Free Ratking by Michael Dibdin Page B

have risen anyway, anywhere, under any circumstances.’
    Zen smiled slyly.
    ‘We have a saying in Venice. Whether the water is fresh or salt, turds rise to the top.’
    He immediately regretted the comment. What was he doing talking to Crepi in this familiar fashion? But his host’s laughter sounded genuine enough.
    ‘Quite right, quite right! I’ve been at the top myself, so I should know! Oh yes, Gianluigi has done all right for himself. With Silvio taking no interest and Pietro abroad, he’s wormed his way into the senior management level at SIMP. But of course Ruggiero still makes all the final decisions, and there’s no love lost between those two, needless to say. It must be quite a relief for Gianluigi to have the old man out of the way. But we mustn’t forget the other important thing about Cinzia, which also applies to her little brother. It’s simply that when Ruggiero passes on, God forbid, they’ll each inherit twenty-five per cent of SIMP. A quarter of the company each! That’s quite a thought, isn’t it? Particularly when you realize that our foxy little Tuscan is married to one quarter and has the other very firmly under his thumb. Daniele ignores me and treats Silvio like shit, but he obeys his brother-in-law.’
    Zen took another little sip of grappa, rolling it around his mouth. The rough, stalky taste burned down his throat and up into his brain. Why was Crepi telling him all this?
    ‘What about Pietro?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t it rather surprising that he’s not here in Perugia during his father’s ordeal?’
    Crepi nodded.
    ‘He did come back at first, but when the negotiations began to drag out he claimed that he had to go back to London to look after his business interests. He takes after his father in that. Silvio inherited Ruggiero’s looks, Pietro got the brains. He’s extremely sharp, but much too intelligent to let it show. Ruggiero has a slow country manner which has deceived a lot of clever Milanese into not reading the fine print. Pietro trades on his ten years in London. He originally went there to organize the distribution of SIMP products that end, then talked his father into letting him set up a semi-autonomous subsidiary to import a range of products. But that’s just a cover. His real business is currency manipulation. He’s organized a chain of more-or-less fictitious companies and shifts funds around between them, turning a tidy profit each time. Clever, eh? But Pietro is clever, and fiercely ambitious, although you’d never guess it from his manner. He acts like the model of an English gentleman, all vague and shy and diffident. But don’t let it fool you. You could use his ego to cut glass.’
    Zen felt his head beginning to swim.
    ‘I don’t expect to have much to do with the family. They’ve made it quite clear that they’re not prepared to cooperate with the authorities.’
    ‘I know. What bothers me is that they’re not prepared to cooperate with the kidnappers either.’
    ‘But haven’t they already paid up?’
    Crepi made an ambivalent gesture.
    ‘They’ve paid once, back in November. We all thought that was that. But instead of releasing Ruggiero those bastards came back for more. That’s when all the trouble started.’
    ‘How much more did they want?’
    ‘The same again. Ten thousand million lire.’
    Zen made a face.
    ‘God almighty, they’ve got it!’ Crepi snorted impatiently. ‘And if they haven’t there are a hundred ways they could raise it. But they felt they’d agreed to the first demand too easily, and that this time they should strike a harder bargain, arguing over every last lira. Then there was the question of how to raise the money. More problems, more bickering. Exactly what should be sold? Should they borrow? Couldn’t Piero help out? And what about Gianluigi’s idea of doing a deal with a foreign firm interested in acquiring a stake in SIMP? Et cetera, et cetera. I won’t bore you with all the details.’
    ‘What