Biga emerged from Vicolo delle Vacche. He was alone, and in spite of the fact that the evening was mild and springlike, he was walking with an umbrella in his hand. He wedged it down between the distinctive Roman sampietrini cobblestones at every step, leaning his weight on it. Rocco elbowed Brizio in the ribs, and Brizio immediately abandoned his scrutiny of a magnificent Teutonic maiden in short-shorts who happened to be passing at the moment.

“There he is now,” said Rocco. And he got to his feet. As he drew closer, Rocco realized that what Antonio Biga had in his hand wasn’t an umbrella at all. It was a peculiar walking stick with a bulge at the center that ended just under the hooked handle. When Antonio spotted the deputy chief, he was neither startled nor indecisive. He just kept hobbling along toward the policeman, with a smile on his face. To any outsider, it would have looked like a meeting of two longtime friends.

“Well, take a look at who’s here. None other than Rocco Schiavone. Why are you around these parts? Did they call you back to Rome?”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Antonio took a deep breath. With a quick gesture of his hand, he pushed a button and the walking stick was magically transformed into a stool. “You mind? I just had my femur rebuilt. They replaced the tip of it with some material they use at NASA. But I’m still not all the way recovered.” And he lowered himself down onto that little handheld perch that was undoubtedly of Chinese manufacture. “Nice, eh? People use it to go fishing.”

Rocco was still on his feet. He gazed down upon him from above. “And do you go?”

“Where?”

“Fishing.”

“I’ve never given a shit about fishing.” And he broke out in a laugh that soon changed into a convulsive hacking cough. He’d turned red in the face, he was choking, but Rocco didn’t move a muscle to help him.

“You aren’t going to kick on me, are you? Not right here and now, Antò?”

The man recovered his breath. He dried his lips. “All right, then, tell me what you want, cop. After you ruined my life, I’ve heard that yours hasn’t gone all that much better.”

“They told it to you straight. By the way, best regards from the parents of Dottoressa Semplici. Do you remember her? The one you killed in the bank.”

“I never killed anyone. You know it, I’m an innocent man.”

“Of course you are. So, aside from hobbling around like a cripple, what have you been up to lately?”

“What can I tell you? You know what? I’m finally getting my pension in just two months.”

“You’re getting a pension?”

“Yeah. This is a great country!”