In a Heartbeat (22 page)

I have known love through You

I have known life through You

I have known myself through You

On the twelfth ‘You’ I understood it should have been with a capital letter. No sex here, only Christian love. I saw Monica in the window surrounded by a flock of Sheep, while more came outside to look at the show. They wore white blankets that had been given to them by the waiters. I overheard some of their conversations.

(Learn:
Charity.
Learn:
Fundraising.
Learn:
Secular.
Learn:
Stem cell research
.)

I’d had to wait an hour before I could get Monica out of there and onto the motorway. The party was just starting to warm up. The Flock began to clap their hands to the rhythm of a familiar song.

*

Monica shifted in her seat. ‘Are you staying at my place tonight?’

It was certainly better than the Cupid Motel, where they probably would have shot me on the spot. I accepted.

When Monica fell asleep, I stared at the ceiling with my arm behind my head.

Maaaaaaaaaaaasssss. Maaaaaaasasssssss.

Every time I closed my eyes, I could see the cellar. I imagined myself licking the walls to catch whatever drops of water I could find. Maybe I had found something drinkable down there or maybe I had squeezed the blood out of rats to survive? I owed my life to some bum who was looking for a place to stay; otherwise that Rasta builder would have found me fourteen years later looking like King Tut’s mummy.

Maaaaaaasssssss. Maaaaaasssssssssss.

It was hard to breathe; I felt like my throat was inside out. And like I was dying. The night after La Scala I had a meltdown but it was all in my head. Now, it was something physical. My heart was beating way too quickly and I was in a cold sweat. I was reaching and grasping for something. I couldn’t get air into my lungs. It was so bad that I couldn’t lie down anymore. I got up and wandered around the apartment, moving silently like the ghost that I was. In the living room the lights reflected off the clear wood furniture and also off the framed photographs that stood on the shelves. The Ad Exec was in most of them. In one he was smiling in a white suit with his shirt unbuttoned. The backdrop could have been Paris. In another he was with Monica, sunbathing on the bow of a sailboat. He was wearing a captain’s hat with his fat hanging out, while Monica was topless, blocking the sun from her face with a magazine. Who knows if the skipper had taken the photo or if Bonanno was with them looking on lovingly as he thought about how to screw over
the old cocksucker.
The Ad Exec had offered to do the dirty work in exchange for a promotion that would never come. What a fool.

Maaaaaaaaaassssss. Maaaaaaaaaasssss.

It was only when the sun began to come up that I was able to lie down. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow but I didn’t dream. I was hoping never to dream again.

Monica shook me. She was in a bathrobe and was brushing her hair.

‘It’s time to get up.’

‘What time is it?’ I grumbled.

‘Eight o’clock.’

‘It’s too early … leave me alone.’

She spanked me with the brush. ‘Get up, lazy boy. It’s time to rise and shine a little bit of heaven.’

‘Does Zurloni feed you this crap?’

‘No, it’s the Cibosanto slogan. You came up with it.’

‘Who else could it be?’

‘Should I say that you’re going to be late?’

‘Good.’

‘They’re getting used to seeing less of you.’ I heard her getting dressed. Keys jingled on the nightstand. ‘Leave them in the drawer.’

I couldn’t get back to sleep. I got my clothes that were spread around the room and I made a coffee. The cooker was a crystal plate that didn’t give off heat but when I placed the little stainless steel coffee maker on one of the circles it came to life. Nothing surprised me anymore.

I got to B&M around ten-thirty, still sleepy. I swiped the card through the slot and a red light came on. I tried again, another red light. I tried a few more times before going to the guard booth to find out what was wrong. It was the same guy who had printed up the info on Salima. ‘Good morning,
Signore
,’ he said, slightly sarcastically. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘This thing doesn’t work.’

‘No
Signore
, the
thing
works; it’s your card. Would you give it to me please?’

I gave it to him. He then put it in a drawer and closed it.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Oh, I forgot, this is for you.’

He gave me an envelope. It had the B&M logo on it.
Dear Signor Denti …

It was about fifty lines that could have been summed up in one word: suspended. The director of personnel was sorry for the inconvenience but considering the recent investigation the agency thought it best for me to focus full time on my defence. I was suspended with salary ‘until further notice.’ I could see Bonanno staring at me through the lines on the page. He had already had the letter written before talking to me at the Flock party last night. ‘Trust me.’ Why not? If I’d complained my salary would have been shot to hell as well.
Until further notice
was self-explanatory. I should’ve been relieved; no more early mornings or meetings. But I wasn’t happy. I would’ve loved to strangle that old bastard and throw him down a flight of stairs. At that moment I saw Pippo and he pretended not to see me. Everyone already knew. Word had got around fast.

‘If you need anything from your desk I can accompany you,’ said the guard. He was really enjoying this. He’d have loved the chance to escort me like a prisoner in transit while everyone looked on silently, poking their heads out from their cubicles.

‘I don’t need anything, thank you.’

I took out my last fifty-euro note and I laid it on the counter. ‘Take it; buy something that’ll make your life less miserable, you arsehole.’

I walked away leaving the guard torn between greed and pride. I was outside when Monica called.

‘Yeah, I know everything,’ I said while I walked. Any suicide bombers or killer bikers around? None.

Good.

‘I can’t believe this is happening!’ she screamed. ‘I spoke with my father and he said that Manetti’s heirs weren’t moving on this. He assured me that it was only a question of days until the investigation was finished.’ Pause. Breath. ‘Santo, are you there?’

‘You’re really a nice woman. I don’t know how you’ve been able to make it until now, but Monica, you’re a sweet girl. Don’t ever change.’

I hung up.

I got away in my car, choosing streets randomly. Then I parked and went for a walk to clear my head. Stopping in front of the new monument in Piazza Cadorna I stared at the ten-metre- metal cylinder in the shape of a sewing needle that punctured the ground. A monument to fashion. But it looked more like a tribute to the junkies in Milan. Junkies like Max.
Where the hell are you, you bastard? Whose money are you stealing, now?
I tried to fight back the desire to find him.

When I’d woken up I’d thought it wasn’t worth digging up the past. Max had certainly screwed me over and Trafficante had disappeared so long ago it wasn’t worth defending his honour. But now it was eating at me. For me, only a week had passed. Now, knowing what he had done to me, I lived with it every time I closed my eyes. I couldn’t let it go. I’d find that piece of shit even if he’d had a sex change and was turning tricks in Shanghai.

The Giant called me. I’d put him in my address book and responded. He had organised a meeting with ‘the plumbers’ for that morning if I was available. Would twelve o’clock be good? I had time to make it back home so said yes.

‘The work on the
pipes
will cost you, and they want cash. They won’t invoice you for the job.’

‘How much?’

‘Two thousand up front. You can pay the rest off later. Well, not too much later.’

So there’s a rest to pay off? The bank certainly wouldn’t give me credit. I was surprised that I hadn’t received a phone call from them regarding Spillo’s cheque. I needed the PIN numbers for the credit cards. There was nothing helpful in my wallet. I asked myself where they were written down. The Ad Exec would’ve put them in a safe place close to him just in case he came down with
amnesia …
I looked on his phone and found
Saint.
When I’d first read it I thought that it was just an odd phone number. But inside were three series of numbers with four digits each.

To associate the numbers with the corresponding cards took an attempt or two, with an alarming voice that said, ‘Please try again.’ I took out the maximum amount allowed for each card. (Learn:
PIN Number.
Learn:
Pre-Paid top-up Card.)

I put the cash in my pocket for the job and had some left over just to get by.

When I got home I found two men in dark suits and sunglasses standing on my doorstep. They were the most elegant-looking plumbers that I’d ever seen. One was about thirty and the other was in his fifties. Both had broad shoulders and sharp jaw lines. Tough guys. They carried two metal briefcases that contained the
sniffers
. The older of the two extended his hand. ‘Signor Denti?’

‘A pleasure.’

‘My name is Carlo, and this is Paolo.’ Paolo nodded. ‘Where can we talk?’

‘Let’s go to the garage.’

They followed me down the car ramp, and we stopped in front of my garage. ‘
Officially
, what we’re going to do is search the area for bugs. This is legal,’ said Carlo.

‘I understand.’

I gave them the money; he counted it and put it in a gold money clip that disappeared into his jacket pocket. ‘Is this your garage?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you please give me the keys and step aside?’

They took out a couple of devices from the briefcases. One looked like a battery-powered mini-vacuum cleaner. The other was a small box about the size of a 12-pack of cigarettes. Each had buttons and lights.

‘I don’t think that you’ll find anything sophisticated.’ I explained to them what had happened with the computer.

‘Did it explode when you turned it on?’ asked Paolo while he checked one of his instruments. When he knelt I noticed the bulge under his shirt. A bulletproof vest, I guessed.

‘No, it went off after a few hours.’

‘An amateur. The explosive should have gone off immediately. It was probably connected badly and the bomb went off from the heat generated by the computer and not from the trigger.’ He had the air of a person who could make a bomb in his sleep. ‘Unless he used a remote control, but to set it off he would have had to be close by. The further away, the weaker the signal, especially if it has to go through walls.’

The thought was rather disturbing. What did I really know about my neighbours?

They looked at the garage door. When they were satisfied, one of them turned the key while the other watched the pulsations of the needle on the smaller device. ‘Go,’ he said.

Carlo opened the door. I covered my ears but nothing happened. Then they examined the Cayenne from top to bottom, opened the doors, and searched inside.

‘Clean,’ said Paolo. He patted the boot. ‘Nice ride. How many kilometres per litre?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘If you don’t know that means that you can afford it.’ I saw the final bill grow.

The job in the apartment wasn’t as simple or as fast. They began from the doormat and before opening the door they examined the lock with a device that looked like a hospital probe. They looked at the image on a small monitor. ‘Nothing,’ Carlo said.

They opened the door and I waited a few minutes before following them in. You never know, there might have been a timer somewhere. No bombs.

They took off their jackets and placed them on the back of a chair, careful not to wrinkle them. ‘Where’s the computer?’ Paolo asked.

‘Upstairs.’

‘Would you show us the way please?’

They checked every step going up. We finally made it to the desk where the computer was. The sniffer began to beep.

‘What is it?’ I asked, sticking my head in the room from outside.

Paolo read the numbers off the display. ‘It’s probably combusted potassium nitrate,’ he said. He put on a pair of latex gloves and wiped a piece of cotton on the desk and inserted it in the device. He waited a few minutes and read the indicator. ‘Just as I thought. It’s not dangerous anymore.’

‘What’s potassium nitrate?’

‘A component of gunpowder, the most common product on the market. To sum up, it was a light explosive, nothing more.’