A Pimp's Notes by Giorgio Faletti

Author:Giorgio Faletti [Faletti, Giorgio]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9780374231408
Amazon: 0374231400
Barnesnoble: 0374231400
Goodreads: 13166645
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Published: 2012-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

14

Daytona’s mother lives in the Isola district, on Via Confalonieri, near the Stecca degli Artigiani. As I walk through the park on my way to her house, I wonder whether I’m doing something incredibly stupid. That’s certainly a possibility I can’t rule out, but when you’re drowning, even a sponge bobbing on the surface starts to look a lot like a lifesaver.

Last night I covered half of Milan, dropping into the all the places my friend usually spends his evenings, but without success. At Le Scimmie, on the Navigli, I ran into Matteo Sana and Godie, but when they saw me they reacted in a way that frankly surprised me. Instead of hurrying me into a dark, quiet corner where they could hammer my balls with question after question, they just pretended they hadn’t seen me at all. That allowed me to gauge my current position. Now I’m someone it’s best not to be seen talking to. In this specific case, it might just be better that way. I took a look around the crowded club, trying to catch a glimpse of Daytona’s head with its distinctive double comb-over.

I didn’t find him.

I figured there were plenty of places he could be: at Tano’s gambling den or someplace where they let you lose all your money, or else in bed with some hooker. Or else up in some hovel, like a giant treacherous rat, gnawing away at his piece of hard cheese, waiting for the storm to blow over.

In any case, all of those places are either unidentifiable or unreachable.

In the taxi that took me home, I remembered the words that Daytona spoke in an almost identical situation, and that gave me an idea. A pathetic, desperate, miserable idea, but it was the only one I had. Now here I am, with an oversize leather-bound desk diary under my arm and a heavy manila business envelope, which, as fate would have it, is stuffed with bundles of neatly clipped pages from a newspaper. As I was filling the envelope, I couldn’t help but smile, thinking that this could be a case of sartor resartus—the clipper reclipped.

Lucio would have been proud of me for that one.

But I didn’t feel like telling him about my troubles in order to collect the prize.

I find myself outside the street door of an ordinary apartment building, clearly the product of some public housing project. This is where Daytona’s mother lives, and she’s the only hope left to me in my quest to track him down. That piece of shit actually has a pretty close relationship with the woman who brought his unkempt bundle of loserdom into the world, as so often seems to be the case with certifiable whoremongers like him. If he’s pulled something big and decided to lie low for a while, his mother is the one person who certainly knows where he is. And before long, with a sliver of good luck and plenty of my good old-fashioned shameless impudence, I hope to find out for myself.

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