Trafika Europe 14 - Italian Piazza

Frank Iodice

From a car that Mel i couldn’t have identified—a demonstration of the fact that she’d never real ly been interested in objects of value, but it was a contradiction that she had accepted in order to take part in a money laundering operation—Morel extended a dry and hairless arm and cal led her. She stopped in her tracks, waited for him to deign to get out and say hel lo l ike a normal person and not l ike a truck driver hitting on a sidewalk prostitute. He understood, stopped the car, and joined her. “We don’t have time to lose,” he said, “the “Didn’t I tel l you? They ’re waiting for us at the Plaza, in the city center, I said that we weren’t avai lable for lunch and made a date for an aperitif, aperitifs are fashionable here.” Mel i didn’t give a hoot about fashion, as I’d understood those cold mornings she spent at the Association, without heels or brand name handbags. Anyway, she smi led and got in the car. “I spoke with my col laborator, Ciepiela, you met him the other evening, in the bar. . .” “I understand,” she interrupted him. Apparently, she also l iked to go straight to the point and not get lost in civi l ities. Good, Morel thought, registering this. appointment is at six.” “What appointment?”

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