'How much?'
'We can talk money later,' Pasquale said expansively, glancing in the rear-view mirror. 'Nothing excessive, though. And think of all the trouble you'll save yourself.'
Zen did so.
'All right/ he said, holding up the plastic bag. 'But I already owe you for this/ Pasquale shrugged.
'Forty-eight hours, same as cash. After that I might need to apply a little interest, just to cover my outgoings. But if you want to run a line of credit, I can get you the best terms in town. What name would you like on the card?'
As they sped down the slope of the Vomero, Zen replied that his own name would do nicely, thank you very much, and then mentioned the other little matter which he was hoping that Pasquale might be able to help him with. But Pasquale did not seem to be listening to Zen's story of a missing American sailor with his usual deferential concentration.
His replies were perfunctory and abstracted, and he kept glancing in the rear-view mirror. His driving had become uncharacteristically erratic, too, involving apparently unmotivated stops, last-minute turns down side streets, and several complete rotations of a roundabout.
'Have you got an escort, duttd?' he asked at length.
'An escort?'
'Couple of men detailed to follow you about in a red Alfa. No, don't look round!'
Zen shook his head.
'Hmm/ said Pasquale.
They drove along the seafront to Via Partenope, where Pasquale abruptly pulled up in front of one of the luxury hotels facing the bay.
'Get out here/ he told Zen. 'Make as though you're paying me off. Then go into the hotel and walk straight through the lobby to the rear exit. I'll meet you there.'
Bemused but compliant, Zen got out and pretended to hand Pasquale some money through the window. On the other side of the street, a red Alfa Romeo had come to a stop opposite them. Zen turned and entered the hotel while Pasquale roared away, ignoring the pleas of a waiting couple who needed a ride to the airport. Through the revolving door, a wide strip of carpet led across a marble lobby with lots of uncomfortable-looking reproduction antique chairs. A doorman in livery loomed. Zen handed him a 10,000-lire note and pointed outside, where the youth in dark glasses and the Lacoste shirt was trying to cross against the ferocious traffic.
'That rent boy's trying to blackmail me,' Zen whispered.
'He's threatening to tell my wife if I don't pay him twice what we agreed. Can you kindly stop him pestering me?'
'No problem, sir,' the man replied suavely. 'But in future, kindly consult the concierge. He can provide someone whose discretion is guaranteed, twenty-four hours a day, with room service if desired/ As Zen retreated towards the lifts, the doorman moved to block the path of the youth in the Lacoste shirt, who was now marching towards the revolving door. But instead of retreating in awe of this formidable personage, the intruder merely paused briefly and murmured something in his ear. The effect was electric. The doorman appeared to shrink visibly, like a leaking balloon. His look became glassy and his limbs seemed unsteady.
The youth walked by as though he were not there and ran swiftly past the registration desk and around the corner to the stairs and lifts. The right-hand lift was open and ready for use, but its companion, according to the illuminated indicator, was ascending past the second floor to come to rest at the third. The youth sprinted up the stairs, taking the shallow carpeted steps four at a time.
Just beyond the lifts and the stairs, an illuminated green sign suspended from the ceiling read 'Emergency Exit'. Below the sign was a closed door fitted with a metal push-bar. On the other side stood Aurelio Zen, looking down the narrow alley behind the hotel. At the far end, a yellow Fiat taxi was just turning in from the main street.
'Who do you reckon they are, duttd?' asked Pasquale once they were under way again.
'I can't imagine. Probably they mistook me for someone else. Anyway, we've lost them, thanks to you. Now then, as I was saying, I have another commission for you.'
He handed Pasquale the poster of John Viviani he removed earlier from the notice-board at the police station.
'This man went missing yesterday. Run off copies of this poster and distribute them to as many of your colleagues as possible. If any of them recognize him, and above all if they pick him up, have them get in touch. I'll make it worth their while.'
Pasquale nodded absently.
'Very good, duttd. Just the same, I wish we knew who those two in the Alfa were.'
He glanced suspiciously at a car coming in the oncoming lane. It was also red, and the two men aboard were young and tough-looking. But the car was some sort of flashy import, the men were dressed differently, and, in any case, they were going at high speed in the opposite direction and showed no interest whatsoever in the yellow taxi.
XIX
'It worked, didn't it?'
'Oh, sure! If you'd held her feet over the gas burner, that would have worked too. Jesus!'
'The woman was obviously frightened/ 'I don't blame her, with some maniac holding a gun to her son's head!'
'For Christ's sake, Gesua! I mean she was frightened of talking, frightened of getting involved. So I gave her something to be even more frightened of, and it worked. As for the kid, he never even knew what was happening. He thought it was all a big game.'
Gesualdo shook his head and said nothing.
'Anyway, since when have you been so particular about the methods we use?' demanded Sabatino. 'We shouldn't be driving around in this goddamn Jaguar, for a start-off.
It's about as conspicuous as a carnival float, and we now know that it's hot as well. The last thing we want is someone tying us into the Vallifuoco hit/ 'On the contrary, that's exactly what we want.'
Sabatino shrugged and stared out of the window.
'She said it was a refuse truck, right?' he said at length.
'What?'
'The vehicle that rammed them from behind before Don Ermanno got a chance to do the same or worse to her.
They did a nice job fixing the damage, by the way/ 'Lorenzo only hires the best. He has to, given his clients and turn-around times. Anyway, what about the truck?'
'Two things. First off, what the hell was a city garbage crew doing around there at that time of night? Those guys knock off strictly at six, even assuming they bother to show up for work at all.'
Gesualdo considered this in silence.
'And the second thing?' 'That shooting last night on Via Duomo/ said Sabatino.
'We damn nearly got caught up in that ourselves, you know. Talk about luck. We must have passed the spot just before it happened. Anyway, that was a refuse truck too.'
'So?'
'So, what's this new terrorist group calling itself?'
Gesualdo snapped his fingers.
''Clean Streets'. Christ, I think we may be on to something!'
He frowned.
'But we won't be the only ones. The police are bound to make the same connection. It's just too
