Michael Dibdin: And then you die

Lessi had stopped moving, intent on his story, but Zen kept going, restlessly tracing a figure of short steps one way and another, but always two to the left and one to the right.

'Well, dottore, the reason you're alive is just the reverse of that scenario. The men who set the bomb and were responsible for detonating it were stationed on the hillside above the bridge your car crossed. Just for the record, they had no idea that you were in it. They had been told that the passengers were some Mafia thugs who we were eliminating as a routine "dirty war" tactic designed to stir up trouble between the rival clans.'

Zen kept moving, glancing down at his feet as though they hurt him. Like the professional he was, even while fixated on his tale, Lessi responded by keeping pace in the same clockwise direction, keeping Zen always opposite him and safely beyond striking range, about two metres distant.

'When they found out the truth, they were horrified, or at least pretended to be,' he went on. 'I tried to pass it off as a mistake, but I was forced to resign anyway. That hurt, I can tell you. I'd been expecting a little more cooperation and understanding from men I'd been working with for all these years.'

He coughed out another laugh.

'Loyalty doesn't mean a damn thing in this country any more.' Still continuing his ritualistic shuffle, Zen looked Lessi in the eye for the first time. 'But they blew the bomb.'

'They blew the bomb, just like our friends in the Mafia did with Falcone. Unfortunately in their case they blew it a couple of seconds too late. I watched the whole thing from the ridge on the other side of the river bed, counting down to give the signal by turning the motorbike's headlights on. But your driver seemed to speed up suddenly, and by the time I flashed and the others responded, the car had crossed the bridge. And since you were sitting in the front, it was that poor dumb cop who came along to hold your hand who was killed, while you and the driver got off with a few scrapes and bruises.'

'It was rather more serious than that.'

'Who cares? The only thing that matters is that you're still alive. Alfredo isn't. Plus you have enough evidence to send me away for life, if you could ever get anyone to believe you.'

‘I couldn't. You know that.'

'No, I don't. I'd like to think so. I'd even go so far to admit that it’s probable that no one would believe you. But it’s not certain. And I want certainty at this point in my life, Zen. I've been eking out an existence of sorts with my relatives in Pisa, but sooner or later my savings are going to run out, and you know what I can expect then? At best some dead-end job as a private guardia giurata standing like a target outside a bank all day.'

Zen took two more steps to his left.

'Stay put!' Lessi yelled suddenly, raising his pistol.

Zen shrugged self-deprecatingly.

'If s my feet. Bunions. Runs in the family. If I have to stand still for any time, they start acting up.'

'Fine. Just don't try acting up yourself. Can you imagine how I've felt? Fired from my job, my partner killed, and meanwhile your career is all set to go into orbit just as soon as the injured hero of the Mafia wars decides that he's sufficiently rested to trudge back to the office and tell the press and some keen young investigating magistrate with a reputation to make that his memory has suddenly come back and the true story of what happened that night in Sicily is rather different from what everyone has been led to believe.'

Lessi gestured with the pistol.

'Up against the wall again,' he said. 'It’ll be easier for both of us.'

Zen gestured frantically.

'But what about Signora Santini?' he said. 'She has nothing to do with any of this.'

'She does now. I've been monitoring your cellphone conversations, you see. Quite easily done, if you have access to the equipment. So I knew when you were expected this evening, and got here in plenty of time. Your girlfriend seemed quite surprised to see me, and naturally we got chatting once I'd tied her up. I needed to tell someone, you see, and I knew there wouldn't be time once you arrived. So I'm afraid it has to be both of you. It would anyway, if that’s any consolation. I'm a pro, just like you, Zen. We don't leave jobs half done.'

That was it, then. Still over two metres to go, and the clock had apparently run out. Lessi had explained everything he had to say to Gemma earlier, and now had no further need to talk.

Which left only one very risky possibility, totally dependent on Lessi being the 'pro' he claimed to be, in control of the situation, his trigger finger relaxed.

Zen shrugged helplessly and staggered to his left, in the direction Lessi had indicated. His shoe caught the base of a sideboard leaning against the wall, and he went tumbling down to the floor, a comic buffoon unable to make his way about the room without falling over.

Lessi laughed.

'Maybe I've been overestimating you’ he said. 'Come on, get up! On your feet and up against the wall.' Zen clambered up again, then slumped on to his knees. 'I can't believe this is happening,' he whined. 'Well it is’

Zen lurched up once more, glancing about him as though totally in shock. He had now made up the circular distance. All that remained was the final and most dangerous move, and the question of whether Gemma had understood. But there was no point in worrying about that.

Turning, he took two long, slow steps towards Lessi, his hands outspread in a gesture of appeal.

'Look, can't we just.. ‘

Lessi instantly stepped backwards, so as to maintain the distance between them. He was just starting to say something when Gemma kicked him viciously in the back of the knees. A shot went off, wide to the right, and then Zen sprang forward as Lessi crumpled, kicking him hard in the groin and following it up with a blow to the man's chin. He grabbed the hand holding the pistol, swung Lessi around and fell heavily on top of him.

For a moment Lessi lay limp on the floor, groaning. Zen raised his weight slightly off the man's body and went for the pistol. Instantly Lessi swirled up and around; In desperation, Zen grabbed a handful of the scattered roses and rasped the thorny stems across his opponent's face. Lessi screamed and instinctively brought up his hands to cover his eyes. Zen sank his teeth into the hand holding the gun, prised it loose by the barrel, and hit the other man again and again over the head with short, rapid blows, drawing blood from the scalp.

Lessi groaned and collapsed, murmuring something Zen didn't understand. When he was finally still, Zen transferred the butt of the pistol to his hand, crossed himself rapidly, stuck the barrel into the base of Lessi's skull and fired three times.

A long time seemed to pass. Finally Zen stood up, thinking of the time he had put up some shelving at the family home in Venice, years ago. He felt the same calm, quiet satisfaction now, the same modest pride at a job well done. That house must be worth a fortune now, he thought.

He was brought out of this complacent mood of professional satisfaction by a savage kick to his calf which almost brought him down on top of his victim. He immediately bent over Gemma, tore the metallic tape off her mouth and then kissed her impulsively. Some of the adhesive backing remained on her lips, and even when the kiss was over it took a moment for them to unglue themselves.

'Hang on,' Zen told her, heading for the kitchen. He returned with a bread knife with which he cut through the cord binding Gemma to the chair. Then he helped her to her feet, rubbing the sore patches on her wrists anxiously.

'Let's just make sure the bastard's dead first,' said Gemma, pulling herself free.

She bent over Lessi's body while Zen stood back, the pistol in one hand and the knife in the other.