Conor Fitzgerald - The Namesake

‘Not for my own convenience. I am protecting society.’

‘You have some political ideas in your mind that aren’t even yours to begin with. You love yourself so much you think certain ideas are sacred just because they happen to live in your head. My actions will probably save lives, but you don’t count them. Mafiosi killing Mafiosi is more than OK, it’s something you welcome. You get to decide whose lives are worth more. Does my wife deserve to die more than your girlfriend, what’s her name… that female inspector? Caterina, that’s her.’

‘Don’t.’

‘I’ll try not to, Commissioner, but maybe you could have thought of her beforehand. Now I go back to my family that you put in danger, I instruct them to stay put, to fight. I forgive my wife because in the end your lie became a reality and she called Arconti for help, and I tell her that anyone who knows this is in danger, and anyone who reveals it is dead, and I tell Basile and others I have a policeman in captivity, though I won’t say where, awaiting our decision.’

‘How do you know it was my lie? How do you know I was behind the altered transcript?’

‘Word gets around. If all this works out for the best, join me and you’ll find yourself meeting the most surprising people in the most unexpected places.’

‘Massimiliani informed on me?’

‘No, Commissioner. It’s simpler than that. I knew it wasn’t Arconti, because I know his style. It had to be you. All I had to do was listen and find out a few details, like where they found the transcripts — your office and in Arconti’s office after you had been in there. Logic works better than spies.’

‘You ordered the murder of an innocent man simply to intimidate an honest magistrate.’

‘Wrong again. The murder of that unfortunate Milanese man was a declaration of war against me.’

‘So you didn’t order it?’

‘I can’t order Tony Megale to do anything. What I can do, and what I did, was give him enough space to make a serious mistake. Ever since he murdered his mother — did you know he did that? Ever since then people have been waiting for someone to wipe the slate clean. There is another branch of the Megale family in Africo that is keen to see the surname purified, and will support me.’

Curmaci picked up his pistol from the table, then the shotgun and backed away towards the edge of the cave. ‘The meeting’s tomorrow. You had better hope for the best. The batteries on those lamps last for ages, but you might want to save them.’

He made broad sweeps with the shotgun pointing around the cave. ‘Some cans. An old opener. Camp stove, hope there’s still gas. Water on the right; catch it in a cup. Oh, you had better shit away from the water. That’s important.’

‘You’re leaving me here?’

‘You want me to shoot you? I’d prefer to give you the chance to think about my offer. If I come back for you in two or three days, and next week you find yourself walking on the right side of the earth and enjoying the sun, then maybe you’ll have learned to trust me a bit. I’ve got some walking to do myself now. All the way back to Ardore.’

Curmaci went towards the steel door, keeping him covered with the pistol and fading into the darkness. Blume did not see him open the door, but now he heard him close it and slide a bolt on the other side.

Curmaci’s voice came muffled through the steel. ‘Just wait for me. Trust, Commissioner, and if you can’t trust…’

But his next words were lost as he moved down the passage.

Blume stayed motionless for ten minutes examining his options. Then he stood up and went around the cavern, unhooking the four lanterns from steel nails hammered into the rock. He brought them over to the table, and turned them off one by one. After the last had gone out, he sat there, waiting for his eyes to get used to the dark. When he had been sitting there for what seemed like half an hour, he accepted that the darkness was total. He lit one lantern, and went over to the door and gave it a few kicks, each harder than the last, exorcizing the deathly silence, pleased to be able to declare his presence through noise, but managing to unnerve himself too. Hammering on doors was what the incarcerated insane did.

Over the next few hours, how many he could not tell, he twice went over with a lamp to where the body lay and looked at the white face staring as if at something on the roof behind him. Twice he raised the lantern to see what Pietro was gazing at, knowing that his action made no sense. Blume had seen many dead bodies in his time, but never one whose death he had been responsible for. He gave it a kick, then whispered, ‘Fuck you,’ and waited to see if he felt any sense of angry triumph, but he didn’t. Then he cleared his throat and said, more solemnly, ‘Sorry.’

But he didn’t feel sorry either.

He returned to the entrance, gave the door a few more kicks. It did not budge, and even if it opened, there would be no ladder at the end of the nightmare corridor outside. But he could not think of any better plan. He went back towards the table where he had seen some pieces of cutlery, a fork. He was but four steps from the table when, without any preliminary flickering, the first lamp died with the suddenness of someone switching it off. He walked till he felt himself hitting the wood.

Wednesday, 2 September

Locri

With just three hours to go before the Polsi celebrations began, Enrico Megale phoned Ruggiero Curmaci and said, ‘Are you coming today?’ His voice was full of excitement, perhaps because of the day ahead, perhaps because his father was there.

‘Sure,’ said Ruggiero.

‘You need a lift?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Ruggiero.

‘No? How are you getting there?’

‘By car, I suppose,’ said Ruggiero.

A few beats passed before Enrico said, ‘OK. I’ll see you there. Call us if you need a lift, OK?’

‘Sure,’ said Ruggiero. ‘Are you going with your father?’

‘Yes! Great, isn’t it? Look, I’m sorry your dad couldn’t make it back. I hear there are problems. Maybe he’ll arrive at the procession at the last moment, huh? Did he say anything?’

‘We’ve not heard from him.’

‘So, your mother’s going to drive?’ asked Enrico.

‘I guess,’ said Ruggiero.

‘We won’t be leaving for another hour and a half, so… you know.’

‘Thanks, Enrico. You’re a good friend.’

‘Yeah, oh listen you haven’t seen my uncle anywhere, have you? Zia Rosa is out of her mind with worry. Pietro got a call yesterday afternoon, went out, and hasn’t come back since and has turned off his phone.’

‘I’ve been here all the time, Enrico, so I never saw him. Who called him?’

‘He didn’t say. He didn’t even say someone had called. My aunt heard his phone ringing, then it stopped and he left without saying a word. He took the car. Did I tell you about the car?’

‘No,’ said Ruggiero. ‘You mean the old Fiat Ritmo?’

‘Yeah. The other night it slipped out of gear, went rolling out of the drive on to the road, and got stuck in a ditch. Wild! Imagine if it had hit someone. It would have been like getting hit by a car driven by a ghost. Yesterday morning, Uncle Pietro looks out the window and says, “They’ve stolen the fucking Ritmo!” And then my aunt says maybe it slipped out of gear and rolled away, and he says, “No, they’ve stolen it, the bastards.” Then my aunt, she puts some cheese on his bread, waits till it’s all in his mouth, and says, “How much do you think they’ll get for it?” And my uncle almost died from laughing, choking on his bread, and had to spit it out, the two of them like kids, howling at the idea of someone trying to sell the Ritmo. It turns out it was her fault. She was the last one to drive it, and she remembers not bothering to put it into gear when she parked under the kitchen window. My uncle says women drivers are so bad they even have crashes after they’ve parked, which was a good one.’