Angelica's Smile by Andrea Camilleri Read Free Book Online Page A

Montalbano said to him.
    Macaluso gave it to him.
    “How much is there?”
    “Fifteen thousand euros in bills of a hundred.”
    To return to Vigàta, Montalbano had to drive Fazio’s car.

    “Since you were caught like a fool with three stolen cars—in other words, red-handed—I get the feeling, my dear Macaluso, that this time you’re fucked,” said Fazio. “’Cause you’re also a repeat offender, with two prior convictions for receiving stolen goods.”
    The three accomplices had been taken to holding cells.
    Macaluso, for his part, was on the grill in Montalbano’s office.
    “Could you take my handcuffs off?” asked Macaluso.
    He was a great big man in overalls, a sort of walking armoire, red haired and red skinned.
    “No,” said Montalbano.
    Silence fell.
    “I can wait all night, if it comes to that,” said Fazio.
    Macaluso sighed and began to speak.
    “Things ain’t what they look like,” he said.
    “Chief, did you know our friend here was a philosopher?” said Fazio. “Then tell us what things are really like.”
    “I got a call from a customer that tol’ me to go an’ pick up these three cars he left—”
    “The customer’s name?” asked Fazio.
    “I don’ remember.”
    “And how’d you get the keys?”
    “He said he left ’em in the trunk of the Daewoo, which was unlocked.”
    “This detail may even be true, but I’m sure it was the thieves who left them there.”
    “I assure you that—”
    “Try to think up a better one, come on.”
    “You know what I say?” Montalbano cut in. “It’s getting late. It’s two o’clock in the morning. And I’m sleepy.”
    “Lemme go an’ we’ll all go to bed,” Macaluso suggested.
    “Quiet. Keep your mouth shut and listen to me,” said the inspector. “Listen closely.”
    And he started to recite from memory the intercepted phone conversation.
    “Hello? Who is this?”
    “I’m the friend with the moustache.”
    “Oh, is something up?”
    “I got three brand-new packages . . .”
    He looked at Macaluso and asked:
    “Is that enough, or should I go on?”
    “Th’ass enough.”
    “Want a cigarette?”
    “Yeah.”
    Montalbano handed it to Fazio, who stuck it between Macaluso’s lips and lit it for him.
    “We can make a deal.”
    “Le’ss hear it.”
    “You tell us the name of the guy on the phone, the one with the moustache, and I’ll tell the prosecutor to take your cooperation into consideration.”
    “I wish I could make that deal, believe me.”
    “Who’s preventing you?”
    “Nobody. But this guy wit’ the moustache, I only seen ’im once, at night, real quick-like, three years ago, an’ I don’ even know ’is name.”
    “How long have you been working with him?”
    “Three years, like I said. They call, they tell me where they left the car, I put the money in the glove compartment, I leave, an’ th’ass it.”
    He seemed sincere.

5
    Montalbano exchanged a quick glance with Fazio and they both understood. Fazio was also of the opinion that Macaluso was telling the truth.
    Carrying on would only mean losing sleep.
    “Put him in a holding cell,” the inspector said to Fazio. “And tomorrow have them all taken to the prison, and send the report to Tommaseo. Good night.”
    Montalbano wasn’t happy with the way things had gone.

    “Wake up, lazybones!”
    He slowly raised his eyelids, which seemed stuck together with glue. Through the open window a glorious sun beamed triumphant.
    “Could you bring me a cup of coffee in bed?”
    “No, but it’s all ready in the kitchen.”
    To take one’s coffee lying down, God forbid!
    A mortal sin worse than concupiscence!
    He got up, cursing to himself, went into the kitchen, drank his coffee, and then locked himself in the bathroom.
    When he came back out, it was ten o’clock.
    At the station, Fazio was waiting for him.
    “Chief, I’ve got a few things to tell you.”
    “Me too. You go first.”
    “Yesterday, when you were trying to reach me on the cell