So Matteo also had to take on the guilt of the child’s insomnia. It was a vicious circle: He was sleepy, in the morning he was irritable, and because he had to do all that unloading, his irritability was passed on to the child, who wouldn’t go to sleep at night, etc., etc. The fact is that Matteo simply kept repeating to Daniela: I told you so. He got more irritable, because Daniela didn’t listen to him or even offer a nod of comprehension. Indeed, some time ago Daniela had even stopped saying: It will pass, calm down. She limited herself to accusing her husband directly of being a weakling. Of giving way for so little: Is there time to sleep or not? All this tension had dug into Matteo’s face and his constitution. One day, after a sleepless night, he left a refrigerator on the sidewalk. He forgot to load it into his van and just drove off. Luckily, Mario, the bartender, immediately informed him on his cell phone. When Matteo returned, Mario offered him a coffee. He needed it. And as long as he was there, Matteo vented a little: himself, Daniela, the child, the job. He also said: I’m glad it was a refrigerator, imagine if I’d left the gold tokens on the sidewalk. Francesco, since he did nothing from morning to night, heard (and understood) everything, and a thought flashed in his mind: That’s what’s odd about that place. Right, Cinzia had responded when Francesco told her about it. When, however, he confided to her what he wanted to do, that is steal, without spilling any blood, a bag of gold tokens and move to a tropical island, far from that moron his father and all the rest of the disgusting world — when Francesco confided all this to Cinzia, she didn’t say, Right. She said nothing.
Peppe
For three weeks Peppe had said nothing to anyone. He withdrew into himself. Things were not going well, a brain tumor had been diagnosed. How long did he have left to live — a month, three months? Peppe was spending all his savings, spending it on crazy things. A month, three months of life. Peppe no longer had a family. His wife was dead. His son didn’t want anything to do with him. He had gone away. He had even sold his house in Pigneto, bought by his father with many sacrifices. Once he had the money in his pocket, he had flown to England. To be a baker, an honest job with a good income. Unlike his: Peppe, for his whole life, had been a pusher, drugs and other such substances. He had even smuggled Viagra. Now that he was about to die, a single thought tormented him: not to be able to hand over his knowledge to someone. All that criminal experience would be lost like tears in the rain. If only he had had a different son, more inclined to humbly learn the job, rather than be a baker. In England, worse. Knock himself out from morning till night. Why? A life of sacrifices for what? The two-family house, the family, the lousy pay? Was this the life his son wanted? Come on. His work required skill. Now the contacts, the friendships, the relations he had built, had managed, and had been able to exploit would no longer have meaning. That thought tormented him more than the brain tumor.
Peppe, Francesco, and Cinzia
It was in the grip of this obsession that Peppe began to look around. And he found Francesco and Cinzia. Almost as if someone on high or down below had heard his prayers. What more could one ask? Two aimless kids hanging around the neighborhood, with an obvious desire (especially the boy) to learn. When Peppe got in touch with him to arrange a quick sale of amphetamines, Francesco let him know immediately how he saw things: It’s better to sell drugs than to use them. Morons use them. If it wasn’t for the morons, there wouldn’t be so much money around. Once the three agreed about the inexorable presence of morons in the world, they became conspiratorial and exchanged confidences. Peppe said that he was about to die, Francesco that he wanted a life different from the one he had lived up to now. Rather than continue like this, he preferred to be like the old residents of the neighborhood — get some money in his pocket and go to a tropical island. They would open a bar, far away from the morons. At least from the ones he knew. And here came Francesco’s bright idea: the gold tokens. An easy job. After listening to Francesco, Peppe agreed. The problem was not so much that of taking the tokens as of converting them to money. Of finding a fence. Peppe knew someone who might be just what they needed: Tonino. Right, said Cinzia.
Tonino
Tonino had a problem: He spent everything he had on high-class whores. On Saturdays, on one pretext or another, he headed toward the Marche. He knew certain Ukrainians who worked in private brothels. Fabulous. He took care of everything, even the cocaine. Three hours of luxury. Of unrestrained vice. Then the return home, without a euro in his pocket. Too many gifts, handouts, tips, and little somethings for everyone, whores and friends of the whores. Tonino was old and when he turned sixty he had been seized by this mania: to fuck without limits. For a man like him, shut up in a shop for almost fifty years, there was only one thing to do: spend, throw away money. What use was it to him? His children already had money. They, too, were jewelers. Besides, his children were morons.
It can be done, Tonino said to Peppe. I know where to sell them; you bring them to me and I’ll pay you half the value. How many can you bring?
Carlo and Marta
Although Carlo occasionally worked in television, he didn’t know that the gold tokens awarded as prizes had different values: thirty, fifty, a hundred and fifty, two hundred and fifty, five hundred thousand euros. He discovered it by chance on May 18, 2006, because the mother of Marta (his new girlfriend) had won gold tokens as a prize. A hundred and fifty thousand euros. A twofold fortune. Marta’s mother was up there in years and so, apart from using some of the money to pay her caretaker, she wouldn’t have known what to do with that sum. She had decided to give it to her daughter, and the daughter wanted to divide it equally with Carlo. The two had shared a night on the train, they were in love, and after that night they had to share any fortune that might come to them. Carlo inquired about collecting the prize and found out it was the agency in Pigneto that would deliver the money. So, since Carlo knew the owner by sight, one day he went to see him. When Carlo came in, Matteo was sleeping in a chair (in fact, a prize to be delivered). It was Daniela who shook his hand first and asked him not to make any noise, her husband slept whenever he could, because the child mistook night for day. When Carlo left the agency he knew more about his life: (a) the gold tokens would arrive on May 20 at Matteo and Daniela’s agency, and would be delivered to his house directly; (b) Carlo was so fascinated by the business of the gold tokens that he asked the couple if he could see how the job was carried out, and sooner or later he would find a way to tell their story; and (c) with his portion he would give his children a present, especially his son Francesco. The boy needed a gesture of affection. Maybe a motorcycle.
Peppe, Francesco, Cinzia, and a Mysterious Man
Peppe had taken care of all the details of the heist. His brain still functioned, and as long as it functioned (time was running out, another month), he wanted to use it to make the kids happy. For himself he asked nothing — no money, no benefits, no percentages... nothing. What would be the use? To pay for more treatments and live a few more days? All pointless. Better to do something useful for the kids, his two godchildren.