Giorgio Faletti - I Kill

‘Stop.’

‘What?’

‘Stop here a second, please.’

The driver touched the brake and the car rolled gently to the side of the road. The two cops looked at him. The one in the passenger seat shrugged, as if to say, ‘Americans…’

Frank got out and crossed the street. He walked down the unpaved road that led to a house with a gate, set back from the houses either side. The three were just ahead of him. A strong man pushing a woman and a boy.

‘Part of your investigation, Captain Mosse?’

The man stopped at the sound of Frank’s voice, and forced the woman and the boy to stop, too. He turned and saw Frank, but his face showed no surprise.

‘Ah, here he is, our FBI special agent. What’s this, Boy Scout, your good deed for the day? If you stand in the Place du Casino and wait awhile, you might find a little old lady to help cross the street…’

Frank went over to the group. The woman looked at him with a mixture of hope and curiosity. Her eyes were beautiful.

The boy wrenched himself free.

‘You’re hurting me, Ryan.’

‘Get in the house, Stuart. And stay there.’

Mosse let go. Stuart turned to the woman who nodded at him. ‘Go on, Stuart.’

The boy took two steps back and went on looking at them. Then he turned and ran to the green gate.

‘You too, Helena. Go in the house and stay there.’

Mosse twisted the woman’s arm. Frank saw his muscles tighten under his shirt. The woman was still staring at Frank, but Mosse made her turn to face him instead.

‘Look at me. Do you understand, Helena?’

The woman whimpered in pain and nodded. As she left, Helena shot a last, desperate glance at Frank before turning and following the boy. The gate opened, then closed behind them, like the gates of a prison.

The two men faced each other. Frank could tell he was of the same school of thought as Parker. You were either a friend or an enemy. Anyone who didn’t follow them and love them had to accept the consequences.

A brief gust of wind rustled through bushes at the side of the road. Then everything was still again. Frank felt the blood pulsing in his temples.

‘You’re great with women and kids. But that doesn’t seem like much for someone who came here with higher goals. Am I wrong, Captain Mosse?’

Frank smiled. He got the same smile in return. A smile of contempt.

‘You do pretty well yourself with women and children, don’t you, Frank? Oh, I’m sorry, Frank’s too familiar for you. What is it you want to be called? That’s right … Mr Ottobre.’

As Mosse paused to admire his own words, he stepped slightly to one side, shifting his weight like someone expecting to be attacked at any moment. ‘That’s right, Mr Ottobre. You apparently think that women are a good excuse for shirking, don’t you? Nothing doing for Mr Ottobre. Can’t expect anything from him. Closed for mourning. Maybe your wife…’

Frank lunged at him in spite of himself, so fast that the other man didn’t see him coming, even though he was expecting it. The blow hit him in the face and knocked him to the ground. Mosse was flat on his back, a trickle of blood coming from the side of his mouth. Otherwise, Frank’s blow had had no effect on him. He smiled again and there was a light of triumph in his eyes.

‘I’m just sorry you won’t have much time to regret what you just did.’

He arched his back and was on his feet. Almost simultaneously, he kicked his left leg. Frank deflected the kick with his forearm and slightly lost his balance. He realized his mistake immediately. Mosse was a tough opponent and had kicked only to throw him off. The soldier slipped to the ground and with his right leg swept Frank off his feet. As he fell to the pavement, Frank managed to turn to the side, easing his fall with his shoulder. There was a time when he would not have been caught off guard.

Mosse was behind him in a flash. He immobilized Frank’s legs with his own and grabbed his neck with his right arm. A military knife suddenly glimmered in his left hand and now it was pointed at Frank’s throat. The two of them were locked together in a grim embrace. The captain’s eyes were shining, excited by the brawl. Frank realized that he liked it, that fighting was his reason for living. He was one of those people who believed that an enemy was worth his weight in gold.

‘Well, Mr Ottobre, what do you think now? Funny, they said you were good. Didn’t your scout’s instinct tell you not to play with kids who are bigger than you? Where’s your sixth sense?’

The man holding the knife moved and Frank felt the tip enter a nostril. He was afraid Mosse might slice it. He thought of Jack Nicholson in Chinatown and smiled at the memory, which annoyed his adversary even more. He felt the blade push at the cartilage of his nose.

‘That’s enough, Ryan.’

The order was barked from behind them and the tension of the blade lessened immediately. Frank recognized the voice of General Parker. Without turning, after one last thrust of his arm against Frank’s neck, Mosse let go. That last twist meant that it was not over between them. Just postponed.

A soldier never cries. A soldier never forgets. A soldier settles the score.

The captain got up, brushing the dust off his light summer trousers. Frank lay there a moment, looking up at the two of them standing over him, one next to the other. They were so alike physically because, in fact, they were the same. Frank remembered his Italian grandfather and his endless flow of proverbs.

Like attracts like.

It was no accident that the general and the captain stuck together. They had the same goals and probably the same means of accomplishing them. What had just happened made no difference, win or lose. It was just for show. Mosse was pissing around to mark his territory. Frank was worried about what would happen later on.

‘You should use a different command for your Doberman, general. They say platz works best.’

Mosse stiffened, but Parker stopped him with a gesture. He held out his hand to Frank. Without deigning to look at him, Frank got up on his own, brushing off his clothes. He stood before the two men, breathing heavily. He looked into Parker’s cold blue eyes, then caught the gaze of Captain Mosse, which had lost its gleam and was again a mere reflection.

A seagull circled slowly overhead. It was flying out to sea in the blue sky, its jeering cry reaching them from high above.

Parker turned to Mosse.

‘Ryan, could you go inside and make sure Helena is not planning any more foolishness? Thank you.’

Mosse shot one last glance at Frank. His eyes flashed for a moment.

A soldier never forgets.

The light faded instantly. Mosse turned and headed towards the house. He would probably walk the exact same way if his path were strewn with corpses. If Ryan Mosse found the words I kill… written in blood, he would probably write in the same blood underneath: So do I…

Mosse was a man without pity and Frank would not forget it. ‘Please forgive Captain Mosse, Mr Ottobre.’

There was no trace of sarcasm in his voice, but Frank had no illusions. In other circumstances, if necessary, he knew very well that things would end differently. There would be no command from Parker and Ryan would not stop.

‘He’s… what can I say? Sometimes he worries too much about our family. Sometimes he goes overboard, but he’s reliable and trustworthy and cares for us a great deal.’

Frank had no doubt about that. He only wondered about the limits of Mosse’s enthusiasm, which seemed to depend on the lines drawn by the general. ‘The woman you saw earlier is my daughter Helena, Arianna’s older sister. The boy with her is Stuart, my grandson. Her son. She…’