“Then who was with you at Oddo’s house?” the fat man demanded.
“Men of honor,” Kevin replied proudly. “I’ll never tell you their names.”
The time had come for us to leave. Beniamino laid a hand on Fecchio’s shoulder. “You think you’ve already won this match, but if you push Spezzafumo and his friends’ backs up against the wall, they’ll fight back, and they’ll fight dirty. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they took their vengeance out on your nearest and dearest. More blood will be spilt.”
“No one is ever going to touch my family again,” he snarled.
“We’ll be back in touch,” I announced.
“I wouldn’t recommend it.”
I ignored the threat. “The kid might wind up in an orphanage, even though he deserves to stay with people who love him, to attend university. It’s not hard to do the math here.”
Kevin cackled. “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to send my own kids to college, and you’re asking me to pay for the education of that poor slut’s bastard?”
Old Rossini gave him a slap in the face. Hard and cruel. “Her name was Luigina Cantarutti,” he reminded him. “You need to learn to show her some respect, after what you did to her. The little bastard, on the other hand, is named Sergio and you owe him a lot of money.”
The minute we got back in the car I called Siro Ballan and asked if his living room was available tomorrow evening. The luthier charged an extra ten percent for the short notice. “I’ll vacuum the place,” he snickered, convinced he was being funny. “Should I get in touch with anyone else?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
He took offense. “Usually I handle invitations to my own house.”
“Not this time,” I said, cutting him off and hanging up. Talking to Siro Ballan could be hard work.
Spezzafumo, in spite of his surprise, accepted immediately. Gigliola Pescarotto, the widow Oddo, had no intention whatsoever of attending the meeting, and I was forced to frighten her.
We went back to Padua and went out for a pizza at a place that stayed open all night. At that hour, it was deserted enough so we could speak in peace.
We were upset and by no means pleased at the way things had gone. “Kevin made it one hundred percent clear to us that he has no intention of settling the matter once and for all,” I said, wiping the foam from my beer off my mustache.
“Not necessarily. He thought he was talking to Spezzafumo and his gang,” Max retorted. “Now a band of strangers is in possession of a recording that screws him big-time.”
“It screws everyone, without exception,” Beniamino emphasized. “But I agree. The situation is no longer the same.”
“If he’d wanted, he could have wiped out the Spezzafumo gang at some point in the past two years without too much trouble,” I reasoned. “But maybe he was waiting for them to organize another robbery so he could kill them all and take their loot. After all, he admitted it himself when he revealed the fact that he’d been watching them.”
“Fecchio thought he was talking to his murderers. To convince them not to kill him, he talked too much and was forced to play the role of the hero ready to sacrifice himself,” Rossini added. “It’s no doubt true in part, but we’d need to find out what his two accomplices think of it. The minute we touched that topic he totally lost it.”
I sighed. “I was convinced that those boyfriends of his he’s so inseparable from were the other two accomplices, but his reaction seemed sincere, at least to me.”
“We’ll need to uncover their identities quickly,” Rossini replied. “Among other things, because we need to ascertain the different degrees of responsibility for the rapes and murder of Luigina.”
In other words, we needed to figure out exactly which of them most deserved to die. One, two, or all three. I took another sip of beer and shot Max a glance. “Maybe we ought to just settle for securing Sergio’s future.”
The fat man just shook his head and said nothing, leaving the floor, again, to Beniamino. “You’re the one who dragged us into this case,” said the old bandit. “You pushed matters to the brink just to find a client, and now it’s too late to turn back.”
Max the Memory stretched himself out over the table. “I feel such immense pity for Luigina,” he confided, his eyes glistening. “Her entire life was a rip-off, and her death was so horrible that even we pretend we don’t know the details. Even in death she ended up with the short end of the stick. Someone has to pay, Marco. And they’re going to.”
I wasn’t entirely in agreement. “The risk is that an act of justice might unleash a chain reaction.”
“We can only worry about safeguarding our client’s interests,” Beniamino reminded me.
I nodded. And I set to eating my pizza. By the second bite I was regretting ordering one ai quattro formaggi—with four cheeses—because I’ve always found them hard to digest. But that night nothing would have been light enough for my stomach. My friends were right, that case was turning into an infernal booby trap. I didn’t regret using a little sleight of hand to get the job. But I still was damn afraid that the situation might get out of hand.
That night, Cora was performing at Pico’s Club. When I got there, there were only a few regulars in the audience and the sleepy pianist was trudging up and down the keyboard. My jazz woman didn’t notice a thing. She shifted from one song to the next, lost in her dreams. Every so often she’d wipe the sweat off her neck with a small white hand towel. The place wasn’t particularly well suited for a June night.
I was the only who clapped after a fairly daring version of Old Devil Moon. She blew me a kiss and was about to start in on another song when the proprietor ordered the musician to stop playing.
I caught up with her in the dressing room. “The owner wants to shut the place down for the summer,” she said, disappointed.
I pointed out to her that people understandably preferred to sit outside and most clubs had made arrangements to offer that type of service.
“Not Pico’s,” she replied.
I smiled. “This is a club with a decidedly unusual clientele. I doubt they frequent summer bars, noisy and crowded as they are.”
“And now where will they hole up?”
I threw my arms wide. “I have no idea. They’ll try to survive until the fall, and then they’ll come back.”
Cora sighed as she began to remove her makeup. “This summer is threatening to turn into a nightmare. My husband actually wants to go to the beach in Croatia.”
Every time she mentioned her spouse, I was overwhelmed with a sense of guilt. “And you’re not happy about that?”
“We’ve always gone to Jesolo. Same apartment, same beach club, same beach umbrella,” she replied. “This sudden change strikes me as an attempt to rekindle flames both in the heart and down below the belt. Not that I mind, it’s just that it strikes me as demanding, when all I really want to do is relax.”
I went over to her and started rubbing her shoulders. She seemed to peer up at me from the mirror as she wiped cleansing lotion over her face.
“You aren’t a man I can plan for the future with, are you?” she demanded point-blank. “You don’t seem like someone who could take a husband’s place in terms of everyday life and general security.”
“I lived with a woman once for more than two years. An ex-porn star,” I told her. “She ran a bar not far from Nice. Everything was going perfectly, life was smooth as silk.”
“Then why are you here with me, instead of in her arms?”
“One day I got a phone call from a friend and I left.”
“And you never went back.”
“No. I was just emerging from a difficult period; I was no longer the same man she’d fallen in love with.”
“Do you still love her?”
“I love all the women I’ve ever been with,” I rep
lied. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. One of my girlfriends, who’d gone by the name of Gina Manes, had tried to kill me, and I no longer remembered her with any special fondness.
“You’re a complicated guy,” she commented.
“I’m only good for a double life,” I shot back, piqued.
“It’s true,” she admitted. “The thing is that I’d like to fall in love, let myself go, see how it turns out, you understand?”
“You have a husband and a lover who are both head over heels in love with you. If I were you, I wouldn’t tempt fate.”
“That was exactly what I wanted to hear,” she sighed.
I’d understood perfectly. Cora needed confirmation that none of this would endanger her marriage.
She stared at me for a long minute. “What are you waiting for? Why don’t you shower my throat with kisses?”
“Only your throat?”
“Do you have some other ideas?”
“A couple you might like.”
“Then get busy.”
“Might I suggest we take our affections elsewhere?”
“No,” she replied decisively. “Any other place would make it all so squalid.”
I started kissing her. Then I took her out for breakfast, even if I would have rather slept with her in a real bed, between real sheets that smelled of her perfume.
“What are you waiting for? You need to tell her the truth,” Max objected when I came home. “When she finds out that you spied on her for her husband, she’ll hate you forever.”
“I can only love her if I omit the truth,” I retorted. “It’s not nice, and it’s not fair, but I have no alternative.”
I’d convinced myself it wasn’t really all that bad. I was a discreet lover, one she saw two nights a week, no desire to be part of a real couple, just happy if the affair went on as long as possible.
* * *
We walked into Siro Ballan’s living room a good hour ahead of schedule. The luthier took pains to point out that the extra time would appear on the bill. Beniamino moved the armchair he’d decided to sit in so he’d be in a dominant position should gunplay became necessary.
Usually those kinds of things weren’t allowed in polite company, but murderers like Spezzafumo could hardly be considered polite.
The head of the gang of armed robbers showed up accompanied by Gastone Oddo’s widow. We were certain, however, that his two enforcers, Denis and Giacomo, weren’t far away.
The man understood immediately that this was no friendly visit and he became cautious when he noticed the bulge under Rossini’s jacket.
Gigliola was paler than usual. “What’s happened?” she demanded. “You scared me on the phone.”
“And I wasn’t exaggerating,” I said, inviting them to take a seat. “We found out that Gastone was tortured not only to reveal the combination of the safe, but also, or perhaps chiefly, so he would tell them everything about your business. Your enemies claim that they recorded every word.”
“And just who are these traitors?” Spezzafumo burst out.
“We only know one name,” replied the old bandit. “Kevin Fecchio.”
Nick the Goldsmith wasn’t the only one who went pale. The woman blanched as well.
Then she too knew about Maicol Fecchio’s murder. She was an accomplice through and through. “‘For all the gold in the world, it wasn’t worth it,’” I mocked her, repeating a phrase she’d repeated over and over. “That’s what you said, so contritely, about the business you ran. Except that you didn’t stop, not even after the murder of that poor bastard, because you don’t actually give a fuck if you shoot people.”
“And it was a mistake,” she shot back, in a quavering voice.
Spezzafumo took a very different view of things. “This is our business.”
“No,” Beniamino disagreed. “And for two very good reasons. The first is that you’re a bunch of dangerous dilettantes, arrogant and stupid, who take themselves for professionals, and you need to be stopped.”
“What do you mean by that?” the man demanded, convinced he must have heard wrong.
“That from this moment forward, the gang is disbanded. Kevin Fecchio, by the way, is just waiting for you to put together your next job so he can wipe you out or have you thrown in the slammer for life, and we’ve made up our minds to keep you from acting.”
“I continue to be of the opinion that you have no right to interfere,” Nick stammered. He was having a hard time controlling himself.
“Once again, you’re wrong,” Rossini went on, “because we’re in this up to our necks. We’ve been retained by Sergio, Luigina’s son.”
Spezzafumo waved the air with an irritated gesture. “Gigliola told me all about this ridiculous farce,” he blurted out. “You’re just using the boy to get your hands on the gold.”
“That’s a serious accusation,” I pointed out. “But maybe you misspoke and now here’s your chance to make up for it.”
“I’m not interested in sitting here and letting myself be insulted by a sewer rat like you,” Rossini stated clearly. “Apologize.”
Spezzafumo raised his arms in a sign of surrender. “The conversation was just getting heated, I didn’t mean to offend anyone.”
“You’d be well advised to get as far away from here as you can,” Max broke in. “No matter how things turn out, you’re fucked.”
Nicola Spezzafumo poured himself a drink. “The way you tell it, we have our backs to the wall, and I don’t doubt that’s the case. But let me assure you, none of us is interested in running away or waiting for Kevin Fecchio to make his move, for the simple reason that we can’t afford to. We have families, too, and we don’t have enough money to start over again in some other country.”
“And so?” I prodded him.
“Maybe it’s time to find a solution that makes everyone happy,” he replied, staring Beniamino right in the eyes.
He immediately understood the armed robber’s line of thought. “In other words, we’re supposed to help you get out of this situation unscathed.”
“If you want Fecchio to compensate poor Luigina’s son,” Gigliola butted in, “you’re still going to have to render him harmless in one way or another.”
“There’s one small problem you’re overlooking,” said Rossini. “Fecchio and his accomplices have to pay for the housekeeper’s murder. Someone’s going to have to die. And if it’s true, as Kevin claims, that there’s a recording of Gastone’s confession, then there’s a chance of it coming out and the cops coming after you for it.”
Spezzafumo leapt to his feet. “You three are completely out of your minds,” he shouted. “You think you’re the law, but you’re a bunch of nobodies.”
“Sit down!” the widow ordered. Nick the Goldsmith obeyed without blinking. Max and I exchanged a look. The woman wasn’t the supporting character we’d taken her for.
Gigliola asked me for a cigarette and took a couple of puffs and then started talking to me like a seasoned underworld kingpin at a summit meeting with other colleagues of the same rank. “Kevin Fecchio tortured and murdered my husband. If he wanted to avenge his brother’s death, he should have taken it out on Nicola and his boys—the ones who actually murdered him—not on Gastone. So I have every right to retaliate against him and his confederates. But I’m willing to renounce any and all satisfaction because I believe that Lara’s present and future are more important. And I’m willing to welcome Sergio into my home and raise him as if he were the son I always hoped for.
“What’s more, Nicola Spezzafumo will give you his word that we’ll quit the business, along with Denis and Giacomo.
“In exchange for our goodwill, you’ll convince Fecchio to renounce any further action against us. After all, he’s risking a life sentence, too.
“In terms of money, we can kick in with what’s left from
the sale of the villa and Nicola can put in thirty or forty thousand euros. More or less a hundred eighty thousand.”
Silence fell over Siro Ballan’s living room. The inconsolable widow had shown her true face. She’d even changed her tone of voice, her posture, her glance.
“You’ve been the boss the whole time,” I stated, awestruck.
“But I’m not proud of that fact, not now,” she confessed. “We made a mistake that destroyed our lives and dragged us right to the brink of a precipice.”
“Why did you try to get us involved, through Spezzafumo, while pretending to be opposed to any further investigation?”
The woman made a face. “I simply didn’t want to expose myself the way I was forced to do today,” she explained. “It’s been two years of pure hell, lived in grief, apprehension, and regret. Gastone wanted to shut down operations entirely after Maicol Fecchio’s murder. I was opposed, and I had my way. Gold is cursed.”
Bullshit. That woman was a pretty skillful manipulator; her technique was to feign sincere regret for her mistakes. I’d fallen for it before but now her words just left me cold.
I had only one last, overriding question. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to take care of Sergio?”
“So, are you interested in the proposal?”
I shook my head in disappointment. “I just wanted to understand whether for once a shred of truth had passed your lips or if it was just part of your usual playacting.”
“I’m not acting, I’m just trying to survive.”
Nick the Goldsmith started to get impatient. “Well then, what have you decided?”
Max stubbornly insisted on seeing his bluff. “We only care about the kid. It’ll be the way events play out that’ll decree your fate.”
It was the widow who showed her cards. “I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn,” she said. “It’s obvious that if something happens to us, something’ll happen to you, too.”
We acted surprised. “What do you mean?”
“If they arrest us we’ll do our best to stave off a life sentence without parole by tossing them anything that can give us bargaining power; of course we’ll give them your names. It’s news to nobody that law enforcement has been interested in putting Signor Rossini behind bars for years now.
For All the Gold in the World Page 8
