"You trying to sell me your merchandise now?"
"Listen, I got no time to fuck around. I have something I'm supposed to give you, a package."
"At this hour? Can't you get it to me tomorrow morning?"
"I won't be in town tomorrow."
"Do you know what's in the package?"
"Of course. Mostaccioli with mulled wine, the way you like 'em. My sister Mariannina made them just for you."
"How's Mariannina doing with her eyes?"
"Much better. They work miracles in Barcelona."
"They also write good books in Barcelona."
"What's that?"
"Never mind. Just talking to myself. Where do you want to meet?"
"The usual place, in an hour."
The usual place was the little beach of Puntasecca, a short tongue of sand beneath a white marl hill, almost inaccessible by land, or rather, accessible only to Montalbano and Gege who back in grade school had discovered a trail that was difficult enough on foot and downright fool hardy to attempt by car. Puntasecca was only a few kilometers from Montalbano's little house by the sea just outside of Vig, and that was why he took his time. But the moment he opened the door to go to his rendezvous, the telephone rang.
"Hi, darling. It's me, right on time. How did things go today?"
"Business as usual. And you?"
"Ditto. Listen, Salvo, I've been thinking long and hard about what.."
"Livia, sorry to interrupt, but I haven't got much time. Actually I don't have any time at all. You caught me just as I was going out the door."
"All right then, good night."
Livia hung up and Montalbano was left standing with the receiver in his hand. Then he remembered that the night before, he had told her to call him at midnight on the dot, because they would certainly have as much time as they wanted to talk at that hour. He couldn't decide whether to call Livia back right then or when he returned, after his meeting with Gege. With a pang of remorse, he put the receiver down and went out.
...
When he arrived a few minutes late, Gege was already waiting for him, pacing back and forth the length of his car. They exchanged an embrace and kissed; it had been a while since they'd seen each other.
"Let's go sit in my car," said the inspector, "it's a little chilly tonight."
"They put me up to this," Gege broke in as soon as he sat down.
"Who did?"
"Some people I can't say no to. You know, Salvo, like every businessman, I gotta pay my dues so I can work in peace and keep the Pasture, or they'd put me out to pasture in a hurry. Every month the good Lord sends our way, somebody comes by to collect."
"For whom? Can you tell me?"
"For Tano the Greek."
Montalbano shuddered, but didn't let his friend notice. Gaetano "the Greek" Bennici had never so much as seen Greece, not even through a telescope, and knew as much about things. Hellenic as a cast-iron pipe, but he came by his nickname owing to a certain vice thought in the popular imagination to be greatly appreciated in the vicinity of the Acropolis. He had three certain murders under his belt, and in his circles held a position one step below the top bosses. But he was not known to operate in or around Vig; it was the Cuffaro and Sinagra families who competed for that territory. Tano belonged to another parish.
"So what's Tano the Greeks business in these parts?"
"What kind of stupid question is that? What kind of fucking cop are you? Don't you know that for Tano the Greek there's no such thing as these parts and those parts when it comes to women? He was given control and a piece of every whore on the island."
"I didn't know. Go on."
"Around eight oclock this evening the usual guy came by to collect; today was the appointed day for paying dues. He took the money, but then, instead of leaving, he opens his car door and tells me to get in."
"So what'd you do?"
"I got scared and broke out in a cold sweat. What could I do? I got in, and we drove off. To make a long story short, he took the road for Fela, and stopped after barely half an hours drive..."
"Did you ask him where you were going?"
"Of course."
"And what did he say?"
"Nothing, as if I hadn't spoken. After half an hour, he makes me get out in some deserted spot without a soul around, and gestures to me to follow some dirt road. There wasn't even a dog around. At a certain point, and I have no idea where he popped out of, Tano the Greek suddenly appears in front of me. I nearly had a stroke, my knees turned to butter. Don't get me wrong, I'm no coward, but the guys killed five people."
"Five? Why, how many do you think he's killed? Three."
"No way, it's five, I guarantee it."
"Okay, go on."
"I got to thinking. Since I always pay on time, I figured Tano wanted to raise the price. Business is good, I got no complaints, and they know it. But I was wrong, it wasn't about money."
"What did he want?"
"Without even saying hello, he asked me if I knew you."
Montalbano thought he hadn't heard right. "If you knew who?"
"You, Salvo."
"And what did you tell him?"
"Well, I was shitting my pants, so I said, yeah, I knew you, but just casually, by sight, you know, hello, how ya doin. And he looked at me, you gotta believe me, with a pair of eyes that looked like a statues eyes, motionless, dead, then he leaned his head back and gave this little laugh and asked me if I wanted to know how many hairs I had on my ass cause he could tell me within two. What he meant was that he knew everything about me from the cradle to the grave, and I hope that won't be too soon. And so I just looked at the ground and didn't open my mouth. That's when he told me he wanted to see you."
"When and where?"
"Tonight, at dawn. I'll tell you where in a second."
"Do you know what he wants from me?"
"I don't know and I don't want to know. He said to rest, assured you could trust him like a brother."
Like a brother. Those words, instead of reassuring Montalbano, sent a shiver down his spine. It was well-known that foremost among Tanos three or five murder victims washis older brother Nicolino, whom he first strangled and then, in accordance with some mysterious semiological rule, meticulously flayed. The inspector started thinking dark thoughts, which became even darker, if that was possible, at the words that Gege putting his hand on his shoulder, then whispered in his ear.
"Be careful, Salvo, guy's an evil beast."
He was driving slowly back home when the headlights of Gege car behind him started flashing repeatedly. He pulled over and Gege pulling up, leaned all the way across the seat towards the window on the side closest to Montalbano and handed him a package.
"I forgot the mostaccioli."
"Thanks. I thought it was just an excuse."
"What do you think I am? Somebody who says something and means something else?"
He accelerated, offended.
...
The inspector spent the kind of night one tells the doctor about. His first thought was to phone the commissioner, wake him up, and fill him in, to protect himself in the event the affair took any unexpected turns. But Tano the Greek had been explicit, according to Gege, Montalbano must not say anything to anyone and must come to the appointment alone. This was not, however, a game of cops and robbers: his duty was his duty. That is, he must inform his superiors and plan, down to the smallest details, how to surround and capture the criminal, perhaps with the help of considerable reinforcements. Tano had been a fugitive for nearly ten years, and he, Montalbano, was supposed to go visit him as if he were some pal just back from America? There was no getting around it, the commissioner must by all means be informed of the matter. He dialed the number of his superiors home in Montelusa, the provincial capital.
"Is that you, love?" murmured the voice of Livia from Boccadasse, Genoa.
Montalbano remained speechless for a moment. Apparently his instinct was leading him away from speaking with the commissioner, making him dial the wrong number.