A Pimp's Notes by Giorgio Faletti

emerge from the office and into the warehouse. While I was busy negotiating with Tano Casale and getting myself beaten up by Tulip, more people have shown up. Now the roulette table is almost completely concealed by the crowd of male and female players clustering around it. For the same reason, I can barely see the craps table, and I notice that they’ve set up another blackjack table. This line of business must bring in a fortune. A safe and risk-free source of revenue, every night on earth that God grants us. The world is teeming with people willing to lose the deed to their house at a roulette table. Moreover, in the specific case in question, alongside the sheer thrill of gambling is the added charge of doing so in a way that’s against the law. Though I’m pretty sure that Tano, as far as that goes, has arranged for all the necessary protections.
    Everything that needs to be said between us has been said. The boss waves his hand good-bye and goes over to Menno, who’s facing the croupier at the head of the roulette table. I see Micky excuse himself from his conversation with an elegant laughing blond woman; he leaves her and walks over to them. They chat. Then my blond friend heads in my direction, while the other two leave through a door in the far wall, followed by a third man who must be their bodyguard.
    “What the fuck are you doing here?”
    The voice, with a heavy Milanese accent, comes out of nowhere. A second later I’m looking at Daytona, large as life, wiping his face with a handkerchief. He must be on a bad losing streak. When he’s sweating at the card table it means that the goddess of fortune has taken off her blindfold, but only to hand it to him so he can mop his brow.
    I doubt it would be wise to tell him the real reason for my presence at the Township of Opera Scrapyard Casino. I come up with a wisecrack, just to take his eye off the ball.
    “I dropped by to make sure you didn’t gamble away your underwear, too.”
    “Then you got here too late. I lost my undies a while ago, along with everything else.”
    To judge from his red face, he must have dropped quite a bundle. But I don’t think he’s hit bottom yet. I can see the watch is still there on his wrist.
    As we are exchanging these wisecracks, Micky comes over to join us. He and Daytona know each other, though it’s not like they’re so fond of each other that they’re about to jump up and do the flamenco on one of the tables. In fact, Micky talks to me and ignores Daytona entirely, as if I were there alone.
    “Everything okay?”
    “Everything’s okay. I want to thank you.”
    “For what? When you want to leave, let me know.”
    Daytona is an openly avowed loser, with regularly thwarted ambitions of moving up to the next level. He saw the scene with the blond woman. He knows that Micky is one of Tano’s favorites, so he unfurls the servile tone of voice he uses when he wants to ingratiate himself with someone.
    “If you want to stay here, I’ll be glad to drive Bravo back.”
    Micky looks at him and then looks at me. He cocks an eyebrow.
    “Is that a problem for you? I have something to do and it would sure help me out.”
    “No problem.”
    “Great. See you around.”
    He leaves us and swoops back down on his prey. When all is said and done, this too is a fair game. I give and in exchange I am given. The young man is offering for sale exactly what that blond woman wants. Events will determine whether the price was too high or too low. And in the final analysis, as always, it’s their own fucking problem.
    Daytona rubs his hands together, with the crafty look of somebody who’s just pulled off a considerable public relations coup.
    “So, shall we go?”
    I head out the door I came in by. He follows me with his swaggering gait, belly protruding from the dark blue jacket that once fit him. We get outside and the guard standing watch observes us as we pass by him, without changing expression and without offering a