Libeccio (XII) End 
The woman smiles wearing the same smile of her son and a gray-green dress. Her hair in a bun sort of a package left uncovered by the inspector noted that bites hypnotized, drinking gall gland secretions from some of his soul. He's hungry. Then behind the woman with child is a gentleman advanced in years, even he smiling. The distinguished man uncovers his head showing a polished head usually covered by a cap fashion in true Irish style, pulls out his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dries easily handle the slight sweat from his bald head. He smiles and says hello too. Then behind him comes a couple of guys and then a man in his forties and fifties with a lady on a red trousers and a black boy with a shirt three sizes too big and pants with the horse to his knees. And then more and more that slip into the store smiling and polite and scatter through the shelves and begin to touch the books. Commissioner hears drums in the chest and ears.
The crowd around him now is made up of fifty, a hundred men and women, old guys, some very young children in strollers or holding hands to the mother or father, children with pieces of metal attached to the face or with thick glasses, a pair of men incravattati, a tall girl with brown boots blacks and tail, separated by a security guard inside with one that has forgotten how to use the razor, an old woman with a Pomeranian in her arms. And everyone looks at him. Martha looks at him and Silvana lawyer and the old woman and the fox and the security guard and the kids and the kid down. All around him with the radio transmitter in his left hand and right that no longer feels the weight of the gun instead hear drums in my chest and ears and can not breathe in that basement full of people, a river of people. All in a circle around him. Drums that beat in my chest and ears and stomach. "Commissioner ..."
The old Martha smiles.
"How do you see these are all dangerous terrorists ... terrorists ..."
The gun is useless now.
The smiling crowd has surrounded the shelves and started taking books that collapses under their jackets or shopping bags or under the coat of the fox.
rapacious hands gently gnawed the shelves at the moment are grateful for the relief.
Silvana not stand up and falls. Giorgio around her waist and lifts. They finished the words and look only while other people arrive and some are starting to go away with their share of the print media and ideas. Maximum of two books each, and many are crying having separated from the third or fourth. Overlap with arms arms higher and higher, a gay frenzy pervading even the concrete walls. The intrepid ladies bald, among the first to enter is also among the first to exit. He goes to George and hands him a key drive. "Martha says she needs ... is the old Fiat Punto gray short distance from your tank of gas ... the Alfa is a tribute to the beauty of his lady," and with a smile and a bow to back off and disappears Silvana flow of humanity output. The lawyer holds the key in hand, looking half-closed eyes of Silvana and look over that sea of \u200b\u200bheads teeming with multi-colored, the face of the Commissioner. Their eyes meet. The inspector looks around, then returns the look in the eyes of George and nods.
George grabs and Silvana life takes you away to the door, which was created in the current swirling around them. Silvana mumbles something, but George does not understand. ".. It is a ... to ...", but they are already in the first room and there the woman with an arm of the jellyfish is able to grasp what Philip had left on the table, a book, and if it holds in the breast and throat, like a baby crying. The people around them passes, and suddenly I'm out in the underground parking, while other people arrive smiling, car headlights are switched off and the air becomes heavy with the help of the exhaust pipes.
The car is waiting for them linda gray, and doors that show scratches and wrinkles old recently. Silvana George sit down and place it behind the wheel. The voice of the motor is friendly, the steering heavy. "George where we go" The hand of Silvana look to George on the gear knob.
"In a place any fat, in any place whatsoever, do you care?"
"No love today ... no."
Silvana embraces his book and seems to doze off.
The lawyer expects to see in the rearview mirror, the head of the Commissioner set among the sturdy shoulders, he expects him to rethink furious. Instead, the commissioner Luca Montroni remained inside. E 'surrounded by the crowd and seems to see for the first time other human beings. The gun is back home. Martha and Philip are next, as if recovering from a long illness and was in need of support. A sudden start, stretch the muscles of the commissioner and his head is thrown forward and struck once, twice, three times the edge of the metal shelf in front of him. Commissioner collapses on his knees, Martha and Philip are next. Vibration Shock has frozen the four-five people immediately close now, his arms still raised, and the books in his hands. look at the man on his knees. A drop of blood reaches the tip of the nose of the Commissioner and after speed up the road from his forehead hesitate before diving to the floor.
vivo Encouraged by more blood that reaches you decide and explodes at the foot of the shelf.
"Commissioner ... but what does it do?"
A painful smile appears on the sides of the strip with blood.
'E' as an excuse another, does not think about Martha? "
" Yes ... yes, another as an excuse. "
Marta bends down and kisses on the cheek of the Commission closely followed by Philip on the other side.
Out of the Point Grey earns the evening air and the reflections of street lamps that light up. The stomach of the mall spews yet more cars and people. In each car books. Shopping bags in the books. In-cars books. Men, women and books that float away like blood from the bowels of the hypermarket and flood the valley and gently slide in the streets and then up the highway towards the east or the west. In the river that flows away like dirty water, without which no one mind you, a small gray Fiat Punto, 16 years of asphalt next retirement, take the exit towards the east, and dissolves in traffic noise as a candy in the mouth of the evening. The clouds cover the sun with a blanket pulled up from the cold southwest wind that slaps cheerful waves, boats moored, the rocks, the yellow houses and red roofs and frowns of many. Under the clouds and in the south-west, an enormous bee buzzing furiously mechanical and does not know where to hit. The radio is silent rude to the hysterical claims of a police officer graduated, while his men armed with assault rifles propped yawn.
This 
