Free The Goodbye Kiss by Massimo Carlotto Page A

execution.
        
        
        I
decided to look up the Spaniards. Took the tram. Always preferred to travel by public
transport. That way I could more easily make out whether I was being followed.
Besides, I liked looking at the city through the window, checking out streets
and the traffic.
        Nobody
was home. Their host had to be at work. Since it was eleven in the morning, I
thought they might be in the neighborhood doing some shopping-if they hadn't
decided to stay in shape by knocking off a bank. Found them in a bar instead.
As I passed by the window I spotted them, busy biting into cornetti and
drinking cappuccini and frappes. I went inside, grabbed a chair and sat at
their table. The two men reacted by slipping their hands into their jacket
pockets, searching for the reassuring butts of their guns. I challenged them
with a look. The woman did nothing but stare at me. She was the leader. No
doubt about it. I rested my hands on the table to show I didn't have any bad
intentions.
        "Pepe,
Javier and Francisca. Pleased to make your acquaintance," I said in a
friendly tone, speaking Spanish and using their noms de guerre.
        "Who
are you?" she asked.
        "Somebody
who knows everything about you."
        "You're
a comrade?" asked Pepe.
        I
sneered. "Once upon a time I was. Now I've stopped dreaming and dedicated
myself to making money."
        "Who
are you?" repeated Francisca. "You speak Spanish like a
Mexican."
        I
gave her the once-over. She was a stinger, really beautiful. Dark hair and
eyes. Perfectly oval face. Big tits. Long legs sticking out of a miniskirt. The
low-heeled shoes didn't go with the outfit: she probably wore them in case they
had to make tracks. What a shame she wasn't my type. Not only was she too
young, but she came off like one of those ballbreakers who never knuckle under.
Especially to a man.
        I
ignored her questions and ordered my third coffee of the morning from the
barista. Lit a cigarette. Only then did I speak. "I'm a police informer. I
would've sold you to the cops, but it's just your luck I need you for a certain
job."
        "What
kind of job?" asked the woman.
        "A
robbery. An armored truck. One hundred thousand a head."
        The
three of them looked at each other. The two men were pointing their guns at me
through their jacket pockets. They would've been happy to fire, but the place
was too crowded.
        "We
don't work with scum," said Francisca.
        I
smiled and looked her in the eye. "Then start running," I flashed
back, pointing at the door. "You can bet your little Italian friend, his
girl and the people at the community center are going to have a rough time."
        "Motherfucker."
Pepe insulted me. "They know nothing about us. They think we're three
Spanish comrades on vacation."
        "I
know the score. You think the police and the judges won't jump on 'a new
criminal element in the area' to square accounts with a community center that's
always breaking balls?
        Won't
be the first time it's happened in Italy. It's business as usual."
        I
watched them. I knew perfectly well what they were thinking. Others would've
hit the door and felt no qualms if somebody wound up in jail. But not comrades.
Consistency, a sense of responsibility, militant solidarity. I recognized their
confusion. It was identical to what I'd read in Gianni's face at that Parisian
brasserie. They'd accept my offer. They couldn't carry the shame of a betrayal
to the grave. Good for them. They'd die happy.
        "Fuck
off," ordered the woman. "We have to talk. We'll meet here tomorrow,
same time."
     
           
        I
walked till lunch. I chose a restaurant carefully and phoned Ferruccio the
bull. He asked me where I was. Twenty minutes later I saw him come in,
impeccable and elegant as always. The wine I'd chosen wasn't to his liking. He
had it switched without asking my opinion. A cop's