without once looking up, then felt the need for a little rest. He decided to go outside and smoke a cigarette. Out on the sidewalk, he stuck his hand in his pocket, searching for cigarettes and matches. Nothing. He’d forgotten them at home. In their place was the tie he’d selected, green with little red dots. He shoved it back in his pocket at once, looking around like a thief who’d just stolen a purse. Christ! How had such an ignoble tie found its way into his wardrobe? And why hadn’t he noticed its colors when he put it in his pocket? He went back inside.
“Cat, see if there’s anyone here who can lend me a tie,” he said as he passed him on the way to his office.
Catarella turned up five minutes later with three ties.
“Whose are they?”
“Torretta’s”
“The same guy who lent his glasses to Riguccio?”
“Yessir.”
He chose the one that least clashed with his grey suit. After another hour and a half of signing, he’d managed to finish the stack. He looked around for the briefcase in which he normally put his papers when he went to meetings. He turned his office upside down looking for it, cursing the saints, but to no avail.
“Catarella!”
“Your orders, Chief!”
“Have you by chance seen my briefcase?”
“No sir, Chief.”
He had almost certainly taken it home and left it there.
“See if anyone in the office—”
“Right away, Chief.”
He returned with two almost new briefcases, one black, the other brown. Montalbano chose the black.
“Where’d you get them?”
“Torretta, Chief.”
Had this Torretta opened some kind of emporium inside the police station? He thought for a minute about going to see him at his desk, then decided that he didn’t give a damn. Mimi Augello came in.
“Gimme a cigarette,” said Montalbano.
“I stopped smoking.”
The inspector looked at him, flabbergasted.
“Did your doctor forbid it?”
“No, it was my own decision.”
“I see. Have you switched to cocaine?”
“What’s this bullshit you’re saying?”
“It’s not bullshit, Mimi. Nowadays they’re passing very severe laws against smoking, practically persecuting smokers and copying the Americans yet again. But at the same time there’s more and more tolerance shown for cocaine addicts. After all, everybody uses the stuff, undersecretaries, politicians, businessmen . . . The fact is that if you smoke a cigarette, the guy next to you can accuse you of poisoning him with secondhand smoke, whereas there’s no such thing as secondhand cocaine. In short, cocaine causes less social damage than smoking. How many lines do you snort a day, Mimi?”
“Got your dander up today, I guess. Letting off steam?”
“A little.”
What the hell was happening? Catarella getting names right, Mimi turning virtuous . . . Inside the microcosm that was the Vigata Police headquarters, something was changing, and this too was a sign that it was time to go.
“I have to go to a meeting at the commissioner’s this afternoon. I also asked to speak with the commissioner in private afterwards. I’m turning in my resignation. You’re the only one who knows. If the commissioner accepts it, I’ll tell everyone this evening.”
“Do whatever you want,” Mimi said rudely, getting up and heading to the door.
Then he stopped and turned around.
“For your information, I stopped smoking because it could hurt Beba and the baby on the way. As for resigning, you’re probably right to leave. You’ve lost your spark, your muscle tone, your irony, your mental agility, and even your meanness.”
“Fuck you, Mimi, and get me Catarella!” the inspector yelled as Mimi left.
Two seconds were all it took for Catarella to materialize.
“Your orders, Chief.”
“See if Torretta has a soft pack of red Multifilters and a lighter.
Catarella seemed unfazed by the request. He disappeared, then reappeared with the cigarettes and lighter. The inspector gave him the money and went out wondering if the Torretta Emporium had any socks, as he would soon be needing some. Once he hit the street, he felt like having a proper cup of espresso. In the cafe next to the station, the television, as usual, was on. It was twelve-thirty, time for the TeleVigata midday news. Anchorwoman
