Vipers (34 page)

The ship blew a short burst of its horn, announcing its imminent departure, and pulled away from the wharf.

After a long pause, the man in the hat pulled his hand out of his pocket very calmly. Then he said:

“No, Brigadier. I just happen to work around here, and I was out getting a breath of fresh air. And the doctor, no, I've never met him before; so naturally he doesn't know me either. I'm heading back into the barracks, after all, I've said all that I needed to say. Just one more piece of advice: keep this dog on a leash.
Buonasera
.”

The drowned man, from behind Ricciardi, called out faintly:
Beer!
Livia burst into tears of relief.

 

As if he too had heard the dead man's call as clearly as Ricciardi had, Modo invited everyone to come with him to a tavern that never closed, not far away.

Once the man in the hat had left, Modo stood watching the ship that should have been taking him away as it steamed out of the port. He said nothing. Maione was supporting Livia as she calmed down, and Ricciardi walked over slowly. When the ship was finally swallowed by the darkness, he said to his friend:

“How are you, Bruno? Are you hurt?”

Modo looked at him as if he had only just then noticed his presence, and said:

“In a certain sense, Ricciardi, I am. And badly.”

Now, warmed by a familiar setting and his third glass of wine, Modo was starting to relax.

“I'd given up hoping, you know. I assumed that those sons of bitches would just take me away, destroying my life the way they did to those poor wretches who were locked up with me. Bastards, those damned bastards.”

Maione put a hand on his arm:

“Dotto', first of all, you need to calm down, because it's all over now. Then you need to understand the lesson, though: these people have you in their crosshairs, you heard that nasty piece of work with the pistol, no? If it hadn't been for Signora Livia, here, who managed to get you out, we'd have never heard from you again.”

Modo smiled at Livia, the only one who was drinking with him. Her hand was still trembling slightly, but her eyes had regained their usual confidence.

“I only did what I had to, Dottore. But the brigadier is right: these are dangerous people. They know everything about everyone, they're capable of tracking down any scrap of information that they need to ruin people's lives. You have to be careful.”

The doctor patted her hand.

“Lovely lady, I'll be eternally grateful to you. I was afraid, yes. I hated like hell being torn away from my life, and from my friends, even if they're of a pretty crappy quality and smell of police stations. But this experience did teach me one thing, and that is that ideas should be nurtured, if they're borne out by the facts: and my ideas have been fully confirmed.”

Ricciardi sighed:

“Very good, now we can rest assured that if you vanish suddenly some night, we'll know you're safely ensconced at the bottom of the sea with your ankles tied to a large rock. Did you even hear what that guy said? Don't you care about your patients, about the people who rely on you, about us, who for some mysterious reason like having you around?”

Modo gazed at him fondly.

“So there's a heart beating inside the casket you live in after all. I'd be tempted to tell you that the whole thing was a charade designed to force you to display some human emotion, but you'd never believe me because you're suspicious at heart, like all provincials. And in fact, do you know that in the group of miserable wretches who were being held in the barracks cellar with me, there was a man from your neck of the woods, not far from Benevento?”

Ricciardi objected:

“Hey, I'm from the Cilento, at the far end of the province of Salerno. We have nothing to do with Benevento.”

Modo waved his hand vaguely.

“Sure, sure, all right, from around there, a country bumpkin just like you, in other words. And do you know why they were sending him into internal exile?”

The commissario sighed:

“I'm not from the country, I'm from the mountains, but go ahead and tell us.”

“Because he had told, in public, in his small town, the following joke: a factory worker went to buy some apples, and when he realized that the newspaper in which the grocer had wrapped his fruit featured a photograph of Mussolini, he asked him, in a worried voice, to use some other section of the paper, because otherwise he was worried that Il Duce would eat even his apples.”

Ricciardi started to object, then heaved a sigh as Livia and Maione burst into laughter.

“Come on, Bruno, I can't believe that's why he was arrested.”

Modo was perfectly serious. He leaned forward and said:

“Ricciardi, you don't get it: things are terrible. They call it “undermining the image of the head of state,” and they behave as if it's a serious crime because they claim that it harms the image of Italy as a whole. They've gone crazy. And that's not the funniest thing I heard in there!”

Maione was wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“Really, Dotto'? Do you have another joke as good as that last one?”

Ricciardi scolded the brigadier:

“Raffae', please, don't encourage him, otherwise we won't be able to stop him, and he'll wind up behind bars once and for all.”

Livia was happy to let the tension loosen, in part because she sensed another source of anxiety at the pit of her stomach, ready to replace the first.

“Yes, Doctor, tell us: what other ridiculous reasons did they have for locking people up?”

Modo took a long drink of wine.

“Well, there was a teamster, a man who drove a cart. A poor wretch whose only concern in life was how to feed his ten children. Well, this guy used to spend time at the workers' club for railwaymen and trolley drivers, you know, the one up at Monteoliveto, because with his little cart and donkey he used to deliver coal to the train station. So one day last month, at the club, they inaugurated with full honors a new plaster bust of our leader, Old Bull Head, and this poor fellow finds himself attending the event, with everyone in dress uniform clapping when they unveil the bald-headed bust. And he thinks to himself, well, maybe they just didn't have the money to include the hair. You get it? He had no idea who the bust was supposed to be.”

Maione and Livia had started to chuckle. Modo went on:

“Well, he just wanted to help out the head of the club, and he'd seen how proud he was of that bust; and so, late one night, he decided to make up for the club's monetary deficencies, so he cut off his donkey's tail and he made a magnificent toupee for the egghead himself, and he slaps it right on, in the middle of the head. The next morning the custodian unlocks the club at opening time, and he finds old Thunder Jaws himself wearing a wonderful donkey-tail hairpiece, perfectly combed and brushed. Of course, the teamster was immediately arrested and shipped off to internal exile.”

Maione burst out laughing.

Livia burst out laughing.

Ricciardi suddenly understood who had killed Viper.

S
uddenly, everything was crystal clear. The connections were clear, what had happened was clear, and how it happened was clear as well.

It took tremendous effort for Ricciardi to keep from leaping to his feet and running straight to police headquarters; but there was no rush. And he didn't want to undercut the first moment of peace and safety in three days for Modo, Maione, and Livia, and for himself as well.

When they got out of the tavern it was broad daylight, and it was Easter Sunday. The church bells, finally free, filled the air with their chimes and the streets began to fill up with little old ladies in black shawls, heading for the churches where they would preside over all the celebrations.

Modo ran his hand over his face, and felt the stubble that demanded the attentions of a razor.

“
Mamma mia
, Signora, I can't believe I let you see me in such bad shape. I hope you'll forgive me. I usually take better care of myself.”

“Don't think twice about it, my dear doctor. First of all, you have the best excuse possible; and then, after all, I'm certainly not at my finest either. I've had a few bad days, though nothing to compare with the experience you've just had.”

Maione added:

“You know, I'm suddenly starving. It's a good thing that today is Easter Sunday, if it was still Lent I'd commit a sin and go straight to a restaurant. In fact, Dotto', I wanted to tell you that I swore an oath last night, privately: if the doctor is freed, then he's coming to our house for Easter dinner. My wife Lucia has made a
pastiera
that's so good it can talk.”

Livia lit up:

“Ah, the
pastiera
! That's the pie my housekeeper brought me yesterday, because she was worried I had eaten so little over the past few days: it's a wonderful thing, that pie. Even as overwrought as I was, I ate two slices, and I can't wait to eat some more.”

They were outside the doctor's building now, in Piazza del Gesú. The large church, its façade covered with diamond, was dressed up for the holiday, and the faithful were gathering for the first service.

Modo said:

“I never thought I'd see my home again so soon. And I'm grateful to you, truly grateful, my friends. If I weren't such a tough old battle-hardened army doctor, I swear I'd start crying. But since I know that if I were to do such a thing you'd march me straight back to the barracks, I'll spare you. Brigadie', thanks for having taken care of my four-legged friend, it seems to me that under that coat he might have even gotten a bit fatter. And thanks for the invitation, which I gladly accept: I'll catch a couple of hours of sleep, get a shave, and wash up, and I'll see you later in the home of the lovely Signora Lucia.”

After which he went over to Ricciardi and, after gazing into his eyes for what seemed like a long time, gave him a hug.

“I'm sorry, Ricciardi. I'm afraid you're just going to have to tolerate this hug.” Then he bowed to Livia: “Allow me to pay my most sincere respects, Madame: and my heartfelt gratitude. It's a double blessing, to be so devoted to a woman of such beauty: I am surely the beneficiary. I hope to see you again soon.”

The woman returned the bow with a graceful curtsey.

“It's been a pleasure, Dottore. And who knows, perhaps we will see each other again sooner or later.”

Once Modo had vanished through the front door, followed by his dog, Ricciardi turned to Livia:

“I hope you'll forgive us, Livia: Maione and I have to run, we have a very important matter to attend to. But I thank you too, truly. I'll be forever in your debt, for this deed you performed, and which I certainly didn't deserve.”

“I'm very happy with how things turned out, mostly for the doctor, who truly is an extraordinary man. As for you, I just hope that what happened will help you to understand a little something about me, and about yourself as well. Happy Easter.”

She turned to go, but Ricciardi impulsively called after her:

“Livia, listen. You mentioned a celebration, a special Easter performance tonight at the Teatro San Carlo. If you still plan to attend, I'd be delighted to accompany you.”

She stood motionless, her back to him. She wasn't sure she'd heard right; and after all, she'd made up her mind to leave town, hadn't she? She'd decided to abandon that ridiculous illusion, to stop humiliating herself for a man who didn't want her. And even that invitation, she realized a second later, wasn't it merely the product of his gratitude for her help in freeing the doctor? Wasn't it too little, too late, for a new beginning?

No, she answered her own question. It wasn't too little, too late.

“You know, Ricciardi, I'd decided to leave, and I was planning to spend the evening packing my bags. But all things considered, that's something I can just as easily do tomorrow morning; perhaps after another slice of that wonderful pie. All right then, invitation accepted. I'll expect you at my place, at nine.”

And she left, taking care that neither man could see the joy lighting up her face.

Once they were alone, Maione immediately spoke to Ricciardi:

“Commissa', just what is this important matter we have to attend to? I'm not even on duty, and if I'm late for Easter dinner this will be the time that Lucia finally slaughters me and serves me up roasted, with a side dish of potatoes, instead of the kid goat.”

Ricciardi was walking briskly toward the office.

“I've figured it out, Raffaele. I've figured it all out. I've figured out what happened, and why. I've figured out who killed the poor girl, and how, and even the mistakes they made. I need to confirm a few things, but I've figured it out.”

Maione was having a hard time keeping up with him.

“Commissa', then help me figure it out too. Tell me what we need to do.”

And Ricciardi told him, continuing to stride briskly, dodging all the people pouring out into the street to celebrate Easter and springtime, the
madonnari
who were using colored chalk to draw scenes of Jesus blessing Mussolini on the sidewalks, beggars playing mandolins and ocarinas, black blindfolds over their eyes, and the thousands of strolling vendors setting up shop outside the churches.

He told him everything, speaking of passions, emotions, and cash.

He told him everything, of murder caught as always midway between hunger and love.

He told him everything, and when they reached the entrance to police headquarters they were once again full of strength and energy, as if they hadn't spent two sleepless nights, as if they hadn't just dealt with so daunting an experience. They were hunting dogs, and after bounding aimlessly through fields, they'd caught scent of their prey and were prowling, bellies to the earth, ready to lunge at its throat.

Maione rubbed his hands eagerly.