Poisonville by Massimo Carlotto Page B

for the funeral now,” she announced. “Do you want to join us?”
     
    As I left the house I ran into Venerino Stoppa, known as Rino the Embalmer. He invariably carried a black plastic valise with an assortment of coffin catalogues.
    “Tomorrow morning, the prosecutor’s office is releasing the corpse for the funeral,” he announced confidently.
    I didn’t waste my breath asking him how he knew. Rino always knew things before anyone else. He was a true professional.
    Soon I would see Giovanna again. For the last time. A quick visit to the morgue before the coffin was sealed forever. As I got into my car I wondered if I really wanted to see her again.
    I had just started the engine when my cell phone rang. I felt a stab at my stomach. Giovanna had selected the ring tone a couple of days before she was murdered. She loved to change my ring tones, and there were times when I lost track so that, among the dozens of cell phones that crowded the court building, I often failed to recognize my own. It was Davide Trevisan.
    “First of all, my condolences,” he began in dialect.
    “Thanks.”
    “I would have preferred to tell you in person, but I had to call you, because here in the piazza café there’s an unpleasant situation that concerns you.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “That idiot Filippo has gulped down three Negronis in a row and now he’s making a speech. He says that you killed Giovanna and he’s going to make you pay for it.”
    “I’ll be right there,” I snarled, and snapped the phone shut.
    What I should have done was call my father and Inspector Mele. They would have made sure that Filippo shut up and stayed out of sight. But I couldn’t take it anymore, and I wanted to pick a fight with someone, anyone. And that psychotic was perfect for it.
    I was at the café in three minutes flat. When I walked in the door everyone turned to stare. Half the town was there enjoying the show. Filippo was the only one who failed to notice my presence. He had his back to me. He was arguing with Bepi, the bartender, who was refusing to serve him a fourth Negroni and urging him to go home.
    Filippo lost control. “This is a public place of refreshment, and you have a legal obligation to serve me, do you understand?”
    “You’re drunk, get the hell out of my bar,” the barman shot back, shooting a worried glance in my direction.
    Filippo pulled a handful of banknotes out of the pocket of his heavy jacket and threw them in Bepi’s direction. “I’ll buy this stinking bar from you. How much do you want?”
    “Bepi’s right, you need to go home,” I said loudly.
    Filippo whipped around and gave me a vicious smile. “Have you come to enjoy your last wine spritzer before going to prison?”
    It took three, maybe four steps to cross the bar. I was close enough that if I had reached out my hand, I could have touched him. And that was what I was tempted to do. “Shut your mouth,” I ordered him.
    Speaking to the other customers, he pointed at me. “He killed Giovanna because she had decided to come back to me.”
    “Giovanna felt nothing but pity for you. Look at yourself, can’t you see what a sad mess you’ve become?”
    Filippo emitted a bloodcurdling scream. It issued from his throat as if I had run him through, and he lunged at me. It was what I wanted, and I was ready for him. I hit him with a left to the jaw and then with a right to the belly. Filippo took the punches better than I expected and hit me in the forehead with an empty glass.
    The fight came to a quick end. Strong arms pulled the two of us apart. I couldn’t break free, and I quickly found myself outside the café.
    “Calm down,” said Davide Trevisan as he handed me a handkerchief. The base of the glass had cut my forehead. “I have to say, you’re a real half-ass,” he mocked me good-naturedly. “You can’t even beat up a cripple.”
    “Fuck you, Davide.”
    “Come on, you don’t need to take it out on me.”
    “You’re