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Authors: Dominique Manotti
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to the truck. ‘Good news,’ murmured Carlo, ‘we’re going to make it.’ I got my breath back. We began to manoeuvre ourselves very slowly into an upright position, trying to clear an air pocket around our heads. Carlo guided me.
We had to control our breathing, we knew it was vital otherwise we’d suffocate to death amid the rubbish. The truck started up. Our hands fumbled and found each other, locked. A stop: exit checks, signature of the paperwork, and inspection of the skip by the screws. We knew that it would be cursory, but what if, that day… Hearts thumping. The truck was on its way, we squeezed hands. We waited a few minutes, counting slowly, then bit by bit we fought ourway to the surface. When we were able to come up for air, I took a deep breath, despite the smell, then threw up. Carlo was kneeling, he held on to the wall of the skip with one hand, very much in control. I thought how he’d saved my life, in those first few minutes after I’d jumped in. I didn’t say anything because Carlo didn’t like shows of emotion. But he knew.
The truck slowed down. The driver was Marco, the leader of my gang when I was a thief in Rome, before my arrest. Using a false name, he’d got himself a job as a driver for the subcontractor who handled the prison’s rubbish, and the whole operation had been coordinated by his sister Luciana, who often used to come and visit me in jail. We’d been in love, before I got banged up. Or rather, we thought we were. But we were very young. In other words, we used to fuck each other. And she was a great help in planning our escape. It was agreed that we’d jump out when Marco braked three times in quick succession. He couldn’t stop because he wasn’t alone in the cab. We felt him brake three times, we shot up together, grabbed the side of the skip, heaved ourselves over the edge, hung there for a second, then we let go, throwing ourselves out as far as possible, clear of the truck. We hit the ground hard, but we were ready for it. We both tucked ourselves up into a ball and rolled on to the asphalt. We watched the truck drive off, then we stood up. The place was empty. Good choice. About five hundred metres away were some apartment blocks, one of those suburban housing estates plonked down in the middle of the countryside. We had to hope that no one had seen us jump off the truck, and we still needed a bit of luck. Carlo said to me, ‘By my reckoning, we’ve got ten minutes left before the alarm’s raised in the prison.’ We had to get away from the route taken by the refuse truck as fast as possible. Ten minutes just might be enough. We crossed the fields very quickly, heading for the apartment block. We kept calm, didn’t run, brushing ourselves down to get rid of the rubbish clinging to our hair and our clothes as we went. We walked round the first building and found ourselves in a huge car park between two apartment blocks. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, there weren’t many people about. A few days earlierI’d hidden a piece of wire in my pocket, which I unrolled. I chose a Fiat model that I knew well. Within twenty seconds, I’d opened the door, and thirty seconds later I had the steering lock deactivated and the engine running, and we drove out of the car park. Carlo looked at his watch. ‘The alarm’s been raised,’ he said. We drove away from Rome. We left the stolen car in a supermarket car park around twenty kilometres away, where we waited for Luciana, Marco’s sister. She was standing next to her car, against the sunlight, her mass of copper-blond hair glinting in the sun. I found her stunning, but she had eyes only for Carlo. I’d already lost that game.
The three of us embraced and thumped the roof of her car – we’d pulled off our escape. Then we got into the car, I took the wheel, she sat next to me, half-turned towards Carlo sitting like a king on the back seat, and we headed off in the direction of the mountains.
Filippo is
We had to control our breathing, we knew it was vital otherwise we’d suffocate to death amid the rubbish. The truck started up. Our hands fumbled and found each other, locked. A stop: exit checks, signature of the paperwork, and inspection of the skip by the screws. We knew that it would be cursory, but what if, that day… Hearts thumping. The truck was on its way, we squeezed hands. We waited a few minutes, counting slowly, then bit by bit we fought ourway to the surface. When we were able to come up for air, I took a deep breath, despite the smell, then threw up. Carlo was kneeling, he held on to the wall of the skip with one hand, very much in control. I thought how he’d saved my life, in those first few minutes after I’d jumped in. I didn’t say anything because Carlo didn’t like shows of emotion. But he knew.
The truck slowed down. The driver was Marco, the leader of my gang when I was a thief in Rome, before my arrest. Using a false name, he’d got himself a job as a driver for the subcontractor who handled the prison’s rubbish, and the whole operation had been coordinated by his sister Luciana, who often used to come and visit me in jail. We’d been in love, before I got banged up. Or rather, we thought we were. But we were very young. In other words, we used to fuck each other. And she was a great help in planning our escape. It was agreed that we’d jump out when Marco braked three times in quick succession. He couldn’t stop because he wasn’t alone in the cab. We felt him brake three times, we shot up together, grabbed the side of the skip, heaved ourselves over the edge, hung there for a second, then we let go, throwing ourselves out as far as possible, clear of the truck. We hit the ground hard, but we were ready for it. We both tucked ourselves up into a ball and rolled on to the asphalt. We watched the truck drive off, then we stood up. The place was empty. Good choice. About five hundred metres away were some apartment blocks, one of those suburban housing estates plonked down in the middle of the countryside. We had to hope that no one had seen us jump off the truck, and we still needed a bit of luck. Carlo said to me, ‘By my reckoning, we’ve got ten minutes left before the alarm’s raised in the prison.’ We had to get away from the route taken by the refuse truck as fast as possible. Ten minutes just might be enough. We crossed the fields very quickly, heading for the apartment block. We kept calm, didn’t run, brushing ourselves down to get rid of the rubbish clinging to our hair and our clothes as we went. We walked round the first building and found ourselves in a huge car park between two apartment blocks. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, there weren’t many people about. A few days earlierI’d hidden a piece of wire in my pocket, which I unrolled. I chose a Fiat model that I knew well. Within twenty seconds, I’d opened the door, and thirty seconds later I had the steering lock deactivated and the engine running, and we drove out of the car park. Carlo looked at his watch. ‘The alarm’s been raised,’ he said. We drove away from Rome. We left the stolen car in a supermarket car park around twenty kilometres away, where we waited for Luciana, Marco’s sister. She was standing next to her car, against the sunlight, her mass of copper-blond hair glinting in the sun. I found her stunning, but she had eyes only for Carlo. I’d already lost that game.
The three of us embraced and thumped the roof of her car – we’d pulled off our escape. Then we got into the car, I took the wheel, she sat next to me, half-turned towards Carlo sitting like a king on the back seat, and we headed off in the direction of the mountains.
Filippo is
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