She was still in good time. She was increasingly nervous about her meeting with Letizia and the children, if the children were there. All she had to tell them was a lie.
It was hot on the exposed white pebble path, but she soon entered an avenue of handsome straight-trunked trees with rich foliage through which the sunlight reached her fragmented and fruit-scented. She wondered what type they were.
Ardore
Blume’s search netted him a lighter, which he held triumphantly in the air as he lit it. In the flickering flame the dead man’s face took on various expressions, most of them malignant, some of them amused, some of them horror-filled. Blume ignored them all, his mind being fixed on practical considerations. The next prize given up by the corpse was a shotgun shell stuck into the bottom of his jeans pocket, where the fabric touched the groin. Clicking the lighter on and off to stop it from burning his fingers, he pushed his hands into the back pockets of the trousers, and finally, there it was, the real treasure that had had to be revealed to him in a dream, since his waking mind was not working right. Reverently, Blume pulled it out, slid the cover up, and was bathed in the white light of a functioning Nokia mobile phone. He checked it. No signal, of course, and just one bar left on the battery.
Using the lighter, he made his way back to the log table, picked up a lamp, turned it on, and enjoyed the light. He retrieved the cup from the corner of the cavern and drank. He picked up a can from the ground and hacked into it with the opener. Peeled San Marzano tomatoes. He tipped the contents into his mouth. Lovely. Now he had to leave before the battery on the phone died.
50
Locri
Basile stood next to the repaired ice-cream machine that buzzed softly as it cooled down the mixture. Tony Megale was there and had brought his own firepower, Peppino and Giacomo. Basile smiled to see Giacomo looking so grown-up and self-important now, big ’70s-style sunglasses, a flame tattoo poking up from beneath his silk shirt.
‘Are you the same little Giacomino who went missing, you had half the town out looking for you, then it turns out you were at home, playing a trick on your brother, but got so scared by all the fuss you stayed hiding for hours?’
With a curt nod, Giacomo acknowledged that this might be so.
‘You were eight at the time. What age are you now?’
‘Twenty.’
‘Twelve years.’ Basile shook his head in amazement and sadness. ‘Would you like an ice cream, Giacomo?’
Giacomo gave the old man a cool stare and declined the offer with a contemptuous click of his tongue.
Basile smiled indulgently and turned his attention to the other. ‘And you are Nando’s son. Beppe was your grandfather?’
The youth nodded, pleased to be recognized.
‘Your grandfather and I were friends. Did he ever mention that to you?’
‘He died when I was very young, but my father always said there was no one could beat you…’
Tony Megale interrupted. ‘We’ll have all the time we want to talk about this later. Where is he?’
‘Who?’ asked Basile.
‘Agazio Curmaci, of course. Who else?’
‘I thought you might mean your older brother, Pietro.’
‘I fear for him. He is a simple man who is easily led astray. I even fear he may have chosen the wrong side, but if that’s the case, I will forgive him as he is my brother.’
‘Is everyone sure they don’t want any ice cream…?’ Basile looked at the three of them. ‘All right. Your loss.’ He sighed. ‘This is a bad business. Curmaci is a repository of some of our deepest traditions and has ensured that they are replicated, honoured and enforced in Germany. The loss of such a subtle and fluid man could set us back, unless, of course, there was someone equally qualified and skilled, ready to take his place…’
Tony Megale put his shoulders back and expanded his chest, creating a tiny regal space for himself between the two kids he had brought along.
‘Even then,’ continued Basile, ‘it would be a self-inflicted wound, and forgiveness and compromise are still options.’
‘The Honoured Society,’ said Tony, ‘is the Tree of Knowledge. The Capo Bastone is the trunk. If a branch is diseased and grows crooked, it shall be lopped off. One who collaborates with the authorities of the Italian State, with the Federal Police of Germany is no longer a man. My father, Megale u Vecchiu, spent years in prison because of an act of betrayal by Curmaci, and the decades of incarceration have destroyed his wisdom and discrimination and rendered him less than half the man he used to be. Curmaci is the infame who alerted the woman in the Finance Ministry about our carousel VAT system. That’s why he was so keen to make her disappear afterwards.’
‘That is a serious charge against him, Tony. So serious that I wonder why you are reporting it only now.’
‘I only found out now. The crazy German called me a few days ago. He says he has papers to prove it.’
‘So now we must believe the crazy German, who came down full of wild accusations, with a Madonna ripped in half claiming to represent your father’s will?’
‘My father no longer speaks with reason.’
‘The German said nothing about this to me,’ said Basile.
‘He was finally thinking about his own life,’ said Tony, ‘instead of trying to ruin ours.’
‘And these papers that prove this betrayal?’
‘The scagnozzi you engaged gutted the camper without searching it properly.’
‘Young people have no foresight,’ said Basile. ‘Tony, you have a mature mind. Are you sure of the decision you have made? I see from your face that you are. It is terrible that this should come so soon after the joyous festivities in celebration of Our Lady. The sanctuary is now crawling with policemen, our common enemy, and yet we find ourselves fighting each other again. Will you reconsider?’
‘I will not.’
‘You will meet Men of Honour from Reggio and Crotone. They will be waiting for you at the end of Via Garibaldi. Before you take any action, they must be persuaded that this is not a mere personal vendetta and that it will not lead to a debilitating feud. If one of them objects to your course of action, you shall do nothing. Is that understood?’
Tony Megale nodded impatiently.
‘Please listen to them carefully, Antonino mio. They are courteous men versed in diplomacy and negotiation. An objection might be expressed as a question, the voicing of a misgiving or regret. I expect you to be sensitive to the nuances of their conversation. I think subtlety will serve you well in your future.’
‘I understand,’ said Tony. ‘If Curmaci is with his wife and children?’
‘He is a man of honour. He will walk out of the house in your company. I am sure of it. Go now, all three of you, and God’s blessing be on you all.’
‘Come in here, Ruggiero. I’m in the kitchen.’
It was strange to hear his father’s voice echoing through the house. His mother had come into his bedroom early that morning to give him a kiss and tell him she was going with Robertino to visit family in Cosenza that she had not seen in years. It would be an opportunity to try out the brand-new Nissan Pathfinder sitting outside the front gate. Pepe’s father, Mimmo the mechanic, had driven it over personally the day before, and Ruggiero and Agazio had ridden in fine style to San Luca and Polsi. When they returned that night, the old car with the mysterious engine trouble was gone.
Ruggiero walked into the kitchen. His father was seated at the far end of the table. Set in front of him, diagonally across the table, was the old Carcano carbine, the Modello 1891, which his father liked to take down and clean whenever he came home. Next to his hand was a small glass with what appeared to be water in it, and beside that, one of Ruggiero’s throwing knives.