Blues for Outlaw Hearts and Old Whores by Massimo Carlotto is one of the Alligator series, and as noir as you’re going to find. Wasn’t sure if I was going to synch with the story, but nothing less, I would get some blues ...
Buratti. “inside a record shop. The owner was an old rocker with shifty eyes and a face that bespoke a steady diet of hard drugs. “What’re you looking for?” he asked in German. “Women blues singers,” I said in English, “are all I listen to right now.” He pointed to a rack, but I didn’t budge. “I’m looking for something new, but I don’t like combing through CDs. I’m open to suggestions.” … “No way you know this one. Finnish blues.” I scanned the cover. Ina Forsman. A redhead, tattoos on her arms. “I’ll take it if you let me have a listen.” “Be my guest,”… “Ina had the perfect voice for songs like “Bubbly Kisses.” For a while now all I’d been relishing, heart and ears, were women singers.” … “ At a certain point I yanked off the headphones. The rocker looked at me, concerned. I waved my hand to ensure him everything was fine, but I offered no explanation. It wasn’t as if I could tell him that affairs of the heart must be swept aside when you’re about to kill a man. That I wouldn’t pull the trigger myself didn’t matter.”
Three Outlaw Hearts. “A few minutes before 7 P.M. Old Rossini forced open the wrought iron fence. We preferred dinnertime to late night, convinced that the neighbors would be snug in their homes, distracted by the hum of the TV and the noise in the kitchen. It was Max who noticed another photo tacked to the door of the antique solid oak closet in the bedroom. Giorgio Pellegrini smiled down at us, his arms crossed. It was the same photo we’d been handing out. Somehow he’d gotten hold of a copy, realized that sooner or later we’d find him, and split. It was the owner of the house, naked, wrapped in several layers of nylon. Her smile from the photograph had been replaced with a horrible grimace. We were no experts, but she must have been dead for days. Max shuddered, his eyes fixed on the plastic cocoon shrouding the body of the latest woman to pay a high price for having met Handsome Giorgio.”
Outlaws - Cops. “Calling Inspector Giulio Campagna was never a good idea. But who was I to complain? I was the one who’d gone looking for him in a pinch. Campagna was as strange as the Hawaiian shirts he sported. He had his own theories about policing and justice. His regularly brusque, irritating tone could try the patience of a saint, but back when we’d written the final chapter in Pellegrini’s criminal activity in Padua, he’d stood up for us.” … “Maybe because I was on my third or fourth beer. Pellegrini is a man of a thousand surprises, and on that occasion he didn’t disappoint: he wanted to hire us to investigate the murders of his wife and mistress. Martina and Gemma. I knew them well. After their master had fled, they’d taken over management of La Nena, the restaurant Giorgio had opened and made famous. After arguing back and forth, I declined the job, but he laughed me off: “I know you, Buratti, I’ve seen how you operate. You’re obsessed with the truth. You won’t turn this down.” … “From what I could glean the two women had been tortured and strangled in the restaurant cellar. The night’s earnings had been found in Gemma’s purse, and no one doubted that Pellegrini had been the real target. Evidently, the two victims didn’t know where he was hiding out, and their executioners ran out of patience.” … “If that cop in league with Pellegrini was planning on playing us for suckers, she was sorely mistaken. We weren’t about to barter away our dignity. Not for the world. “We’ll go for broke,” said the Old Gangster. In seventies-era gang-speak that meant risking it all: freedom, life.”
Padua. “According to a recent study of people’s emotional wellbeing, if you were to judge by emoticons, Padua was the saddest city in Italy. I believed it. Padua was beautiful, comfy as an old slipper, but in the last few years it had lost the bite that had once made it interesting.”
To Vienna. “My friends were waiting for me in the living room, smoking and drinking. Grappa for Max, vodka for Rossini. The bottle of Calvados was still sealed. They hadn’t forgotten. Kindnesses among people who care about one another. What greeted me across the doorstep was real warmth. Details, I thought, are what make the difference in people’s lives. Solitude can be unrelenting sometimes; it had always scared me more than death itself.” … “Judging from their accents they were from Puglia. They described a Vienna I’d never know, since beautiful places and fine art weren’t on my criminal itinerary. Luckier people find nourishment in beauty and culture. It’s a form of resisting the prevailing squalor. One necessary for bearing the idea that this world won’t ever get better, according to Max. I shielded myself with the blues but knew it wasn’t enough. Beauty and crime are incompatible, even if you’re one of the good guys, even if your intention is to set things straight, right some wrong.”
Enter Old Whore. “Suddenly I realized that Edith had arrived and was having fun scrutinizing me. “Do you like them?” she asked in English, pointing to the tourists. “I don’t see a pretty girl among them.” “I was envying their lightheartedness.” “Do you always have deep thoughts first thing in the morning?” I didn’t answer. I was too busy drinking her in. Aside from the color of her hair, which she now wore in a ponytail, she was a completely different woman from the one I’d met in the hotel bar.”
… “But the odds of meeting another woman like her were as good as the odds of escaping Pellegrini and Dottoressa Marino’s trap unscathed. By the time I got back to the table with her tray I’d dismissed any doubts. But it wouldn’t take much to ruin the whole thing. Which is exactly what happened when I asked, given her last name, whether she was Austrian.” … “ She lowered her voice to an incomprehensible murmur then shot to her feet. “I’m still her old whore. She can trust me,” …
“I was upset. I kept asking myself how the hell I’d allowed myself to act that way. I’d managed to thread pearls of stupidity in almost scientific fashion. Once I calmed down I began to brood on Edith’s reaction.” … “She was terrified and, as far as I could tell, she had unsuccessfully attempted to escape mistreatment at the hands of Frau Vieira before. She’d paid dearly for that rash decision. Edith had referred to herself as an “old whore,” an appellative typically reserved for prostitutes who prospered in their prime and later, to remain marketable, zeroed in on clients of a certain age. And tastes. That’s why that night she’d transformed herself into a copy—prettier for that matter—of Tempest Storm.”
Outlaw Honor. “Beniamino ran a hand over his face. “You can’t help them all, but if you find one who’s in real trouble, you can’t just look the other way either, right?” Right. That was our fate. And that principle didn’t only apply to prostitutes. Whenever we came across a sad story, we tried to give it a dignified ending.” … “ “Unfortunately, first we have to save ourselves before we can be of use to Edith,” he went on. “But in the meantime, we can try to find out more about her case.” “Frau Vieira,” Max uttered with disdain. “Sounds like a kapo name.” I was relieved. And grateful. And proud that we were willing to go for broke for a woman only one of us had met at a bar.”
Max in the Kitchen. “ The liver dumplings dropped like stones in our stomachs, but we didn’t mention it. We were nervous and disinclined to joke around. When the Fat Man asked our opinion out loud, I managed to steer a middle course. On the whole the meal was good, I swore. But he wasn’t convinced. “You sound like an old Christian Democrat,”
Women: Italian Cop & Spaniard. “I couldn’t help but muse over the fact that the vile women in this whole affair, Angela Marino and the Spaniard, were to die for. Straight out of a film from the ’40s.”
… “From what we hear you guys are a couple cards short of a deck,” she said. “You’re a failed singer, your friend in the hall is a retired smuggler, and the one waiting in the car is an obese terrorist.”
“Would you like to know what this short deck thinks?” “Pellegrini murdered Slezak to attract attention,” I said, choosing my words carefully to drive home the point. “He was after the credentials that he needed to enter into contact with another criminal organization—the real target of the operation.” “If what you claim is true, that means that the order to kill my husband came from the Italian police.” “Not necessarily. It may have been Pellegrini’s idea. Of course, someone allowed it to go down.”
Crime & Politics. “our meeting would be brief, no beating around the bush. Most illegal activities revolved around a staggering heap of idle chatter. Criminals did nothing but talk. Just like politicians. Maybe that was why the two were often considered interchangeable. Experience had taught me that the more you go on negotiating, the more likely you were to fail.”
Dénouement. “Despite all the reasons I could marshal to justify our being on that hill, I felt deeply dismayed at how cynical this business had made me. In a matter of minutes human beings would be dead, thanks to a strategy that I had devised, patiently, and for irreproachable reasons. But it was the hard-heartedness with which I was confronting this epilogue that gave me pause. And now that the floodgates of truth had opened, it wasn’t hard to see that my infatuation with Edith was nothing more than the antidote to keep the poison, which was turning me into a different and lesser man, from reaching my heart. That outlaw heart, which enabled me to meet life with my head held high.”
Outlaw Takeaways. “For the first time in my life I was forced to team up with cops and drug dealers,” began Old Rossini, hoarse from fatigue and tension. “I’m well aware that we had no other choice and that we’d already resigned ourselves to ‘go for broke,’ but I want to be clear—” “It won’t happen again,” Max preempted him, “that goes for me too. Over the last few years we’ve been sucked into a vortex of cases where the line between our principles and everything we can’t abide has become thin, sometimes nonexistent.” It was my turn to say something. “The truth is that the world around us has changed. For the worse. And it’s harder and harder to survive without stooping to make comprises.”
Drink & Reflection. “I was seated at a table at the Libarium in Cagliari. I was drinking an Alligator. Seven parts Calvados, three parts Drambuie, plenty of crushed ice, and a slice of green apple to nibble on when you’re done, to console yourself that the glass is empty. The recipe was concocted by the creative genius Danilo Argiolas, owner of the joint.” … “ The surgeon did what he could, over time it would fade, but she needn’t get her hopes up. It didn’t bother me. I was growing increasingly fond of Edith. We’d just begun to sleep together, and I was hopelessly in love with the most beautiful and bewitching woman in the world.” … “ The Old Gangster called often for news of Edith. He never asked about me. He knew I was happy to watch her coming back to life, and that by concentrating on her, I could put off having to reckon with myself.” … “ Max wasn’t in touch as often. He wrote me a long email to say that he had returned to Padua. He had decided to “momentarily” leave the mountain and the woman he loved in order to throw his weight behind a party in the local election. He used words like hope, change, turning point. Despite grueling disappointments and the price that he’d paid in the past, the Fat Man continued to believe that politics could still play a positive role in the country. And give meaning to his life.” … “ My outlaw heart knew it all along. Every day was a gift, and I’d get over another goodbye. There was an old blues song by James Carr that summed up my situation: At the dark end of the street That’s where we always meet Hiding in shadows where we don’t belong Living in darkness to hide our wrong . . .”
Blues…Noir…The End.
Playlist. THE ALLIGATOR’S FAVORITE WOMEN OF THE BLUES: Cee Cee James—Blood Red Blues, Low Down Where the Snakes Crawl Barbara Blue—Sell My Jewelry Gina Sicilia—Sunset Avenue, It Wasn’t Real Anni Piper—More Guitars than Friends Janiva Magness—Love Wins Again Ana Popovic—Trilogy Rita Chiarelli—Breakfast at Midnight Ina Forsman—Ina Forsman Fiona Boyes—Box & Dice, Blues in My Heart Deb Callahan—Sweet Soul-Shaun Murphy—It Won’t Stop Raining Meena—Tell Me Zora Young—The French Connection Shemekia Copeland—Turn the Heat Up Ruthie Foster—Promise of a Brand New Day, Joy Comes Back Debbie Davies—Key to Love Melanie Mason—Bendin’ the Blues Robin Rogers—Back in the Fire Kellie Rucker—Ain’t Hit Bottom Eden Brent—Ain’t Got No Troubles Jane Lee Hooker—No B! EG Kight—Southern Comfort Nicole Hart & Anni Piper—Split Second Julie Rhodes—I’d Rather Go Blind ... Sue Foley—Love Comin’ Down Layla Zoe—The Lily Kelley Hunt—New Shade of Blue Shannon Curfman—What You’re Gettin’ Into Lisa Mann—Chop Water Mary Gauthier— ok Goodreads Truncated, but still enough here to last me a while.