letterhead stationery of a qualified authority.”
“And what would be an example of such authority?”
“Well, you, for example.”
“All right, but qualified for what?”
“Maybe for being an authority.”
“All right, I’ll write you the request and you can take it in to them.”
“Chief, ’at’d be Signura Cirribicciò’s boy onna line.”
It must be Pasquale, Adelina’s son, a known ne’er-do-well and thief who spent most of his time going in and out of jail. Despite the fact that the inspector had arrested him several times, he was so fond of Montalbano that he had asked him to be his own son’s godfather, which had provoked a spat with Livia, who, with her northern mind-set, couldn’t grasp how a police inspector could have the son of an ex-convict as his godson.
“Okay, put him on.”
“Hello, Inspector, ’iss is Pasquale Cirrinciò.”
“What is it, Pasquà?”
“I wannitt a tell ya I took my mutha to the hospital.”
“Oh my God! What happened?”
“She got a big scare at yer house.”
“Why, what happened?”
“Well, she needed to git a broom, an’ when she open the closet door, two dead ladies fell on toppa her. At lease ’at’s what she tought, an’ she hadda fit.”
Matre santa
, the dolls! He’d forgotten to leave a note to warn Adelina!
“They’re not . . . They’re not dead ladies, they’re . . .”
“I know, Inspector. My mutha come runnin’ out the house screamin’ like a banshee an’ then she fainted. When she woke up, she call’ me onna cell phone. An’ so I raced over there to git ’er, but before takin’ ’er to the hospital, I went inside a have a look a’ wha’ was the story. Y’know what I mean? ’Cause if it was a coupla real dead bodies ya wannit a hide or sum’m, I coulda given ya a hand . . .”
“To do what?”
“What do you mean, to do what? To get the hassle offa ya hands. Get rid o’ the bodies. Iss pretty easy a do nowadays, wit’ acid.”
What the fuck was this kid thinking? That he was keeping two corpses at home, waiting for the right opportunity to get rid of them? Better change the subject, otherwise he would end up having to thank the guy for his generous offer of complicity in the concealment of two corpses.
“And how’s Adelina now?”
“She’s gotta fever of a hunnert ’n’ four. An’ she’s worried ’bout ya. She tol’ me to let ya know she coun’t cook nuthin’ for dinner for ya tonight.”
“All right, thanks for calling. Give your mother a hug for me and my best wishes.”
The youth didn’t respond, but was still on the line.
“Was there anything else, Pasquà?”
“Yessir, Inspector, if I could, I’d like a say sumthin’.”
“Go right ahead.”
“I jess wannit a say that, a man like you, livin’ all alone an’ all, an’ with yer girlfrien’ who don’t come see ya too often, well, I jess wannit a say iss logickal that . . .”
“Yes?”
“Iss logickal that every now ’n’ then ya got certain needs . . .”
“But I’ve already got your mother to help me out.”
“The kinda help I’s talkin’ ’bout my mama can’t give ya . . .”
“So what are you talking about, then?”
“Now, don’ take offince or nuthin’, but if ya wanna nice-lookin’ girl, alls ya gotta do is gimme a ring an’ I’ll fine one for ya, instead o’ usin’ them dolls, ya know? A nice-looking Russian or Romanian girl, or Moltavian, whatever ya like best. Blond, black, anyting ya want. Guaranteed clean and healthy. An’ free o’ charge, since it’s you. Y’unnastan’ what I’m sayin’? Ya want me to look into it?”
Dumbfounded, now that he grasped what Pasquale was offering, Montalbano was speechless. He couldn’t even manage to open his mouth.
“Hello, Inspector? Can ya hear me?”
He hung up the receiver. That was all he needed! And now who was going to convince Adelina and her son that he wasn’t sleeping with inflatable dolls?! He sat there for a good
“And what would be an example of such authority?”
“Well, you, for example.”
“All right, but qualified for what?”
“Maybe for being an authority.”
“All right, I’ll write you the request and you can take it in to them.”
“Chief, ’at’d be Signura Cirribicciò’s boy onna line.”
It must be Pasquale, Adelina’s son, a known ne’er-do-well and thief who spent most of his time going in and out of jail. Despite the fact that the inspector had arrested him several times, he was so fond of Montalbano that he had asked him to be his own son’s godfather, which had provoked a spat with Livia, who, with her northern mind-set, couldn’t grasp how a police inspector could have the son of an ex-convict as his godson.
“Okay, put him on.”
“Hello, Inspector, ’iss is Pasquale Cirrinciò.”
“What is it, Pasquà?”
“I wannitt a tell ya I took my mutha to the hospital.”
“Oh my God! What happened?”
“She got a big scare at yer house.”
“Why, what happened?”
“Well, she needed to git a broom, an’ when she open the closet door, two dead ladies fell on toppa her. At lease ’at’s what she tought, an’ she hadda fit.”
Matre santa
, the dolls! He’d forgotten to leave a note to warn Adelina!
“They’re not . . . They’re not dead ladies, they’re . . .”
“I know, Inspector. My mutha come runnin’ out the house screamin’ like a banshee an’ then she fainted. When she woke up, she call’ me onna cell phone. An’ so I raced over there to git ’er, but before takin’ ’er to the hospital, I went inside a have a look a’ wha’ was the story. Y’know what I mean? ’Cause if it was a coupla real dead bodies ya wannit a hide or sum’m, I coulda given ya a hand . . .”
“To do what?”
“What do you mean, to do what? To get the hassle offa ya hands. Get rid o’ the bodies. Iss pretty easy a do nowadays, wit’ acid.”
What the fuck was this kid thinking? That he was keeping two corpses at home, waiting for the right opportunity to get rid of them? Better change the subject, otherwise he would end up having to thank the guy for his generous offer of complicity in the concealment of two corpses.
“And how’s Adelina now?”
“She’s gotta fever of a hunnert ’n’ four. An’ she’s worried ’bout ya. She tol’ me to let ya know she coun’t cook nuthin’ for dinner for ya tonight.”
“All right, thanks for calling. Give your mother a hug for me and my best wishes.”
The youth didn’t respond, but was still on the line.
“Was there anything else, Pasquà?”
“Yessir, Inspector, if I could, I’d like a say sumthin’.”
“Go right ahead.”
“I jess wannit a say that, a man like you, livin’ all alone an’ all, an’ with yer girlfrien’ who don’t come see ya too often, well, I jess wannit a say iss logickal that . . .”
“Yes?”
“Iss logickal that every now ’n’ then ya got certain needs . . .”
“But I’ve already got your mother to help me out.”
“The kinda help I’s talkin’ ’bout my mama can’t give ya . . .”
“So what are you talking about, then?”
“Now, don’ take offince or nuthin’, but if ya wanna nice-lookin’ girl, alls ya gotta do is gimme a ring an’ I’ll fine one for ya, instead o’ usin’ them dolls, ya know? A nice-looking Russian or Romanian girl, or Moltavian, whatever ya like best. Blond, black, anyting ya want. Guaranteed clean and healthy. An’ free o’ charge, since it’s you. Y’unnastan’ what I’m sayin’? Ya want me to look into it?”
Dumbfounded, now that he grasped what Pasquale was offering, Montalbano was speechless. He couldn’t even manage to open his mouth.
“Hello, Inspector? Can ya hear me?”
He hung up the receiver. That was all he needed! And now who was going to convince Adelina and her son that he wasn’t sleeping with inflatable dolls?! He sat there for a good
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