'Gesualdo! Sabatino!' he cried with faked enthusiasm.
'How's it going?'
The taller one gave him a brief expressionless glance.
'You'll have to ask Giosue/ he said. 'He's the one who knows how it's going.'
The old man shrugged apologetically.
'Eh! I haven't seen him for a long time.'
'How long?' demanded Gesualdo.
'Must be a week or more. He didn't say why. Just stopped coming in.'
'Maybe he lost his appetite/ said Sabatino, grabbing a calzone.
'Who knows?' replied the old man, still mechanically rubbing away with the towel. 'It can't be the food. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? You guys like it, right?'
Gesualdo surveyed the shop with a look of bored distaste.
'Sure we like it. We like it just fine. The problem is that nobody really gives a damn what we like or don't like.
They just don't care. It's a shame, but there you go. What they care about is what someone else likes. And I can tell you right now that he isn't going to like it when we tell him Giosue hasn't been around recently. Especially if it turns out he has. He really wouldn't like that. Not even a little bit.'
The old man nodded vigorously.
'It's true, I swear it! I haven't seen him, haven't heard anything. If I do, I'll let you know right away'
'You do that/ said Gesualdo. 'Otherwise your insurance rates could soar sky-high. Right, Sabati?'
'That's right/ agreed the other man through a mouthful of the stuffed pizza. 'See, we have two kinds of rates. Low risk and high risk, we call them in the trade. Up to now this establishment has always been regarded as a low risk, but if it turns out that you're selling ice-cream on the side, it might become necessary to reassess your classification.'
'Ice-cream is a very unstable substance/ Gesualdo observed solemnly. 'If it's not handled properly, the results can be disastrous. Remember what happened to Ernesto's workshop, just down the street here? The blaze was so intense they never did figure out how many Moroccans he had cooped up in there. Luckily for us, his insurance had just lapsed.'
He turned to his companion.
'Oh, Sabati! Still feeding your face? We've got calls to make. Let's go!'
The men walked out into the crowded street, leaving the old man and his wife alone. They went about their work silently, avoiding each other's eyes.
VI
'Stop here.'
The driver turned.
'You're not planning to have her in the cab, are you?
That'll cost you plenty.'
Aurelio Zen eyed him coldly.
'I'll pay what's on the meter when we get back.'
'Eh no, dottorel What am I supposed to do while you're going at it? Stand around in the street and catch my death of cold? To say nothing of the fear of getting mugged. This is a dangerous area, you know.'
A thought struck him.
'Unless you want me to stay. Is that it, duttd? You want me to watch while you…'
Zen got out of the taxi, leaving the door open, and walked over to the open fire of broken-up fruit crates blazing at the street corner. One of the two prostitutes stationed there, a brunette with long slender legs, was feeding the flames from a pile of wood stacked nearby. The other, a busty blonde, watched Zen approach with a keen appraising look.
'Good evening, ladies/ he said.
The brunette straightened up and looked at him with an expression of amusement.
'What exquisite manners!' she enthused. 'And a very good evening to you, cummendatb.'
'What can we do for you?' demanded the other. 'It's a hundred for a one-off in the car, or a hundred and fifty per hour elsewhere, minimum two hours. And this week only we have a special package, you can have both of us at a twenty per cent discount.'
Zen flashed his identity card briefly.
'I'm with the police.'
The brunette fluttered her eyelashes.
'That's OK. We fuck anybody/ 'I've got a proposition I want to put to you/ Zen went on. 'Is there somewhere we can talk?'
'You want to talk about it?' the blonde exclaimed in a tone of mock alarm. 'I think we'll pass. This is just too kinky.'
Zen opened another fold of his wallet and extracted two banknotes. He handed one to each of the prostitutes.
'Here's a little earnest money. If you don't like my proposal, you can keep this for your time and trouble. If you do, there's more where this came from.'
The brunette hoisted her skirt, revealing a further astonishing length of leg, and tucked the banknote under the strap of her suspender belt. She leaned over and murmured something in dialect to the blonde. After a rapid exchange, she turned back to Zen.
'There's a bar about four blocks from here. We can talk there.'
Zen pointed to the fire.
'What about your pitch? You want to arrange for someone to keep an eye on it for you?'
The blonde smiled.
'That won't be necessary.'
'Not after what happened to that newcomer who tried to muscle in while we were out of town one weekend/ the brunette explained as they walked over to the waiting cab. 'She still limps quite heavily, I understand.'
'And you know what?' the blonde put in. 'The bitch is making better money now than she ever did before.
There's no accounting for taste.'
'Or the lack of it.'
The bar was a large, anonymous place near the station, patronized at this hour by a few late travellers, a group of railwaymen, a municipal cleaning crew and a battered, bloated woman of indeterminate age who eyed Zen's companions with a piercing mixture of envy and malicious contempt.
Zen ordered a mint tea, the brunette an espresso, the blonde a hot chocolate. The only tables had been taken by the travellers and the hostile older woman, so they headed for a quiet corner above a glass display case where a few sad sandwiches lay curling up on metal trays under damp towels.
'We'd better introduce ourselves/ the brunette announced abruptly. 'I am Libera.'
Tolanda/ murmured the blonde, peeking down at her extensive cleavage as though for confirmation.
Zen hesitated an instant.
'Alfonso Zembla/ he said.
'So let's hear your proposition, Signor Zembla.'
Zen removed the tea-bag from his cup.
'In a word, I want you to seduce two young friends of mine.'
Libera downed her coffee in two large gulps.
'They're young, you say?'
