White Death by Tobias Jones

it were a couple of flats. The rest were his.’
    ‘A couple of flats?’ I repeated. ‘That’s an OK profit for eighteen months.’
    He shook his head impatiently. ‘That’s not the point.’
    ‘I thought profit was always the point.’
    ‘You thought wrong.’ He stared at me. ‘There are many things more important than profit. If you lose money one year, you can find it the next. But lose your reputation, you might never get it back. I care about my name, about the name I pass on to my children and they pass on to theirs.’
    ‘What’s wrong with your name?’
    He stared at me with anger for my faked naivety. ‘You know full well. Everyone repeats the same bull. About my links to politicians, allegations of corruption and so on. You knew all about my reputation before you met me. You had already judged me before you set eyes on me.’
    It was true. I had heard the usual gossip and had assumed the worst. I wasn’t sure if Masi was really the victim in all this, or if he was just good at playing the victim. But for the first time I felt sorry for him. I didn’t need him to spell out what was happening in his company. He had accepted protection from the worst kind of person and had ended up becoming just a figurehead, a front for a sophisticated mechanism to turn cash into accommodation. Masi had become little more than a launderette for dirty money.
    ‘Where does he get all his cash?’ I asked.
    He shrugged, closing his eyes and shaking his head. ‘I don’t ask, but I can guess.’
    ‘What kind of sums?’
    ‘The costs of building a block of flats run into the millions. Every payment he makes is in cash.’ He paused, to check I was listening. ‘And we build more than one block a year.’
    ‘That’s a lot of paper.’
    We looked at each other as if we were about to seal some sort of alliance.
    ‘You want shot of him?’
    He snorted derisively. ‘I don’t think it’s that easy.’
    ‘Just tell me what I need to know. Who decided that the contract to sell the flats in Via Pordenone should be given to Marina Vanoli?’
    His barrel chest rose and fell as he prepared to betray his enemy. ‘He did.’
    ‘He who? Moroni?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘Do you know why?’
    He didn’t even reply, just flashed me a false smile.
    ‘You mean Moroni was thanking his political contacts ?’
    ‘Something like that.’
    ‘And that case a few years ago of one of your company cars being driven by a senator.’ He snarled at the memory. ‘That was Moroni too was it?’
    ‘I didn’t even know the senator. I’ve never had anything to do with politicians. And then suddenly I see my name being dragged through the mud as if I had been paying bribes all my professional life.’
    ‘Didn’t you confront Moroni about it?’
    ‘It was the first time I realised quite who I was dealing with. He said things to me then that I’ve never forgotten.’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘Told me what would happen if I ever interfered in his business.’
    ‘His business?’
    ‘That’s what it was by then.’ He was staring into the distance, focusing on nothing but his own demise.
    ‘And what did he say would happen?’
    ‘You can guess,’ he said, still staring into the abyss.
    I looked at him. He was his old, abrasive self, but he looked tired and defeated, as if he had finally confessed to himself that he was no longer in charge. His secret was out.
    ‘So you let it lie, let him take over the business?’
    ‘It was booming,’ he said quickly. ‘We were flying. Every time something went out to tender, we won the contract. Why wouldn’t I let it lie?’
    ‘Did you ask yourself why you were winning contracts ?’
    ‘It was obvious. The company was looking after the right people.’
    ‘Meaning?’
    ‘Politicians are always thirsty.’
    ‘And you were quenching their thirst?’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘You said they were always thirsty. You were buying them drinks so to speak?’
    He stared at me through a frown. ‘I don’t know any