The Good Thief's Guide to Venice Read Online Free Page A

removed my mittens, clapped my hands, cleared my throat and conjured up a hesitant, ‘Scusi?’ that he finally muttered a dubious, ‘Si.’
    ‘I’m looking for a book.’
    ‘ Si .’ His beaten-down eyes didn’t seem the least bit interested in anything I might have to say. A sprig of silvery hair was growing out of a mole on his right cheek, and the collarless brown shirt and green cardigan he had on looked sorely in need of a wash.
    ‘A particular book,’ I went on. ‘ The Maltese Falcon . I was led to believe you might have a first edition. Signed.’
    The shopkeeper looked me up and down very carefully, without the least embarrassment, and then he set aside the piece of leather he’d been stitching and cupped the bowl of his pipe. He wore a pitted rubber thimble on his thumb, and he knocked it against the pipe as he watched me some more.
    ‘I’ve already checked your shelf,’ I told him. ‘I couldn’t find a copy.’
    He grunted, as if that much was obvious, then leaned backwards in his chair and tugged at a drawer in the middle of his desk, showering tobacco from his pipe along the sleeve of his cardigan. He removed a green ledger that he parted before him. The handwritten entries were slanted and compressed – and impossible for me to read upside down.
    ‘No,’ he said, and shut the ledger with a definitive, and quite dusty, thud.
    ‘No?’
    He shook his head and cupped the pipe.
    ‘You’re quite sure?’ I pressed.
    This time, he remained silent. If I hadn’t heard myself speak with my own ears, I could have believed that I hadn’t actually said anything.
    ‘Okay then,’ I said. ‘Grazie mille.’
    ‘Prego.’
    I turned to Victoria. ‘Let’s go.’
    ‘That’s it?’
    ‘He doesn’t have a copy.’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t know what more we can do.’
    I followed Victoria out of the shop, determined not to look back as we walked away, even though I had the distinct feeling that we were being watched. Victoria waited until we were crossing a humped bridge over a brackish canal before delivering her verdict.
    ‘Well, he was grumpy. And not exactly helpful.’
    ‘Welcome to Venice.’
    She glanced up at me, a pensiveness in her eyes. ‘Do you think he was hiding something?’
    I gave the matter some thought. ‘No,’ I said, eventually.
    ‘Really?’
    I wrapped my arm around her and gave her a friendly squeeze. ‘I know we weren’t in there very long, but I didn’t spot any really unique editions. It’s just not that kind of place.’
    ‘I don’t know, Charlie.’
    ‘Always so suspicious.’ I bumped her with my hip. ‘You ever wonder if perhaps it’s time you stopped searching for the plot twist behind everyone you meet?’
    Victoria made a noise that suggested she wasn’t entirely amused by my observation, and meanwhile I raised my head to discover that we were entering Piazza San Marco, through the archway that ran beneath the ornate clock tower. The brick Campanile loomed ahead of us, and to our left a group of children clambered over a pair of lion statues that appeared resigned to their fate. The greasy flagstones were clotted with pigeons and tourists. I craned my neck up towards the mosaics on the front of the domed Basilica. The golds and yellows seemed to lack something in the dreary grey light. I knew just how they felt.
    ‘So what’s next?’ Victoria asked. ‘Should we go to the police?’
    I frowned. ‘What would be the point of that?’
    ‘Well, I know you’re not exactly a fan …’
    ‘Because they’re usually trying to arrest me, Vic. And more often than not, for the wrong crime.’
    ‘But think about it, Charlie. A female burglar. There can’t be too many of those around. Perhaps they’ll know who she is.’
    ‘I wouldn’t bet on it. And I dread to think how long we’d have to wait to speak to someone. All day, probably.’
    She prodded me in the chest. ‘That book was worth a bloody fortune.’
    ‘Still is,’ I told her. ‘Just not my