"Dibdin, Michael - Aurelio Zen 02 - Vendetta UC - part 10" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dibdin Michael)

He put on his overcoat. 'You've probably noticed that
your car's not working. I removed the distributor and cut
the leads. Just to save you time, I'll tell you that the phone
box is out of order now, too. As for the locals, I doubt it'
they'd tell you the time by the clock on the wall. I showed
them the paper, you see, told them who you are. Oddly
enough, they didn't seem terribly surprised. Between the
two of us, I think they must have sussed you out already.
'So I'll see you later, dottore. I can't say when exactly.
That's part of the punishment too. It could be in a few
minutes. I might suddenly get the urge. Or it might not be
until late tonight. It all depends on my mood, how I'm
feeling. I'll know when the moment has come. I'll sense it.
Don't worry about the pain. It'll be quick and clean, I
promise. Nothing fancy, like with Parrucci. I really had it
in for him in a big way. They used to call him 'the night-
ingale', didn't they? Because of how beautifully he sang, I
suppose. He turned out to be more of a screamer, though,
in the end. I had to take a walk, I couldn't handle it myself.
He was tougher than he looked, though. When I got back
an hour or so later he was still whimpering, what was left
I had to finish him off with a pistol. Sickening,
reagg. Well, I'm off for a piss.'
pe walked across the restaurant area and disappeared
through a door marked 'Toilets'.
'Let me use your phone!' Zen told the proprietor. 'That
man is an ex-criminal. He has threatened to kill me. I'm a
pice-Questore at the Ministry of the Interior. If you don't
pelp, you'll be an accessory to murder.'
The proprietor gazed at him stonily.
'But your name is Reto Gurtner. I've seen your papers.
You're a Swiss businessman, from Zurich.'
'My name is Aurelio Zen! I'm a high-ranking official!'
'Prove it.'
'Let me use the phone! Quickly, before he comes back!'
'There's no phone here.'
'But I heard it ringing when I came in.'
'That was the television.'
Given a few more minutes, Zen might have been able to
change the man's mind with a combination of threats and
pleas. But the few seconds before Vasco Spadola re-
appeared were too precious to gamble on that slim possi-
bility. Besides, it would take the Carabinieri at least fifteen
minutes to reach the village, and that would be plenty of
time for Spadola to carry out his threat. Zen turned and
ran.
Outside in the piazza, people had begun to gather for
the promenade before lunch. Zen stood uncertainly by the
door. Who could he turn to? Angelo Confalone? But it was
Sunday. The lawyer's office would be closed and Zen had