Free A Walk in the Dark by Gianrico Carofiglio Page B

puffs.
    “Thank you,” she said.
    I nodded, modestly. But I was very pleased.
    She told me she would come to my office in the afternoon. To pay. Then she looked me in the eyes
for a few seconds, and asked if she could tell me something. Of course, I replied.
    “You’re a very good lawyer, as far as I can tell. But there’s something more. In my line of work, I’ve learned a lot about men, and I think I can recognize the decent ones. On the very rare occasions when I meet them. I had two other lawyers before you. Both of them asked me – how should I put this? – for a supplement to their fee, right there in the office, with the door locked. I suppose they thought it was normal, after all I’m just a whore, so . . .”
    She took a deep drag on her cigarette. I didn’t know what to say.
    “So nothing. You, on the other hand, apart from getting me acquitted, have treated me with respect. And that’s something I won’t forget. When I come to the office I’ll bring you a book. Apart from the money, obviously.”
    Then she shook my hand and left.
     
     
    I decided to go and have a coffee, or whatever. I felt light-headed, like after an exam at university. Or, indeed, after winning a case.
    As I was walking along the corridor leading to the bar, I saw Dellisanti ahead of me, in the middle of a group of trainees, young lawyers and secretaries. We hadn’t spoken since his phone call to my office.
    My first impulse was to turn on my heels, leave the courthouse, and have my coffee in some bar outside. To avoid an encounter. I even slowed down, and had almost come to a halt when I heard these words quite distinctly, in my head: “Are you losing it completely? Are you afraid of that windbag and his band of flunkeys? You’ll have your coffee wherever you like and
that lot can go fuck themselves.” The exact words. It sometimes happens.
    So I started walking quickly again, passed Dellisanti and his entourage, pretending not to see them, and walked into the bar.
    They joined me at the counter as I was ordering a fresh orange juice.
    “Hello, Guerrieri.” As friendly as a python.
    I turned, as if I’d only just become aware of their presence.
    “Oh, hello, Dellisanti.”
    “Well, now, what have you got to say?”
    “How do you mean?”
    “Did you check out what I told you? About the girl, I mean.”
    I didn’t know what to say. It was a bother having to say anything at all, and the man knew how to make whoever he was speaking to feel uncomfortable. No doubt about that.
    In reality I’d have liked to tell him that he ought to be thinking about defending his client. Accused of serious crimes. And I would think about defending my client. The victim of the same serious crimes.
    I’d have liked to tell him not to make any more phone calls like the one a few days ago, that I’d make sure he lost any desire he had to do so.
    In other words, the reply of a man.
    Instead of which, I babbled something about how things aren’t what they seem, and anyway they were different from the way they’d been told to him, and to cut a long story short, I didn’t know how to wriggle out of it only a few days after taking the case. Without a valid excuse, I couldn’t do anything. Maybe in a few weeks, or a few months, depending on how the trial went, we could talk again.

    In other words, the reply of a coward.
    “All right, Guerrieri. I’ve already said what I had to say. Do as you see fit, let everyone take responsibility for his own actions and face the consequences.”
    He turned and walked out. With all the others, in formation. Perfectly trained.
    After a few seconds I shook my head, with the kind of movement dogs make when they’re wet and want to shake the water off them, and then went to the cash desk to pay.
    “Avvocato Delissanti’s already paid,” the cashier said.
    I was about to reply that I’d pay for my own orange juice, or something like that. Then I thought it best to avoid ridicule.
    It’s always best, as