Read Online The Few by Nadia Dalbuono - Free Book Online

passers-by making their way across the piazza. This was the diplomatic district: an army truck stood idle at the corner, chugging exhaust fumes onto the pavement, while two soldiers in fatigues chatted inside. Opposite was the Syrian embassy — another one of Pino’s friends. He tipped back his espresso, felt the anxiety build, figured the coffee wasn’t helping. His mobile buzzed almost in step with his addled brain: it was an unknown number this time.
    â€˜Scamarcio.’
    â€˜It’s Maria, from the other night.’ It was a strange voice, affectedly feminine, but too low. ‘From McDonalds in Testaccio. You asked me about Max.’
    Scamarcio sat up straighter. ‘Ah, of course. Sorry, I was somewhere else for a moment.’
    â€˜Figured me for an old girlfriend?’
    He laughed. ‘You know how it is.’
    â€˜Sure do.’ It was sad the way she said it, as though she didn’t.
    â€˜I’m glad you called. You remember anything?’
    â€˜Maybe. But I’d like to talk to you in person. You know the Riviera café in Trastevere — Via delle Luce? Could you meet me there in an hour?’
    Via delle Luce was quiet. She’d chosen a place away from the lunchtime throng. It was shirtsleeves weather, and Scamarcio caught an early promise of summer in the warm currents on the breeze. In a month, the heat would be uncomfortable; in two, the city would no longer be habitable, and they’d all be counting the days until they could flee for the coast or their second homes in Umbria. But that wouldn’t be his choice — he preferred to take his leave when no one else was around, when the angry shouts and self-pitying tears of stressed parents and spoiled children had finally left the beaches.
    He tracked her approach: well-cut jeans, a diaphanous blouse, designer sunglasses. A young man stopped to look, and others in the café followed suit.
    She tried a smile, displaying perfect teeth and a perfect jaw-line — maybe a too-perfect jaw-line?
    â€˜Detective.’ They kissed on both cheeks in the formal manner, and she threw her bag onto the nearest chair.
    He pulled out a seat for her, opposite. She sat carefully, fished out a packet of Camels and a lighter from the bag, lit up, and blew the smoke to her left, careful to avoid the table. He watched her for a while, trying to work something out; he wasn’t quite sure what. Maybe how it all hung together, why it all worked — aesthetically, that is.
    â€˜So, how’s your investigation going? Getting anywhere?’
    He ignored the question. ‘You want a coffee, something to eat?’
    She waved a hand. ‘No, I’m fine.’ Then, ‘Maybe just a mineral water: still.’
    â€˜Why did you want to see me?’
    â€˜Tell me what all this is about first.’ He sensed an uncompromising glare behind the glasses.
    â€˜Can’t do that.’
    â€˜This meeting seems a bit one-sided then.’
    â€˜We’re worried about Max — that’s all.’
    She laughed. ‘Yeah, right. You guys are always worrying about people like us.’
    The sore point again. ‘He’s dead.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜He was murdered on Friday — stabbed to death in his flat in Trastevere.’
    She stared into space for a long time, saying nothing. Then she took a long drag on the cigarette and didn’t worry so much about the smoke this time. ‘You’re saying that someone cut him up.’ She paused, letting it all sink in. ‘In his place.’
    â€˜Looks that way.’
    She placed one hand over the other, apparently studying a fingernail.
    He willed her to remove the glasses. ‘So what did you want to tell me?’
    He noticed a slight tremor in her hand now. She was reaching for the Camels again, lining up a second before she’d finished the first.
    â€˜Listen, forget I called. It was a mistake.’ She suddenly tossed the