‘Palmo, if you stick your fingers under my nose while I’m driving one more time, I’m sending you back to your parents in Portomaggiore, and believe me, I’ll kick you all the way there. If I find out that you touched that doughnut of yours before shoving your fingers under my nose, I’m going to pull the fucking thing off!’
‘You’d almost be doing me a favour. At least I’d bleed to death and there’s an end to it! Every month, up and down, up and down, and when we find a room then that’s fine, but when you have to sleep in the truck, it really hurts the back! I’m thirty-three, and if I’m not careful I’ll be ready for the scrapheap before I make it to thirty-four. But can’t we tell Bianco to change our route? We’ve been going back and forth to Naples for months now, it’s a long way, and there’s always the risk that the cops or the customs will sniff out the fact that the boxes have double bottoms, that there’s half a metre between the wall and the cabin. Why can’t we go to France instead? I’d be more than happy to swap with Spanézz!’
‘Palmo, I haven’t got the papers you need to go abroad, I’ve got charges pending. That route would be even riskier. Spanézz doesn’t have any charges pending.’
‘How come? Doesn’t he carry the same stuff as us, watches, cigarettes, lighters.?’
‘Palmo, you really don’t understand a thing, do you? “Charges pending” is when you have a trial coming up but they haven’t passed sentence. I’ve still got two or three little things that the judge isn’t willing to forget about, and there’s no way out, at least until Martelloni, my lawyer, resolves the situation.’
‘And have I got any charges pending?’
‘No, what have you got to do with anything? You’ve never even been a partisan! And don’t worry about this smuggling until Bianco greases the right wheels.’
‘Fine, and how come Spanézz doesn’t have any problems? He was a partisan too, wasn’t he?’
‘What’s with all the questions? When I drive you’re always quiet as a mouse, nearly sends me to sleep, but today you’re like a public prosecutor!’
‘Come on, Ettore, I know you’re tired of going to the South all the time. Why don’t we ask Bianco to change our route, where’s the problem?’
‘The problem is that I have to take care of business in Naples, ok? The others are getting impatient, and the ones down there aren’t easy; if they get impatient they’re quite capable of getting the knives out, and bang, you’re finished, kaput, pushing up the daisies! And Spanézz was in a socialist brigade, he might have fired the odd shot. I was with Comandante Lupo, in the real war, you see? If you want to go with Spanézz, just do it, what’s holding you back?’
‘Spanézz is a ball-breaker, he’s a terrible fusspot, he corrects me the moment I open my mouth, he starts laughing even if I’ve said something serious, then he says, “You really are from Ferrara, aren’t you!” One of these days I’m going to knock his brains out.’
‘That’s enough, now. Spanézz goes his way, we go ours.’
‘You’re right, fuck him! But how did we get on to Spanézz?’
‘You were the one who brought it up, you were complaining that you didn’t care much for southerners.’
‘So do you like them?’
‘There are some serious ones. The American, Trimane, he’s serious.’
‘He gives me the creeps. Yeah, he’s serious all right, serious as death. And the other one, the one he mentions from time to time, as though to say, “If you don’t fall into line I’m going to fetch him in”?’
‘“Cement” they call him. I’ve never seen him. He may not even exist, he’s like the bogeyman.’
‘So tell me, what are we taking on today?’
‘Pharmaceuticals, painkillers, I don’t know how many boxes. Ten or twelve of Wilkinson razors. Lighters. French cigarettes. That guy from Frosinone says there’s also one of those modern things, a television.’
‘No idea what they are, they say it’s like a cinema, but it’s small and fits in your house. Any idea who you’ll sell it to?’
‘We aren’t going to sell it, we’re not even taking it to Bologna; we’re dropping it off with someone near Rome, who’ll pay us for our trouble.’
‘Pay us: does that mean the money’s ours, or do we have to give it to Bianco?’
‘No, it’s ours. Fifteen thousand, he’s giving us. We’ll go fifty — fifty, even if you have been getting right up my nose today.’
‘It must be a stolen television.’
‘Nothing to do with us.’
‘Ok.’
‘Ok.’
‘So what are these charges pending?’
‘Just you go and cream your doughnut.’
Chapter 9
Naples, 9 May
‘Don Viciè, you’ve got to tell us everything, ok? This is an important matter, Don Vincenzo, some mistakes have been made that never should have been made.’
Vincenzo Donadio, hands resting on the counter, listened intently to Salvatore Pagano’s doleful voice. What unsettled the twenty-stone, five-foot-seven bulk of Don Vincenzo was the big man standing next to the boy, silent, the knot of his tie protruding, hands folded in front of his balls.
‘Young man, have you any idea how many things shouldn’t have happened between the war and now? Too many to mention! And you know why? Because here, in this accursed and forgotten land, things that shouldn’t happen are always happening, let’s not even talk about it! There’s no point going down in the morning, opening up the workshop, working your arse off, sweating your way through the day, who gives a fuck, with all due respect, petty thieves are the only ones who want to do anything, and they just want to go skirt-chasing, again with all due respect.’
‘Don Vincenzo, the television. ’
‘What did I just say? You have no idea how much trouble I’m in. Trouble! And it wasn’t just for me, that massive great thing that weighs a ton, you have no idea; it was a present I was going to give to a friend of my granddaughter’s, you know, they say they’re going to be showing football matches on it, but the thing didn’t work, and I’d planned to take a look inside, open it up and see if there was any chance of fixing it, and if there wasn’t, then fine, I’d get my mate on the case. So I’d put it on the counter, there, just at the side, it weighed a ton, you’ve no idea!’
‘Um. And did you fix it?’ The mute had spoken.
A stupid question, Don Vincenzo thought, but the tone of voice and the physical appearance of the questioner demanded maximum respect.
‘Certainly not, certainly not, sir. I had put it up there because it was Saturday evening, positively planning to sort it out on Sunday, the day of rest. And on Sunday morning they come and call me, Don Viciè, come quick, they’ve broken into your shop, they broke the lock, and I went running, if you can call it running what with these legs and all that they have to hold up, that much is obvious, but they’d got the television, the bastards! Perhaps I should have put a sign on it saying “out of order”, who knows!’
‘Don Viciè, have you no idea who it might have been? Maybe someone who doesn’t like you, maybe some lowlife in financial difficulties; please try, Don Vincenzo, please!’
Salvatore Pagano pleaded. Salvatore Pagano begged.
Salvatore Pagano implored.
‘Hmm, what should I say. Vincenzo Donadio has no enemies, big or small. If you give respect, you get respect back. Don’t stir things up. Don’t poke your nose in where it isn’t wanted. Let these be the commandments of Vincenzo Donadio. Having said that, thieves and villains are as thick on the ground hereabouts as the locusts in the Bible! In this street alone there are four or five: Pinhead, the Korean, Peppino the Creep. ’