Cosi Fan Tutti - 5 Read Online Free Page A

dello Stato responsible for law enforcement within the port area. Most of this enclave, as well as the neighbouring parts of the city centre, had been flattened by both Allied and German bombing
    during the war, but the police station had miraculously been spared. Thanks to its restrained proportions, sturdy design and traditional materials, it stood out as a model of old-world grace and charm amid the brutalities of the surrounding architecture.
    The size of the building belied the modest number of personnel deployed there, having been constructed at a time when the port was much more active than it was
    now, after interminable labour disputes had diverted much trade south to Salerno. The ground and first floors were the only ones in official use, and the second used only as a dumping ground for forgotten files and broken furniture. As for the top storey, it appeared equally abandoned at this time of day, although once night had fallen it turned into one of the liveliest venues in the whole area, much frequented by sailors who for one reason or another did not have a pass permitting them to leave the port enclave. But Zen was careful to know nothing of this, nor about how the prostitutes who worked there got past the guards at the gate, and still less about the contraband goods and illegal substances which reputedly changed hands on the same premises.
    He walked in through the open doorway, acknowledging the greetings of the three uniformed men lounging about in the hall, and climbed the stairs to his office on the first floor. The trio discreetly broke off their conversation until he had reached the landing, then resumed in a low tone. The murmur of their voices reached up through the cool, shadowy spaces of the stairwell like the distant drone of bees.
     
     
    Tutti due fan ben la low parte
     
     
    He had been in the office barely a minute when there was a knock at his door.
    ‘Come in!’ called Zen, surprised and pleased that his cappuccino had arrived so quickly.
    But it was Giovan Battista Caputo who appeared. His manner was unusually subdued.
    ‘Sorry to disturb you, chief. Can I have a word?’
    Zen waved his hand wearily
    ‘We had a spot of trouble last night/ Caputo announced, coming in and closing the door.
    ‘Mmm?’
    ‘We’ve got a couple of warships in at the moment. An American aircraft carrier and a Greek frigate. A group of sailors from the carrier spent the evening in that bar by the passenger terminal.’
    Zen nodded. He had visited the place on a brief guided tour of the dock area with Caputo a couple of weeks earlier, the idea being to provide Zen with a bluffer’s guide to his new job. The bar in question, he had been given to understand, was operated by the same consortium responsible for the various phantom enterprises which operated from the top floor of the police station, and served among other things as a perfectly legal front allowing prospective clients to be screened before being granted admission to this inner sanctum. It was a poky place which nevertheless managed to provide a splash of life and colour amid the grandiose austerities of the stazione marittima.
    The most striking feature of the place was a large neon sign in the window, reading, in English: mix drinks.
    According to Caputo’s account of the incident the previous night, a group of American sailors had apparently taken this advice literally, downing a staggering variety and quantity of wines, beers, spirits and liqueurs before trooping off to explore the town. All went well until they ran into another party returning to the Greek frigate.
    ‘One of the Americans comes from a Greek family/ Caputo explained, ‘so he started trying to talk to them.
    Only it seems his Greek isn’t all that good any more, or maybe he was too drunk. Anyway, whatever it was he said sounded insulting to the Greeks. A fight broke out, and the Americans got the best of it.’
    ‘Mmm/ repeated Zen, inspecting his fingernails.
    ‘When the