Lilith. Armando Lazzari
been torn to pieces!
With growing disgust, I put the coffee cup on Roberto's desk and slide away the crumbs of the brioche anchored to the shirt. A slight halo of coffee is added to the grime, which by now has become attached to the desk.
"Yikes!"
I realize I've soiled a file. I grab it on the fly and start waving it around, hoping to rid it of the unwanted stain. I wonder what it was. I read sideways.
"Mancini Practice." It says in red: Gold treatment.
I wonder if Roberto will have completed it before the crisis? And how come it's Gold? We usually only award it to very important personalities: politicians, high prelates... and everyone, invariably, wants the honour in front. I think it's time to do some deeper checks on the client. I'm afraid that the De Carli lawyer's patience with Roberto could be exhausted if a Gold contract were to be cancelled. From my workstation I connect to the server and search for Mancini. This damn computer takes a while, but when will the boss decide to renew them?
Here is the file. I check the status: in suspension. Who knows what Mr. Mancini wanted to insure... holy shit! Assets worth more than eight million euros! It's time to call the boss.
"Lawyer, hello, this is Dionisi, I wanted to talk to you about a Gold file that Roberto Capua left in suspension, regarding Mr. Mancini. I was wondering if Capua had mentioned anything to you before he got sick."
"A Gold, he says...wait a minute, let me get my mind right."
He looks like he's just come back from a trance. I solicit his neurons with math applied to his wallet.
"It's 8.4 million euros." He either croaks, or recovers immediately.
"I'll be damned! I remember now. He'd told me about how he was pulling off a good heist, but I thought it was just one of his usual rants!"
I can almost hear the old man's head ringing like a cash register at Uncle Scrooge's.
"Come to think of it, he also told me that he set up an appointment for an evaluation about a week ago. Dionisi: track the client down and deal with them immediately, before the deal falls through. And keep me updated!"
"I'll get right on it, Counsellor."
He hangs up the phone, without even asking me about Roberto's health. The old saying that everyone is useful and no one is indispensable is always valid.
From the card I get his address and phone number. I don't wait any longer and try to contact him.
"Telecom Italia, free message, the number you have dialled does not exist...".
How does it not exist? I try again, maybe I typed it wrong.
"Telecom Italia, free message, the number you have dialled does not exist..."
Go to hell! I throw the handset like a basketball player on the base of the phone. Three points.
How do I find this guy now? Obviously: with the address.
Ask yourself a question and give yourself the answer.
I think of Claudio Bisio and his advertisement with relative musical tune on the number find everything.
"... I'm sorry, sir, but at the address you provided, I have no record of a telephone subscriber. I have checked several times."
I'd switch to competition if I didn't think the result would be the same.
Do you want to see that the guy was playing a joke on Roberto and provided him with false data?
"Hi, Davide, am I disturbing?" I turn around, it's Simonetti from accounting.
"Hi, Marco. Don't bother, come on in."
"I heard about Roberto and wanted to know if you have any news."
So someone with a bit of humanity still exists. I explain to him in broad strokes what little has been understood about the official and it seems to be enough.
"Poor guy. And to think he was so elated the other week because of that invitation to the mega party."
"Party? What party? He didn't tell me anything."
"He told me about a very important client who had invited him to an exclusive party, the main theme of which was...sex!"
My attention goes up, I search and find a more comfortable position in the chair.
"A shy guy like Roberto attending some kind of orgy party? I can hardly believe it."
"Yet I swear he seemed convinced."
He is as amazed as I am. No, that's impossible, I'm more so.
"And how did it end? I mean, he must have told you the outcome of the evening, right?"
"Unfortunately, then I went on vacation and couldn't talk to him. But is it possible that he didn't tell you anything? You're his best friend, you should have been the first to know."
Yeah, why didn't he tell me anything? Was he afraid of my judgment? Come on! As if I was some sanctimonious moralist.
"I assure you, I didn't know." Nor did I imagine.
Roberto's dark side shows up once again.
"However it went, I hope you'll tell us in person soon. Give him my regards if you hear from him."
The question is whether he will hear from me.
"Of course, I won't miss it." They always say that, don't they?
He greets me and walks to the door.
"Marco? One last curiosity: do you remember the name of the client who invited Roberto?" He pauses in the doorway in reflection.
"It seems to me that he was a notary, something like Sinistro or Mancino..."
My eye falls on the paperwork soiled by coffee: you can see that it is....
"Mancini! Yes, the notary Mancini." He concludes my thought, adding another link to the chain. I try to dissimulate my dismay. I succeed and he leaves the room. I throw myself headlong at Roberto's station looking for a clue to track down the mysterious notary. I'm more and more convinced that the party has something to do with Roberto's current state, but I don't understand how an event from a week earlier could have such delayed events: a singular drug. Very singular. At this point, I think it's appropriate to learn more about the notary. I wonder if Roberto had mentioned anything to the beautiful Angela? I look at my watch. It should be traceable by now.
"Hello?"
The little handyman secretary always answers the phone.
"...yes, I am the gentleman who came to see mom. No, I'm not her new boyfriend. No, not a serial killer either. Now, though, can I talk to Mom?"
But did the CIA train her?
"Angela, finally! I'm sorry to bother you. I have some news and I wanted to talk to you about it. Do you know anything about a certain notary Mancini?"
"Who, sorry?" The answer is not the most encouraging. I explain what I've heard, but the outcome doesn't change.
"Maybe he was embarrassed to tell me something that is strictly for boys." Sure. I, too, would have had trouble talking about it with someone who dances a lap dance every night half-naked in front of hundreds of individuals drooling like molosser.
"It's probably what you say, although I don't understand why he left me off the list."
"If he really is involved, it's critical to track him down." And what do you think I'm trying to do?
"Yeah, unfortunately I'm left with just checking the address and I'm afraid that's another dead end as well."
"One would still have to try. Keep me posted, please." Aye-aye, Mr. Lieutenant.
"Sure. See you soon."
I flip through the crumpled road map I keep in the car. Here's the street, in the middle of the countryside on Laurentina: