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

tables and lit a cigarette. He felt close to despair. Just as
he had received information that might well make his
mission a success, every door had suddenly slammed
shut in his face. At this rate, he would have to phone the
Carabinieri at Lanusei and ask them nicely to come and
pick him up. It was the last thing he wanted to do. To
avoid compromising his undercover operation, he hacf
left behind all his official identification, so involving the
rival force would involve lengthy explanations and verifi-
cations, in the course of which his highly questionab]e
business here would inevitably be revealed, probabli
stymieing his chances of bringing the affair to a satisfac-
tory conclusion. But there appeared to be no alternative,
unless he wanted to spend the night in the street or:;
cave, like the beggar woman.
He looked up as the thin man in the beige overcoat
walked in. Instead of going up to the bar, he headed for
the table where Zen was sitting.
'Good morning, dottore.'
Zen stared at him.
'You don't recognize me?' the man asked.
He seemed disappointed. Zen inspected him more
carefully. He was about forty years old, with the soft,
pallid look of those who work indoors. At first sight he
had seemed tall, but Zen now realized that this was due
to the man's extreme thinness, and to the fact that Zen
had by now adjusted to the Sardinian norm. As far as he
knew, he had never seen him before in his life.
'Why should I?' he retorted crossly.
The man drew up a chair and sat down.
'Why indeed? It's like at school, isn't it? The pupils all
remember their teacher, even years later, but you can't
expect the teacher to recall all the thousands of kids who
pave passed through their hands at one time or other. But I
still recognize you, dottore. I knew you right away. You
haven't aged very much. Or perhaps you were already old,
even then.'
He took out a packet of the domestic toscani cigars and
broke one in half, replacing one end in the packet and
putting the other between his lips.
'Have you got a light?'
Zen automatically handed over his lighter. He felt as
though all this was happening to someone else, someone
who perhaps understood what was going on. Certainly he
didn't.
The man lit the cigar with great care, rotating it constantly,
never letting the flame touch the tobacco. When it was
glowing satisfactorily, he slipped the lighter into his pocket.
'But that's mine!' Zen protested, like a child whose toy
has been taken away.