Conor Fitzgerald - Fatal Touch

“Has something gone wrong, Beppe?”

“It’s got a bit complicated. My cousin’s mates…”

“The thieves,” said Blume. “What do they want, money? Here.” He put down the five thousand in cash from the Colonel.

Paoloni picked it up, handed it back to Blume. “Keep that. At least while I explain. The problem is the two who entered your apartment are beginning to feel nervous. They were hauled in by the Carabinieri a few hours ago and questioned about something totally unrelated that went down last week in Centocelle, then released. They think they were followed.”

“Can’t you help them get rid of a tail and reassure them?”

“I already did. They feel a bit more relaxed now, but, here’s the thing, they don’t want to sell the paintings to someone from law enforcement.

“OK, Beppe, tell them to choose anywhere they want to meet and I’ll go there.”

“They’re a bit freaked. They don’t want to sell the paintings to anyone from law enforcement. One of them said they were thinking of burning them.”

“How would they know I was police, Beppe?”

“You? What else could you be?”

“I could be a foreign buyer.”

“A foreign buyer… Come off it, Alec. They probably saw your picture when they were robbing your house. I didn’t tell them, but I’d be surprised if they didn’t work out that you’re a cop. My cousin probably told them.”

“I don’t have pictures of myself in my house.”

“Of your parents then. You probably look like them. Think it through, Alec.”

Blume had an image in his head of his passport sitting on his bed, pulled out of a drawer along with the stolen cash.

Blume called Faedda on his phone. “There are a few complications on this side. I’ll call you back once I get the paintings.”

Blume snapped shut his phone.

“Give me that money back,” said Paoloni.

Blume fished inside his pocket, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it to Paoloni.

“How much is in there?”

“Five grand.”

“I’ll add another three. They’ll probably start at fifteen. Getting them down to eight shouldn’t be hard. They’re not so good at this sort of thing.”

“So you think you should be the one to get the paintings from them.”

“Can you think of a better person?” said Paoloni. “It’s the only.. ” He stopped as the phone in the apartment trilled and the dog started growling.

“He hates the sound of that phone,” said Paoloni. “The only person who still uses that number is my ex-wife.” He pointed at the growling dog. “Dog says what I think.”

Paoloni reached for the phone on the sideboard, and picked up, rolling his eyes, then turning away so Blume would not have to listen.

The dog ambled over, yawned, stuck his head between Blume’s legs, and snuffled contentedly at his genitals. With one bite, thought Blume, the beast could castrate him in revenge for being abandoned to Paoloni’s care.

“I didn’t think it was possible, but Filomena is worse as a mother than she was as a wife,” said Paoloni, putting down the phone. “Fabio didn’t come home after school and she immediately assumes he’s here with me playing with the PlayStation. That’s the worst she could come up with: video games. If she had any idea what he really gets up to.”

Blume couldn’t call Fabio’s face to mind. What age was the child now-fifteen, sixteen? He asked the only thing he remembered. “Does he still play soccer?”

Paoloni nodded eagerly, pleased to be asked. “He does. As a matter of fact, he’s captain. Not a complete loss, then. And I exaggerate about his behavior. He’s got his act together this year. Gets sevens and eights instead of fours and fives at school. He even said he liked, what was it? Math or science or something improbable.” He hoisted the bag onto his lap. “No point in delaying this thing. You need the paintings back, I can get them. Let’s do it.”

“I’m not sure, Beppe.”

“If you had a better idea you’d have said it by now.”

Blume glanced at his watch. Almost eight. Should he go to Caterina now, or wait for Paoloni to come back with the paintings? Paoloni could take hours.

“Where are you going to get the cash you were talking about?”

“I’ve got some stored away. Don’t you worry about that.”

“Then you call me, soon as you get it done?”

“It could take some time. Also, I don’t want to be caught with you directly afterwards. Wouldn’t do my credibility much- cazzo!” The phone was ringing again. “That woman has no patience.”

Paoloni spoke, alternating hushed tones with raised voice. He made some comforting sounds, then got annoyed, and slammed down the receiver.

“Fabio’s not at any of his friends’ houses, according to his unbalanced mother,” he said. “He doesn’t usually pull this kind of stunt. Like I said, he’s been doing better recently. I’ll kill the little bastard when I get him. Puts his mother through this sort of worry, then she takes it out on me. It’s not what he usually does.”

“He never goes off without telling anyone? I thought all teenagers did that.”

“No,” said Paoloni. “He’s done plenty of shit, but not that. No need, since we always let him go. Personally, I think having friends is better than being good at school. No point in ending up smart and alone, is there? But after this, I’m going to ground him.” He slid an uncharacteristically apologetic note into his tone. “Look, would you just call in and see if there have been any, you know, accidents or incidents in this area?”

Blume took out his phone too quickly, fumbled, and dropped it. “No problem.”

“You look almost as worried as his mother sounds,” said Paoloni.

“Go and get those paintings, Beppe.”

“Maybe I should wait till I get news of Fabio.”

“Go get them now, Beppe. I mean it. The sooner you get them…”

“What? The sooner I get them, the sooner what?”

“The sooner all this is over. I’ll find Fabio for you. I’ll call you when I’ve found him. I’ve got nothing else to do.”

Paoloni stood up, pushed the envelope under his arm, and walked out the room. Minutes later he was back. “You don’t have to worry about paying back the difference.”

“Thanks. I appreciate this. But I’ll get the money back to you.”

“Another thing.” He handed Blume the three notebooks. “No point in keeping these here. If they come looking for them, this will be the second place they’ll look. If I were you, I’d just burn them.”

Blume took the notebooks back without any great pleasure. “Thanks, Beppe.”

“Yeah. Listen, just now you said you would find Fabio… that was a strange way of putting it.”

“What was strange about it? If I find him, you know, maybe a patrol car will spot him on a corner. If I don’t find him, it means he’s back with his mother.”

“Just let me know,” said Paoloni.

They left together. As Paoloni climbed into his car, he said, “I don’t know how long this will take. I’ll call you when I’ve got something.” He paused. “It’s the motorini that scare me most. Death traps. Let me know immediately if there’s been an accident.”

“He’ll be fine,” said Blume.

“Yeah. But let me know, eh?”

While caterina was washing the dishes, wondering about Blume’s weird self-invitation and dark warnings about staying in, Elia appeared at the doorway and informed her, with wonderment in his voice, that AS Roma had as good a goal average as Inter Milan, even though Inter was eight points ahead in the Championship. Did that strike her as in any way fair?

She feigned interest in this, and was rewarded with a series of statistics demonstrating beyond argument that AS Roma, despite frequent losses, seemed to be just as good as any other team in the Championship or, indeed, Europe.