The Snack Thief (23 page)

He killed an hour lolling about the house, putting some
books back on the shelf and dusting the glass over the five
engravings he owned, which Adelina never did. He did not
turn on the television. He looked at his watch: almost ten

p.m. He got in his car and drove to Montelusa. The three cinemas
were showing the Taviani brothers Elective Affinities,
Bertoluccis Stealing Beauty,and Travels with Goofy. Without

the slightest hesitation, he chose the cartoons. The theater
was empty. He went back to the man who had torn his
ticket.

Theres nobody there!

Youre there. What do you want, company? Its late. At
this hour, all the little kids are asleep. Youre the only one still
awake.

He had so much fun that, at one moment, he caught
himself laughing out loud in the empty theater.

There comes a momenthe thoughtwhen you realize your life
has changed. But when did it happen? you ask yourself. And you
have no answer. Unnoticed events kept accumulating until, one day,
a transformation occurredor perhaps they were perfectly visible
events, whose importance and consequences, however, you never took
into account. You ask yourself over and over, but the answer to that
when never comes. As if it mattered!

Montalbano, for his part, had a precise answer to that
question. My life changed, he would have said, on the twelfth
of May.

Beside the front door to his house, Montalbano had recently
had a small lamp installed that went on automatically when
night fell. It was by the light of this lamp that he saw, from the
main road, a car stopped in the clearing in front of the house.
He turned onto the small lane leading to the house, and pulled
up a few inches from the other car. As he expected, it was a

metallic gray BMW. Its license-plate number was am 237 gw.
But there wasnt a soul to be seen. The man whod driven it
there was surely hiding somewhere nearby. Montalbano decided
it was best to feign indifference. He stepped out of the
car,whistling,reclosed the door,and saw somebody waiting for
him. He hadnt noticed him earlier because the man was
standing on the far side of the car and was so small in stature
that his head did not exceed the height of the cars roof. Practically
a midget, or not much more than one.Well dressed, and
wearing small, gold-rimmed glasses.

Youve made me wait a long time, the little man said,
coming forward.

Montalbano, keys in hand, moved towards the front door.
The quasi-midget stepped in front of him, shaking a kind of
identity card.

My papers, he said.

The inspector pushed aside the little hand holding the
documents, opened the door, and went inside. The man followed
behind him.

I am Colonel Lohengrin Pera, said the elf.

The inspector stopped dead in his tracks, as if someone
had pressed the barrel of a gun between his shoulder blades.
He turned slowly around and looked the colonel up and
down. His parents must have given him that name to compensate
somehow for his stature and surname. Montalbano
felt fascinated by the colonels little shoes, which he must
surely have had made to measure; they wouldnt even have fit
in the sottouomo category, as the shoemakers called itthat
is, for sub-men. And yet the services had enlisted him, so

he must have been tall enough to make the grade. His eyes,
however, behind the lenses, were lively, attentive, dangerous.
Montalbano felt certain he was looking at the brains behind
the Moussa affair. He went into the kitchen, still followed by
the colonel, put the mullets in tomato sauce that Adelina had
made for him into the oven, and started setting the table,
without once opening his mouth. On the table was a seven-
hundred-page book hed bought from a bookstall and had
never opened. Hed been drawn by the title: The Metaphysics
of Partial Being. He picked it up, stood on tiptoe, and put it
on the shelf, pressing the button on the videocamera. As if
somebody had said roll em, Colonel Lohengrin Pera sat
down in the right chair.

18

Montalbano took a good half hour to eat his mullets, either
because he wanted to savor them as they deserved, or to give
the colonel the impression that he didnt give a flying fuck
about what the man might have to say to him. He didnt
even offer him a glass of wine. He acted as if he were alone,
to the point where he even once burped out loud. For his
part, Lohengrin Pera, once hed sat down, had stopped moving,
limiting himself to staring at the inspector with beady,
viperlike eyes. Only when Montalbano had downed a demitasse
of espresso did the colonel begin to speak.

You understand, of course, why Ive come to see you.

The inspector stood up, went into the kitchen, placed the
little cup in the sink, and returned.

Im playing aboveboard, the colonel continued, after
waiting for him to return. Its probably the best way, with
you. Thats why I chose to come in that car, for which you
twice requested information on the owner.

From his jacket pocket he withdrew two sheets of paper,
which Montalbano recognized as the faxes hed sent to Automobile
Registration.

Only you already knew who the car belonged to; your

commissioner must certainly have told you its license number
was cloaked. So, since you sent me these faxes anyway, it
must mean their intention was more than simply to request
information, however imprudently. I therefore became con-
vincedcorrect me if Im wrongthat for your own reasons,
you wanted us to come out into the open. So here I am:
your wish has been granted.

Would you excuse me a minute? Montalbano asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he got up, went into the
kitchen, and returned with a plate on which was a huge, hard
piece of Sicilian cassata ice cream. The colonel settled in patiently
and waited for him to eat it.

Please continue, said the inspector. I cant eat it when
its like this. It has to melt a little first.

Before we go any further, resumed the colonel, who
apparently had very strong nerves, let me clarify something.
In your second fax, you mention the murder of a woman
named Aisha. We had absolutely nothing to do with that
death. It must surely have been an unfortunate accident. If
shed needed to be eliminated, we would have done so immediately.

I dont doubt it. I was well aware of that too.

So why did you state otherwise in your fax?

Just to turn up the heat.

Right. Have you read the writings and speeches of
Mussolini?

Hes not one of my favorite authors.

In one of his last writings, Mussolini says that the people
should be treated like a donkey, with a carrot and a stick.

Always so original, that Mussolini! You know something?

What?

My grandfather used to say the same thing. He was a
peasant and, since he wasnt Mussolini, he was referring only
to the ass, the donkey, that is.

May I continue the metaphor?

By all means!

Your faxes, as well as your having persuaded Vice-
Commissioner Valente of Maz to interrogate the captain
of the fishing boat and the head of the prefects cabinet, these
and other things were the stick you used to flush us out.

So where does the carrot come in?

The carrot consists in the declarations you made at the
press conference you held after arresting Mrs. Lapra for
the murder of her husband. You could have dragged us into
that one by the hair, but you didnt. You were careful to keep
that crime within the confines of jealousy and greed. Still, that
was a menacing carrot; it said

Colonel, I suggest you drop the metaphor; at this point
weve got a talking carrot.

Fine.You, with that press conference, wanted us to know
that you had other information in your possession which, at
that moment, you were unwilling to show. Am I right?

The inspector extended a spoon towards the ice cream,
filled it, and brought it to his mouth.

Its still hard, he said to Lohengrin Pera.

You discourage me, the colonel commented, but he

went on. Anyway, since were laying our cards on the table,

will you tell me everything you know about the case?

What case?

The killing of Ahmed Moussa.

Hed succeeded in making him say that name openly, as
duly recorded by the tape in the videocamera.

No.

Why not?

Because I love the sound of your voice, the way you
speak.

May I have a glass of water?

To all appearances, Lohengrin Pera was perfectly calm
and controlled, but inside he was surely close to the boiling
point. The request for water was a clear sign.

Go get it yourself in the kitchen.

While the colonel fussed about in the kitchen with the
glass and faucet, Montalbano, who was looking at him from
behind, noticed a bulge under his jacket, beside the right buttock.
Want to bet the midget is armed with a gun twice his
size? He decided not to take any chances and brought a very
sharp knife, which he had used to cut the bread, closer to him.

Ill be explicit and brief, Lohengrin Pera began, sitting
down and wiping his lips with a tiny handkerchief, an embroidered
postage stamp. A little more than two years ago,
our counterparts in Tunis asked us to collaborate with them
on a delicate operation aimed at neutralizing a dangerous terrorist,
whose name you had me repeat just a moment ago.

Im sorry, said Montalbano, but I have a very limited

vocabulary. By neutralizing do you mean physically eliminating?

Call it whatever you like. We discussed the matter with
our superiors, naturally, and were ordered not to collaborate.
But then, less than a month later, we found ourselves in a
very unpleasant position, where it was we who had to ask
our friends in Tunis for help.

What a coincidence! Montalbano exclaimed.

Yes. Without any questions, they gave us the help we
wanted, and so we found ourselves morally indebted

No! Montalbano yelled.

Lohengrin Pera gave a start.

Whats wrong? he asked.

You said: morally indebted.

As you wish. Lets say merely indebted, without the
adverb, all right? But excuse me; before going on, I have to
make a telephone call. I keep forgetting.

Be my guest, the inspector said, gesturing towards the
phone.

Thanks; Ive got a cell phone.

Lohengrin Pera was not armed. The bulge on his buttock
was his portable phone. He punched in a number that
Montalbano was unable to read.

Hello? This is Pera. Alls well, were talking.

He turned off the cellular and left it on the table.

Our colleagues in Tunis discovered that Ahmeds favorite
sister, Karima, had been living in Sicily for years, and
that, through her work, she had a vast circle of acquaintances.

Vast, no, Montalbano corrected him. Select, yes. She
was a respectable prostitute; she inspired confidence.

Ahmeds right-hand man, Fahrid, suggested to his chief
that they establish a base of operations in Sicily and avail
themselves of Karimas services. Ahmed rather trusted
Fahrid; he didnt know hed been bought by the Tunisian secret
services. With our discreet assistance, Fahrid came here
and made contact with Karima, who, after a careful review
of her clients, chose Lapra. Perhaps by threatening to inform
his wife of their relationship, Karima forced Lapra
to reopen his old import-export business, which turned out
to be an excellent cover. Fahrid was able to communicate
with Ahmed by writing coded business letters to an imaginary
company in Tunis. By the way, in your press conference
you said that at a certain point Lapra wrote anonymously
to his wife, informing her of his liaison. Why did he do that?

Because he smelled something fishy in the whole
arrangement.

Do you think he suspected the truth?

Of course not! At the most, he probably thought they
were trafficking drugs. If hed discovered he was at the center
of an international intrigue, hed have been killed on the spot.

I agree. At first, our primary concern was to keep the
impatience of the Tunisians in check. But we also wanted to
be certain that, once we put the bait in the water, the fish
would bite.

Excuse me, but who was the blond young man who
showed up now and then with Fahrid?

The colonel looked at him with admiration.

You know that too? Hes one of our men who would
periodically go and check up on things.

And while he was at it, he would fuck Karima.

These things happen. Finally Fahrid persuaded Ahmed
to come to Italy by tempting him with the prospect of a big
weapons shipment. As always with our invisible protection,
Ahmed Moussa arrived at Maz, according to Fahrids instructions.
Under pressure from the chief of the prefects cabinet,
the captain of the fishing boat agreed to take Ahmed
aboard, since the meeting between Ahmed and the imaginary
arms dealer was supposed to take place on the open sea.
Without the slightest suspicion, Ahmed Moussa walked into
the trap. He even lit a cigarette, as hed been told to do, so
that they might better recognize each other. But Commendator
Spadaccia, the cabinet chief, made a big mistake.

He hadnt warned the captain that it would not be a
clandestine meeting, but an ambush, said Montalbano.

You could say that. The captain, as hed been told to do,
threw Ahmeds papers into the sea and divided the seventy
million lire the Arab had in his pocket with the rest of the
crew. Then, instead of returning to Maz, he changed
course. He had his doubts about us.

Oh?

You see, we had steered our motor patrols away from
the scene of the action, and the captain knew this. If thats
the situation, he must have thought, whos to say I wont run
into something on the way back ina missile, a mine, even
another motor patrol that would sink my boat to destroy all

trace of the operation? Thats why he came to Vig. He was