The Goodbye Kiss (17 page)

    Roberta
was so happy she burst into tears. She hugged me and covered me with kisses.
That night I held a passionate woman in my arms, and I understood she needed
only to be reassured about my real intentions. She wanted to be certain she'd
get to the altar. We decided to set the date after the rehabilitation. We
celebrated the engagement at La Nena. Brianese raised his glass and toasted our
happiness.

    From
that moment I began to visit my fiancee's family. And her friends. We often
went out with another couple. Luciano and Martina. One glance was enough to
tell me she wasn't like my Roberta. Occasionally my eyes met hers, and I got a
come-hither look. Her flabby, disagreeable guy more than justified all the
heat. None of this escaped my fiancee. Once we got home we had our first
quarrel. I wanted to hit her to make her shut up. Instead I just calmed her
down. She was one of those women who devote themselves body and soul to a man,
but can't take the stress of insecurity. I went on the offensive and did
everything I could to make her believe she was the most important person in my
life. Making her happy really wasn't so complicated. What she wanted was so
predictable. All I needed to do was pay her a little attention. Every so often
I surprised her. With luxury. When I closed a deal or my share of the loans
arrived, I'd give her some expensive gifts. Like a grande dame. She didn't know
I was rich and thought these things might've cost me a lot of sweat.

    When
she calmed down, I went to bed with Martina. Real sex, finally. But I paid
dearly for it. She confided our little escapade to a girlfriend, and the news
traveled from mouth to mouth till it reached Roberta's ears. I denied it and
held my ground. In the end, she pretended she believed me, but her trust had
crumbled. Soon I discovered I was being kept under surveillance. My fiancee was
rummaging through my pockets, my wallet, checking the calls on my cell phone,
searching for traces of other women. I acted as if nothing was happening. In
future I'd have to be more careful.

    Sante
Brianese called me into his office. The petition for rehabilitation had been
filed. The surveillance judge had requested the police to provide reports on my
conduct as well as my assets and liabilities.

    "I
have already moved my pawns," he said. "We have nothing to worry
about."

    As
usual he was right. The reports were all positive. The judge set the hearing
for the following month. Thirty days separated me from my new life. Then I
could vote, do a thousand other things and especially get rid of that fear of
being stopped at a road block. I suggested to Roberta we get married
immediately after. Just enough time to arrange for a dream ceremony. She'd
already been thinking about it and showed she had some very clear ideas. For
the honeymoon too. The Maldives. It didn't seem like such a great place to me,
but I wasn't about to object. The preparations would keep her busy, stop her
from being eaten up by the suspicion I betrayed her with Martina.

    For
the first time in a long while I felt really good. Untouchable. The past would
never again represent a threat.

    I
FELT TOO SECURE. And that was an inexcusable mistake. You can feel secure only
when you've never done anything outside the rules. All a guy like me could do
was rely on the odds. At the most I could say I felt "reasonably"
secure. That was the only way you stopped yourself from lowering your guard.
But a mistake I made in the past-and I made lots of them-came back and caught
me with my pants down. Anedda. I looked up and found him in front of me. The
first thing that crossed my mind was I should've killed him to stop him from
coming back into my life. He sure wasn't paying me some courtesy visit.
Ferruccio the bull was in a jam. A big jam. You just had to look at him to see
he was desperate. Suit wrinkled, face unshaven, eyes glassy and feverish, hair
mussed. Before me stood the ghost of the man I once knew. His look said I was
his last hope. I poured him a brandy. Cheap stuff. What I used for a caffe
corretto. He knocked it back.

    "I
got to talk to you." He was hoarse. The tension between us was almost as
thick as the smoke from his cigarette.

    "I
have nothing to say to you."

    "I'll
see you tonight at your place."

    "We're
not understanding one another."

    
"You
don't understand," he hissed. His cockiness was back. "Do what I tell
you and don't give me any shit."

    As he
walked out, I stared at his back, full of hate. I surveyed the customers to see
if anybody caught our testy exchange. Everything looked calm. I poured myself
two fingers of Lagavullin. The heat of the whiskey wiped out the chill that
gripped my gut-for a moment. I too felt desperate. You could bet he wanted to
get me involved in some nasty business that'd jeopardize everything I built.
Eighteen more days till the hearing for the rehabilitation. I didn't deserve
this insult from fate.

    I
lowered the shutter of the osteria and headed home. The cop didn't ask me for
the address. He must've already gotten the lowdown on me. As I was opening the
gate, I saw Anedda from the corner of my eye, getting out of an Alfa Romeo
black as night. He followed me without a word. Threw himself on a couch.

    "I'm
bushed," he whined.

    He
took a cigarette from a pack as wrinkled as his suit.

    "What
do you want?"

    He
got right to the point. "You have to ice some dude."

    "Forget
about it," I shot back. "I'm not killing anybody for you. I've gone
straight."

    "I
know. You've become a regular guy. But if you don't do me this favor, I'm in
deep shit. And to limit the damage I'll be forced to cooperate. I'll drag you
down with me."

    Smart
cop. He had me by the balls. I poured myself a drink. "Who am I supposed
to kill?"

    "An
informer of mine. A shitty Algerian who infiltrated the Islamic Salvation
Front. We did a couple jobs together. Then he disappeared. I heard he started
working for the carabinieri. If I don't shut him up right away, he'll fuck me
big time. The carabinieri always manage to make you spill everything."

    "Where
is he?"

    "In
Bologna. I spent three days and nights tracking down his hideout. I moved
mountains."

    "Why
don't
you
do this job?"

    He
burst out laughing. "I'd be happy to do it. But when that asshole goes to
a better life, I'll be at my office in Milano. I need an airtight alibi."

    "Then
you're already under suspicion?"

    "Yeah.
But they still don't have anything definite on me. They're investigating
because I was the Algerian's contact."

    "What
happened?"

    "Nothing
that concerns you."

    "I
won't risk a life sentence in the dark. I want to know about the jam you're
in."

    "A
courier on his way from Iran. A briefcase filled with dollars. You need to know
more?"

    I
shook my head. "How should he die?"

    "A
bullet in the head. You still have that.22 with the silencer? "

    "I've
gone straight. I don't need guns anymore."

    "Then
I'll get you one."

    "When
do I lay him out?"

    "Day
after tomorrow. I hope it isn't already too late."

    "And
after?"

    "After
what?"

    "Are
you going to turn up every time you're in deep shit and need somebody
whacked?"

    "Relax.
Once the problem is solved, you'll never see me again."

    Right
then I knew Anedda wanted to eliminate me as well. Otherwise he would've gotten
snotty to remind me I was on- call for him. The business with the Algerian
taught him a lesson. No witnesses, no risks.

    I
heard the key turn in the lock. Roberta. As far as I knew, she should've been
at her parents' that night. She rushed into the living room.

    "Amore,
I have a surprise!" she said, pleased. "A CD with Alessandro Haber
singing 'I'll Never See You Again.'"

    When
she realized she was in the presence of somebody she didn't know, she
immediately buttoned up. "Excuse me," she grumbled, embarrassed.
"I thought Giorgio was alone."

    The
cop got to his feet. "I was about to leave," he said with a forced
smile.

    "I'll
see you out."

    "I
notice you've stopped going with professionals," he remarked under his
breath.

    "I've
gone straight," I told him for the zillionth time.

    "Tomorrow
morning I'll drop by the osteria," Anedda promised.

    As I
closed the door, I muttered a curse.

    "Who
is he?" asked my fiancee.

    I
shrugged. "A wine dealer." I cut it short.

    "What
did he want?"

    "He
made me an offer."

    "Why
here at home? They usually go to the osteria."

    Roberta
was asking too many questions. I hugged her. "I can't wait to hear Haber's
version."

    She
smiled, happy, forgetting about her curiosity. A few seconds later the room
filled with the warm voice of the actor who let himself be tempted by music.
That night she was the one who wanted to make love. It was the farthest thing
from my mind.

    "Some
other time," I said. My tone was snippy. Her presence rubbed me the wrong
way. I needed to be alone to think. In the next twenty-four hours I'd have to
kill a man and try not to get myself killed.

    I
couldn't sleep. Roberta slept calmly at my side, her hand resting on my chest.
The problem wasn't murdering the Algerian, but stopping Ferruccio the bull from
eliminating me. He had to have a plan already. He wouldn't try anything the day
the Algerian died. The need for an alibi forced him to stay put at police
headquarters. For several days. Till he'd shaken off the suspicion of being a
corrupt cop. After he waited a bit, one night he'd shoot me right in front of
my house. Or he'd invite himself over for a drink. More likely. Then he'd have
to get rid of Roberta as well. She got a good look at his face. In my company.
I wasn't afraid. But I was racked by the unpredictability of fate. I couldn't
bear the idea of a life at the mercy of events. If I got through this business,
what else was waiting for me? A tumor? A car crash? Brianese's arrest? My heart
was pounding, and I had to get up. What the fuck was happening to me? I went
into the living room and made myself watch TV. A movie with Franco Franchi. He
was playing the part of a monk who went to visit his aunt, the manager of a
brothel. After a litde while I felt my heartbeat return to normal. I went back
to the bedroom to see if my fiancee was sleeping. Then with a screwdriver I
pried loose a piece of the baseboard from the wall in the hallway. A recess dug
into the wall hid a nylon pouch. I lied to Anedda. I saved the pistol. You
never know what might happen. And I made the right decision. The Ruger.22 I
used to kill Ausonio and Ciccio Formaggio was dismantled. I'd wrapped the
various parts in rags soaked in oil. Barrel, spring, chamber, stock, clip. I
screwed on the silencer. Released the firing pin. I was ready to defend my life
the only way I knew how. I went back to bed. Roberta squeezed up against me.

    The
cop showed up after noon. He ordered a coffee. "Tonight I'll drop by your
place. I'll bring you the guy's photo and the piece."

    "No,"
I answered, prepared. "My girl will be there. Let's meet at the parking lot
behind the bus station."

    He
mulled over the change in plans for a few seconds. "OK. One-thirty.
Sharp."

    March
had just begun, and the nights were still bitter cold. I slipped on a dark jacket
and a warm wool cap. Gifts from my fiancee. The leather gloves I'd bought just
that afternoon. I took my bicycle from the storeroom and headed for the
meeting. It was a Bianchi from the '50s, repaired and repainted. It cost an arm
and a leg, but I couldn't resist because it was identical to my grandfather's.
When I was little and went to see him, he'd sit me on the crossbar and take me
around town. I used it every day to tool around the centro, now closed to
traffic. The parking lot really wasn't deserted. It was scattered with parked
cars where Nigerian and Albanian whores took their johns. The black Alfa Romeo
was smack in the center of the open space. Ferruccio the bull wanted to be sure
he could see who was coming. I stopped at the passenger side. He signaled me to
get in. With my foot I lowered the Bianchi's kickstand and opened the door just
enough to slip the pistol inside. I pulled the trigger ten times. Every bullet
in the clip. The silencer muffled the noise from the shots and smothered the bursts
of flame that accompanied each discharge. Sure, people in the parking lot
might've noticed that long series of flashes in the darkness, like a strobe
light. But they saw and heard absolutely nothing. The shit was dead. Head
leaning against the wheel. Eyes wide-open. A trickle of blood dripping from his
mouth. I carefully closed the door, climbed on the bike and rode off, pedaling
at an easy pace. I got rid of the gloves and the gun, tossing them into a trash
can. I was sorry to say goodbye to the Ruger. It had served me faithfully, but
at this point it was too hot. The bullets and casings were back in Anedda's
body and car. Keeping the gun would be suicide. I was content. But not calm. To
take him by surprise I had to give up a safer plan. I would've preferred to
lure him to a quiet place, out in the country, so I could torch his car and
corpse. But he was too sharp to fall for a trap that obvious. When his body was
discovered, the investigators would find the stuff he was going to hand over to
me. The gun and the photo of the Algerian. The danger: something might tie me
to him. A note. An address. A phone number. A wise precaution would've been to
make myself scarce for a while. But I couldn't do that. I'd have to come up
with too many explanations for too many people. All I could do was wait. And
risk being arrested.