Coffee
When Andrea left for the US, Chief of Police Luca Zingaretti was four. And while Andrea wasn’t technically old enough to be his father, he was old enough to have a verydifficult time separating the uniformed police officer from the fleshy toddler he’d last seen smashing an ice cream cone onto his own head. Also, despite this initial enthusiasm for comedy involving desserts, Luca seemed to have grown into an adult entirely without a sense of humor. Nevertheless, he was an important part of the community, and Andrea was glad to have someone so dedicated. He just had to remember to keep his conversations direct and only laugh if Luca did—which was never.
“I would feel much more comfortable if we waited for the applicant before proceeding,” Luca said, his hands clasped on top of his desk.
Thestazione dei carabinieriwas a relatively nondescript, rectangular building painted a sobering greige color with two rather destitute-looking oleanders flanking the entrance. Despite the aim of upholding civil order, nothing about the space would make it seem imposing aside from a counter wrapped in bulletproof glass at the entrance. It would, however, be difficult to imagine a scenario in which bulletproof glass would be needed unless someone had taken a very wrong turn while quail hunting. There were three offices, but one was currently being used to store the booth for the upcoming annual summer festival where the ex-police chief would be frying off hundreds of mini beignet-likefrittelleto raise money for charity. The other two were for Luca and some of the other recent graduates from the police academy who might tour through Baia Santa before heading on to bigger cities like Chiavari, a practically bustling metropolis with 27,000 inhabitantsthirty minutes away. There was a cell in the back, though the only time it had been used in the last fifteen years was when two wayfaring Cavalier King Charles spaniels wandered into town without leashes and no one was available to dog-sit while they found the owners.
“She’s on her way. It’s just that she doesn’t know some details, like the address. I could save us some time,” said Andrea.
“How do we know that information is not being added fraudulently by a third party?”
“Because I am sitting here in front of you, Luca. Who else would it be?”
“It’s my name and stamp on the document in the end, so we have to be sure,” Luca said, pressing his index finger into the desk for emphasis.
Andrea looked around his shoulder to the left and then to the right.
“I don’t see anyone else in here, so I think we’re safe.”
“Buongiorno!” Lora finally called from the entrance.
“We’re back here,” Andrea answered, leaning out of the doorway so that she could see him.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, entering the office. She smiled at Luca and sat in the chair next to Andrea.
“It’s OK,” he said quietly as he turned to her. “We haven’t gotten anywhere yet.”
“Couldn’t figure out the hot water this morning,” she whispered back.
“OK, è importante che tu compili le informazioni con molta attenzione. Le informazioni devono essere completee accurate,” said Luca, his forehead creasing as much as a twenty-three-year-old forehead could.
“The information has to be complete and accurate,” said Andrea, translating.
“I can do that,” she said.
“Nome,” Luca said, staring down at the form.
“Name, OK, Lora—I mean Loretta Giordano,” she replied.
“Qual é, signora?” Luca’s eyes flicked up to hers.
Her eyes widened, and she looked to Andrea in confusion.
“He’s asking which is it.Se chiama Loretta Giordano,” said Andrea.
“Yes, Loretta.” She nodded.
“Siamo sicuri?”
“Are we sure? Yes—sí.”Andrea frowned. Luca looked back to the paper and finally wrote her name. “Indirizzo attuale.”
“Current address.Via dei Glicini, ventisei,” said Andrea.
“Baia Santa?” Luca looked up at Andrea.
“Sì, Baia Santa, Luca.”
“Per sicurezza, eh?”
