to Prato.
On the second floor of the women's division, Romula Cjesku, leaning over a deep laundry sink, soaped her breasts, washing and drying carefully before she put on a clean, loose cotton shirt. Another Gypsy, returning from the visiting room, spoke in the Romany language to Romula in passing. A tiny line appeared between Romula's eyes. Her handsome face kept its usual solemn set.
She was allowed off the tier at the customary 8:30 A.M., but when she approached the visitor's room, a turnkey intercepted her and steered her aside to a private interview room on the prison's ground floor. Inside, instead of the usual nurse, Rinaldo Pazzi was holding her infant boy.
"Hello, Romula," he said.
She went straight up to the tall policeman and there was no question that he would hand over the child at once. The baby wanted to nurse and began to nuzzle at her.
Pazzi pointed with his chin at a screen in the corner of the room. "There's a chair back there. We can talk while you feed him."
"Talk about what, Dottore?"
Romula's Italian was passable, as was her French, English, Spanish, and Romany. She spoke without affect her best theatrics had not prevented this three-month term for picking pockets.
She went behind the screen. In a plastic bag concealed in the baby's swaddling clothes were forty cigarettes and sixty-five thousand lire, a little more than forty-one dollars, in ragged notes. She had a choice to make here. If the policeman had frisked the baby, he could charge her when she took out the contraband and have all her privileges revoked. She deliberated a moment, looking up at the ceiling while the baby suckled. Why would he bother? He had the advantage anyway. She took out the bag and concealed it in her underwear. His voice came over the screen.
"You are a nuisance in here, Romula. Nursing mothers in jail are a waste of.time. There are legitimately sick people in here for the nurses to take care of. Don't you hate to hand over your baby when the visiting time is up?"
What could he want? She knew who he was, all right - a chief, a Pezzo da novanta, bastard.90 caliber.
Romula's business was reading the street for a living, and pick-pocketing was a subset of that. She was a weathered thirty-five and she had antennae like the great luna moth. This policeman-she studied him over the screen-look how neat, the wedding ring, the shined shoes, lived with his wife but had a good maid-his collar stays were put in after the collar was ironed. Wallet in the jacket pocket, keys in the right front trouser, money in the left front trouser folded flat probably with a rubber band around. His dick between. He was flat and masculine, a little cauliflower in the ear and a scar at the hairline from a blow. He wasn't going to ask her for sex - if that was the idea, he wouldn't have brought the baby. He was no prize, but she didn't think he would have to take sex from women in jail. Better not to look into his bitter black eyes while the baby was suckling. Why did he bring the baby? Because he wants her to see his power, suggest he could have it taken from her. What does he want? Information? She would tell him anything he wants to hear about fifteen Gypsies who never existed. All right, what can I get out of this? We'll see. Let's show him a bit of the brown.
She watched his face as she came out from behind the screen, a crescent of aureole showing beside the baby's face.
"It's hot back there," she said. "Could you open a window?"
"I could do better than that, Romula. I could open the door, and you know it."
Quiet in the room. Outside the noise of Sollicciano like a constant, dull headache.
"Tell me what you want. I would do something gladly, but not anything."
Her instinct told her, correctly, he would respect her for the caveat.
"It's only la tua solita cosa, the usual thing you do," Pazzi said, "but I want you to botch it."
Chapter 25
DURING THE day, they watched the front of the Palazzo Capponi from the high shuttered window of an apartment across the street Romula, and an older Gypsy woman who helped with the baby and may have been Romula's cousin, and Pazzi, who stole as much time as possible from his office.
The wooden arm that Romula used in her trade waited