can give you 250,000 euros. Half of Beggiato’s share.”
“How is that possible? The jeweler declared a smaller amount.”
“A bunch of stones wasn’t registered. The shop operated like an underground pawnbroker.”
“You think Beggiato’ll agree to split the money with me?”
“He’ll have to put up with it.”
“You want to buy my silence with a share of your partner’s money. And you don’t put a cent into it? That won’t do. Besides, it’s too soon to talk about money.”
A grimace of resignation was traced on his mouth. “I guessed as much. So you’re not just interested in money?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“You had a good time over the past fifteen years. Now it’s my turn, don’t you think?”
“The important thing is to move quick and reach an agreement that’s clear-cut and final.”
“I’m in no hurry.”
I heard the noise of heels coming down the stairs. Daniela had gotten dressed, combed her hair, and put on some make-up with a shaky hand. She was wearing a grey sleeveless dress, short enough to show off her legs. They were thin and straight, sheathed in black stockings. She had on a pair of stiletto heels the same color.
“That’s better,” I said. “Now I’d like an aperitif.”
The woman headed for the kitchen, tickled to leave the room. She came back a little later, carrying a tray with three glasses, a bottle of prosecco, and some tidbits. I hadn’t drunk prosecco in fifteen years. Apart from the bubbles, I didn’t taste it at all.
The woman sat next to her husband.
“What did he tell you?”
“Everything,” he answered.
“He’s different now,” said the woman, her voice broken with emotion. She had a hard time getting out the words, but she was determined to finish her speech. “Ever since then he hasn’t done anything bad. He’s gone straight. Take the money, take whatever you want, just leave us in peace.”
“In other words, you’re on his side.” I blew up. “You defend him, and you’d stay with him, even though he’s told you he killed a woman and an eight-year-old.”
“He wasn’t the one who shot them. It was the other guy.”
“Beggiato says just the opposite, but it doesn’t matter. Your Oreste’s going up for life anyway, and you’ll make all the papers. ‘The murderer’s sweetheart.’ Is this what you want?”
“No.”
“Then from now on keep your mouth shut. I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit. Get into the kitchen. I have to talk to your husband.”
The power I had over these people went right to my head. My imagination had no limits. As soon as I’d come up with a request that would make them suffer, I felt I could push it further. But I had to stop the thing from becoming psychologically unmanageable to Siviero. And to do that, I had to make him believe I intended to bargain.
“I want all the money. You tell me where and when, and I’ll show up for the meeting with Beggiato. In the meantime I want free access to this house and your wife.”
Siviero jumped to his feet and clenche
d his fists, ready to let one go. “You can’t ask for that.”
I slammed my hand against the table. “Don’t you ever talk to me with that tone. You understand, asshole?”
“Watch you don’t cross the line. Otherwise you’ll fuck everything.”
“Fucking is just what I want to talk to you about. I’ve been fucking Giorgia Valente once a month, Beggiato’s ex. I guess you know her. A whore who goes for fifty euros a pop, fat and ugly. Daniela’s nothing to brag about, but she’s sure better-looking. She definitely isn’t as beautiful as my Clara. If you didn’t kill her, I wouldn’t be here wanting to fuck your wife.”
“The answer is no. I’d rather go to jail.”
“Call her. Let’s hear what she has to say.”
The woman came out of the kitchen. “Don’t bother. I heard everything. I’ll go to bed with you, Signor Contin. The important thing is for this business to be over fast.”
Siviero squeezed her hard in his arms. “Don’t feel you’re obligated to do this.”
The woman twisted free from his hug in a fit of anger. “Shut up, Oreste. Don’t say anything. It’s all your fault this is happening.”
“Excuse me if I don’t stay for dinner,” I said calmly. “But it looks like you’ve got to straighten out a few things. I’ll be back tomorrow morning around ten.”
Siviero escorted me to the door, and the look he gave me when he closed it I didn’t like at all. Pure hate. I had to stay alert. I imagined the thoughts forming in his mind like an army of cockroaches scrabbling on their backs. They were furiously working their legs, but they couldn’t get themselves right side up. Just as Siviero was racking his brain to find a solution, a way out that seemed acceptable. But there wasn’t any. Or, to be more precise, he could either give in to the blackmail or kill me. But in neither case would he get off without a scratch. The idea that he might take me out didn’t scare me; I considered this a risk that had to be faced by anybody who administers justice. And as an injured party I had every right to mete it out.
I got my first results. Relations between husband and wife would never be the same. Siviero had built their marriage on a lie, and now the broad not only had to face the reality of living with a double homicide, but she was forced to pay part of the bill to save him. Well, she chose to take his side. Despite the truth. The man she married had killed a child and his mamma, and she was ready to spread her legs for a perfect stranger to prevent her husband from going to prison. So much the worse for her.
The next morning, before I went back to Siviero’s house, I drove by the cleaners. The shop was open, and he was helping a few customers.
I parked in front of the driveway at the house. The woman’s Smart was in the garden.
Daniela was dressed like the night before. She led me into the living room without once looking me in the face.
“Make me a coffee.”
I followed her to the kitchen and sat at the table. “Why don’t you have children?”
“We tried, but they didn’t come.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“I used to do manicures at the barber shop where Oreste would go.”
“You knew he was a robber?”
“I heard some talk.”
“In other words, you knew. And you married him just the same?”
“I loved him then, and I still do now.”
“Even though he’s ready to pimp you out to avoid going to prison?”
“It’s no big deal,” was her comeback. “I used to give blow jobs in the rear of the shop for extra cash. Anyway I’m only doing it for him. At forty-three I couldn’t deal with the consequences of his arrest. I’d lose everything, the house, the shop, respectability. Going to bed with you is really getting off cheap.”
“How did it make you feel to find out your husband killed an eight-year-old kid and his mamma?”
She shrugged. “Oreste says it wasn’t him who did it. He insists Beggiato flipped out and started shooting for no reason. And I believe him,” she said as she poured the coffee into a cup. “Besides, it happened so long ago. Like I told you yesterday, he’s different now. He was a petty crook who lucked into something much bigger than he ever expected, and this changed him. He’s sorry for what he did.”
I felt the rage rising from my stomach to my brain. My eyes filled with spots, and I was worried about feeling sick. This broad was really more than I could take. She was utter shit. “He’s sorry? So far I haven’t heard him say a single word about my wife and son.”
The rage turned into an icy desire to do some harm to her. I drank the coffee in one gulp. “Get up to the bedroom, quick.”
Daniela left the kitchen and went up the stairs. The room was at the end of a hallway. The bed had been made. I tore off the spread. The sheets were fresh. She kept her arms pressed tight to her body. I moved away from her and headed towards the dresser. I opened the drawers till I found the one that contained her underwear. I started tossing things to the floor, panties, bras, stockings. I found a sheer negligé, pearl grey, and a pair of thigh-highs the same color. I threw them at her. “Put them on.”
While Siviero’s wife took off her clothes, I opened the built-in wardrobe and threw everything in the air. Then I trampled on the clothes and started to kick them around. When I stopped, I saw her standing at the foot of the bed in the negligé and stockings. She was afraid. I made her get on the bed on her hands and knees. I undid my trousers and fucked her in the ass. At the beginning she tried to break away, but when I shouted to stop it or I’d call the police, she sank to the bed and didn’t make a move. When I came, I grunted in disappointment. Too fast. This fucking whore hadn’t suffered as much as she deserved.
I went downstairs and threw a chair at the big TV on the wall. I trashed everything that happened to come within my reach. The oil painting over the fireplace was last. I took it down and stamped on it. Then I left.
I felt frustrated. Siviero’s woman bowed to the blackmail, but she struggled to preserve her identity. I gave her a nasty fuck in the ass, but to her it was just the price she had to pay to cut her losses. Nothing compared to the devastation in my life, the pain and anguish I’d known for the past fifteen years. To her and her murderer husband I just represented a problem they had to solve. Then life would go on, even if it wasn’t the same as before. The difference between me and them lay right here. My existence had been closed off forever by the dark immensity of death. My present and future were merely time spent in the lobby waiting for the end because I had nothing else. But they could still see light and hope. Even Siviero, once in prison, would continue to see the light, hoping till the end that he wouldn’t have to serve out his sentence. And if things went bad at the trial, there was always the appeal and the Court of Cassation. Only I lived forever plunged in darkness.
I shut myself up at home to think. The carton of wine, a cup, and the photos of Enrico and Clara stretched out on the coroner’s table.
Hours passed. When I was sure I’d made the only decision possible, it was already dark. I didn’t switch on the lamp. The howl was filling my chest, and I was scared the light would unleash it.
RAFFAELLO
Everything’s going according to plan. Mamma confirmed my partner’s already got the money and passport and my lawyer told me the hearing in the Court of Surveillance will be held the day after tomorrow. He gave me all kinds of advice. “Don’t say anything, answer only when questioned, think before opening your mouth, don’t look at the judges, always keep your eyes lowered, you have to give the impression you’re gravely ill.” Then I looked at him like he was an idiot and pointed out that I am gravely ill. His answer was I should make it plain to the judges. The judges. There’s only one judge in that court plus the public prosecutor. The other people are shrinks and social workers. They look you up and down like you were some sideshow freak so they can justify their salaries. I know all about them. I’m fucking sick and tired of having conversations with experts. Everybody wants to reform you
but finally they do what the judge says. I hate them more than the screws. They show up here with their heads full of the shit they learned from books and the sincere desire to rehabilitate you and help you reintegrate yourself in society. But when they see jail is one big lie and every inmate—with no exception—has to lie to survive, the experts change their tune. First the believers who turned out to be wrong are disappointed and don’t give a fuck anymore. The women get pregnant so they’ll have the least possible contact with scum like us jailbirds and the men ask to be transferred so they’ll be closer to their towns. They’ve got “Who gives a fuck?” written all over their faces. The distinguished experts of the Most Honorable Court of Surveillance really just pretend to be experts. They pose as big deal professors but they don’t know shit from shinola. It’s so easy to do a court job. Most of them never set foot in a cell block. Motherfucker, whenever I think about these things, I see blood. They make you live in a shit hole while the people who should be running the show are robbing the place blind. An accountant who killed his mother-in-law used to help out in the administration and once he let me see some papers. It came out that at least one TV was broken every day, along with tons of light bulbs and other shit like that. All that stuff wound up in the screws’ homes. Not to mention the meat. We never saw the best cuts. All the same, the circulars from the ministry clearly state the meat’s got to be choice grade. It’s a conspiracy hidden behind a badge or ministry ID. And then the people in the Court of Surveillance examine you like you came out of a model prison. They know how things are but they just don’t give a fuck. As long as their salaries are secure. The more inmates there are, the more hearings they have to do. They’ve got overtime pay coming out the wazoo. I’ve already been there twice to talk about an early release. If you act right, they cut two months’ jail time off every year. Even with us lifers. It only pays off if they put you on work furlough after thirty years—but that’s definitely a payoff. They’ve never given it to me ’cause it was “premature,” but I remember the experts staring at me like it was yesterday. I could’ve kicked them in the teeth till they cried for mercy. The day after tomorrow I’ll be an altar boy and won’t tell them to go fuck themselves. The important thing is they grant me the suspension and then off to Brazil to die the way I fucking want to die, far from these shits. I’ve already seen guys die in prison. A Venetian doing a twenty-year stretch for dealing coke had a heart attack. He told them he felt sick but by the time that cocksucking nurse got there and that other cocksucker, the doctor, ordered the transfer to the hospital, the Venetian was as good as dead. The screws fucking joked about it and you could hear them laughing all over the prison. But we didn’t say a word. You couldn’t hear a fly in the cells. Dying in jail is the worst thing that can happen to you ’cause they even abuse your corpse. There’s no pity. Better to pop off between a whore’s thighs or OD on heroin or coke. Motherfucking bastards. Hey, kid, chill out. Don’t get worked up. In a few days those prison doors are going to swing wide open for you. Yeah, ’cause even if everything turns out dandy the Most Honorable Court of Surveillance won’t issue the order immediately. No, signor. It always takes a few days because they’re swamped with work.
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