The Deliverance of Evil Read Online Free PDF Page B

the towels sold out and desperate latecomers were forced to put out painted sheets.
    No one doubted Italy would win the World Cup that evening. Rome woke more peacefully than usual under a clear blue sky: it was as if the entire population wanted to conserve its energy to play the final against Germany. Even the usual Sunday exodus to the beaches was largely reduced for fear of getting stuck in traffic coming back and not being in front of the television set at half past eight.
    I took the opportunity to stay inside the police station in peace and quiet and sign some papers. Not that there was much to do, but I wanted to be sure I’d have no problems that evening. Angelo called a little before lunch, having just come back from Mass with Paola.
    “Wait until you see what I’ve got planned for tonight, Balistreri.”
    “After seeing how you organize the folders in your office, I have my doubts about your planning skills. What’s up?”
    “We’re all going to Paola’s for the final; your brother’s bringing his German girlfriend, so we can tease her a bit. We’ll eat and have a drink during the match. When it’s over, Paola and the others are going to raise hell out on the streets—”
    “Excuse me, Angelo, but what if we lose?”
    I already knew the answer. “It’s not going to happen, Michele. That’s not part of the plan.”
    “Okay, so we win. What happens next?”
    “Next we stay in the apartment—you, me, Alberto, and a colleague of his—and play a little poker. When the others come back from celebrating, you can go off with one of the women. They’ll all want to keep partying.”
    “Okay, Angelo. But I’m not letting the Duetto out on the road today with all this traffic. Can you come and pick me up here at the station in that old wreck of yours? I knock off at five o’clock sharp.”
    “I don’t know if I can. Father Paul called and there’s a bit of problem. I have to drop by the office about five thirty.”
    “Shit, on a Sunday? Have you got to find a little bachelor pad for our jumped-up Yankee priest?”
    “Don’t be crude, Michele. I have to drop in on Cardinal Alessandrini—there have been some unexpected arrivals. I had to call Elisa and ask her to come in, too.”
    Suddenly my hostility toward the idea transformed into enthusiasm. I hadn’t seen the young goddess again, but I remembered her very well.
    “Why don’t I come with you? That way I can apologize.”
    Was I joking or was I serious? I didn’t really know myself.
    “No, we’re not going to see Elisa. We’d only be in her way. I have to check in with the cardinal about assigning the housing, that’s all.”
    “Okay, Angelo, I’ll go up and say hello to Elisa on my own. Pick me up at five.”
    This promised to be an interesting evening. At Paola’s there were always good-looking young women from the upper crust of Rome, and they were my ideal targets. Euphoria in the case of victory, plus my dark attractiveness, meant one more victory guaranteed.
    I went down to the bar opposite the office in the piazza. The roads were totally deserted. Inside, in the cool of the air-conditioning, a crowd with nothing better to do was mouthing off loudly about the coming game. I ordered a sandwich and a beer and listened to the cross-currents of several voices. There was no doubt we would beat the Germans. We always did.
    “Even in war we showed the Nazis!” yelled a long-haired freak with a hammer and sickle tattooed on the back of his dirty hand. He and his buddies were passing around two cigarettes with an unmistakable smell.
    I looked at my watch—I still had some time, and I had the inclination. I was in civilian clothes, so I took out my badge. I waited for the joint to make its way to the tattooed guy, and then I went up to him.
    I showed him my badge and took the joint from his fingers. “You’re under arrest for the use of a narcotic substance,” I announced.
    He looked at me in shock. “What the fuck?”
    “And also