The wicked witch had been left to her fate, the operation never existed, some functionary would pay the price, and if a scandal were to erupt, the ministry had covered its ass and could now act indignant when the media started making speculations. Nothing new under the sun.
“What’s the catch, Campagna?”
He tapped the screen of his phone with his index finger. He wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t find the right words. “We have to come up with a solution before this video gets to the media.”
I scoffed. “And they sent you?”
So that’s how things went. The heavy who had replaced Marino’s boss, and who was now denying prior knowledge of his subordinate’s plans, had read my file and discovered my role as mediator in jail. Campagna was tasked with “intervening” to ask me to initiate negotiations with Paz Anaya Vega.
“If things turn out badly, we’re the scapegoats, right?” I asked.
“For what it’s worth, I’ll take all responsibility.”
“But if I refuse they’ll find a way to make me pay.”
“Afraid so. You know how these things work.”
I was furious.
“If I tell Rossini you’ve put us back in the tight spot that we’d just barely escaped, he’ll take a notion to shoot you. And he’d be completely justified.”
“By no means was it over, Buratti,” Campagna shot back, raising his voice. Fortunately, the place was noisy and the patrons busy enjoying themselves. “Marmorato and Pitta saw Marino and Pellegrini being forced into a van. They recognized one of Vega’s men. Sooner or later one of my colleagues would have come knocking on your door. You’re lucky it’s me in Vienna.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I can guarantee that we’ll stick to the terms of the agreement.”
“How are you going to do that? Before today you were slated to share a cell with us.”
“The senior official I went to see is old-school. He’s not one of those fanatics who allow inept and dangerous functionaries like Marino to strike out on their own.”
I pounded the table. “Cut the bullshit, Campagna. The truth is the operation nose-dived and the collateral damage could be incalculable. Otherwise there’d be no objections and Marino’s career would’ve been made.”
“Think what you want, the game is clean this time.”
I needed to clear my head and step out of the place to smoke a cigarette in peace. The nightmare continued. And in some ways, the situation could turn out to be a trap with no off-ramp. It was necessary to clear up some aspects of our agreement before going any further.
I called Max. “I don’t know how to say this,” I began.
“The cop’s put us in a bind.”
“Nice and tight,” I confirmed. “You’ve got to get over here. Right away.”
“Is that really necessary?”
I didn’t answer, just gave him the address of the beer hall.
When I returned to the table, Campagna was looking around, disoriented. “I’ve never been to Vienna,” he confided. “This is the first and, I hope, last mission abroad. I’m not cut out for this stuff. I’m just a small-town cop.”
I raised my hand to interrupt. “Are you looking for my sympathy?” I asked, bowled over.
He realized he’d gone too far. “I’m tired is all.”
“My partners are on their way,” I said. “And before they sit down at this table, you and I have to clear up the details of our arrangement.”
“I thought they were already clear.”
“You’re the only cop of any nationality that we’ll deal with.”
He pretended to look around. “You see any others here?”
“You don’t get it: only you and us from here on out,” I reiterated. “We’ll resolve the situation our way. Your colleagues have to keep away. No interference whatsoever.”
He made an eloquent gesture with his hand. “A criminal affair.”
“I already told you we’re not criminals,” I balked. “Enough with the insults.”
“Sorry,” he hastened to say. “But I want you to reflect on one thing. If we discover where they’re holding Marino prisoner and need the help of Austrian police—”
“We’re not the Seventh Cavalry Scouts. Nor are we the ‘good’ Indians hunting the bad to offer up their head on a silver platter.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“We have nothing to do with you all. If you want to save Marino’s ass, and we find a way to take care of this video business, because that’s what the top brass is really worried about, you have to guarantee us total autonomy.”
“They’ll refuse.”
“I doubt it. We’re the only ones with a direct line to the Spanish crew. We know their internal problems. We can get results in short order. But we do things our way.”
The inspector looked at the phone lying on the table between the beer and an empty plate. “I have to call the senior official,” he said reluctantly.
“In a minute. I’m not finished.”
“What else is there?”
“I want a copy of the video. Now.”
Campagna blanched. “Are you kidding? I shouldn’t have even shown it to you.”
“Consider it insurance for the future,” I explained. “Not because I don’t trust your word or the word of your big-shot friend, but in your field, roles, command posts, and staff change too easily. And I have to be honest: if things get rough, we’re cutting ties, and having that video is our guarantee that you won’t even think about coming after us.”
The inspector hesitated, but eventually made up his mind and forwarded the video to our secure phone. “The fact is, you’re right,” he admitted. “I can’t speak for everyone, and if another Marino shows up, you better have a card up your sleeve.”
“I’m guessing that you’ve already given a copy to a lawyer,” I said, though I knew the idea hadn’t crossed his mind.
In fact, he shook his head. “I should, shouldn’t I?”
“Soon as you get home.”
Campagna went outside to phone his boss. In the meantime my friends arrived. I raised my arm to get their attention.
“This city has become unlivable,” Rossini remarked sarcastically. He was in a horrible mood. “You can’t have a beer without bumping into a cop who wants to make your life hell.”
“He’s out on the curb arguing on the phone,” added Max, “jumping up and down like a madman. Care to tell us what the hell is going on?”
I filled them in, starting with the images from the interview with Marino and Pellegrini, and proceeding to summarize my meeting with the inspector. They mulled it over in silence while I ordered beers to slake their anger.
“We have the video,” reasoned the Fat Man. “If Campagna comes back and tells us his bosses refuse our conditions, we stand up and fly south to Croatia for the winter. Everyone agree?”
Yes. We did. Campagna would draw the ire of his superiors, but that wasn’t our problem.
“And if they accept,” continued Max, “we have to choose which horse to bet on: Paz Anaya Vega or Abo Tscherne.”
I’d met both of them and didn’t hesitate to pick the ex-Hell’s Angel. There was no way we could count on Paz; she’d pretend to accept a deal and then stab us in the back. And she could afford to, since she had the means of disappearing an ocean away. Tscherne, on the other hand, he was Viennese. His family lived in the city and he wasn’t the type to go into hiding. And then there was his crew to consider. He’d threaten his hostage’s life and raise the specter of a scandal to save his men. And become boss.
Campagna nodded to my friends and sat down. “A week,” he announced. “That’s the best I could do.”
In reality it was more than enough time. This business had to be resolved immediately, in forty-eight hours tops. Any longer
and it would be too late. But it wasn’t bad news: if we failed, we’d have a good head start getting away.
“There’s a ghost hovering over this negotiation that none of us will name: Pellegrini,” remarked Max with a devilish smile. “May we know the official position of your bosses, Campagna?”
The inspector turned red and put his head down. Everyone assumed Handsome Giorgio would never get up alive from the rocking chair he was chained to.
Old Rossini lifted his glass. “Fuck you, Campagna. When are you going to piss off for good?” he asked, sounding, all in all, good-natured. He felt sorry for the cop.
The other played along. “Soon as I get the chance, Rossini.”
“Pay the bill and go get some sleep,” I told Campagna. “We’ll set up a meet with the bad guys.”
While the cop walked slowly in the direction of his hotel, I had to wake Pierino Martinenghi from his hard-earned slumber.
“What’s up?” he asked, alarmed.
“Do you know how I can get a message to Abo Tscherne before tomorrow morning?”
He paused a moment before rattling off the name of a hotel, a night porter, and an address. “Tell him you’re looking for Roman and sit tight. You’ll see, he’ll turn up before too long.”
Roman, an old acquaintance. He was one of the two goons that had kept Old Rossini company in the hall while I spoke with Paz. Underneath his short green coat, he was wearing all black, except for a ridiculous, fire-red leather cravat.
He stiffened at the sight of us. I stood up from the couch and walked over while my friends stayed seated and stared daggers at him. Criminals like him love that kind of crap.
The dealer seemed a little drowsy to me, and insulting him was maybe the right way to wake him up. “Are you just a nickel-bag peddler or do you actually count for something? Because I have an urgent message for Abo, but you don’t look like a guy who has the boss’s ear.”
He puffed out his chest. “I can call him right now if I want.”
“Tell him the man he sent the video to has arrived in Vienna.”
By his puzzled look, I knew he couldn’t make heads or tails of what I’d just said. “Are you fucking with me? What the hell are you on about?”
“That doesn’t concern you. All you need to know is that if Abo finds out you’re standing around killing time instead of passing on the message, he’ll break your arms.”
“Wait here,” he mumbled, unconvinced.
He called someone else—not Tscherne—and smoked in the cold while he waited. He received a few more calls after which he signaled for me to be patient. Finally the right call came through. Roman handed me the phone.
“Who is this?” asked Abo in German.
“The last time we saw each other we spoke in Italian,” I said, letting him know who it was.
“So, you do work for the cops.”
I hung up. I didn’t hand the phone back to its rightful owner because I was sure Abo would call back. And if he didn’t, fine, but you can’t be a credible mediator if you let the interested parties insult you.
The phone rang after a few seconds. “You’re easily offended,” said the dealer.
“I’ve been asked to aid the friend of your guest to find a solution that would satisfy everybody,” I said, keeping things professional. “I propose we meet tomorrow morning at eleven at the train station concourse.”
“Which one?”
“Mitte.”
“Say I was tempted to come, are you really in a position to guarantee our deal will be respected?”
“More than that, I’m your only hope, Abo.”
“That a fact?”
He sounded dismissive; I had to convince him that I meant business. “There’s a reason I contacted you and not the Spaniard,” I said. “You don’t really think that what you’re holding is worth saving both your asses.”
I heard the flick of a lighter and then the sound of him taking a long drag of smoke, filling his lungs. Now I had his ear. “If it doesn’t work out with you, I can always contact her,” I continued. “I bet she’ll find this conversation interesting. At least it’ll help reinforce her position inside the organization.”
“It’s a free country, everyone can do as he pleases,” he shot back. “But if I were you I would bear in mind that Paz and I both have a copy of you know what.”
I’d led him to the edge of the cliff. Now I just needed to get him to look down and see how high the drop was. “Speaking of, only one of you can hold on to it for insurance. The other won’t be able to avail herself of it.”
Silence. For a moment he stopped breathing. “Are you sure that’s how they want to do this?”
“Think about it, Abo, they killed Tobias Slezak and your son-in-law for a lot less,” I replied. “My job is to make sure everyone keeps their wits about them and no one winds up with his back to the wall and is forced to act foolishly.”
“I need proof they’re acting in good faith.”
“They’re ready to come to the table, but that all depends on you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Now’s the time to betray her, Abo.”
I slept little and dreamed a lot. That didn’t happen often. I was visited by people from my past. Prior to prison. I woke up feeling empty: the sting of conscience had that effect on me. I would have rather had a spiked coffee and gone back to bed, but I lay there attempting to re-litigate my case, repeating how young and reckless I was. And that there hadn’t been enough time to set things right, because life waits for no one, and one way or another people shuffle off. And I had dragged my feet, and the things I should have said had gotten caught in my throat.
Instead I had to get up and prepare for the meeting that I myself had scheduled. I’d picked out a busy station, one monitored by dozens of cameras, military units armed to the teeth, and law enforcement agents belonging to every department from antiterrorism to narcotics. My intention was to leave a trail of the meeting. I could be sure it would be caught on tape, but some cop or crook might remember it too.
I also intended to dissuade Abo and whomever else from making any risky moves or pulling any funny stuff. We all had to compromise.
Because we couldn’t linger out in the open like that, our meeting would be brief, no beating around the bush. Most illegal activities revolved around a staggering heap of idle chatter. Criminals did nothing but talk. Just like politicians. Maybe that was why the two were often considered interchangeable. Experience had taught me that the more you go on negotiating, the more likely you were to fail.
By then I had my head straight. If Campagna had my back, it might all go down smoothly.
I swung by in a taxi to pick him up. He climbed in before the car pulled up to the curb. His breath smelled of coffee and cigarettes.
He looked subdued but kept quiet, which wasn’t like him. I made sure the cab driver didn’t understand Italian before instructing Campagna. He listened distractedly. He’d convinced himself that he was a good cop lowering himself to cut a deal with the scum of the earth. A stain on his immaculate conscience. I decided to disabuse him of any illusions.
“Abo Tscherne helped mail the package to Padua,” I said. “He raped, tortured, and murdered Marina and Gemma, Pellegrini’s wife and lover. Remember that when you grant him immunity.”
He spun around to look at me. “What can I do about it?”
“You could start by not acting as if you fell into this business by accident,” I shot back, “the poor inspector obeying orders because he’s the low man on the totem pole who takes no responsibility for his actions. Well, today you’re going to have to assume all the responsibility, today you’re going have to wade knee-deep in blood and shit.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
I wanted to tell him he didn’t have the slightest idea how much he was about to change
inside. Nothing would be the same again. But Campagna was depressed, unhappy about the way he’d been forced to do his job, and I preferred not to rub salt in his wounds. In any case, before the day was over, destiny would hand him the bill to be paid in many small and convenient installments. I looked out the window. The sky was clear, and the people looked happy.
The drug dealer was punctual. Dressed in leather, his moustache waxed, his hands in his pockets. He swaggered toward us as if to remind us that he was holding a major bargaining chip. We stood in the middle of the concourse, a continual stream of people flowed by.
He pointed at the inspector with his chin. “You must be the heavy the Italians sent.”
“That’s me,” replied the cop.
“Now that everybody’s been introduced, let’s cut to the chase,” I said, taking charge of the situation. “In exchange for the hostage’s life—”
“Two hostages,” interrupted Abo.
“We’re only interested in the woman,” I said before continuing. “Bring her back safe and sound and the Italian authorities won’t extradite you for murdering the women in Padua with the Spaniard.”
“You’ve got nothing on me,” he objected.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I replied.
He grunted his disappointment. “Go on, you haven’t said anything interesting yet.”
“All the charges, including drug trafficking, will be brought against Paz Anaya Vega and other members of the organization. You choose which.”
“Me and my crew will be kept out of the investigation?”
“Exactly. You’ll save yourselves, but don’t even think of reassembling your gang the day after. You have to keep a low profile. It’s part of the deal,” I said, and to make sure I was clear: “It’s non-negotiable.”
“What else is non-negotiable?”
“It’s up to you to take care of Paz Anaya Vega and the others. Everyone better believe they ran for good this time.”
Tscherne nodded. He’d already reckoned on digging a few graves.
“I’ll hang on to the video as insurance,” he added, eyeing Campagna.
Blues for Outlaw Hearts and Old Whores Page 17