“You can say that again, if they’re helping a piece of shit like you to survive.” Rocco lit a cigarette. “Have you been doing any traveling?”

“When?”

“Lately?”

“Aside from Frascati? No. I haven’t been anywhere.” Antonio noticed that at the mouth of the alley another figure was leaning against the wall of the building. “Who’s that? You go around with a bodyguard?”

“It’s a friend of mine.”

Antonio focused. “Well, would you take a look at that . . . it’s Brizio! He’s aged. The two of you, to come look for a relic like me?”

“Do you know where I live now?”

“I was hoping that you’d gone to stay with your wife in the boneyard. But instead, here you are, hale and healthy and going around busting people’s balls, as usual.”

“Are you sorry to see that?”

“Very sorry, my friend. Very sorry.” The aged criminal sneezed. “I spent the first two years behind bars thinking about how to send you underground in a box to stay with the tree roots. Then I said to myself: Antò, what do you care? Get out of this cell and enjoy your life.”

Rocco flicked the cigarette far away.

“Schiavò, did I ever send you my condolences for your wife?”

Rocco lashed out with the instep of his foot and knocked the three-legged stool out from under the man, spilling Antonio to the ground in the blink of an eye.

“You bastard!”

Rocco bent down and grabbed him by the lapels. “I’m letting you talk because you’re an old gimp and your words don’t count for shit. But watch out, Antonio, don’t overdo it.”

The two men stared each other in the eye.

“Let me get up, give me a hand . . .” said Antonio.

“My ass,” Rocco hissed. He leaned in closer, bringing his own face right up against the bandit’s. “What do you know?”

“Let me understand one thing, cop. Did I ever say a thing to you? Never. So now why are you asking me all these questions? What are you hoping to find out?”

“Who took a trip to Aosta lately?”

Antonio smiled. His teeth were black, and he was missing a couple of incisors. “You’re shitting yourself, aren’t you?”

“Who?”

“I’m just sorry for Seba’s woman, because she had nothing to do with any of it. Too bad. A nice piece of ass—”

Rocco gave him a straight-armed smack. “Don’t you dare mention her name. Well?” And he grabbed the old bandit’s jacket even tighter.

“I don’t know. Consider the people who have it in for you. There’s a lot of us, Schiavone . . . Time to get busy!”