Cosi Fan Tutti - 5 by Michael Dibdin

The plane climbed steadily up through the clear, still air, out over the calm waters of the bay, its lights winking brightly against the deeper blue of the gathering dusk, then turned slowly in a wide circle over the shadowy outline of the peninsula and islands, heading north.
    Gesualdo rose, followed by Sabatino. Without a word to Zen, they walked off across and into the restaurant.
    Zen clicked his fingers to summon the waiter.
    ‘Bring me the same again/ he told him. ‘And a phone.’
    When the phone arrived, on a long white cable, he called Valeria.
    ‘They’re on their way/ he said.
    ‘How did it go?’
    ‘The two lads seem to be taking it very hard, but that could work to our advantage. People who exaggerate their emotions are usually the first to change them.’
    Outside the restaurant, Gesualdo and Sabatino walked over to their parked cars.
    “I still can’t believe it/ said Sabatino, shaking his head slowly.
    ‘Maybe because it isn’t true/ suggested Gesualdo.
    Sabatino stopped dead, staring at him.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    A shrug.
    “I don’t know. But I don’t quite buy this. The girls take off without any notice, supposedly to study English.
    How do we know where they’ve gone?’
    ‘We can call them/ said Sabatino.
    Gesualdo shook his head.
    ‘They didn’t leave a number, did they? Or an address.
    Just the name of some school that may not even exist, for all we know.’
    ‘Filomena said she’d call me twice a day!’ protested Sabatino.
    ‘Yes, but from where? They could be anywhere in the country, or abroad for that matter. This could all be a ruse to get them out of our influence. I sense the fine hand of their mother in all this. And this Alfonso Zembla character gives me the creeps. Where did he spring from?’
    “‘A friend of the family,” he said. I’ve never heard Filomena mention him before. And what’s he doing here in Naples? With that accent, he has to be from somewhere in the North/
    He took out the card Zen gave him and inspected the address.
    ‘You think we should go?’ he asked his friend.
    ‘Of course. If this is some kind of set-up, Zembla has to be in on it. Maybe we can worm it out of him. He didn’t seem that bright to me.’
    Sabatino unlocked his car.
    ‘Maybe we’re getting a little carried away here/ he said with a loosening-up gesture of his right hand. ‘That’s the trouble with being in this line of work. You end up thinking that everyone’s as devious as the people we hang out with.’
    “I hope you’re right.’
    Sabatino got into his car.
    ‘I’m going round to Dario’s to play cards for a while, put my ear to the ground about this other business. You want to come?’
    Gesualdo shook his head.
    ‘I’ve got an appointment.’
    ‘Business or pleasure?’
    ‘Business. I’ll swing by and pick you up around nine.’
    ‘Take care.’
    ‘You too.’
    Gesualdo drove out of the car park along a steep, narrow, switchback street that ended at the main road a few hundred metres up the hillside. There he turned right, coasting down the cobbled corniche whose extensive views out over the bay have proved fatal to so many drivers.
    Dipping down to water level at Mergellina, he drove along the front past the gardens of the Villa Communale and back into the city.
    In the inverted ghetto of Posillipo, where the wealthy and powerful have paraded their wealth and power for well over two thousand years, Gesualdo had felt ill at      ease, an interloper. The shocking news of the girls’ departure was fully in keeping with other subliminal messages he was picking up, a kind of white noise which the place generated along with the obedient hum of luxury cars, the murmur of conversation between people who never need to raise their voices to be heard, the silence of exclusion and the discreet hushing of a tame, respectful sea.
     
    Here, plunged into the deafening clamour and random trajectories of the streets, he was at home once more, back in the innards of