"Stick it up your ass. Now listen: if we play our cards right, we just might bring Tano the Greek home with us."
Montalbano palpably felt that his men had ceased to breathe for a moment.
"Tano the Greek is around here?" Fazio wondered aloud, being the first to recover.
"I got a good look at him, and it's him. He's grown a mustache and beard, but you can still recognize him."
"How did you find him?"
"Never mind, Fazio, I'll explain everything later. Tano's in a little house at the top of that hill. You can't see it from here. There are olive trees all around it. It's a two-room house, one room on top of the other. It's got a door and a window in front; there's another window to the top room, but that's in back. Is that clear? Did you take that all in? Tano's only way out is through the front, unless he decides in desperation to throw himself out the rear window, though he'd risk breaking his legs. So here's what we'll do: Fazio and Gallo go in back; me, Germanand Galluzzo will break in the door and go inside."
Fazio looked doubtful.
"What's wrong? Don't you agree?"
"Wouldn't it be better to surround the house and tell him to surrender? It's five against one, he'd never get away."
"How do you know there's nobody inside the house with Tano?"
Fazio shut up.
"Listen to me," said Montalbano, concluding his brief war council, "it's better if we bring him an Easter egg with a surprise inside."
3
Montalbano calculated that Fazio and Gallo must have been in position behind the cottage for at least five minutes. As for him, sprawled belly-down on the grass, pistol in hand, with a rock pushing irksomely straight into the pit of his stomach, he felt profoundly ridiculous, like a character in a gangster film, and therefore could not wait to give the signal to raise the curtain. He looked at Galluzzo, who was beside him, German as farther away, to the right and asked him in a whisper:
"Are you ready?"
"Yes sir," answered the policeman, who was a visible bundle of nerves and sweating. Montalbano felt sorry for him, but couldn't very well come out and tell him that it was all a put-on of dubious outcome, it was true, but still humbug.
"Go!" he ordered him.
As though launched by a tightly compressed spring and almost not touching the ground, in three bounds Galluzzo reached the house and flattened himself against the wall to the left of the door. He seemed to have done so without effort, though Montalbano could see his chest heaving up and down, breathless. Galluzzo got a firm grip on his submachine gun and gestured to the inspector that he was ready for phase two. Montalbano then looked over at German, who seemed not only serene, but actually relaxed.
"I'm going now," he said to him without a sound, exaggeratedly moving his lips and forming the syllables.
"I'll cover you," German answered back in the same manner, gesturing with his head towards the machine gun in his hands.
Montalbanos first leap forward was one for the books, or at the very least a training manuaclass="underline" a decisive, balanced ascent from the ground, worthy of a high-jump specialist, a weightless, aerial suspension, and a clean, dignified landing that would have amazed a ballerina. Galluzzo and German, who were watching him from different perspectives, took equal delight in their chief's bodily grace. The start of the second leap was even better calibrated than the first, but something happened in midair that caused Montalbano, from his upright posture, to tilt suddenly sideways like the tower of Pisa, then plunge earthward in what looked truly like a clowns routine. After tottering with arms outstretched in search of a nonexistent handle to grab onto, he crashed heavily to one side. Instinctively, Galluzzo made a move as if to help him, but stopped himself in time, plastering himself back against the wall. German also stood up a moment, but quickly got back down.
A good thing this was all a shame, the inspector thought.
Otherwise Tano could have cut them down like ninepins then and there. Muttering some of the pithiest curses in his vast repertoire, Montalbano began to crawl around in search of the pistol that had slipped from his hand during the fall. At last he spotted it under a touch-me-not bush, but as soon as he stuck his arm in there to retrieve it, all the little cucumbers burst and sprayed his face with seeds. With a certain melancholy rage the inspector realized he'd been demoted from gangster-film hero to a character in an Abbott and Costello movie. No longer in the mood to play the athlete or dancer, he covered the last few yards between him and the house with a few quick steps, merely hunching forward a little.
Montalbano and Galluzzo looked one another in the eye without speaking and agreed on the plan. They positioned themselves three steps from the door, which did not look very resistant, took a deep breath and flung themselves against it with their full weight. The door turned out to be made of tissue paper, or almost a swat of the hand would have sufficed to push it open and thus they both found themselves hurtling inside. The inspector managed by some miracle to come to a stop, whereas Galluzzo, carried forward by the violence of his thrust, flew all the way across the room and slammed his face against the wall, crushing his nose and ending up choking on the blood that started to gush violently forth. By the dim light of the oil lamp that Tano had left burning, the inspector was able to appreciate the Greeks consummate acting skills. Pretending to have been surprised awake, he leapt to his feet cursing and hurled himself towards the Kalishnikov, which was now leaning against the table and therefore far from the cot. Montalbano was ready to recite his lines as the foil, as they say in the theater.
"Stop in the name of the law! Stop or I'll shoot!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, then fired four shots into the ceiling. Tano froze, hands raised. Convinced that someone must be hiding upstairs, Galluzzo fired a burst from his machine gun at the wooden staircase. Outside, Fazio and Gallo, upon hearing all the shooting, opened fire on the little window to discourage anyone from trying that route. With everyone inside the cottage still deaf from the roar of the gunshots, German burst in with the final flourish:
"Don't anybody move or I'll shoot!"
He barely had time to finish uttering his threat when he was bumped from behind by Fazio and Gallo and pushed directly between Montalbano and Galluzzo, who, having set down his weapon, was dabbing his nose with a handkerchief he had taken out of his pocket, the blood having already dripped onto his shirt, tie, and jacket. At the sight of him, Gallo became agitated.
"Did he shoot you? The bastard shot you, didn't he?" he yelled in rage, turning towards Tano, who was still standing patient as a saint in the middle of the room, hands raised, waiting for the forces of order to put some order to the great confusion they were creating.
"No, he didn't shoot me. I ran into the wall," Galluzzo managed to say with some difficulty. Tano avoided their eyes, looking down at his shoes.
"He thinks it's funny," thought Montalbano, then he brusquely ordered Galluzzo:
"Handcuff him."
"Is it him?" asked Fazio in a soft voice.
"Sure it's him. Don't you recognize him?" said Montalbano.
"What do we do now?"
"Put him in the car and take him to police headquarters in Montelusa. On the way, ring up the commissioner and explain everything. Make sure nobody sees or recognizes the prisoner. The arrest, for the moment, has to remain top secret. Now go."
"What about you?"
"I'm going to have a look around, search the house. You never know."
Fazio and the officers, holding the handcuffed Tano between them, started moving towards the door, with German holding the prisoners Kalishnikov in his hand. Only then did Tano the Greek raise his head and look momentarily at Montalbano. The inspector noticed that the statue-like gaze was gone. Now those eyes were animated, almost smiling.
When the group of five vanished from sight at the bottom of the path, Montalbano went back inside the cottage to begin his search. In fact, he opened the cupboard, grabbed the bottle of wine, which was still half-full, and went and sat in the shade of an olive tree, to drink it down in peace. The capture of a dangerous fugitive had been brought to a successful conclusion.