The club vanishes, along with the music and all the spectators.
I’d known Stefano Milla for a long time. My relationship was not one of friendship but merely a professional collaboration, if I can use the term. The kind of collaboration that could take place between someone like me and a policeman willing to turn a blind eye. And willing, when necessary, to put in a good word so that someone else might turn an equally blind eye. Not necessarily true corruption, just a very handy seat belt in case of a head-on collision. Which could never have been truly dangerous for either of us, because I always drove at very slow speeds. In exchange I would let him have a small bundle of cash from time to time so that he could pay for whatever his vices were—or else I let him have an evening with one of my girls.
I could never tell which of the two expense accounts pleased him more.
But finding him right in front of me at the Ricovero Attrezzi was a surprise. Which I did my best to conceal as I walked toward the table.
Milla was on his feet.
“I need to talk with you. What do you say we step outside for a couple of minutes?”
The tone of voice warned me that I hadn’t pulled a Jolly Joker out of the deck this time.
“That’ll be fine.”
Carla shot me a glance that contained more than one question mark. I reassured her with a quick facial expression. Then I excused myself from the table and followed the back of my visitor’s neck to the front door.
In the half-light of the parking lot we walked a short distance to make sure we weren’t within earshot of the attendant, who was leaning against the wall on our right, smoking a cigarette. Once we’d come even with my car, Milla told me what he wanted.
“There’s something you and I need to do together.”
“What?”
“You know better than I do. All I’m supposed to do is guard a briefcase and make sure that a certain envelope makes it safe and sound to its intended destination.”
That caught me off guard. It never occurred to me that Stefano Milla might be on Tano Casale’s payroll, nor would I have expected him to admit it so openly.
Perhaps all this appeared on my face. The policeman must have taken my bafflement for a judgment of his actions. He ventured into one of those unsolicited self-justifications that do nothing more than to tell you what an unpleasant traveling companion a guilty conscience must be on certain stretches of highway.
“Don’t act surprised, Bravo. And don’t you dare lecture me. You’re the last person on earth to even think of preaching.”
I shrugged a shoulder and lit a cigarette.
“What you do is none of my business. I’m not looking for trouble and I don’t want to make trouble for anyone else.”
“Ah, outstanding. A wise policy. So, what do we do?”
“Meet me the day after tomorrow at eleven o’clock in the morning on Via Roma, in Cesano Boscone, outside the branch office of the Credito Romagnolo.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. I need to see somebody and then you can hand over what you’re supposed to hand over. Anything else?”
He waited before answering. I realized that he wasn’t hesitating, just studying me. Or the expression I’d be wearing after the question he was about to ask.
“There might be something else. Did you hear about what happened to Salvatore Menno?”
This was the second person who had mentioned his name to me that same evening, and with practically the same words. It was just that I couldn’t quite determine in what capacity Milla was approaching the topic. Was he asking me about it as a representative of the law or as a man who has let personal self-interest drag him over to the opposite side? I looked up to sniff the air, and I didn’t like the scent I picked up one little bit.
“Sure. It was on TV.”
“I heard that recently you and he had had some disagreements.”
A derisive voice came charging through my memories and echoed in my head, as if Tulip were standing in front of me, instead of Milla.
“Dig. Even though your nice suit will get a little wrinkled. If you want, when you’re done, I’ll send it to the cleaners.”
And then those muffled noises
Pfft … pfft … pfft …
that traded life for death, one in place of the other, like pieces on a checkerboard.
“That guy was a psychotic bastard. I don’t know who knocked him off, but whoever it was probably had a perfectly good motive.”
“I can agree with you on that point.”
Milla stopped for a second. When he went on, his pockmarked face in the half-light made his words even less reassuring.
“But the same way that certain rumors reached my ears, they might make their way to the person who’s investigating his murder.”
Whichever side of the law that person might be on, I thought.
The idea of getting heat from both the cops and Tano Casale wasn’t at all comforting. I kept it vague and uttered a half-truth, which as such offered me only partial security.
“I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“That’s something that only you and Tulip know. And unfortunately he’s not around anymore to confirm what you say.”
“So what do you recommend I do?”
“Out of the fondness I feel for you, I recommend that you have an alibi for last night that’ll hold up.”
Carla’s voice caught us both by surprise.
“Oh, he has a perfectly good alibi.”
We both turned around and there she was, in front of us, lovely and distinct despite the dim light. She must have an internal light source that she carries with her, to make her eyes stand out like that.
She drew closer and stood at my side.
“We were together last night. All night long.”
Milla studied her for a little while before saying anything. In his tone of voice, I could hear the proper consideration for Carla’s words and appearance.
“Signorina, if it should prove to be necessary and you are willing to swear to that in front of a judge, there won’t be any problems for Bravo.”
“Of course I’m willing.”
“Very good.”
Milla raised an arm and lifted his cuff to check the time.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take my leave of this enchanting company. As for you, Signorina…?”
“Carla. Carla Bonelli.”
“There are people who would really be willing to kill to have a guarantor like you. Arrivederci.”
Without waiting for any response to his farewell, he turned on his heel and headed off toward a cluster of cars parked along the side of the road, under the streetlights. After taking a few steps, he stopped, turned back to look at us, and stamped our travel documents with a single phrase.
“Sometimes, only the stupid and the innocent lack an alibi.”
Then he left and was transformed into, progressively, the noise of a car door slamming and the same car’s engine moving away into the distance. Carla and I were left alone, surrounded by shiny cars and murky situations.
She could cast a little light on one or two of those situations.
“There are two things I want you to tell me.”
With a watchful expression Carla waited in silence until I was finished.
“One: Why did you follow me? Two: Why did you lie?”
A hint of defiance appeared in her voice, and I couldn’t say whether it was intentional.
“I followed you because I don’t like that guy. I lied because I do like you. And I trust you.”
I thought it was best to remind her of the way matters really stood. With determined precision. Not out of honesty, but out of squalid self-interest.
“This is a case of murder.”
In return, she replied with equally determined precision. Without any alternative: black or white.
“Did you do it?”
I declared my true color.
“No.”
“You see? So there’s no problem with saying that we spent the night together.”
She turned on her heel and walked without haste toward the front door of the restaurant, from which poured a light ill suited to chase away certain shadows. I caught up with her and walked by her side, and in that short distance, for the first time in my life, I felt as if I were part of something. I thought about the psychologist who worked with me for a certain period of time after my accident. At the time, he didn’t do me a bit of good, because all I wanted was to run away. I wondered what help he could give me now that my urge to flee had vanished as if by magic.
We went back to the table, where Cindy and Barbara were finishing their first course. The champagne was already half consumed. My steak was cold and the salad had withered from the vinegar. What remained of Carla’s risotto alla milanese had congealed into a dense yellow clump.
Cindy, who knows Stefano, lifted her light blue eyes in my direction. Her American accent turned her pasta with tomato and basil just a shade less Italian.
“Problems?”
I smiled at her, just as false as Judas Iscariot.
“Not even half a problem.”
Barbara dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
“So, are you going to tell us what this important thing is?”
I sat down and leaned toward them, lowering my voice slightly.
“Tomorrow you have an engagement in a place you and Cindy have already been. In Lesmo, at the villa of Lorenzo Bonifaci.”
I gave Carla time to take in that name. The expression on her face confirmed that she knew him and that it had made a big impression on her.
“I need you to be ready at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon in Piazza San Babila, with everything you need to spend the night. A car will pick you up and take you to where you’re going. The terms are excellent: three million lire apiece. The people ought to be the same as last time, because they specifically requested you.”
“What about Laura?”
“She doesn’t work with us anymore. She chose another path.”
To keep from muddying the water, I stopped myself before telling them that Laura had opted for love. I didn’t want to trigger any mysterious mental mechanisms, which can be especially unpredictable in women. I doubted that Cindy and Barbara cared much about the subject, but Carla was still a mystery to me and I had to protect her.
From herself, for me.
“So I’ve been forced to choose one myself. Carla will replace her. Much better, I think. This is her first job, so I’m counting on you to work with her to make her feel comfortable.”
Barbara started laughing. She smothered her hilarity in her napkin.
Carla turned a little edgy.
“What are you laughing about?”
Barbara waved one hand in the air, dismissively.
“Nothing, nothing. It’s just that there was one guy, last time, who was crazy about the service entrance, if you know what I mean. I’m just warning you, in case you get him.”
As a joke, it would have been in poor taste, to say the least, but it was no joke. It was the truth, the naked truth, and this was the only way to deal with it. I looked at Carla, to see how she responded. She took her time, looking first at one woman and then the other.
“Do you do it?”
Cindy answered for both of them.
“No violence and no whips, but other than that, for this much money, the sky’s the limit.”
Carla nodded her head ever so slightly. One small nod for a woman, one giant step for her earning potential and for mine.
“Then it’s fine with me.”
She drank the rest of the champagne in her glass, then held the empty glass out to me.
“This is good. Can I have a little more?”
* * *
The thunderous applause at the end of Lucio’s performance brings me back to Byblos and wipes out the rest of an evening spent with three beautiful girls, trying my best to persuade them to become colleagues, since the word friends is always such a challenge.
Then the spotlight on the stage dims and is replaced by the general lighting in the room. The club’s stereo system starts playing recorded music, perhaps a few decibels louder than necessary. The show is over. Lucio stands up from his stool and is immediately joined by a technician who helps him put his guitars away and step down from the stage.
Carla turns to look at me.
“I like the way he plays.”
I don’t have time to comment before a waiter comes over and we order two drinks at random, drinks we don’t especially want. Like an old-fashioned gentleman, I lean over to light the cigarette that Carla has placed between her lips. Then I lay a hand on her shoulder.
“Excuse me for a moment.”
I make my way through and around the tables and go over to where Lucio is sitting. I toss him the solution to that afternoon’s cryptic clue as a token of my presence.
“Allowed. You have to see it written, not spoken out loud, as you pointed out.”
At the sound of my voice, Lucio turns in my direction, without the slightest surprise.
“I knew you’d solve it. It’s almost no fun anymore with you.”
He bends over and checks to make sure that his guitar cases are securely fastened shut. Like all musicians, he lavishes maniacal care on his instruments. A considerable portion of his personal wealth and affection are bound up in those two rigid cases.
“Have you been here long?”
“No, unfortunately we only got here in time to hear the last two songs.”
“We?”
“Carla’s here with me.”
“She is?”
Those two words contain a great many more. An entire world. Perhaps Lucio is trying to imagine the face of a woman whose voice he has heard, but nothing more.
“The girl with the skin that smells so good.”
I smile. Maybe I was right when I thought what I did about Lucio’s senses. If one fails, the other four rise to the challenge.
“You wouldn’t recognize her now. We’ve added a very nice perfume.”
“French?”
“I know it’s good. I didn’t check its passport.”
“Idiot. I’m friends with an idiot.”
Lucio stands up and reaches out one hand to grab my arm. He finds me and entrusts himself to me.
“There are only two ways for you to redeem yourself in my eyes.”
“How?”
“First, get me a pair of my own that work. Then take me to say hello to that divine creature.”
Sometimes I catch myself thinking that if Lucio had kept his sight, the world would have lost his marvelous and bitter sense of humor. But given the terms of the exchange, I think he would gladly have refrained from sharing that gift of his with the rest of humanity.
I lead him to the table where Carla is waiting for us. Lucio reaches around for a chair.
“Ciao, Lucio. You were fantastic.”
“Ciao, girl. Bravo was right.”
“When he said you weren’t fantastic?”
“No. He doesn’t know a fucking thing about music. But he does know a thing or two about perfume. The perfume you’re wearing is outstanding.”
“He bought it for me, along with a number of other things.”
While they’re talking, I look around, astonished not to see Chico, the young man who usually takes Lucio back and forth between home and work.
“Isn’t your alter ego here tonight?”
My friend puts on a pose with gesture and voice, speaking in a slight falsetto.
“My chauffeur, you mean? No, I gave him an evening to himself.”
“So who’s taking you home tonight?”
Lucio turns serious.
“Chico brought me here tonight, but he can’t drive me home. So the owner of the club said he’d give me a ride.”
Carla beats me to it.
“Come with us.”
I chime in with a favorable o
pinion, though I point out a couple of difficulties.
“You’ll have to put up with some discomfort. The car is packed with bags and packages, but we’ll dig out a space for you.”
“Fine. I’ll take up no more room than a herring. Am I okay as I am, or would you prefer me smoked?”
Carla laughs and we all stand up. We tell the owner of the club about the change in plans; he seems relieved not to have to drive all the way to Cesano Boscone at that time of night. Since Lucio is scheduled to play at the same club tomorrow night, he entrusts the owner with his guitars, asking him to lock the room where he’ll be storing the instruments.
We walk out of the club, leaving the customers and staff dealing with the tail end of the dwindling Milanese nightlife. We walk to the car and a few minutes later we’re three different people traveling down the same road. The whole way, I drive and smoke in silence. I listen as my two passengers talk about music, after Carla has finished an excited description of her afternoon’s shopping.
The nighttime traffic opens its arms to us, the street signs show us the way, and sooner than I expected, the Mini is parked outside the apartment building. We gather our bags and packages and, in spite of the fact that our arms are full and we’re all laughing, I manage to direct Lucio to the front door, open the glass doors, and we all make our way upstairs to the landing.
I open my front door and we finally set down our packages, not heavy but costly, on the floor. The voice catches me by surprise before I can switch on the light.
“You want a cup of coffee?”
I turn and see Lucio standing in the door of his apartment.
Carla and I turn to look at each other. We both know perfectly well that the cup of coffee is strictly a pretext. The aim, and it’s hardly concealed, is to dilute his loneliness with a few spoonfuls of sugar. If I were anyone else but who I am, I’d be in a hurry to get Carla alone. But at times you don’t have the luxury of a choice, in life. The only thing you’re allowed is to choose who you’re going to share your cage with.
A Pimp's Notes Page 13
