'In their twenties.'
'Good-looking?'
'Not bad.'
'Well off?'
'Loaded.'
Iolanda sighed languidly.
'So what's the catch? The girls should be falling over themselves to get at them.'
Extending the little finger of his right hand, Zen raised the cup to his lips.
'The catch is that they're already in love. And faithful.
Models of devotion and constancy Since they met their respective fidanzate, neither has so much as looked at another woman.'
The two prostitutes exchanged glances.
'And where do you come in?' asked Libera.
Zen turned his head and spat to one side.
'Those little prigs have been breaking my balls about this for months!' he exclaimed. 'They're just like these hypocritical politicians we have running around now, making out they're some new breed of men, clean, honest and incorruptible, unlike the old shits like us who've been running the country since they were crapping in their nappies. It makes me sick! Gesualdo and Sabatino claim they're not like other men, always checking out the room for something fresh and new. God forbid! Their love is the only one worthy of the name, the purest and most perfect emotion which the world has ever seen and which will endure eternally, etcetera, etcetera.'
'How sweet!' cried Iolanda, placing one hand on her breast.
'You may think so, signorina,' Zen retorted, 'but me and the rest of the lads have had just about as much as we can stand. So we've made a little plan. The two girls this pair are so mad about are out of town for a few weeks, and we aim to put all their fine talk to the test.'
Libera smiled thoughtfully.
'It's intriguing. Definitely more imaginative than our normal line of work.'
'But will it pay as much?' queried Iolanda. 'A girl's got to make a living, you know.'
Zen took a sip of tea and eyed them both.
'I can offer you five hundred thousand each down, and the same again if you succeed.'
'For two weeks' work?' the blonde exclaimed indignantly.
'We can make more than that in a few nights on the street!'
'Not if I bust you for prostitution, tax evasion, and corrupting a minor/ Zen retorted with a smile.
'What minor?'
He shrugged.
'I can easily find one. The city's full of corrupt minors.'
Iolanda pushed her hair back impatiently.
'I don't think it's very nice of you to threaten us.'
Zen laughed insincerely.
'Only joking! If you don't think you're up to the challenge, I can always find someone else. But you two are definitely the most stunning-looking women I've seen so far. If anyone can bring this off, you can.'
He produced the two snapshots which Valeria gave him earlier, showing each couple posed self-consciously against a view of a sunlit beach.
'Meanwhile, here's a look at the competition/ he said.
The two prostitutes scrutinized the photographs closely.
'God, that hair!' cried Iolanda.
'And those clothes!' added Libera.
'Those ghastly ear-rings!'
'That posture!'
'They definitely need a girlfriend to take them in hand 'To take them shopping, too.'
'But the guys are really cute!'
'What a waste!'
Libera looked at Zen.
'It's a deal/ she said.
'So the money's not a problem?'
Iolanda sniffed haughtily.
'It's not a question of money/ 'It's an act of charity/ explained Libera. 'To see two virile young men throw themselves away on a couple of homely figlie 'e mamma like that…'
'It'll be a pleasure to show them what a real woman is like!' said Iolanda.
'But how exactly are we to go about this?' asked Libera.
With a cautious glance all around, Zen lowered his voice and began to outline the details of his plan. Not that anyone was listening. In fact the bar had emptied considerably by now. The travellers had left to catch their trains, the railwaymen had returned to work, and the cleaning crew were on their way out too, apparently in response to a pager which one of them had clipped to the breast pocket of his overalls. Only the elderly whore remained slumped over her table, gazing morosely into her glass of wine.
The street cleaners climbed into their orange truck, which drove off along the main avenue for some distance before turning into a side-street riddled with deep potholes.
The only illumination here, apart from the truck's headlights, came from the open fires of the prostitutes spaced at intervals along the pavement. And one of them, at least, appeared to be doing some business. A large saloon was parked at the kerb near her pitch, the engine still running. From the driver's window, a man beckoned to the thin, slight woman leaning against the wall at the corner. With an odd gesture, half-shrug and half-wave, she walked over to the car.
About fifty yards farther back another car stood beside the kerb, its lights off and the engine silent. It might at first sight have appeared to be the scene of a similar encounter, but one which had progressed beyond the stage of negotiations. It would have taken a very keen observer to notice that the car had only one occupant, who was sitting bolt upright behind the wheel, looking straight ahead, with occasional glances in the rear-view mirror. As the garbage truck came into view he switched on the ignition and pumped the brake pedal three times.
The headlights behind flicked momentarily to high beam.
Meanwhile the skinny prostitute and her prospective client had concluded the preliminaries. She got into the back seat of the car, a luxury import of some kind, which immediately pulled away from the kerb. The street was deserted and the truck had plenty of room to pass, but it unaccountably failed to pull over, ramming the rear of the car with a jarring shock and a loud metallic crunch.
The driver of the saloon got out, waving his arms and exclaiming angrily. A middle-aged man conventionally dressed in a suit and overcoat, he was clearly both shocked and hopping mad, as well he might be. Even a superficial inspection of the damage was enough to show that some extremely expensive bodywork was involved here. The crew of the truck also descended from their cab, three of them all together.
'What the fuck do you think you were doing?' the first man shouted angrily. 'Are you trying to pretend you didn't see me? If you assholes lose nothing but your jobs, you can count yourselves lucky!'
And so on, for some considerable time. When he finally paused for breath, one of the crew leaned forward confidentially.
'I understand how you feel, dottore. The fault was entirely ours, no question about it. On the other hand, it wouldn't do your reputation any good if it were known that you were hanging around an area like this at this time of night, right? So why don't we try and work out some mutually agreeable solution?'
The car driver started to splutter some suitably crushing reply, but broke off as the logic of the other man imposed itself. Everyone in Naples knew that single men in smart cars only came down here at night for one reason.
His wife wouldn't be too happy, nor her influential family, to say nothing of his so-called 'allies' in the political arena. And as for the press, they'd have a field day, particularly if one of his former partners in pleasure should take it into her head to earn a hefty bonus by detailing some of the more esoteric requests with which, for a fat fee, she had reluctantly complied.
