Read Online Cosi Fan Tutti - 5 by Michael Dibdin - Free Book Online

places down by the water before proceeding to the rendezvous where Orestina and Filomena Squillace were to break the news of their imminent departure to their undesirable lovers.
    So it was with both incredulity and dismay that he answered the phone and heard Giovan Battista Caputo telling him that his presence was ‘urgently required’ at work. The deadline which he had given the Questura, and then completely forgotten, was about to expire, and according to his deputy the case was no further advanced than it had been then.
    ‘The bastard just sits there grinning at us! We’ve tried everything - sweet-talking him, knocking him about but nothing works.’
    This, evidently, was as far as Caputo’s interrogational skills extended. The carrot and the stick having both failed to produce any result, he was at a loss.
    ‘But it’s Saturday!’ Zen protested. ‘You don’t mean to tell me the Questore’s working today?’
    ‘Not in person,’ Caputo replied. ‘But Piscopo is. She’s his deputy, and a regular martinet. She’s already phoned twice to find out what progress we’re making.’
    ‘Christ, what’s happening to this country? Work isn’t everything. I’ve got my own life to lead, you know.’
    ‘Eh, eh! Me too, chief, believe me. But this case has raised a lot of dust, and until we either wrap it up or figure out a way to pass it on to someone else
    He left an expressive silence. Zen sighed deeply.
    ‘Very well. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
    He depressed the rest on his phone and called Pasquale, the taxi driver of the night before, who had given him a card on receipt of a 10,000-lire tip.
    ‘Any time you need a car, dottore, just call my mobile           direct and as long as I’m free we can forget about all this, nonsense,’ he said, gesturing contemptuously at the meter and the logo of the taxi company.
    Zen was not surprised to hear that Pasquale was free, having got the distinct impression that he went out of his way to remain in this state to service the no doubt lengthy list of ‘special clients’ on which Zen was now enrolled. He promised to be at the top of the Salita del Petraio in five minutes.
    He was, too, or at least in fifteen, which amounts to the same thing in Naples.
    ‘So how do you square all this private enterprise with the company?’ Zen enquired as they swept down the double bends of the boulevard towards the coast.
    “I don’t bother them, dottore, they don’t bother me. And the consumer benefits! Take the meter, for instance. If you call through the company, I need to show mileage on the meter consistent with the trip booked. Now the meter is a Northern invention, no doubt admirably suited to the conditions of life in that culture. Ma cca’ stamme a Napule, duttbl The meter can only measure straight lines, which in Naples is never the shortest distance between two points/ it simply measures the length of a trip/ Zen objected philosophically. ‘How can a given trip be any shorter with the meter turned off?’
    ‘Because nothing is given here, duttb, it’s fought over.
    Take this journey. There are a hundred and twenty-eight ways of getting from the Vomero to the port, not counting those which are seriously illegal. Now then, if I have the meter on, which one am I going to choose?’
    Zen shrugged.
    “I don’t really know the city yet.’
    “I know you don’t!’ Pasquale retorted triumphantly. ‘So you’d get taken the most direct, least intelligent, slowest route, down to the sea and then along the shore. You
    know how long that would take at this time of day? Half an hour minimum! But why should I care? As long as the meter’s running, I’m earning money.’
    Still talking non-stop, he drove casually through a red light and turned sharp left down an almost vertical alley paved with cobblestones.
    ‘But once we’ve agreed a price, it’s in my interest to get you to your destination as soon as possible. So instead of sitting in a traffic jam