'Samurai.'
Tano opened his arms, as if wanting to embrace the man standing before him.
'What a pleasure to meet the famous Inspector Montalbano, personally in person.'
Montalbano decided to dispense with the ceremonies and get straight to the point, just to put the encounter on the right footing.
'I'm not sure how much pleasure you'll get from meeting me, sir.'
'Well, you've already given me one.'
'Explain.'
'You called me sir. That's no small thing. No cop, not a single one and I've met a lothas ever called me sir.'
'You realize, I hope, that I'm a representative of the law, while you are a dangerous fugitive charged with several murders. And here we are, face-to-face.'
'I'm unarmed. How about you?'
'Me too.'
Tano threw his head back again and gave a full-throated laugh.
'I'm never wrong about people, never!'
'Unarmed or not, I have to arrest you just the same.'
'And I am here, Inspector, to let you arrest me. That's why I wanted to see you.'
He was sincere, no doubt about it. But it was this very sincerity that put Montalbano on his guard, since he couldn't tell where Tano wanted to go with this.
'You could have come to police headquarters and turned yourself in. Here or in Vig, it's the same thing.'
'Ah, no, dear Inspector, it is not the same thing. You surprise me, you who know how to read and write. The words are not the same. I am letting myself be arrested, I am not turning myself in. Go get your jacket and we'll talk inside. I'll open the door in the meantime.'
Montalbano took his jacket from the olive tree, draped it over his arm, and entered the house behind Tano. It was completely dark inside. The Greek lit an oil lamp and gestured to the inspector to sit down in one of two chairs beside a small table. In the room there was a cot with only a bare mattress, no pillow or sheets, and a glass- fronted cupboard with bottles, glasses, biscuits, plates, packets of pasta, jars of tomato sauce, and assorted tin cans. There was also a wood-burning stove with pots and pans hanging over it. But the inspectors eyes came to rest on a far more dangerous animal than the lizard sleeping in the glove compartment of his car: this was a veritable poisonous snake, a machine gun sleeping on its feet, propped against the wall beside the cot.
'I've got some good wine,' said Tano, like a true host.
'All right, thanks,' replied Montalbano.
What with the cold, the night, the tension, and the two-plus pounds of mostaccioli he wolfed down, he felt he could use some wine.
The Greek poured and then raised his glass.
'To your health.'
The inspector raised his own and returned the toast.
'To yours.'
The wine was something special; it went down beautifully, and on its way gave comfort and heat.
'This is truly good,' Montalbano complimented him.
'Another glass?'
To avoid the temptation, the inspector gruffly pushed the glass away.
'Let's talk.'
'Let's. As I was saying, I decided to let myself be arrested'
'Why?'
Montalbanos question, fired point-blank, left the other momentarily confused. After a pause, Tano collected himself:
'I need medical care. I'm sick.'
'May I say something? Since you think you know me well, you probably also know that I'm not someone you can fuck with.'
'I'm sure of it.'
'Then why not show me some respect and stop feeding me bullshit?'
'You don't believe I'm sick?
'I do. But don't try to make me swallow this bullshit that you need to be arrested to get medical help. I'll explain, if you like. You spent a month and a half at Our Lady of Lourdes Clinic in Palermo, then three months at the Gethsemane Clinic of Trapani, where Dr. Amerigo Guarnera even operated on you. And although things today are a little different from a few years ago, if you want, you can find plenty of hospitals willing to look the other way and say nothing to the police if you stay there. So it's not because youre sick that you want to be arrested.'
