.’
A blond girl with an electric blue bikini bottom and tattoos paused in front of him. He smiled at her and looked away. She moved on. They were very discreet. He thought about Maddalena, so bright and so determined to get her economics degree and make money. He couldn’t help comparing her to the bored young men sitting around him. They talked and laughed and drank, and the naked girls were just accessories like the coloured lighting and the leather sofas. There was a stripper on the stage now, but the young men were still slumped in attitudes of boredom, even as she removed the last stitch and spread her legs to the mirrors reflecting her all around the room. Only three much younger boys sitting on the edge of the stage seemed awake and interested, but they, it seemed, were drunk and a bouncer warned them off when they tried to sit on the edge of the stage. They moved to the alcove just to the side of the stage, almost opposite the marshal. Two of them were giggling, but the other looked as though he wished he were at home in bed. Surely he couldn’t be eighteen. He barely looked older than Totò. He sat leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands dangling, head down. Every now and then he gave a little jerk, like when you fall asleep in church. He didn’t wake up even when, with a huge fanfare, a couple started miming a variety of sexual acts on the stage, the woman naked, the man half-dressed in black leather and wielding a whip.The two giggling boys fell silent and looked, but seemed puzzled. It was no wonder. They must have been hoping for excitement, and the whole fake performance was as sanitized and tidy and brightly lit as the meat counter at the supermarket.
What was more, twenty minutes must surely have gone by and Nesti, blast him, had still not come back. A young man wearing an orange baseball cap stopped to kiss one of the pole dancers in front of the marshal’s table and yelled at a friend, ‘Take a picture of me with your phone! Go on!’
Well, if the evening was boring, at least he’d be able to show off to his mates.
Surely that was Cristina . . . it was. She was slipping her top back on at the side of the stage.
‘Round of applause for three talented girls! As talented as they’re beautiful! Round of applause!’
Three girls left the stage and mixed with the customers as Cristina took her place at the centre pole and two others joined her on stage. There were nine of them then, by the marshal’s reckoning. Cristina and her two, three who’d just come offstage and others around the room like the one being photographed with the boy in the baseball cap who must have had far too much to drink and whose antics were partly blocking the marshal’s view.
‘Another!’ He leaned the girl over backwards, kissing her. ‘Another!’
The camera flashed again and the scene broke up.
The three very young boys got up to leave. The youngest, sleepiest one managed to get to his feet but he immediately keeled forward, his face white. The marshal moved just in time to catch him and to have another pair of summer trousers ruined.
At that moment, Nesti returned but didn’t risk his expensive shoes anywhere near the mess the waitress was cleaning up, only grimaced and observed, ‘Thank God you’re in your own car.’
‘Where have you been, for goodness’ sake? It’s been more than twenty minutes.’
‘What?’
They were forced to shout directly into each other’s ears.
‘Where were you!’
‘Had to go out for a smoke. This place is very very correct.’
‘Can we leave?’
‘I think we’d better. You can get cleaned up at the hotel.’
‘Hotel? What hotel?’
‘Our next stop. Unless you want to come back another night—in which case—’
‘No! Now, listen, Nesti—’
‘We’re in this together. You’re my witness or I won’t get the front page, and I’m your witness or how will you get this through the courts?’
‘I’m investigating a murder, Nesti, not
A blond girl with an electric blue bikini bottom and tattoos paused in front of him. He smiled at her and looked away. She moved on. They were very discreet. He thought about Maddalena, so bright and so determined to get her economics degree and make money. He couldn’t help comparing her to the bored young men sitting around him. They talked and laughed and drank, and the naked girls were just accessories like the coloured lighting and the leather sofas. There was a stripper on the stage now, but the young men were still slumped in attitudes of boredom, even as she removed the last stitch and spread her legs to the mirrors reflecting her all around the room. Only three much younger boys sitting on the edge of the stage seemed awake and interested, but they, it seemed, were drunk and a bouncer warned them off when they tried to sit on the edge of the stage. They moved to the alcove just to the side of the stage, almost opposite the marshal. Two of them were giggling, but the other looked as though he wished he were at home in bed. Surely he couldn’t be eighteen. He barely looked older than Totò. He sat leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands dangling, head down. Every now and then he gave a little jerk, like when you fall asleep in church. He didn’t wake up even when, with a huge fanfare, a couple started miming a variety of sexual acts on the stage, the woman naked, the man half-dressed in black leather and wielding a whip.The two giggling boys fell silent and looked, but seemed puzzled. It was no wonder. They must have been hoping for excitement, and the whole fake performance was as sanitized and tidy and brightly lit as the meat counter at the supermarket.
What was more, twenty minutes must surely have gone by and Nesti, blast him, had still not come back. A young man wearing an orange baseball cap stopped to kiss one of the pole dancers in front of the marshal’s table and yelled at a friend, ‘Take a picture of me with your phone! Go on!’
Well, if the evening was boring, at least he’d be able to show off to his mates.
Surely that was Cristina . . . it was. She was slipping her top back on at the side of the stage.
‘Round of applause for three talented girls! As talented as they’re beautiful! Round of applause!’
Three girls left the stage and mixed with the customers as Cristina took her place at the centre pole and two others joined her on stage. There were nine of them then, by the marshal’s reckoning. Cristina and her two, three who’d just come offstage and others around the room like the one being photographed with the boy in the baseball cap who must have had far too much to drink and whose antics were partly blocking the marshal’s view.
‘Another!’ He leaned the girl over backwards, kissing her. ‘Another!’
The camera flashed again and the scene broke up.
The three very young boys got up to leave. The youngest, sleepiest one managed to get to his feet but he immediately keeled forward, his face white. The marshal moved just in time to catch him and to have another pair of summer trousers ruined.
At that moment, Nesti returned but didn’t risk his expensive shoes anywhere near the mess the waitress was cleaning up, only grimaced and observed, ‘Thank God you’re in your own car.’
‘Where have you been, for goodness’ sake? It’s been more than twenty minutes.’
‘What?’
They were forced to shout directly into each other’s ears.
‘Where were you!’
‘Had to go out for a smoke. This place is very very correct.’
‘Can we leave?’
‘I think we’d better. You can get cleaned up at the hotel.’
‘Hotel? What hotel?’
‘Our next stop. Unless you want to come back another night—in which case—’
‘No! Now, listen, Nesti—’
‘We’re in this together. You’re my witness or I won’t get the front page, and I’m your witness or how will you get this through the courts?’
‘I’m investigating a murder, Nesti, not
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