Blume had an image in his head of his passport sitting on his bed, pulled out of a drawer along with the stolen cash.
Blume called Faedda on his phone. “There are a few complications on this side. I’ll call you back once I get the paintings.”
Blume snapped shut his phone.
“Give me that money back,” said Paoloni.
Blume fished inside his pocket, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it to Paoloni.
“How much is in there?”
“Five grand.”
“I’ll add another three. They’ll probably start at fifteen. Getting them down to eight shouldn’t be hard. They’re not so good at this sort of thing.”
“So you think you should be the one to get the paintings from them.”
“Can you think of a better person?” said Paoloni. “It’s the only.. ” He stopped as the phone in the apartment trilled and the dog started growling.
“He hates the sound of that phone,” said Paoloni. “The only person who still uses that number is my ex-wife.” He pointed at the growling dog. “Dog says what I think.”
Paoloni reached for the phone on the sideboard, and picked up, rolling his eyes, then turning away so Blume would not have to listen.
The dog ambled over, yawned, stuck his head between Blume’s legs, and snuffled contentedly at his genitals. With one bite, thought Blume, the beast could castrate him in revenge for being abandoned to Paoloni’s care.
“I didn’t think it was possible, but Filomena is worse as a mother than she was as a wife,” said Paoloni, putting down the phone. “Fabio didn’t come home after school and she immediately assumes he’s here with me playing with the PlayStation. That’s the worst she could come up with: video games. If she had any idea what he really gets up to.”
Blume couldn’t call Fabio’s face to mind. What age was the child now-fifteen, sixteen? He asked the only thing he remembered. “Does he still play soccer?”
Paoloni nodded eagerly, pleased to be asked. “He does. As a matter of fact, he’s captain. Not a complete loss, then. And I exaggerate about his behavior. He’s got his act together this year. Gets sevens and eights instead of fours and fives at school. He even said he liked, what was it? Math or science or something improbable.” He hoisted the bag onto his lap. “No point in delaying this thing. You need the paintings back, I can get them. Let’s do it.”
“I’m not sure, Beppe.”
“If you had a better idea you’d have said it by now.”
Blume glanced at his watch. Almost eight. Should he go to Caterina now, or wait for Paoloni to come back with the paintings? Paoloni could take hours.
“Where are you going to get the cash you were talking about?”
“I’ve got some stored away. Don’t you worry about that.”
“Then you call me, soon as you get it done?”
“It could take some time. Also, I don’t want to be caught with you directly afterwards. Wouldn’t do my credibility much- cazzo!” The phone was ringing again. “That woman has no patience.”
Paoloni spoke, alternating hushed tones with raised voice. He made some comforting sounds, then got annoyed, and slammed down the receiver.
“Fabio’s not at any of his friends’ houses, according to his unbalanced mother,” he said. “He doesn’t usually pull this kind of stunt. Like I said, he’s been doing better recently. I’ll kill the little bastard when I get him. Puts his mother through this sort of worry, then she takes it out on me. It’s not what he usually does.”
“He never goes off without telling anyone? I thought all teenagers did that.”
“No,” said Paoloni. “He’s done plenty of shit, but not that. No need, since we always let him go. Personally, I think having friends is better than being good at school. No point in ending up smart and alone, is there? But after this, I’m going to ground him.” He slid an uncharacteristically apologetic note into his tone. “Look, would you just call in and see if there have been any, you know, accidents or incidents in this area?”
Blume took out his phone too quickly, fumbled, and dropped it. “No problem.”
“You look almost as worried as his mother sounds,” said Paoloni.
“Go and get those paintings, Beppe.”
“Maybe I should wait till I get news of Fabio.”
“Go get them now, Beppe. I mean it. The sooner you get them…”
“What? The sooner I get them, the sooner what?”
“The sooner all this is over. I’ll find Fabio for you. I’ll call you when I’ve found him. I’ve got nothing else to do.”
Paoloni stood up, pushed the envelope under his arm, and walked out the room. Minutes later he was back. “You don’t have to worry about paying back the difference.”
“Thanks. I appreciate this. But I’ll get the money back to you.”
“Another thing.” He handed Blume the three notebooks. “No point in keeping these here. If they come looking for them, this will be the second place they’ll look. If I were you, I’d just burn them.”
Blume took the notebooks back without any great pleasure. “Thanks, Beppe.”
“Yeah. Listen, just now you said you would find Fabio… that was a strange way of putting it.”
“What was strange about it? If I find him, you know, maybe a patrol car will spot him on a corner. If I don’t find him, it means he’s back with his mother.”
“Just let me know,” said Paoloni.
They left together. As Paoloni climbed into his car, he said, “I don’t know how long this will take. I’ll call you when I’ve got something.” He paused. “It’s the motorini that scare me most. Death traps. Let me know immediately if there’s been an accident.”
“He’ll be fine,” said Blume.
“Yeah. But let me know, eh?”
Chapter 40
While caterina was washing the dishes, wondering about Blume’s weird self-invitation and dark warnings about staying in, Elia appeared at the doorway and informed her, with wonderment in his voice, that AS Roma had as good a goal average as Inter Milan, even though Inter was eight points ahead in the Championship. Did that strike her as in any way fair?
She feigned interest in this, and was rewarded with a series of statistics demonstrating beyond argument that AS Roma, despite frequent losses, seemed to be just as good as any other team in the Championship or, indeed, Europe.
Warming to his theme, Elia wondered who she thought they should use as the center-forward for the game against Palermo on Wednesday night? She frowned, thinking hard, until he offered a few names and thoughts of his own. She picked a name. Baptista. Elia was amazed. It was exactly the name he had been thinking of. Clearly she was not so completely out of the loop as all that. Now, as regards the defense, was Mexes better than…
When he had finally finished, she told him to go to bed. She went into her bedroom, took her pistol from its hiding place in the closet, loaded it. By the front door she unhooked a framed poster from the wall to reveal a cavity in the wall that housed the electricity meter. She placed the pistol there, and hung up the poster, looking at it for the first time in years. It was an impressionist’s work, showing a beautiful garden. She checked the name of the artist. Camille Pissarro. Probably Italian in origin. All the best artists were Italian.
Caterina looked at her watch. It was a quarter to ten already. Elia had to be in bed by nine-thirty and was usually asleep within twenty minutes or less. They had by unspoken mutual consent abandoned her attempts to read him bedtime stories. Instead, she listened to more soccer facts, while she helped him undress, brush his teeth, and climb into bed. She sat there for a while
stroking his head until he told her to stop. She picked up his trainers and carried them to the shoe cupboard in the hall. They were like two dirty white barges. Size 35. One size smaller than hers.
At a quarter past ten, she went into her son’s room, kissed him on the forehead, noting again how much he sweated in his sleep. Usually she left his door ajar, in case he called out. They liked to remind each other of their company in the apartment. He called out less often now. Tonight she would close it.