The dogs of Rome cab-1

by Conor Fitzgerald

  “It’s OK,” said the older man, “I got it.”

  He helped the woman get the bags into the elevator. Blume feeling useless stepped out of the way and watched. Although the mother was saying thank you, Blume could see from her face she was uncomfortable with their continued presence.

  Blume smiled at the boy, who was clutching a handful of small Japanese action figures. The doors slid shut just as he began to smile back.

  Glistening from the effort of helping the woman with the shopping bags, the older man came up to Blume.

  “This is not an abduction. I want to make that clear. Up there, in the apartment…”

  “Yes, what shall we call that?” asked Blume.

  “A precautionary search.”

  “I am a police officer.”

  “Yeah, we know. We had to check. Now anything you do from here on out is of your own free will.”

  “Like if I walked away?”

  “Even that. We might follow you.”

  “If I pulled out a phone, called up a car to have you arrested for assault of a police officer with a deadly weapon, aggravated ab-” Blume stopped. He could see a look of genuine boredom in the old man’s gray eyes. “So, you want me to come with you?”

  “That would be by far the best solution. But I want to emphasize that this is something you are doing of-”

  “My own free will. So you said.”

  The tracksuit behind him moved impatiently. “Can we get out of here? People can hear things.”

  “Good point, Fa.” To Blume he said, “If you came with us, it would make things easier. You get in your own car, there’s no telling who you might call. Maybe you’d take a wrong turn, spend the next hour trying to find us again, especially since you would be driving with one arm.”

  “I have an automatic transmission in that car. But you have persuaded me. Where am I voluntarily going with you?”

  “Mr. Innocenzi’s.”

  Blume thought about it. “OK. I wanted to talk to him anyway.”

  “Happy coincidence.”

  The three of them walked out under the midday sun and climbed into a double-parked Cherokee. The older man sat in the back with Blume. They drove north along the quays of the Tiber, then turned right to head into the center. A traffic policeman began flapping a red-and-white stick shaped like a lollipop at them as they entered the blue zone. They slowed down to let him see the permit on the windscreen. The traffic policeman signaled at them to go on.

  They crossed the center. As they drove up Via Veneto, Blume’s reluctant captor pulled out a cell phone and told someone they were almost there.

  They arrived at their destination, on Via Po, in the embassy district of the city. The driver pulled the car up to the curb.

  “There. The house with the green door. Just one bell. Ring it.”

  He opened the car door and Blume stepped out.

  34

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 5 P.M.

  Patience, thought Blume. He would take a small kudos loss on the way he had been brought here. Another youth in another velour tracksuit, zipper undone to reveal a hairless shining chest, opened the door before he rang or knocked. The youth stayed by the door as Blume walked into a hallway lined with framed motion picture stills of Alberto Sordi, a stylized picture of Mussolini, and a futurist poster of fast red cars.

  From the far end of the corridor, someone said “He was great, wasn’t he?”

  Blume looked down, his eyes adjusting to the dimmer light, and saw Innocenzi. He had seen him in plenty of photos and even on TV. He was wearing a green silk shirt, white cotton pants, a pair of Chinese kung-fu slippers.

  Blume said, “No. I hate Sordi. Hate his movies, hate his voice. All that Romanaccio shit.”

  Innocenzi seemed taken aback. “Wow. You’re the first person I have met to take that attitude. Maybe you need to be a true- blood Roman instead of an American to appreciate the man. But he’s gone now, may his great soul rest in peace. Also, I was talking about Mussolini.”

  Blume reached Innocenzi, who held out a hand in greeting. Blume thought about it, then took the proffered hand, which was as hard as a seashell.

  “Great,” said Innocenzi. “In here.”

  He left the door ajar as he followed Blume into the room, which was furnished as if a teenage hippie from the 1970s had moved into the drawing room of a spinster from the 1920s and simply added stuff without ever taking anything out.

  A lava lamp sat on lace draped over a mahogany dresser, a huge old-fashioned stereo with yellow lights sat blinking on a polished flat-topped wooden trunk. A small shrine to the Sacred Heart was attached to the far wall. A few LPs were fanned out over the floor: Led Zeppelin, Bob Dylan, Cream, Lucio Battisti. Silver candlesticks, cigarette papers, a green plastic clock, and a cigarette rolling machine were reflected in the large oval mirror of a vanity to Blume’s left. Hanging on the wall behind was an old poster with a stylized dove symbol.

  Slightly off-center was a square card table topped with green felt, marked with burns and with stains from the rims of glasses. Innocenzi pointed Blume into a chair, pulled one up himself, sat at the opposite end of the table and said, “You’ve been paying visits to my daughter.”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though you’re not on this case?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re something else, know that?”

  Blume didn’t feel like he had any explaining to do, so he sat silent. Innocenzi, who seemed to be lost in contemplation, did the same. Innocenzi’s breath smelled of garlic and mint. The stubble sat on his face like grains of wet black sand. His age was most visible from two creases running diagonally from his high cheekbones down the side of his face, giving a triangular and simian shape to the area between his upper lip and nose. He still had plenty of hair, but he kept it too long at the back, and too black for his sixty-eight years. It was high time, Blume felt, the Italians came up with their own word for mullet.

  A chandelier with bulbs missing hung from the ceiling. The light from the window was muted by half-closed wooden shutters. A sofa made from extruded aluminium and hard plastic upholstery sat in the middle. What the hell did the boss spend his millions on?

  After a while, Blume said, “If we’re not going anywhere with this, I may as well go.”

  Innocenzi made a slow chopping movement with his hand. “No, no, no. Stay there. I was just getting to know you in person, and maybe I have something to tell you about your cop killers, Alleva and Massoni.”

  “As you said, it’s not my case.”

  “You want me to give someone else the information?” Innocenzi sounded disappointed.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Well, as it happens, I already did. I told Inspector Paoloni where to find Alleva and Massoni. I told him-let me see-on Wednesday, was it? Whatever day the funeral was. I can tell from just looking at your face that this is news to you. I can also tell that you’ve been betrayed. You know what people do when they’ve been betrayed? They wrinkle the top of their nose. And with your nose, it’s very easy to see. So Paoloni didn’t tell you?”

  “What did he do to them?”

  “You’re not in the picture at all, are you? Good. I like to break news. So Paoloni turns up at the address I gave him, in an unmarked car. He waits for a bit and four other cops, two from your place, two from Tor Vergata, or so I heard, meet at the bottom of the street, around one o’clock at night.”

  “Have you got the names of these cops?” said Blume.

  “Serenity and patience, Commissioner. I’ve got more than that, as you’ll find out if you let me finish my story.” He waited to see if Blume wanted to interrupt again, then continued: “We’ve got a few people watching. They were there because I trust them and wanted to reward them with some light entertainment. The cop from Tor Vergata had a battering ram. The others have weapons which I don’t think are standard issue for you people. Colt revolver, one had. Scared of dropping shells, I suppose. No masks or bala-c
lavas, just upturned collars. So they burst into this apartment and scare the living Jesus out of a foolish barman who thought he could skim on the poker machines we installed in his premises. My people said the barman and his wife squealed like two pigs when they burst in.”

  “What did they do to them?”

  “Your colleagues? Nothing. They wanted Alleva and Massoni, didn’t they? They just got out of there as quickly as possible. You should have seen the looks on their faces.”

  “You were there?”

  “No, no. I saw the video. My men were there for entertainment value, but also for a purpose. All four faces. It’s clear that Paoloni is the leader. We also have a recording of me giving him the false address.”

  Blume glanced behind him. The door to the room was very slightly ajar, and he could just make out the immobile figure of someone standing outside.

  “No. We’re not videoing this,” said Innocenzi. “Not that you have any reason to believe me.” He made a scissors movement with two fingers and pulled something out of his breast pocket. “Here. Have this. I am still amazed at how small these things are. Technology never stops, and, to be sincere, I cannot keep up with it. Apparently, all the footage is on this.”

  It was a small memory card. Blume took it. There was no point even in asking if it was the original.

  “By the way, Alec, why were you with my daughter?”

  “Just some loose ends. Don’t use my first name.”

  “I’ll call you what I want. Have you gathered them up yet, these loose ends?”

  “Well, I was getting there. Then I got interrupted by a man with no ears and a doped-up youth who could easily have shot me by mistake.”

  “Sorry about the youth. He’s an apprentice. They have to be broken in, you know? You think it’s moral to go to my daughter’s house like that, just to satisfy your curiosity?”

  “She needs to be more careful. She could get herself and you into trouble. Anyhow, it was a setup. She forced me to visit, and your men were there waiting.”

  “O la Madonna, listen to you and your suspicious mind. It was not like that. My daughter, she can be impulsive, but she means well. I keep an eye on her. You were seen arriving, and the decisions afterwards were mine. She likes you, Alec. She phoned me to get assurances that nothing bad would happen to you. She explained that you had a good reason to be with her. She told me about her call to that woman politician.”

  He pulled out a pack of Chesterfields, lit one, dropped the pack on the table, pointed to it.

  “No, thanks,” said Blume.

  Innocenzi blew a stream of smoke out his nose. Blume noticed it came out of his left nostril only. A silver crucifix hung from a chain around his neck.

  Innocenzi jabbed the cigarette in Blume’s direction. “OK, let’s do it like this. First thing, you’re free to walk out of here anytime you want, and you won’t get grief from me now or later. Second, I’m going to say a few things to you, then watch your face to see what effect I’m having.”

  “Faces don’t tell as much as you think,” said Blume.

  “You know, I think you’re wrong there, Alec. Or maybe I’m wrong. Hey, humor an old man. What happened to your nose, by the way?”

  “My nose is perfectly fucking fine.”

  “Aho, calm down. Are you ready or not?”

  “What? Now I’m supposed to take on a stony expression?” Despite himself, Blume set his face to expressionless.

  “Perfect. That’s the sort of face I want. Now, I think that if Alleva and Massoni were to turn up dead, you would follow another lead before coming after me.”

  “That’s what you think?”

  “Good. You’re not showing too much expression yet. So that’s what I think, and that is why I’m going to tell you where Alleva and Massoni’s hideout is.”

  Blume felt himself tense a little.

  “Fantastic!” said Innocenzi. “You can’t deny a flash of interest in your eyes there. Faces don’t lie. I’ve always been right about that.”

  “You just gave me a film of Paoloni falling into the same trap.”

  “Except that was Paoloni and you are you. I needed some more leverage on him, a bit of compromise power. Evidently Alleva knows compromising things about Paoloni and probably the other four policemen, or maybe they were just there to avenge a colleague. And now Paoloni is even more compromised than before. It’s divine justice, and I love it. Anyhow, here it is.

  Alleva’s real hideout. It took far longer than I thought possible to find this out. Alleva’s a slippery bastard.” Innocenzi pulled a grubby piece of paper from the same pocket that had contained the memory card, and placed it on the felt between them. Blume glanced at it, saw an address.

  “Not in Rome,” said Innocenzi. “Near Civitavecchia. Now all you have to do is go there, and then get an extradition warrant, because by now he’ll not be long gone. In Argentina, trying to build a new life, bless him. It will be easier for us to find him there than here. Isn’t that paradoxical?”

  “Why should I believe this is the address?”

  “Make an act of faith, Alec. Why should it not be the real address? I trust you not to go there with a death squad.”

  “And why should I think that you haven’t already made a visit?”

  “If I or someone representing my interests had visited Alleva and Massoni, it might have ended badly for them, in which case I could be giving you the address to a crime scene that points back to me, which I should never do. I want you to ascertain that Alleva has indeed gone, that I have no involvement in his actions, especially as regards the killing of the young policeman, may God grant his soul everlasting peace.”

  Blume did not touch the piece of paper.

  “I am steering well clear of this, Alec. Dead policeman. Dead dog lover. I don’t have it on my conscience, and I don’t want it on my mind either. I’m handing it over to you. Do you want that address or not?”

  “You just gave it to me. I can remember an address.”

  “Take the piece of paper; it’s more symbolic that way.”

  “Fine.” Blume snatched the piece of paper, put it in his breast pocket. “I don’t think Alleva had anything to do with Clemente’s murder. But we are going to get him for what he had done to Ferrucci.”

  “Poor kid,” said Innocenzi, touching the crucifix on his neck. “You’re doing a fine job, Alec. Unlike your superiors. Even the man’s faithless wife seems to accept that it was Alleva. That’s what her so-called friend in the questura is telling her.”

  Blume said, “That’s the line they’re taking.”

  “Yes. The guy in the questura, the person the widow is taking advice from?”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s the same guy your former partner D’Amico works for. I forget his name. I can look it up if you want.” Innocenzi paused to measure the effect of his words. “I can see that was not much news to you.”

  “More of your face-reading. I don’t need the name of D’Amico’s boss,” said Blume.

  “Yeah. He’s a total irrelevance. What’s he to us? But now this Di Tivoli. What do we make of him? He appears on our television screens and opens twenty-five cans of worms on air. I hate to judge another man-but what can be expected from a queer such as Di Tivoli?”

  “Is that all you got on him? That he’s gay?”

  “It is an utter abomination, and a detestable act,” said Innocenzi.

  “Doesn’t bear thinking about,” said Blume. “But is that all?”

  “Transvestites, transsexuals, ladyboys. Also, when it comes to age of consent, he skates on thin ice. Barely legal.”

  “But legal?” said Blume.

  “What are you, his lawyer?”

  Blume said, “Di Tivoli has always followed Sveva Romagnolo around like a lost dog. It sounds to me like he swings both ways.”

  “Merciful Jesus.” Innocenzi raised his hands to his ears. “That makes it even worse.”

  “How about this theory?” said Blume
: “You had Clemente killed for what… outraging your daughter or getting in the way of dog meets. That’s what Di Tivoli is implying.”

  “I’ve been talking to people who were upset on my behalf at that scandalous documentary. Di Tivoli is not going to make up any more stories like that.”

  “Did you know Manuela had been with Clemente to Di Tivoli’s house in the country?”

  Innocenzi closed his eyes and nodded slowly, like a stoic receiving his death sentence. “I knew that. She is so vulnerable it breaks my heart. And your eyes are filled with sympathy, too. You are a good man, Alec. I am happy to be able to do you this little favor with the address.”

  “I don’t want to be beholden to you.”

  “Wonderful! That’s the spirit,” said Innocenzi. “This is the sort of relationship that we should have. I like a neat distinction of roles. I gave you the address because I want nothing to do with all this. You check the place out, you’ll find no connections leading back to me.”

  Blume said, “Tell me about Alleva and how he worked with you.”

  “Alleva’s trick was to come up with new ways for doing stuff that wasn’t so important. Not so big as to make people jealous. He didn’t trespass on other people’s turf. He avoided building up his own group, though maybe he could have done better in his choice of personnel.”

  “You’re using the past tense,” said Blume.

  “Alleva cannot operate anymore now. That must be clear. He has gone from the scene. Pity. He was not a saint. Few of us are. But he had some integrity.”

  “What’s wrong with his personnel?” Blume asked.

  “He never found good men. That guy, Massoni, he kept around? He was always going to get Alleva into something stupid. I’m only surprised it took so long.”

  “How long have they been together?”

  “Ten years. Maybe more. They go back some. Before the dogs, Alleva used to sell slimming pills on TeleCapri, then he moved into selling those anticancer pills invented by that doctor from up north. The one who died from a tumor?”