One Step to You (The Rome Novels #1)(78)

A short while later, Step was in his brother’s office.

“Paolo, I absolutely need the place to myself tonight.”

“But I already invited Manuela over.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to change that invitation to some other day. Come on, you can see Manuela whenever you want. Darn it, Babi can only come tonight.”

“Babi? The daughter of the guy who came to our house?”

“Yes, why?”

“That guy seemed pretty mad to me. Did you finally talk to him?”

“Of course I did. We went and played pool together, and we even got drunk.”

“You both got drunk?”

“Yes, or, well…actually, he got drunk all by himself.”

“Did you get him to drink?”

“What do you mean, did I get him to drink? He did the drinking all on his own. Come on! We’re agreed, right? Tonight, you go out. All clear?”

Then, without waiting for an answer, he hurried out of the office. He was so caught up in the things he had to do that he didn’t even notice the especially sunny smile that he got from Paolo’s secretary.

From his house, he phoned Pollo. He warned him not to come by, not to call on the phone, and especially not to start trouble of any kind. “Listen, your life depends on not screwing this up. Actually, it’s more serious than that. Our friendship depends on it, and I’m not kidding!”

Then he drew up a grocery list, went to the supermarket downstairs, and bought just about everything that came to hand, even a box of those English butter biscuits his brother liked so much. After all, Paolo deserved it. All things considered, he was a good brother.

By eight o’clock, everything was ready. Step had listened to the latest American hits on the radio. He hadn’t put on Babi’s apron, but to make up for that, he’d laid it out on a chair nearby, ready to lie brazenly when the time came.

He looked at the results of his hard work. Carpaccio with Parmesan cheese and arugula. A mixed salad with avocado and a fruit salad seasoned with maraschino liqueur. Memories surfaced. He’d eaten that fruit salad often when he was a boy…

He let the memories slip away. He was happy now. This was going to be his special evening, and he didn’t want anything to ruin it.

Pleased and satisfied, he checked the table, adjusting the placement of a napkin. He really was quite the chef.

He started wandering around the apartment, a little nervous now. He washed his hands. He sat down on the sofa. He smoked a cigarette, and then he turned on the television set. He brushed his teeth. A quarter after eight. Time didn’t seem to be passing at all.

In fifteen minutes, she’d be here, they’d eat dinner together, and they’d chat comfortably. They’d have the sofa to themselves without anyone to disturb them. Then they’d go into his bedroom and then…

No, Babi would never do it. It was too soon. Or maybe she would. There’s no such thing as too soon for certain things. They’d spend some time together, and then maybe it would happen.

He tried to remember the words of a song by Lucio Battisti. How did it go? “What a sensation of faint madness I feel coloring my soul, the record player, the lights down low, and then…iced champagne and the adventure can…” Damn it. That’s what I forgot! The champagne! It’s essential!

Step went quickly into the kitchen and pulled open all of the cabinets. No good. There was nothing but a pinot grigio. He put it in the freezer. Well, that’s still better than nothing.

At that very moment, the telephone rang. It was Babi. “I can’t come.” Her voice was cold and annoyed.

“Why not? I’ve prepared everything. I even put on the apron you gave me,” Step lied.

“Signora Mariani called. She’s missing a gold necklace with diamond settings. She blames me. Don’t ever call me again.” Babi hung up.

A short while later, Step was at Pollo’s house. “Who the fuck could it have been? Do you realize? Nice fucking friends I have.”

“Come on, Step, don’t talk like that! How many times have we all gone to someone’s house and stolen things? Practically at every party we’ve ever been to.”

“Yes, but never at one of our girlfriends’ houses!”

“Well, that wasn’t Babi’s house…”

“No, but she’s being held responsible for it. You need to help me make up a list of everyone who was there…”

Step pulled out a sheet of paper. Then he frantically hunted around for a pen.

“Oh, don’t you ever have anything to write with around here?”

“There’s no need. I know who took the necklace.”

“Who?”

Then Pollo said a name, the one name that Step really wished he hadn’t heard. It was the Sicilian who’d stolen it.

*



Step was riding his motorcycle in the night. He’d chosen not to ask Pollo to come with him. This was a matter between him and the Sicilian, and no one else.

Going to his house and demanding that necklace back was tantamount to calling him a thief. No one would be especially happy to be accused of such a thing, least of all the Sicilian. He was especially touchy about things like that.

When the Sicilian came downstairs, his smile promised nothing good.

“Ciao, Sicilian. Listen, I don’t want to fight with you.”