I Will Have Vengeance by Maurizio de Giovanni, Anne Milano Appel Read Free Book Online

him a great deal. Don Pierino, used to searching out and finding the truth behind an expression, had had the impression that he was looking at a multifaceted panorama. There was sorrow: an old sorrow, yet still alive. A sorrow that was an old friend. Loneliness. Intelligence, and a touch of irony, of sarcasm, when the theater director was sputtering beside him. It had only been a moment, but the priest had sensed a complex and troubled personality.
    Now he stood in front of him: no hat, a few strands of black hair falling over his sharp nose. Hands in the pockets of his overcoat, which he had not taken off despite the heat. And then the eyes: green, almost transparent. He never blinked, and he wore a slight frown. Loneliness and sorrow, but also irony.
    â€œSo, Father: out of your territory tonight?”
    â€œWhy, does a priest have territorial limits? I’ve never seen a territory which couldn’t use a priest. No, tonight I was off duty, if that’s what you want to know. But I was still in uniform, as you can see.”
    Ricciardi twisted his face into what was meant to be a smile and lowered his eyes for a second. When he looked up again his forehead was smooth, but his expression hadn’t changed.
    â€œCertain uniforms, whether you wear them or don’t wear them, it’s all the same: you always have them on. You, me. Always with our uniforms on.”
    â€œThe important thing is not to frighten people, with a uniform. People should feel reassured seeing it. And in order not to frighten people, you have to not be frightened.”
    The Commissario gave a faint start, as if the priest had suddenly slapped him. He tilted his head slightly to the side and stared at him with new regard. Behind him, two steps back, Maione shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The theater, now empty, listened in silence.
    â€œAnd you, Father? Aren’t you ever frightened?”
    â€œYes, almost always. But I ask for help. From the Almighty, from people. And I get over it.”
    â€œBravo, Father. Bravo. Good for you. Now, let’s get to the . . . ‘dolesome notes’, I believe they say. This is the right place for it. So then, you know opera, and this setting. You can help me, since I don’t know either one. Would you make a deal, with a policeman?”
    Sarcasm again. No smile, no wink. The unchanging green glass of his eyes.
    â€œA priest doesn’t make deals, Commissario. He has no choice when it comes to the seal of the confessional. And he does not inform. He doesn’t blow the whistle on some poor devil.”
    â€œOh, I see. Better that a poor devil should go to jail, perhaps by omission. And that the true perpetrator remain on the streets, to commit another crime. You’re right, Father. It means I’ll have to look elsewhere for help.”
    Maione was surprised: he had rarely heard Ricciardi say so much. He hadn’t really understood the conversation, but he sensed that the Commissario had grown even more disheartened. He could tell by the stiffening of his back, by the way he held his head. The little priest, who looked so cool and composed, rocking on his toes with his hands clasped over his stomach, was giving him a hard time. Like a hunting dog eager to follow the prey’s scent, the Brigadier felt that they were just wasting time. However, his brother-in-law was at his house and he wasn’t eager to go home.
    â€œNo, Commissario,” don Pierino said, “that’s not what I meant. Naturally, I will give you any information you need; but don’t ask me, now or later, to help you accuse someone. Yours is human justice. I deal with another justice: one that can also forgive.”
    â€œI won’t encroach on your territory, Father. I wouldn’t let you encroach on mine. I’ll expect you at the Questura tomorrow morning at eight, in my office. Please don’t be late.”
    Without waiting for a response, he turned and