Cosi Fan Tutti - 5 by Michael Dibdin

moment.
    ‘Maybe. We could look into the car, too. He drove a late model Jaguar, very distinctive.’
    ‘One of the whores I spoke to said he had very particular tastes. Bondage, whipping, drawing blood, that kind of thing. Apparently he used a different woman every time. He blindfolded them and took them to a place he had somewhere near the station where he kept the gear he used for these sessions. They could all remember what the place looked like inside well enough, but none of them has any precise idea where it is.’
    ‘Maybe that’s where he’s hiding out.’
    ‘That’s where I’m going to start, anyway. And you?’
    The other man shrugged.
    “I thought I might look into the car. That’s harder to hide than a man. Probably won’t get anywhere, but it’ll make the time pass more quickly/
    As before, they exchanged a glance of silent collusion.
    ‘I wish I knew what was going on!’ the man in the suit exclaimed in a tone of irritation.
    The other shrugged again.
    ‘We’ll just have to wait and see. It might even be good news, who knows? Maybe there’s been a change of heart.
    At management level, so to speak/
    They got to their feet.
    ‘See you tomorrow, then/ said the elegant man.
    ‘Good hunting/
    ‘You too.’
     
     
    Giochiamo!
     
     
    ‘So is it really beautiful?’
    ‘It has its charms.’
    ‘You’re going to stay there for ever?’
    ‘When’s that? All I know is that in a few more years I can retire, and a few years after that…’
    ‘You never used to be morbid, Aurelio.’
    ‘Blame it on Naples. The place reeks of mortality/
    “I thought it reeked of rancid oil and bad drains.’
    ‘It comes to the same thing in the end.’
    They were sitting at a corner table in a restaurant near Rome’s main railway station. It was called Bella Napoli, whence Gilberto Nieddu’s original question. They had the place to themselves, this being just about its only virtue. The decor - all seashells, mandolins, dusty bottles of undrinkable wine, fishing nets and photographic murals of Vesuvius and the bay - had been applied with a heavy hand, and the food couldn’t begin to redeem it.
    Gilberto had suggested that they stick to pizza, on the grounds that they surely couldn’t screw that up.
    ‘So did you find anything?’ asked Zen, taking another bite which confirmed beyond doubt that, yes, indeed they could.
    Gilberto Nieddu glugged some beer and lit a cigarette.
    ‘It’s a joke! When you called me from Naples, I thought we were talking about some cutting-edge product, so I started calling around. That meant putting on my disguise and creeping out to a bar, of course. Then I had to scare up someone with the equipment to run whatever it was you were bringing/
    He sat back, smoking contentedly.
    ‘And?’ prompted Zen edgily.
    ‘That meant telling Rosa where I was going. One thing my attorney was very clear about was that I must never ever leave home without leaving an accurate itinerary and estimated time of arrival. Apparently some people in my position have been snatched off the street and pressured into doing some deal before their family or lawyer even knows what’s happened…’
    ‘But you didn’t tell Rosa about me?’ Zen interrupted.
    ‘Of course not! We’ve all got our little problems, Aurelio.
    You respect mine and I’ll respect yours.’
    This was true enough, although in reality their problems were of a very different order. Zen’s involved sneaking up to Rome without calling in to visit his mother.
    Since Signora Zen had become a sort of honorary granny to the Nieddu children, this in turn meant seeing Gilberto Nieddu without his wife finding out. If Rosa learned about Zen’s visit, it would inevitably get back to Giustiniana and he would never hear the end of it.
    Gilberto’s problems were altogether more serious. But despite the fact that the Sardinian was one of his oldest friends, Zen found it hard not to feel slightly smug about them. Since leaving the police,