the
pie.
He
nodded at me to get inside. As soon as I stepped over the threshold, he slammed
me against the wall and frisked me. He did it like a pro. After all, he'd been
in the military police for a good part of his life. He directed me into the
hallway with the gun. We went into a roomy kitchen where his partner was
waiting for us, armed with a pump rifle. He aimed it at my face. If he squeezed
the trigger, my head would've been ripped from my body. Romo barked an order,
and Tonci lowered the weapon. I smiled at him. He was tall and thin, with
muscles sculpted by years at the gym. His head was shaved too. He had a pig's
face and a pointy blond goatee. The classic executioner. They steered me
towards a chair. The table was still set from the night before. Plates and
cutlery for two. The girl must be on the street before dinner. I lit a
cigarette.
"Talk,"
ordered Cerni in Italian. He sounded like a cop. The job must've been imprinted
in his DNA.
"I
work for the police," I explained. "I help the bulls hunt down
fugitives. For money. I'm not a patriot like you. I tracked you down, but
instead of selling you out I thought I'd offer you a job."
Cerni
translated for his buddy. Then he set his eyes on me again. "What kind of
job?"
"A
robbery. An armored truck."
"We've
never done a robbery."
"You
only have to stand on a roof and pick off two guards." I made the gesture
of aiming and firing. "Snipers," I added.
They
muttered to one another. "How much money for each of us?"
"Not
less than a hundred thousand. With that kind of cash you could guarantee
yourselves a decent escape."
"Why
should we trust you?"
"Because
you're in deep shit. If you're forced to hide abroad, it means your friends at
home have unloaded you. You've been judged expendable, and the only way to save
your asses is to find enough dough to cross the ocean and leave Europe
behind."
"What
if we don't accept the offer, maybe because we don't trust you? Informers
betray everybody, with no exceptions."
"Then
you better find another hideout because the cops'll be here soon."
Romo
sneered. "We could kill you now so you won't go tell your friends, the
cops."
I
shook my head and put on a rueful look. "You disappoint me. I took you for
smarter. You really think I'd come here without taking the necessary
precautions? "
He
stood up. Grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge. "I don't like having
to trust an informer."
"You've
got no choice." I cut him short, my tone hard. "I didn't sell you out
because you're crack shooters, and the robbery earns me more. That's it."
They
talked to one another again. Of the two, Tonci seemed more pliable.
Romo scratched
his bristly beard. "OK, we're in. But watch your step, Dago: we'll get
even."
I
dismissed the threat with a wave and proceeded to lay out the details of the
heist. I learned they commanded a pretty good arsenal. It contained two Russian
precision rifles, Dragunovs, with ten-shot clips and infrared sights. You take
a liking to the tools of your trade and never get rid of them.
Romo
translated Tonci's question about how the loot would be divided. They weren't
stupid. Already spotted the moment when they'd be most vulnerable. My answer: I
still had to work it out. Romo made clear they wouldn't do the job without
knowing all the details. I told them not to worry and headed for the door.
I had
a coffee to unwind. Those two guys gave me the willies. Dangerous fanatics,
pros at inflicting violence and cruelty. Going back over the conversation, word
by word, I reached the conclusion they'd try to snatch the whole purse. They
had nothing to lose and might decide not to leave any witnesses hanging around.
The meeting to split the cash risked turning into a shoot-out. My plan,
however, anticipated an