A Pimp's Notes by Giorgio Faletti

their laughter as they climb into a green Renault R4 and head off in the direction of Piazza Buonarroti, away from where I’m standing. I envy them. They’re young and they’re talented. I hope they understand that this means they have the world in the palms of their hands. At the same time, I turn my mind with pleasure to Laura and her sense of duty. Her current crush on the cabaret artist has been filed away for later, with reference to her appointment tomorrow morning. In part because 70 percent of a million isn’t a bad fee for one hour’s work.
    The rest is my commission.
    I slip my key into the lock. Someone comes up next to me. I hear the voice, I recognize the face, and I see the gun—all at the same moment. But Tulip’s expression is the single most significant factor, the one that puts the worst light on the likely outcome of the night.
    “ Ciao , pimp. As you can see, we meet again.”
    I know why he’s here. And the fact that he’s here means that his sense of thug’s honor is much stronger than his fear of his boss. I forced him to submit to a humiliation that he can’t get out of his mind. Right this second, Laura and Tano mean nothing to him. This is between him and me. Nothing I could do or say would change the situation.
    So I say nothing and look at him.
    He’s unruffled. He’s past his anger: it’s been replaced by the calm of determination. And I consider that to be a very negative additional wrinkle.
    “What’s the matter, you swallow your tongue? How come?”
    Out of the blue, in the silence of the street, a backhanded slap cracks out as it makes contact with my right cheek with the power of a gunshot. My ear starts whistling. A constellation of tiny yellow dots begins bobbing in front of my eyes like so many gnats.
    “Just wanted to show you that I still have the courage to come take care of a piece of shit like you in person. Get moving.”
    He waves his pistol in the direction of Piazzale Lotto. I get moving, looking around me without seeming to. But he notices.
    “There’s nobody around, you little pussy. Don’t worry. It’s just you and me.”
    He’s right. The show at the Ascot has been over for a while and the parking lot is practically empty. This evening not even the two streetwalkers who usually loiter around near the club are out. Which I don’t like. Which I don’t like one little bit.
    We reach a Citroën CX, oversize and slightly decrepit. Still keeping a safe distance, he rummages through his jacket pockets and then places the keys on the roof of the car.
    “Here, you drive. Smooth as silk, and no funny business.”
    I pick up the keys, get behind the wheel, and start the engine. I look over and he’s sitting next to me. Tulip’s years of experience ensure that in all these various movements, the muzzle of the pistol has been invariably trained on my belly.
    I sit in silence and wait.
    “Take the Nuova Vigevanese.”
    I pull out of the parking lot and drive in the direction he indicated. I wonder whether the expression on my face resembles that of Aldo Moro, in the photograph that has been published repeatedly in the newspapers over the past few weeks. I can’t expect to be the subject of the intense concern of the entire nation , nor can I expect a single word of intercession from anyone on earth. I don’t even think I deserve either concern or words of intercession. Unless there’s a miracle, I’m about to vanish into thin air and no one will ever come looking for me, since no one gives a crap what becomes of me.
    We drive on in silence. The only thing I could try would be if we happen to cross paths with a police car. Still, I’m afraid that wouldn’t make much of a difference, as far as my abductor is concerned. From what I know about him and what I’ve been able to see with my own eyes, he must not be entirely right in the head. If he’s decided to cross the line and disobey a direct order from Tano, it means nothing can stop him now.
    As if he’d