Back to Bologna

19

Tony Speranza made his way jauntily along Via Oberdan, a satisfied smile and a smouldering Camel on his lips. Passing a rather chic bar where he was known very well indeed, he turned in and ordered a double espresso and a whiskey. This fine establishment stocked not only Jack Daniels but also Maker’s Mark, and on this occasion Tony decided to indulge himself with a large glass of the latter, even though designer bourbon was a little prissy for a true investigatore privato, strictly speaking.

But he had done the job, even if he hadn’t yet been paid. This was becoming something of a sore point, particularly given the expense of replacing the miniaturised camera that had been stolen along with his beloved M-57 pistol back in Ancona. Nevertheless, he had got the photographs, which was the main thing. The digital shots of Vincenzo and his associates that Tony had taken in the cafe after the Curti memorial service the night before had been printed up on heavyweight A4 paper first thing that morning and delivered by hand to the client together with an itemised bill.

Actually his client had been out of the office when Tony called, but he had handed the sealed envelope, marked ‘Urgent, Private and Personal’, to a receptionist whose looks and manner suggested that her rates would put a high-class hooker to shame, with instructions to hand it to l’avvocato immediately on his return. For form’s sake, he had then flirted a bit with the leggy lovely, who had coyly pretended to be interested only in her work, before returning to the mean streets.

After lunch he would phone Amadori senior and press for immediate payment of the fee they had agreed, as well as his substantial expenses to date, including of course the Maker’s Mark, of which he ordered another glass. In short, everything was great, except for the gnawing sense of existential emptiness that always came over him once a case was closed. How much longer before the day came, as he knew it must, when the moral and physical strain became too much to bear? Tony had been a gumshoe for over twenty years now, ever since the day he was dismissed from the police force after shooting two passersby while failing to arrest a sneak thief who had fled with a pocketful of discount coupons after holding up one of the cashiers in a Conad grocery store. Twenty years was a long time in this filthy trade.

He knocked back the second bourbon and lit another Camel. Hell, he was good for another twenty, as long as his luck held and he didn’t stop a shell from some punk in a speakeasy down by the docks. Actually there weren’t any docks in Bologna, but one of his cases might take him down the road to Ravenna some day. Now there was one tough town. But that was the way it was with this stinking job. You never knew what was coming your way next, except that it wouldn’t be good news.

As if to demonstrate this, he caught sight of something in the big mirror at the rear of the bar, which reflected the front window and the street beyond. He threw some cash at the barman and hustled out. There, about ten metres away, was the unmistakable battered black leather jacket bearing the crest of the Bologna football club on the back. Tony began to follow circumspectly. It was good to see that Vincenzo had started wearing the bugged garment on occasions other than his visits to the stadium. That would make life so much easier if l’avvocato decided to hire Tony for the long-term maintenance service that he always recommended to his clients in the interests of their continuing peace of mind.

The man in front turned left and cut through the side streets to Via Zamboni, Tony keeping a constant ten metres back. Then it was left again, past the church of San Giacomo and the theatre to the university, where the subject ran up the steps and into the main building. At this, Tony shrugged and turned back. He couldn’t possibly keep up a covert tail in that maze of corridors packed with people half his age. What was the point, anyway? Apparently Vincenzo Amadori had decided to start studying again. Fine. That would be some good news that Tony could use to sweeten the pill when he called the kid’s father to demand his money, while the fact that he was aware of it provided conclusive proof that he was tirelessly on the job, fulfilling his promise to provide the assurance of knowing everything, always!