“Still no hair, Luis?” he said sympathetically, then turned his attention to Orange Glasses who was surveying faraway rooftops with regal indifference. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
No reply.
“Ah, pardon,” said Grattapaglia, putting a real French accent into the word. “You speak shqiptar, right?”
The gaze moved down from the rooftops and locked on Grattapaglia’s face. He had eyes like a carrion crow. Caterina was glad she was not receiving the stare.
Grattapaglia, however, seemed to find the stare funny. After beaming at the face in front of him for a while, he reached over and gently removed the orange glasses, put them on the metal table. She felt the other two shifting outwards, away from the center, and she did the same.
“Hey,” said Grattapaglia, “maybe you can help me. I’m looking for Albanian translators. We can hardly cope, all these Albanian pimps and housebreakers. We looked everywhere for an Albanian teacher. Can’t seem to find one. My girlfriend here says there’s no such thing, says you can’t teach Albanians anything. Unless it involves goats.”
The Albanian kept his movements measured as he turned and studied Grattapaglia’s face, as if previewing a lingering death scene. Then he said, “She’s not your girlfriend. You’re married. Remember that next time you insult me.”
Grattapaglia raised an imaginary glass. “ Gezuar, my friend. Danilo!” he roared as the bartender passed. “Sit down here.”
The bartender sat down, his eyes wary.
“There have been muggings in our area,” said Grattapaglia. “Now I distinctly recall telling people a while ago that these muggings had to stop. But they didn’t, did they?”
The Albanian yawned.
“And now it’s too late. Stopping is no longer good enough. We need the fucker who’s been doing them, and we need him fast.”
Caterina looked at the faces of the men around the table. None of them seemed to be taking in a word that Grattapaglia was saying. They had all assumed the expression of commuters on a crowded train. Even the hostility was gone.
“Hear about the Indian guy and his kid got killed?” said Grattapaglia.
It would seem that no one had. But Grattapaglia talked on regardless. “I wouldn’t want to be the guys who did that. Dead on Arrival, sometime tomorrow. Just you wait.”
“I thought you wanted to talk about the muggings, not the dead Indian and his kid,” said Danilo.
“Who says they’re not connected?”
“Look, I’ve got work to do,” said Danilo, making as if to get up.
“Hold on, Danilo. Inspector, show the gentlemen the photographs. Now these, you may be interested to learn, have nothing to do with the muggings, or the hit-and-run. We have so much shit on our plate we need you guys to help us eat it.”
Caterina put the photos of Treacy and Emma on the table. The Albanian glanced at them for a moment, stood up, picked up his glasses, and wandered off, dead casual, like he had just now thought of it. Grattapaglia did not even look up as he left.
“Well?” Grattapaglia snatched the baseball cap off the Brazilian again, stuffed it in his pocket. “Well, you two?”
“That man is dead,” said Fabio the Failure, pointing at Treacy.
“We know that, Fabio. All we want to know is whether he was here on Friday night.”
Fabio shrugged. “Yeah. I think so.”
“You, Danilo? Did you serve him or her?”
“Hey, I wasn’t here Friday,” said the Brazilian. Grattapaglia held up a restraining hand. “We’re talking, Luis. Can’t you see we’re talking? Please.”
Suddenly the bartender grinned.
“I know her. Who wouldn’t remember her? Most of what she orders here she gets on the house, and I still haven’t managed to get her to look at me properly. Maybe when she does, she’ll like what she sees.”
“Those lips round my cock,” said the Brazilian.
“Danilo, was she here on Friday night with Treacy?” Grattapaglia looked at Caterina. “That’s the main thing we need to know, isn’t it?”
Caterina nodded.
“Yes, she was here,” said Danilo. “I served them at least five drinks.”
“I see, and were they on their own?” said Grattapaglia, leaning back and stretching his arms lazily above his head. Coming out of the posture, he suddenly smashed his elbow into the Brazilian’s ear. “You mind your language in front of Inspector Mattiola, Luis.” The Brazilian opened his mouth wide in pain, but made little noise. Caterina noticed all his bottom teeth were missing.
Grattapaglia smiled at the bartender. “I asked you, were they on their own?”
“Don’t do that here. You’ll lose us customers.”
“No one noticed,” said Grattapaglia. “Luis is too small to see.”
“Sometimes she is with one of those university types. But not on Friday night. Manuela and Henry were alone.”
Caterina looked at him sharply. “You know their names?”
“Henry practically lived here. As for Manuela, I learned her name the first day I set eyes on her. Ask around, and I bet you wouldn’t find one male customer who doesn’t know her name. Looks like that get you noticed. I hope she wasn’t screwing that old guy. It would be such a waste.”
“One last question,” said Grattapaglia. “What time did they leave?”
“Closing time. One thirty.”
“Hey, I wasn’t even here that night,” repeated the Brazilian.
“Too bad, Luis. No baseball cap for you, then,” said Grattapaglia. “Fabio, were you here-why, what am I saying? Are you ever anywhere else? I think we’ll keep this table, now. So you’ll have to move.”
Before leaving, Fabio spilled beer on his chair, and Luis hacked up mucus and a shining silver glob on to the cobbles. Grattapaglia sat back and seemed to enjoy soaking up the hostility radiating from the customers around him.
“The Albanian saw the photos and let them all know he didn’t care what they said. It has nothing to do with their trade, so he’ll be fine with it, and Danilo, the bartender, has nothing to worry about, you see. It was the only way to ask. But did you see the way Danilo said the killing of the Indian had nothing to do with the muggings?”
“I noticed that, yes.”
“To know that, he must know something. Someone needs to talk to him, and it can’t be me, since I’m getting suspended thanks to you.”
She let that pass.
“Yeah, so, anyway… You should follow that up. Not on your own, of course.”
“Right,” said Caterina. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” said Grattapaglia, standing up. “Well, that’s my duty done for the day, maybe for the next three months, maybe forever.” He touched a slight bulge in his jacket pocket. “Hey, where are you going now?”
Caterina felt a lurch in her stomach like she had just lost her grip on a height. A slight thawing in their relationship and now Grattapaglia thought he could make a move on her?
“Me? I am going home.”
“Directly?”
“Yes. Straight home. I’m tired.” No, that was worse. Don’t make excuses.
“Right,” Grattapaglia grinned at her. “You have a son, right?”
“I do have a son. Yes.”
Grattapaglia pulled out the bulge from his pocket. “Could he use a baseball cap?”
