For All the Gold in the World by Massimo Carlotto, Antony Shugaar

but his face was creased and tired.”
    â€œIs that all?”
    â€œHis hands,” Imbriani added. “They were callused and beat-up.”
    I stared into his eyes for a moment, trying to figure out if he was trying to trick me with that bullshit, but he seemed satisfied with his shrewd description.
    I went back to my cup of
caffè latte
without saying another word. I wouldn’t even look at him. After a little while the fence stood up; he left a photo of the bracelet and headed off, mumbling a farewell.
    Johnny Cash had just started in on
Bonanza
, the theme song from the famous TV series. Famous for me and the people of my generation, I mean. I’d never missed an episode, and it was quite a while before it dawned on me that those cowboys, with their sound principles, had none of the allure of real pioneers. They were nothing but members of a clan, forever fighting to defend their patrimony.
    I wondered if the guy who had extorted Oddo’s name out of that idiot Imbriani was part of a clan.
    Â 
    * * *
    Â 
    Padua.
    We’d returned the night before from Belgium with a decidedly flimsy lead from a treacherous, untrustworthy man. Max would follow up on it. Beniamino had gone back to his speedboat and I’d gotten up early to go meet Cora.
    The jazz woman was reading the paper, glancing at her cell phone every now and then to check for texts or see what time it was. I went over to her table, flashing a smile.
    â€œWhat’s the first thing a jazz singer does when she wakes up?” I asked.
    The woman sighed. “She gets up, gets dressed, and goes home.”
    I took a seat next to her without being invited. “I apologize for that sleazy musician’s joke but I didn’t know how to strike up a conversation.”
    â€œDoesn’t it seem a little early to be bothering a lady?”
    â€œA lovely lady,” I emphasized. “But anyway, yes, this is hardly the ideal time of day, but last night I couldn’t come to Pico’s. Otherwise I would have declared myself at just the right moment.”
    She eyed me carefully. “Now that you mention it, your face isn’t new to me.”
    â€œWe’ve seen each other here, too, sitting at adjoining tables.”
    She held out her hand. “Cora, pleasure,” she introduced herself briskly. “And now I’d like to go back to reading my newspaper.”
    I ignored her words. I’d made up my mind to play the game out to the very end. “I know that you took voice lessons at my friend Maurizio Camardi’s school, and I also know your real name: Marilena.”
    â€œAnd which name do you prefer?”
    â€œCora. To me, you’re only Cora, in a green dress with green shoes. Jazz woman.”
    She seemed to like what I’d said, but her silence muffled my enthusiasm. I stood up to stave off further embarrassment. “I believe we’ll meet again in this café. You’re always welcome to share my table should the fancy strike.”
    â€œDo you actually like me, or do you just think it’s worth giving it a try because I must be ‘easy,’ like all jazz singers?” she asked suddenly, touching her hand to her cheek.
    â€œI like you a lot, more than a lot,” I said with conviction. “It’s been quite a while since a woman made my head spin like this.”
    â€œNo kidding,” she replied, her tone ambiguous; then she went back to reading.
    I stood there looking at her in silence for a few seconds. No doubt about it, Cora knew how to floor a guy. I left the café stumped, but definitely more in love.
    Â 
    I swung by home. Max was sitting at his computer and gestured to me that he still hadn’t found out anything.
    I put in my earbuds to continue the treatment Catfish had prescribed. The second CD was entitled
I’m In Deep
, after the song by the
 
Altered Five Blues Band. The music made me particularly clear-minded and capable of