"Here Commissioner, turn right here ... we got " Alfa red slips into a four-lane road leading to the parking lot of a shopping center giant multi-brand multi megaeconomico encased in a valley close to the highway and from a small town. The village houses cling to the mountainside, at a safe distance, afraid of the creature that swallows and then vomits colored cars and people, crouching in the valley sly.
Commissioner slow, blinded by the glare of the windows framed with brick-colored walls.
"What now?"
"Go down to the last level of the underground"
Commissioner can not fail to appreciate the intelligence of these terrorists who hide their deposit in full view and can not think of the tens of people who were and are certainly aware of everything. Pigs ...
The cabin became dark and a screeching of tires confirmation that the car is screwing around a spiral ramp that leads deeper into the bowels of the mall ordered.
back seat Silvana has a fever and thirst that consumes while tightening the arms of George aspires method with the smell of her sweaty hair.
"Commissioner car ... well ... we got!"
the car parked between two yellow stripes and a sigh of old who plays with the curved handle of his stick friend:
Red Square ... we control the second level of underground parking area ... 05 ... you hear me? Step ... "
Only crackle of invisible waves, and incoherent carry messages incomprehensible in glass bottles ethereal.
Red team to control ... fuck you hear me? "
The old lady down the visor mirror and is equipped with reviving the lipstick.
Red Square Red Square ... ... you hear me?! Step ... "
gaze moves from the Commissioner of radio rearview mirror occupied by 'shadow of a man who embraces someone crouched at his side. The shadow behind the glass overlooking the wilderness of gray garage lighted by a few neon, one in particular, capricious and uncertain, try to go out with some success. Then the eyes of the police make a stop on the old face plate that extends the fresh wound of her lips to show a smile yellow nicotine. Like a child afraid of the dark shaking her soft toy, so the Commissioner draws his Beretta from under the armpit.
words spit in the barrel roll dark gun, spins around the viewfinder and dive into the space between the gun and the target, between the metal and flesh wrinkled face of Martha.
"Well done ... well done, good ... I brought in a nice safe place and then give me a nice hit on the head and I escaped through the crowd under the nose of the mall ... but good, you've got your a jerk for real? Terrorists ... fuck you and your manners and tea and tears ... good cock! OUT! OUT! You old bitch put your hands up and out and out the door you fucking whore and no jokes! "
The policeman barks furiously as he jumps out of the car, anger wallows in the saliva of his mouth and with their arm on the roof of the car takes sottotiro his three companions. Silvana is too weak, limp alongside that of the lawyer says.
The gun of the Commissioner runs around the car while keeping his gaze fixed on the three mortal enemies.
"You idiot ... take her in his arms and stand still there"
"Commissioner, please, please calm down ... there is takes is ..."
"You shut up old bitch!"
"Commissioner ... please stay calm"
"You too ... shut up bitch, you got shut up or I'll spit your teeth ..."
"Commissioner ... the store is behind that door gray
The old shows a door with his stick away closed to unauthorized personnel.
"moves to open up then!"
The old man turned and with his limping step that a slow pace to the strange procession opens with old tennis club followed by a lawyer with a first love between the dying followed by the arms sore and angry cop with a gun attached.
The knuckles of the left hand of the old hit three times and then two more the gray door.
A voice replied through the metal.
"noisy waves on the sand"
"You say" me too "replies the old
" And I hear only your heart now, "answered the voice hidden silently as the door opens.
Commissioner Montroni holds the gun with both hands while his radio disappeared in a jacket pocket.
Two arms of a green sweater tighten the old Marta.
"Hello Philip!"
"Hello, hello Martha, good to see you, hello Martha, how happy I am Martha, Martha, how nice you're here!"
Martha turns to his companions and his side is a boy of 15-16 years with big square glasses, short hair and green sweater. undoubtedly Down Boy.
"Hello, I'm Philip" and his nasal voice pushes his hand searching for narrow, but a woman found semi-unconscious in the arms of a man with an expression of despair and should be another blonde lady with the dark face and a gun between the hands.
Filippo gets scared and hugs to Marta.
"On Philip ... quiet ... they are friends and she is not feeling well ... ... we get up commissioner, please the gun ..."
The old guy leaning on the threshold and followed by other . Last time the inspector. The concrete columns rigged with yellow stripes, scattered in the silent void of the garage appear to look at him. All come in a small rectangular room, occupied by a table, a lamp and a plastic folding chair. The room is lit from above by a neon grid protected by a dusty and ends with another gray door. Philip supports something on the table and smiling faces. The fear has left two red blotches on his face that quickly fade.
"Marta you know what a computer in the sea? Did you know? Do not you know it? I tell you? I'll tell you ... Search ... do you understand? Search "
The laughter of Philip apnea is a hiccup in that fat raises your shoulders and bared his teeth as a child.
"Ah, ah, ah ... just funny ... come on, open the deposit Phil, our friend here wants to see it." Martha turns to the commissioner and their eyes meet, while Philip pulls out a big bunch of keys, he carefully chooses one that sticks in the lock. The metal door opens quickly engulfing the boy, followed by Marta who reaches out to help the lawyer to carry Silvana. The gun and the police come last. The Commissioner notes the hunched shoulders of the lawyer in front of you. Then the lawyer moved to the side and he sees it. He sees the deposit. Finally.
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