TE23 Double Feature

A Conspiracy of Talkers

Gaetano Savatteri

Night

1 The mayor died shortly before 9 p.m. Killed by a small-caliber projectile, he was a blotch in the miserly light leaking out of the Cacioppo Café. Sprawling face down, his light-colored raincoat spattered with blood, his arms still outstretched as if to break his last fall. An empty circle in the crowd marked his presence in the middle of the narrow piazza. Ten men, trapped in the café, had retreated to the rear of the premises. Corporal Nanìa, cold and tired, was taking down their names. He was aware that none of them would make any contribution to the useless investigation that — Nanìa was certain — would nonetheless drag on all night. A wasted, interminable night for Nanìa, who’d returned just that morning from four days’ leave for Day of the Dead festivities, his belly still swollen with fig cake and marzipan treats and strong homemade wine. The judge was forcing his way through the current of astonishment and fear spreading out from the mayor’s corpse. They had tracked 313

Mr. Benjamin Adano 622 Oaks Ridge Road Franklin Lakes New Jersey USA Signor Lieutenant Adano,

you must excuse me that I didn’t write sooner but I just got back home and now I found your address still good I hope. Pardon my writing that I learned in prison, I want to say thanks for the help you gave my family in my absence. I don’t know if you found out they don’t live in the town any more I couldn’t find anyone. But I hope to rejoin my sons soon. It was many years ago my troubles started maybe you still remember on November 6 1944. . .

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