The Bastards of Pizzofalcone Read Online Free PDF Page A

lieutenant had seen him waver as he considered his real chances of success.
    â€œWell, okay then,” he said. “And what about you, down there at the end?”
    At the far end of the table was a huge man, grim-faced, who hadn’t joined in the comments or the laughter. He kept drumming the table softly with the fingers of his left hand, keeping his right hand in his lap. His hair was extremely short, his neck was thick, and his strongly marked jaw emphasized the dour expression in his eyes.
    He spoke, with visible reluctance: “Francesco Romano, warrant officer. I come from the Posillipo precinct.”
    Palma nodded.
    â€œAll right, now we’ve all introduced ourselves. The one shortcoming that we have, compared to other investigative teams, is that here most of you are new to the precinct; that means we can’t have that team spirit, that reciprocal familiarity that normally constitutes an advantage.”
    The suntanned young man snickered and said: “Maybe we should just say that they overdid it with the team spirit, the four cops who pulled that filthy move with the drugs.”
    Palma glared at him, and Lojacono caught a glimpse of what the commissario could be like, once he doffed the mask of jovial benevolence at all costs.
    â€œOfficer Aragona, one more comment like that and I’ll kick your ass straight back to where you came from. And believe me, I can kick hard.”
    Aragona sank down into his chair as if he wanted to disappear. Palma resumed: “So we need to make a special effort to get to know each other as soon as possible. The investigations will be conducted, case by case, strictly by two-person teams. For now, so as to better coordinate things and offer support from here, Pisanelli and Calabrese, who know the precinct, will remain on desk duty. The rest of you will take turns working outside, relying on these two. Is that all clear?”
    Having registered the general nod of assent, he proceeded, satisfied.
    â€œVery good. I’ve had a large room set up for you, with six desks. You’ll all be sitting together, so you can get to know each other. Break a leg.”
    And he stood up.
    Â 
    A few minutes later, alone in his office, Commissario Luigi Palma, better known as Gigi, reviewed for the umpteenth time the confidential personnel files HR at headquarters had sent to him.
    There wasn’t much to know about Pisanelli and Calabrese, the two who had been here when he arrived. As the deputy captain had said, their professional lives had been gone over with a fine-tooth comb, and if nothing had been found, that meant there was nothing there. But it was also true that they were both desk jockeys, and neither of them had much experience working in the field.
    Di Nardo was young; she’d just recently turned twenty-eight; an aptitude for firearms, top scores on all her marksmanship tests, and it was this very enthusiasm that had proved her undoing, a shot discharged from her pistol in the police station where she worked, in circumstances that remained murky.
    Romano was a hothead: he’d grabbed a suspect by the throat, and then proceeded to blacken the eye of a fellow cop who had tried—successfully—to keep him from making a real mess of things.
    Palma let out a long sigh, and scratched his head. Aragona, the suntanned young man striking the ridiculous poses, was the product of nepotism, the grandson of the prefect of a city in Basilicata. He drove like a bat out of hell, and he’d been kicked off two bodyguard details, for two different magistrates. At police headquarters, they’d been only too delighted to be rid of him.
    What about Lojacono? Well, he had that ugly episode on his record—the state’s witness who’d fingered him as a corrupt cop back in Sicily. But Palma had seen him in action on the Crocodile case, and he’d liked what he’d seen. It was Palma who had wanted him, even more than his fellow commissario