“No, Mr. Hannity. They are teeth,” he said without a trace of humor in his voice. “The teeth of a dragon to be precise.”
III
Louisa Anastasi lived in an apartment that had once belonged to her elder brother. Located between Termini Station, and the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, the building bordered an invisible line that separated the more Eternal part of Rome from the shifting faces of the boroughs north of the tracks.
Having risen that morning with the clang, clang, clang of church bells, Louisa now stood at the open kitchen window and watched pigeons coo in the courtyard below. Tossing out bits of bread to them, her neighbor Dino sat on a stone bench, and smoked cigarettes.
“Buongiorno, Dino!” Louisa Called to him.
“Ah Louisa,” he said, angling his face up. “Bella Donna! Every morning you redefine my concept of beauty!”
Louisa laughed.
“Dino you old fool. You’re as blind as they come!”
Tapping his dark sunglasses, Dino grinned.
“True beauty can be seen even by the blind, dear girl!”
Louisa shook her head and laughed again. Turning from the window, she padded barefoot across the cool tile floor to the kitchen sink. She poured water into her brother’s simple old espresso maker and packed in fresh grounds. Setting it on the stove to heat, she glanced at the clock, then headed into the bedroom.
As she dragged a brush through her honey colored hair, she contemplated whether or not to put on any makeup. Experience had taught her that people tended to be friendlier when she did. But, most people weren't worth their weight in salt, so why bother pleasing them?
Black espresso dribbled into a little white cup, and whips of steam carried its scent throughout the entire apartment. Checking the time once more, Louisa took the cup, and went back to the kitchen window. Dino was still in the courtyard, yet his pigeons were gone. Chatting with a woman from the third floor, he offered her a cigarette and lit it with alarming dexterity. Laughing voices and climbing tendrils of blue smoke filled the sunny air. Louisa closed her eyes and breathed in both.
Behind her, the clock struck 8AM. She stirred and drained her espresso. Using the spare key her brother had given her years before, she quit the apartment, and locked the door.
…
Louisa headed south along the Via Cavour, walking toward the church of Santa Maria Maggiore. Crowning the summit of the Esquiline Hill, the old church was one of four Patriarchal Basilicas, deeply important to the religious mechanism of the Vatican. Though not a practicing Catholic herself, Louisa nevertheless felt the presence of God in Rome. Despite all that she had been through, she knew better than to ignore a force that had shaped the very face of her city.
Cutting up a side street, she checked the time on her phone, and quickened her pace. At 8:15 she came to busy café and peered through the window. Already waiting for her at the bar, a familiar man in a faded brown suit sipped his cappuccino and puffed on a cigarette. Louisa chuckled to herself, wondering if her uncle Niccolò was ever going to retire that suit and finally buy himself a new one.
Pushing through the door, she skirted the queue of hungry patrons, and made her way over to him.
“Ah bella,” he said, splitting into a friendly grin. “You’re not having anything? What’s the rush, got somewhere better to be?”
Louisa kissed her uncle on either bristly cheek and shrugged.
“No rush, I’m just not hungry.”
Giving her an all-to-familiar look, Niccolò gestured to a glazed croissant on his plate.
“Have some of this at least,” he insisted. “Seeing you eat will do me good. Sit—stay a while.”
Louisa sighed broke into the flakey shell.
“So,” said Niccolò, watching her. “You’re looking very pretty. You’re on duty later, no?”
Nodding absently, Louisa bit into the croissant and eyed her uncle’s pack of cigarettes.
“Do you want one?” He asked.
“I’ve quit,” stated Louisa.
“Again?”
Louisa turned to lean sideways so that Niccolò could fully appreciate the sardonic tilt of her head.
“Yes,” she said. “Again.”
Smiling, Niccolò took her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Such a serious face,” he joked. “Be careful or else it will set this way, like concrete. Then, who will have you?”
“If you tell me to smile more, you’re going to get slapped,” Louisa warned.
“You’d strike an officer of the law because he thinks your smile outshines Apollo himself?”
“No,” said Louisa. “But I’d slap my uncle for being a old pig.”
Niccolò snorted and picked up his cigarettes.
“Aye,” he said. “I forget how touchy you are. Maybe if you weren’t such a stranger, I’d remember to watch my tongue around you. You’re hot blooded like your mother—she had the same problem—”
He caught himself and laughed uneasily.
“Ah—sorry. You know I’ve never been very good at this whole parenting thing. Forgive me?”
Smiling faintly, Louisa fixed her gaze on the middle distance, lost for a moment to painful memories.
“So—” said Niccolò trying to change the subject. “How is your social life these days, tesoro? Are you seeing anyone?”
Louisa tore off another piece of croissant and ate slowly to buy herself time.
“I’ve gone on a few dates with a man recently,” she said.
Snubbing out his cigarette, Niccolò put one hand on top of the other.
“It’s not your partner Giorgio, is it?”
“No,” Louisa scoffed. “Not him.”
“Hey—I like the boy, don’t get me wrong,” shrugged Niccolò. “In fact, I think the two of you would make a handsome couple. It’s just that—I can’t see him keeping up with you; he’s a bit blunt. Anyway, maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“It isn’t Giorgio,” repeated Louisa.
“Well,” said Niccolò. “Don’t keep an old man waiting, I haven’t got forever. Tell me about your new friend. What’s his name? Where does he work?”
Louisa hesitated and looked out the window. A flicker of worry tempered her uncle’s hopeful smile and his detective’s intuition took over.
“Louisa?”
“His name is Nunzio,” she replied quickly, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. “He works in the Medical Examiners office.”
Niccolò swore, and moved the pack out of reach.
“Gesu Cristo—Louisa why? Why do you do this to yourself?”
“It’s not like that,” she countered. “He’s—nice. I like him.”
“Bugiardo,” Niccolò snapped. “Let me guess—you already have him trained to call you whenever a weird one comes in, don’t you? Santa Maria, you are obsessed!”
Louisa didn’t respond, her eyes evasive.
“My sweet girl,” Niccolò exhaled with a shake of his head. “My precious, precious girl. You have to stop this. What happened to Ferro—it was terrible, but you mustn’t throw your life away trying to—to…”
He trailed off and looked deeply into Louisa’s face. Sighing again he pulled two fresh cigarettes from the pack.
“I love you Louisa,” he said, lighting both and handing her one. “But, Ferro’s murder cut you deeper than I think you know.”
“He was my brother,” Louisa murmured. “Of course it cut me.”
…
An hour later, Louisa walked northward along the shaded arcade of the Via Torino. Coming slowly into view through the haze of late morning traffic, the Questura, or Police Station, rose before her. As usual, its austere façade stirred in Louisa a wealth of memories—memories of her family.
At the entrance, she pushed open the glass doors, and walked across the lobby. Nodding to the on-duty officer behind his desk, she descended a flight of stairs, and headed to the locker rooms to get changed for her shift.
Assigned t
o tourist detail at the Colosseo, Louisa was to spend the rest of her day patrolling the crowds, and keeping a eye out for pickpockets and thieves. It wasn’t glorious work and it surely wouldn’t help her chances of advancing to detective one day, but her natural gift for languages made the job an easy fit. Still, Louisa suspected that her uncle had more to do with the assignment than her talent for tongues.
In the parking garage, Louisa’s partner, Giorgio Stanto leaned against a police cruiser and grinned. Handsome in his blue-grey Armani uniform, he looked every bit the part of the dashing hero.
“Six minutes late, Little Rabbit,” he called, tapping his watch. “What will you give me to lie for you this time?”
“My heart,” Louisa shot back. “One piece at a time, over my entire life.”
Ears pricking slyly, Giorgio opened the passenger side door and held it for her.
“Get in,” he said. “I’m taking you to lunch.”
“I already ate,” smiled Louisa, snatching the keys from Giorgio’s hand. “And I’m driving, paisano.”
…
Flirting like fencers, the pair took backstreets to the Colosseo. As always, Giorgio was a charming opponent, yet Louisa had long ago perfected the defense of aloofness. Life had taught her that people were impermanent beings, prone to sudden destruction. To let them in was to invite loss upon one’s self.
She found parking at the Fontana del Colosseo on the roadway above the Metro station. Tucking the keys in her pocket, she walked toward the low wall that overlooked the massive arena beyond. Directly overhead, the sun had grown fat and hot. It pressed the sweat from Louisa’s brow, and baked the old rocks of the Coliseum until they were brittle enough to crack.
“I’m going to get a Doner,” said Giorgio, nodding toward a Turk in a mobile food-cart. “You want anything?”
Louisa put on her sunglasses and glanced at the sun.
“If you’re buying, I’ll take a Coke.”
Eager to please, Giorgio saluted. Leaning against the wall, Louisa took in the river of human activity below her. Flowing down from the Palatine Hill, it passed under the Arco di Constantino, and collected at the base of the mighty Coliseum.
A group of muscular men in red capes and plastic breastplates sauntered by, on their way to pose for pictures with the tourists. Reeking of testosterone, anachronism, and cheap aftershave, they eyed Louisa openly.
“Look at the sexy poliziotta,” one of them called.
“Fuck off,” she sighed.
Unperturbed, the leader of the gang broke away from his friends and came over. Putting one meaty hand on Louisa’s lower back, he patted it condescendingly.
“I am called Ciro,” he oozed. “Like the Sun. What is your name, my sexy poliziotta?”
“My name is Italy,” said Louisa, lifting her foot. “Like the boot.”
With a quick, decisive thrust, she stamped her heal down on the man’s exposed toes. Yelping in pain, he jumped back and began hopping around.
“Lupa!” He called. “Cagna—you bitch!”
Walking casually over to Giorgio at the Doner stand, Louisa pretended not to hear the gladiator’s angry shouts.
“Fans of yours?” Asked Giorgio, holding out her Coke.
“Not any more,” smiled Louisa.
…
Louisa and Giorgio strode among the crowds of the Coliseum, taking complaints from tourists, running-off known pickpockets, and keeping the Roma, or gypsies, away from the monument. By the time Louisa began to feel the need for another cigarette, her shift was only half way over.
“You want to get some dinner tonight?” Giorgio asked, as they passed under the shade of Constantine’s triple faced arch.
“I can’t,” replied Louisa. “I know it sounds crazy, but—I still haven’t fully unpacked all of my stuff. Weird right?”
“I can come over and help. I mean—I’m good at unpacking.”
Louisa glanced at Giorgio then looked away.
“What about your girlfriend?” She said. “Won’t she be jealous of you in another woman’s apartment?”
“Which one?” Smirked Giorgio. “There are just too many to keep track of. None like you Little Rabbit, but many all the same.”
“Pig,” she laughed.
“Lupa,” he retorted.
Walking to the end of the Via di San Gregorio, they crossed the street and began along the tree-lined edge of the Circus Maximus.
“Really though,” Giorgio resumed. “I can come over and help you make space for your things. I was the same way when my mother passed. It took me years to clean the place out.”
Louisa studied the skyline.
“Thanks, Giorgio,” she said softly. “But I need to do it on my own, and at my own pace.”
Nodding thoughtfully, Giorgio stared at her for a moment then put an arm around her shoulder. Caught off guard, Louisa tensed.
“Sorry!” Rushed Giorgio. “I—you looked like you needed a hug and—”
“It’s fine,” Louisa smiled with some embarrassment. “I should be the one apologizing to you. Really I’m sorr—”
Her radio crackled, saving her from further awkwardness.
“Officer in need of assistance!” Cried a voice on the other end. “This is Seti—officer Seti. I’m at the Ponte Palatino. There’s a—a—a body in the river. We need some help here!”
Looking up at Giorgio, Louisa grabbed her radio.
“Ponte Palaino,” she said. “That’s not too far—let’s check it out.”
Before Giorgio could respond, Louisa pressed down the talk button.
“This is Anastasi and Stanto. We’re on our way!”
…
Rather than battle the afternoon traffic, Louisa and Giorgio jogged to the Palatino Bridge on foot. By the time they got there, the river’s eastern bank already swarmed with men in blue uniforms, and a roadblock had been set up. They slipped through the ranks of morbid onlookers, and made for the police line.
“Hey!” Called Giorgio breathlessly.
On the other side of the yellow tape, an officer looked up and came over to meet them.
“Anastasi and Stanto,” announced Louisa. “What’s the situation here?”
“We’ve closed down the bank,” the officer reported. “Crime scene boys don’t want anyone else going in or out. And I heard the Comandante is on his way now.”
Louisa swore, drawing looks from both men.
“Uh,” she corrected. “Are you sure we can’t get down there? I’d really like to—”
“Sorry sweetie,” the officer shrugged. “The bank is closed. Go direct traffic if you need to feel helpful.”
Knowing better than to get in a pissing match with a skunk, Louisa pursed her lips.
“Thanks,” she said flatly.
As Giorgio began to pester the man for more answers, Louisa strode off along the line. Refusing to be shut-out so easily, she kept her eyes on the bank below. Gathered in the shallows, a large contingent of men stood around something, half-submerged in the yellow water. Like mourners at an open grave, they seemed unsure what to do with themselves.
Louisa halted and stared harder. A chill passed through her, and for an instant, she forgot where she was. She’d seen this image before, mirrored in the crime scene photos of her brother’s murder case.
A young man in lab clothes, and ironically knobby glasses, waded through Louisa’s field of vision. Blinking back to the moment, she recognized him at once. It was Nunzio, her friend in the Medical Examiners office. She took out her cell phone and dialed.
“Hello?” Answered Nunzio. “Louisa?”
“Nunzio,” Louisa waved. “I’m up on the street—see me? They won’t let me through. What’s going on down there?”
Nunzio turned her way and squinted.
“I haven’t heard from you since our last date,” he said testily. “You won’t answer my calls or texts.”
Bolstering her resolve, Louisa put on a sweeter voice.
“I know, I’m sorry. Jus
t come up here, and we’ll talk about it.”
Nunzio glanced back at the thing in the shallows.
“Well,” he softened. “I was going to call you tonight anyway. Not for a date of anything, but because…listen, just wait a sec—I’ll be right up okay?”
Breaking away from the rest of the officers, Nunzio pulled off his latex gloves, and trudged up the stone embankment.
“Hi,” he said when he reached the line. “You’re here.”
Louisa nodded and cast a careful look over her shoulder to see if Giorgio was watching. Now arguing with the officer who had rebuffed them, he was too busy waving his hands in the air to notice much else.
“Listen,” said Nunzio. “Even though I’m kind of mad at you right now for blowing me off…”
He hesitated.
“I remember what you said at dinner—about your brother. Anyway, you should know, that body down there—that girl—it fits the bill you laid out for me. It’s a weird one.”
Louisa snapped her head around.
“What?” She stammered hopefully. “Are you saying there’s a connection? Is this case like Ferro’s?”
“Not exactly,” Nunzio cautioned. “What happened here isn’t as fancy as what happened to your brother. Still though—it is strange. Some freak cut out her tongue, and poured molten metal all over her mouth. We think it’s sliver, but we won’t know until we get her back to the lab. I can tell you what we discover—say over drinks?”
Just then, an expensive Maserati coup entered through the roadblock and pulled up to the curb. Revving its powerful motor, it drown out the rest of Nunzio’s pitch.
Down the line, Giorgio stopped arguing with the officer and looked over.
“Louisa,” he barked, trying to get her attention. “It’s Savino!”
Head still spinning from what Nunzio had just told her, Louisa was slow to react. Climbing from the Maserati like a tall, flightless bird, il Comandante, Sesto Savino got out and walked her way.
The Man From Rome Page 2