The Colombian Mule by Massimo Carlotto, Christopher Woodall

put him in the clear, but we’re following up a couple of leads that may well give us something we can work with.’
    Her eyes lit up. ‘What have you found out?’
    I shook my head. ‘For the time being, there’s nothing I can tell you.’
    Victoria got up and shook our hands. ‘I would like to thank you for everything you’re doing for Nazzareno,’ she said.
    â€˜That’s some woman,’ said Max. ‘There should be a few more bombshells like that wandering through this joint.’
    â€˜That’s not such a good idea,’ I replied. ‘Bombshells like that attract a type of male clientele that I don’t wish to see at La Cuccia.’
    At half past four I drove to Padova, following Virna’s car along icy deserted roads. The fields on either side of the main road were covered with thick frost. Even in the city center, there was no one stirring.
    We made love slowly and for a long time. Virna was in great need of tenderness. As I smoked my last cigarette before going to sleep I told her I would like to go away with her somewhere, just the two of us. For a weekend, say. She weighed my words in silence.
    â€˜It’s the first time you’ve come up with anything so romantic. I have to say the idea attracts me, even if a weekend is a long time. I’m not sure you can play the lover for more than a couple of hours at a stretch.’
    I could hardly blame her. Still, I pretended to be wounded by her lack of faith. ‘Think it over,’ I said, to end the conversation. ‘You can take your time. Right now I’ve got to finish this investigation.’
    â€˜Is the bimbo you were caressing tonight a key element in the case?’
    â€˜There’s no need to be catty, Virna. Her man’s in prison. I was just trying to comfort her a little.’
    â€˜I never realized a private investigator’s job description included that type of service.’
    Somehow I couldn’t take that in silence. We had a row.
    Ten minutes later I was back in my car, heading home. I stopped off at a bar that I knew sold Calvados, not far from the covered market. I was intending to have just one and then go straight home to bed but I bumped into a couple of transvestites I had known for years and who were keen to talk. They told me how hard street-work had become since the Albanians had gained control of the racket, and then they related a whole series of amusing anecdotes about their clients. I didn’t get home till midday. Just in time to grab a couple of hours sleep before Rossini came to pick me up. We were going to see La Tía.
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Doña Rosa and Aisa had been out shopping. They were parading up and down in clothes and footwear by top Italian designers. Aisa had a split lip. The wound was recent and she kept running her tongue over it. I glanced at La Tía’s hands. On the ring-finger of her right hand she wore a large Colombian emerald mounted on white gold. She noticed my glance and felt obliged to explain that she had caught Aisa flirting with a shop assistant. Aisa burst into tears and ran off into the bathroom.
    Doña Rosa looked at us conspiratorially. ‘The little tramp is beginning to tire me. Sooner or later . . .’
    â€˜We don’t give a shit about your aching heart,’ Old Rossini hissed.
    La Tía pretended she hadn’t heard. ‘Did you bring the list?’ My associate had concealed it in a cigarette packet, which he now handed over. ‘The names underlined in red are police informants. Those in black are mid-to-high level dealers. The others are all nobodies.’
    La Tía extracted the piece of paper and stuck it in her bra. It was her turn now. ‘Guillermo met the man you’re looking for in Bogotá, in a high-class whorehouse. He was there to find a girl he could take to Tokyo and put to work in Pleasure City . . .’
    I raised a hand to