Cosi Fan Tutti

XXIII

Gesualdo was shaking down a small-time scippatore and sneak thief when Sabatino caught up with him. The proceedings had started with Gesualdo reminding Ciro that he was behind with his payments for the para-legal intervention which had kept him out of Poggioreale after being caught in a Carabinieri sting operation designed to clean up the centre for the Gj conference.

Under pressure — a discreet knee in the crotch, a teasing glimpse of a holstered pistol, the pitiless glint in his interlocutor's eyes — Ciro had conceded that there was indeed a substantial discrepancy between the terms mutually agreed at the time (100,000 lire per week for six months) and the actual reimbursements which had been effected 10 lire per week for two months). But it was not him that was at fault, he protested, it was the market.

'They promised us rich pickings once the politicians went home! The tourists were supposed to start coming again, they said. The city was going to be a major holiday destination, its bad old reputation a thing of the past, right? You know what? It's worse than ever! Because they cracked down so hard while the big shots were here, everyone had to make up for the lost income afterwards.

There was a spate of muggings, the foreign press ran scare stories and now there's almost nobody worth robbing in town! I'm sorry, Gesua, but there's only so much I can do. This is a market economy, like they say. When times are bad, we all have to tighten our belts.'

Gesualdo grinned at him.

'You don't need to do that, Ciro. If you don't come up with the cash by the end of the week, we'll tighten your belt for you. So fucking tight that your lungs are sticking out of your mouth like bubble-gum while your intestines fill your pants at the other end. Understand?'

'You'll get the money, no problem! Just give me a couple of days. Trade is starting to pick up again. If only the cops hadn't made a big deal of cleaning up the streets, everything would be just fine.'

Gesualdo nodded.

'Speaking of which, what have you heard about that?'

The thief shifted his ferrety gaze this way and that.

'About what?'

'About "Clean Streets".'

Ciro shrugged hastily.

'Nothing. Nothing at all.'

Gesualdo ran his forefinger along the side of Ciro's throat.

"I just thought I'd mention it/ he said casually. 'Because if you do hear anything, it might help in regard to the arrears we were just talking about. Question of a couple of notches on the belt, so to speak. The capo is in a bit of a snit about this. Don Ermanno was a close associate of his.'

Ciro's expression of terrified confusion grew even more marked.

'But…' he began, and then thought better of it.

'But what, Ciro?'

'Nothing.'

Gesualdo laughed heartily, as though at a shared joke, and embraced the thief. Ciro emitted a loud groan, covered by Gesualdo's laughter, and collapsed in a limp heap on the cobbles. Grasping his ears good-naturedly, Gesualdo hauled him to his feet.

'For the love of Christ!' the thief moaned.

'To every thing there is a season, Ciro,' Gesualdo remarked pleasantly. 'A time to live and a time to die, a time to talk and a time to shut up. This is a time to talk.'

Ciro nodded.

'It's just — forgive me, I'm obviously ill-informed — but I've been told — no disrespect intended.. / Gesualdo stared at the man's sweating face.

'What have you been told, Ciro?'

'Ididn'tbelieveit,understand?Notforamoment,but.. / 'What were you told?'

Ciro swallowed hard.

'Last night over cards, Emiddio 'o Curtiello said that it was Don Gaetano — may God preserve him! — who had given the nod to the whole thing in the first place.'

He stepped back with the look of a gambler who has placed his bet and awaits the verdict of the wheel. Gesualdo looked at him levelly for some time. Then he smiled slowly and nodded.

'Get the money to us by Friday,' he said.

'Friday? Gesu, can't you make it Sunday at least, Gesua.'

A thought seemed to strike him. He reached into his pocket and produced a laminated card which he handed over.

'Here, I lifted this this morning, right outside the Questura!'

Catching the look in Gesualdo's eye, he added hastily, 'The mark had no money to speak of, but this is the genuine article all right. Not one of those cheap fakes they're turning out in Aversa.'

Gesualdo glanced contemptuously at the card in Ciro's hand, and suddenly became very still. He seized it and scrutinized the writing and the picture carefully.

'Keep it as a token of goodwill!' Ciro told him, eager to regain the initiative. 'All you need to do is change the photo and you're an honorary Vice-Questore. Eh, Gesua?

Well, I must be going. Ciaol'

Before Gesualdo could react, he jumped on to his motorbike and roared off. Sabatino, who had arrived a few minutes earlier and had been watching the encounter from a bar on the other side of the street, came over to join his partner.

'I trust you put the fear of God into him,' he said lightly.

Without replying, Gesualdo handed the plastic card to Sabatino, who looked at it with an expression of total shock.

'Holy shit!' he murmured.