The rogue: Chapter one


The year was nineteen fifty three. The war was over in Europe and the rest of the world but much of Naples was still rebuilding from the airstrikes and random raids that devastated several parts of the city.
Via Alessandro Padre neighbourhood was no different. Although it lost a third of its population in the war, it was still notorious for robberies, muggings and killings.
Deep in the neighbourhood, in a tiny apartment two floors above Enzo’s Fiaschetteria there was a loud banging on the door of apartment fifteen. The apartment was Cecilia Russo’s, an elderly woman who lived alone with her cat, Freddie.
Jolting to wakefulness, Cecilia reached for the switch to her bedside lamp. She had only been asleep for an hour before her front door rattled eight feet away from her bedroom. She was not surprised. Residents of Via Alessandro Padre rarely got a full night’s rest without disturbance.
Grabbing the lamp’s switch, she flicked it on. As the lamp came on, Freddie, who slept at the foot of the bed, suddenly opened her eyes. Meowing, she rose to all fours poised for action.
“I know you don’t want the light,” Cecilia said in a hushed voice, “but there’s someone at the door Freddie and so I need the light.”
So saying, Cecilia rolled out of bed. Grabbing her walker, she started out of her bedroom.
Although Freddie heard none of what Cecilia had said, she intuitively had a good sense of why the lights had come on.
Since losing her hearing from a bomb explosion, Freddie had leaned toward her owner for guidance. This also meant she relied on Cecilia’s body language to sense danger.
In Via Alessandro Padre, residents were always in a heightened state of alert. The usual cause for alertness came from commotion in the street, which varied depending on the crime being committed.
A shrilled cry for help meant someone was about to be mugged. Muggers were fearless and selective. Their trained eyes knew who to mug and when and their targets were mostly helpless residents and visitors whose only defence to the thoughtless crime was a cry for help.
Gunshots, on the other hand, meant a robbery in progress. The intent was not to ward off residents but to announce the robbers’ real intent to kill. Often while keeping a safe distance, residents would watch in dismay as their neighbours are robbed in broad daylight. This was the norm in Via Alessandro Padre and no one dared help.
Heart pounding, Cecilia inched closer to her front door. It was precisely 10pm and oddly, her hallway was quiet. All her years living at that address, she had never known a time her hallway was quiet.
Because of the rampancy of crime, most residents kept awake to protect what little they had. So there was always noise in some apartment or hallway above or below Cecilia’s.
The only time a hallway was quiet was when a neighbour had learned that an apartment on that floor would be the next one robbed. Noise levels would fall to pin-drop silence as neighbours locked their doors and listened in.
No one dared to help. So in times of danger, residents often take on the fight alone to defend their household. In most cases, it did not end well.

Sensing danger behind her door, Cecilia froze. Pin-drop silence was not normal in her apartment building. Someone in some apartment in her building knew what was going to happen on her floor.
She did not like the idea that it might be close to her apartment or hers for that matter.
Cecilia was not far from the truth. For many years, she had been in the circle that benefited from the word on the street, the circle that knew what was going to happen in Via Alessandro Padre and when. Not many people in Via Alessandro Padre had access to this veritable source of information. Cecilia was one of the privileged few.
For many years, she had made it a routine to call the source at a certain time to learn the word in the street. Although she had never missed a day without calling, it had somehow skipped her mind before she retired to bed.
Now she was not sure if it was a good idea to open the door or not. In Via Alessandro Padre, a knock on the door meant two things: a friendly visit or a visit from a thief or worse, thieves. The war seemed to have made some of their home-grown criminal callous and more desperate. So when residents’ are not sure what to do when they heard a knock on the door, they quiz the caller without opening the door.
Suddenly, just before Cecilia would open her mouth to say anything, her front door rattled with a knock. Terrified, she grabbed her doorknob.
Seeing her sudden change in demeanour, Freddie arched her back and started to hiss.
Recognizing Freddie too had sensed danger, Cecilia firmed up her grip on the doorknob. As her mind started to race in wild confusion to place whom it might be, the caller blurted out, “Ma, I know you’re there. Open the door! It’s Marco. I’m here with your grandson, Fernando.”