A Pimp's Notes (38 page)

I remember the words he said to me in the Quartiere Tessera, the night I went and fell into his trap.

No, Bravo. I’m a dead man. Just like you are …

But it turns out I’m still alive. I hope I don’t wind up regretting it.

I cross the street. On the opposite sidewalk coming toward me is a young couple. The boy is very skinny, long-haired and wearing an olive drab combat jacket, a perfect substitute for a parka in this season. The girl has frizzy hair and pimply cheeks, and she’ll never be skinny.

Laurel and Hardy, walking arm in arm.

They strike me as beautiful.

Right after we pass one another I come even with the car. I pull open the rear passenger-side door and toss my bag onto the backseat. Then I pull open the front door and get in, next to Milla. He turns his head to appraise my disguise, perhaps making a mental comparison with an identikit that no longer matches my current appearance. He’s wearing a pair of sunglasses, too. He’s tense and nervous. He wishes he were someone else, and somewhere else, and he’s not trying to hide it.

Or maybe he is, but he’s not doing a very good job.

“Jesus, Bravo. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re getting me into?”

I shake my head.

“I’m not getting you into trouble at all. Quite the contrary.”

I take off the hat and toss it into the backseat. I run my hands through my hair. I’m not used to it being so short.

“When this is all over, in the eyes of your superiors you’re going to be the heroic police detective who talked me into giving myself up to the law. You’ll have plenty of money. And if you do as I tell you, you’ll even be set free.”

“Set free from what?”

“From your love story with Tano Casale.”

Something flickers across his face and then it’s gone. So fast that I can’t figure out what it is.

“I don’t know what you have in mind, but if that guy ever decides that I’m plotting something behind his back, I’m a dead man.”

I take off my sunglasses and look at him.

“I’ve been one for a while now. As you can see, it’s really not so bad after all.”

He makes up his mind and starts the engine.

“Where the hell are we going?”

“Piazza Amendola, number five. Next to the taxi stand.”

The car pulls away from the curb. I put my sunglasses back on and get comfortable. We turn left into Via Arsia, heading for the Fiera, Milan’s trade fair. I tell myself again that it’s all over. That nothing can hurt me now, nothing can do me any damage. With what I’ve got in my bag, I’m ready to start doing the hurting.

And I plan to do plenty of damage.

We stop at a red light. At the corner is a pharmacy open on Sundays. A woman with a little girl is pushing the door to go in. My thoughts go back to two people I just met a few hours ago, standing at the front door of an apartment that was a safe haven for a few days. Now it’s just one of the many addresses on the street grid of the city of Milan.

*   *   *

The instant I saw them, I stood up and walked across the room toward them.

The woman didn’t move, she just reached out her hand and pulled the child over to her. I saw her stiffen. Her initial fear and surprise had given way to firmness now. The same firmness that made her leave her husband when she understood that he’d never change. When she decided that her son wasn’t going to grow up in the same home as a convicted felon.

“Who are you, Signore?”

I stopped about an arm’s length away.

“I’m Bravo, a friend of Carmine’s. I assume you’re his wife, Luciana?”

The woman paid no attention to me. Her eyes were searching the interior. Being referred to as Carmine’s wife stopped bothering her years ago. Now it’s just a regrettable fact of life, like the dust on the furniture and the deplorable condition of the apartment. Maybe she’s reliving a time when that furniture belonged to her and the apartment was a little cleaner but her life was a little dirtier.

“Did Carmine rent you the apartment? Why didn’t he change the locks?”

I extended my arms in a gesture that encompassed apartments, door locks, decisions in life.

“I didn’t actually rent it from him. When Carmine…”

I looked over at the little boy as he stood switching his gaze back and forth between me and his mother. At that age kids are vacuum cleaners. They understand much more than we imagine. And the things they don’t understand sometimes remain stamped on their minds and concealed somewhere deep inside. Over time, those things can do much greater damage. So I decided not to utter the word
arrested
in front of him.

“When Carmine had his problem, I just took over the payments on his utilities and condominium fees.”

“Why?”

“Sometimes there are things you do for no good reason.”

“Even if it doesn’t seem like it at first, there’s always a reason.”

She turned disenchanted eyes on me. In them I saw days spent coldly evaluating every person she encountered, to gauge whether they were a hoodlum like her husband or a policeman. Without ever being able to say which of the two categories was more dangerous. But with one rock-solid certainty: both were her enemies. Just a week ago I would have put her away on the shelf of her own fucking business and gone my own way. Now my certainties were undermined by deep fissures and the shelf in question was starting to look precarious. Her certainties, in contrast, however, seemed to have endured very well, because they had been borne out by time and experience.

She didn’t let me add anything more.

“Are you hiding here?”

I shook my head.

“Not anymore. I had some problems, but that’s all taken care of. I was just about to leave.”

“Are you armed?”

“No.”

She must have decided that my voice was sincere and so were my eyes. For that matter, she had surely adopted as her guiding tactic in life not to stick her nose into other people’s business. A rule that is usually only partly a choice and partly something that is imposed upon a person. She picked up her suitcase and pushed the boy into the apartment ahead of her. Then she leaned over him and began tugging his overcoat off. The coat was a little heavy for the season.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t have anyplace else to go. We just got here from Germany. Another tenant in the building who I’ve stayed in touch with told me that the apartment was unoccupied. I’ve always wondered why I was holding on to this key. Now I know.”

The little boy, liberated from his jacket, now felt free to speak.

“Mama, I need to go to the bathroom.”

She took off her jacket and tossed it onto the couch. She was wearing a skirt and a sweater with colors combined according to a lack of better alternatives, rather than a matter of personal taste. I could see she was a little overweight, but she had a nice shape to her. She must have been a pretty girl before life decided to give her some shock therapy.

“We’ll go right now. Come with me.”

She took her son by the hand and led him down the hallway. I waited a few seconds; then I picked up the file folder and followed her. I went into the bedroom. As I listened to the sound of running water, I put on my socks and shoes and pulled my leather jacket out of my travel bag. I did the reverse with all the clothing I’d carelessly scattered around the room. I removed the cash and the lottery ticket from their hiding place and put the cash in the travel bag and the lottery ticket in my wallet. The file was the last item packed into my bag. When mother and son emerged from the bathroom, they walked past my door without a glance at me. I idiot-checked the room, to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. There wasn’t a sign I’d ever been there, aside from the body-shaped hollow on the bed. That would be gone soon enough.

I went back into the living room and set my travel bag down next to Luciana’s suitcase. Someone arrives and someone else leaves. The usual story. With just one difference. The suitcases are always heavier when you come back than when you depart.

I went over to the kitchen door. Luciana was at the sink, filling a glass of water for her boy from the faucet. The child looked at me with dark, joyless eyes. It’s incredible how the melancholy of certain journeys spares nobody.

I spoke to the woman.

“Have you had anything to eat?”

“A sandwich on the train.”

I pointed to the cabinets and pulled open the refrigerator.

“There’s plenty of food here. It’s all canned, but there’s enough for a few days or so.”

Luciana began to inspect the cabinets, examining their contents. The little boy left us and went back to the sitting room, to take possession of this new space.

After she was finished with her inspection, Luciana looked at me. She had a nice face and eyes that must have once been lively.

“Are you hungry? I’d be glad to make a bowl of pasta for you.”

“No, thanks. I’m in a bit of a hurry. I have some things to take care of. I’ll have plenty of time to eat after I’m done.”

The child’s voice came wailing down the hall from the other room.

“Mama, I’m having a nosebleed.”

“Oh, Rosario, not again.”

The woman stepped around me. She hurried to the boy, who was standing with his head tipped back. A rivulet of blood was trickling from his right nostril. She went over to her bag and rummaged around until she found a handkerchief, already dotted with red stains. She squatted down and held it against the little boy’s nose to compress the nostril.

Then she turned to look at me. Her eyes were brimming over with tears. The unmistakable tears of a grieving mother.

“I came back here because the boy is sick. He’s a hemophiliac and he can’t get medical care in Germany because the health service won’t pay for the therapy. He needs injections, and they’re expensive. I don’t have the money.”

She paused. The grit was back, and she was in fighting form again.

“But I’ll get it. If I have to make Carmine sell this apartment. Buying this place was the only smart thing he ever did.”

Another pause. That period must be difficult to think about. Just as certain decisions are difficult to make.

“When I left, I promised myself that I wouldn’t take anything from him ever again. But now things are different. Now I have responsibilities and I’m not really in control of my own life.”

I was afraid to tell her that there was no way that anyone could sell the apartment. The victims’ survivors were civil plaintiffs in the case. The lawsuit for restitution would probably go on indefinitely, but ownership of the apartment was, in practical terms, frozen solid.

Luciana lifted the handkerchief slightly to make sure the nosebleed was over. She wiped away the last traces of blood from her son’s face. Then she hugged him.

“You see? It stopped.”

“Oh, it always stops, Mama.”

“Now that we’re here we’re going to make you all better, so it won’t ever come back again.”

She stood up. Rosario followed her every movement with his eyes.

“Mama, I’m tired. Can I go lie down on the bed?”

“Yes, sweetheart, go lie down. Have a nice nap while Mama makes us something good to eat.”

Luciana took the child by the hand and together they disappeared down the hallway again. Before leaving, the little boy looked me straight in the face for the first time. Then, with a very serious expression, he gestured at me with one hand. I didn’t understand exactly what it meant. But there are times when it doesn’t matter what certain communications mean. It’s enough that they exist.

I went to the phone and called Milla. I gave him the address and told him to be there in one hour. I hung up the phone on his fears and worries. I was sick of being the only one to sow seeds in that field. From now on I’d have company when I did it.

I took some money out of my travel bag and counted out three million lire. I set the bundle of cash on the chest of drawers, exactly where the file folder had been. Maybe Luciana would have turned up her nose if she knew the source of my savings. But she couldn’t afford to be too finicky when she remembered why she needed it. The woman’s voice caught me by surprise, while I was still arranging the bundle of cash.

“Poor little thing, he fell fast aslee…”

She saw the money and fell silent immediately. She looked at me quickly. Her astonishment slowly seeped into her mistrust. Or maybe it was the other way around, I really couldn’t say. Maybe she’d never seen that much money all in one place at the same time. I’m certain that she’d dreamed about it, ever since she discovered that her child was sick.

“That should be enough, at least for the first little while. After that, I’m pretty sure that Rosario is going to get good medical care and you won’t have to sell the apartment.”

Luciana was relieved and afraid at the same time. The way a woman always is when she receives a gift from a man who asks nothing in return.

“Why are you doing this?”

I smiled at her.

“Believe me, there’s no point in your asking me that question. I’m already wondering the same thing.”

She picked up the money, folded it in half, and went to put it in her jacket pocket. I looked at my watch. There was time, all the time I needed. Suddenly I was starving.

“Now, if the offer is still good, I’d be glad to accept that bowl of pasta.”

*   *   *

A sudden jerk corkscrews me out of my thoughts. A guy on a bicycle ahead of us just made a sudden turn without a hand signal. Milla was forced to jam on the brakes to keep from hitting him.

“Would you just take a look at this asshole.”

So I take a look at this asshole. Who hasn’t even noticed that he came this close to having his balls crushed under the tread of a fast-moving whitewall tire and is just placidly pedaling onward, toward the next set of screeching tires and the next furious string of curses. Milla starts up again. With his foot on the accelerator and his litany of questions. I really didn’t expect it to take him this long.

“Bravo, are you going to tell me what happened? A lot of people have been murdered.”

“I know. But I swear to you, I didn’t kill even one of them.”

He waits for more. But I just don’t have it in me.