Three-Card Monte by Marco Malvaldi, Howard Curtis Page A

hundred yards, turn right and you’re there.”
    Pilade now butted in. “Go that way and you’ll get lost. Listen to me, as soon as you leave here, go straight along the street with the trees. After Caterina Bathing turn right onto the avenue where the hookers are. After two hundred yards, on your right, there’s a shop that sells bicycles. Next to it is the police station.”
    Apart from the fact that the bathing establishment mentioned by Pilade was actually called Catalina, the directions contained one detail that seemed to escape Snijders. Sure enough, he asked for clarification.
    â€œThe avenue where what are?”
    â€œThe ladies,” Rimediotti said, in a drastic attempt to save the situation by resorting to the politically correct. Unfortunately, even though salvaging the dignity of the town, Rimediotti’s gloss did not make the route any more comprehensible. Fortunately, though, Aldo, who was a man of the world and knew all about illicit liaisons, stepped in.
    â€œThe kind you people put in the window.”
    â€œOh, thank you. I think I understand now. Well, have a nice day.”
    â€œYou too,” Ampelio said. “If you happen to be back before one, you’ll still find us all here.”

F IVE
    N ame and surname?” Fusco asked.
    â€œWhat’s your name, please?” Massimo translated.
    â€œ
O-namae wa, onegai shimasu
?” Kawaguchi asked.
    â€œMasayoshi Watanabe.”
    â€œMasayoshi Watanabe.”
    â€œYes, I got it. Masayoshi Watanabe.”
    â€œHow do you write that?” Officer Galan asked.
    It’s going to be a long day, Massimo thought. Me and my big ideas.
    Â 
    At about 7:30 that morning, Massimo had been in the bar with Tiziana, trying to decide what to do with the day. The conference was no longer his problem: the evening before, he had received a phone call from a secretary clearly in a state of panic who had announced to him that the work of the conference had been temporarily suspended by the organizing committee “out of respect for the memory of Professor Asahara,” and that this also included the suspension of the catering service for the breaks in the conference. Out of respect for the memory my ass, Massimo had thought, but had nevertheless considered it wise not to tell the secretary that he knew perfectly well how things stood. Clearly, both inside and outside the conference, there were now those who were in a position to spread the news effectively. In the meantime, though, his week’s schedule had all gone to pot.
    Having planned to spend his mornings and afternoons at the conference, Massimo had asked Tiziana to come in for the whole week, on overtime pay, and so Tiziana had showed up punctually at seven to take over the bar. Punctually and pointlessly, given that Massimo no longer had any outside commitments and given that, the weather being what it was, it didn’t look as if the bar was going to be doing much business anyway. Heedless of the calendar, which boldly showed the date
May 23
, the sky had decided to annoy Pineta and its inhabitants with a nice cold day, the kind of treacherous spring cold that grabs you by the ankles and calves, which are bare of socks because it’s supposed to be summer, and had compounded the insult with one of those dull, persistent drizzles that seem not so much to wet you as to anoint you, not strong enough to make you take an umbrella, but just strong enough to form puddles in which, walking quickly because of the cold, you inevitably end up sooner or later. Be that as it may, since you can curse the sky as much as you want but you can’t change it, what you have to change is your day’s schedule, and this was what Massimo had started to discuss with Tiziana.
    â€œIf you want to rest, I can stay in the bar,” Tiziana had said. “Seeing as I’m here. I think one person will be more than enough today.”
    â€œNo, thanks, I don’t