—
Valerio’s phone rang just as he reached the front door to his building, before he’d had a chance to pull out his keys. He needed to piss and was eager to get inside.
It was Luca’s number. Fuck. He was too tired and too drunk to deal with this right now.
No sooner had he pressed the button to answer, a stream of abuse screamed from the speakers.
“You must be the dumbest fucking shithead on earth. What the hell is wrong with you, Alfieri? You tell me that! You answer me that!”
Valerio hung up.
The phone rang again. He answered and the abuse started again. He hung up again.
Answering a third time, there was a different voice.
“Alfieri?”
“Sì.”
“Gaetano Mancusi is going to be released from jail.”
“That’s right.”
“Boss is angry…off the chain.”
“What the fuck is he angry about? I did what he wanted. We’re done. Finished. There’s nothing more to say.”
“It’s done when he says it’s done. You should have told him.”
“I’m telling him now.”
There was a pause and Valerio heard muffled conversation before the man’s voice was back on the line. “He wants you to go to the jail.”
“No. I’m going to bed.”
“Mancusi will be released at midnight. Errichiello wants you there.”
“If it’s such a big deal, he can go there. And who the hell does a prisoner release at midnight?”
“He wants you there. This isn’t finished, Alfieri. Be there.”
They were gone.
Fuck. Fuck.
Valerio rested his head against the door and pressed his fist into the surface until his knuckles throbbed. He wished he wasn’t so drunk. He just wanted to piss and go to sleep.
—
Maybe two or three beers and he could have managed to get his motorcycle to the jail, but he’d passed that limit long ago—even stupidly switched to liquor at some point during the evening. His mouth was numb, face hot, joints loose. The world seemed to smear out, sounds echoing and amplified.
The taxi ride was a nightmare. He kept drifting to sleep for seconds at a time, only to be jolted awake as the car braked or turned, tipping him in his seat.
At last, they reached the relentless black silhouette of the jail, the high wall starkly lit by streetlights, the razor wire along the top like a rim of silver lace.
“We’re here,” said the driver, pulling up to the curb across the street.
“Good,” said Valerio. “We wait, then you take me back home.”
