The trickling sound echoed across the large building, bouncing off the walls and windows. It was a steady beat, once every second, though before the tempo had been much greater. The sound was the sound of the drops of blood coming from the young man laying across the stack of crates that at one point served to carry the production of the warehouse back and forth. He was lying flat against it, with several bullet wounds in his chest and torso. His throat had been slit deep - nearly decapitating him - and his tongue had been pulled down his throat so that it was exposed out his neck. The blood from his neck had filled the edge of the crate, and was now overflowing down onto the floor. Beside the crate, soaking in the blood, was a bag of street-grade hash.
Three men, all of them fairly young and wearing modest attire, laughed at the sight. There was a fourth one, a little bit older but far better dressed, wearing a nice suit with an overcoat on it, who stood in the background. The one difference between the four was that this fourth one had no blood on him, whereas the other three were either drenched or splattered by the blood of the dead man. One of them was rubbing the splotches of blood from his face and showing it to his friends, laughing away.
"All right, all right," said the fourth man, "enough of that. Let's get out of here before they come looking for their buddy."
One of the three thugs wiped some blood that had gotten on his shirt, which bore the emblem of a popular Potenzan band, "Gonna tell your dad?"
"That's none of your concern. Now let's get going."
The four men exited the warehouse, the three getting into their own vehicle while the fourth got into his own. They left, going in separate directions and at high speeds. They were so concerned with leaving that they didn't notice the homeless man peek out from behind an aging, rotting oil barrel, shivering from fright, as well as the cold, as he watched them go...
The next day, one might have thought the grand duke was arriving at the warehouse by how many police cars were parked outside. There were several cruisers, as well as a couple of special vans. The Carabinieri - Potenza's national police force - was out in full force for a single murder. Police tape was already wrapped around the warehouse, as well as the surrounding area.
A small compact car pulled up just outside the police line. Inspector Luca Montalbano stepped out, pausing momentarily to glance at the entire scene before shutting his door. He was a man of moderate height, with dark hair that was graying around the sides of his ears, showing the effects of his early 50's. He had let his hair grow a bit, and it curled backwards, partially for style and partially because he just hadn't had time (or interest) lately to have it cut. He adjusted his black overcoat and showed his badge to a patrol officer as he stepped under the police tape. He approached the warehouse and immediately found his partner, Inspector Andrea Zingaretti. Compared to Luca, Andrea was a much more domineering figure. He was tall and boasted broad shoulders, spending much of his free time working out. His hair was cut short and he rarely smiled. He certainly wasn't smiling as Luca approached, saying to his arriving partner:
"Think we brought enough guys?"
"Welcome to Reconquista-era Potenza," Luca said sardonically, referring to the massive crime-fighting operation that the prime minister was currently enacting. For the past month a massive deployment of Carabinieri had taken place in Potenza's major areas of urban crime. In the worst of areas it was almost like martial law had been declared, and for some Potenzans it was no longer a surprise to see Carabinieri out on patrol carrying submachine guns, walking through a residential neighborhood. Crime was already starting to go down, which meant less murders for Luca and his partner to investigate, yet it also meant a rather overdone show of force whenever someone was killed.
Andrea led Luca into the warehouse, which already had forensic teams taking samples from the area. As the two men neared the dead body, Luca couldn't help but wince at the sight. As part of the local homicide investigations team, he had seen everything, but it never made the depravity of man any better to see. The blood had stopped dripping, and the man's face - contorted and disfigured - had grown pale from the loss of blood. This would definitely be in his mind tonight. Every single victim was always implanted in his mind. He still remembered the first victim he ever saw thirty years ago, working on his first crime scene. His mind was like a gallery of horrors, though he rarely shared that with any one.
"I figured it was Cosimo," Andrea said.
"Yeah, it's Cosimo all right," Luca replied, kneeling down to take a look at the body. He took out a ballpoint pen and used it to point at the tongue sticking out of the man's throat, "That's definitely a 'Cosimo necktie.' I've seen attempted copycats, but no, this is the real deal. That makes this man something special."
"Why's that?"
"Well, the Cosimo have three stages of murder. If you piss them off, they shoot you. Easy, right? You really piss them off, they shoot you and slit your throat. Let's them exert a bit of anger. You make them out for blood...they give you the necktie. That way your body's desecrated along with dead. But what I don't get..." Luca tapped the pen against the bag of hash lying beside the crates, "...is this. If it was just a drug deal gone wrong, they wouldn't resort to a necktie."
"Maybe he insulted their mother."
Luca pursed his lips, shaking his head as he looked away in thought, "No...Cosimo neckties are a messy business. Even the most sadistic of killers will try to cut corners when they can. The Cosimo won't give you a necktie unless they think you deserve it. If you're some stupid college kid getting mad at the drugs you bought from them, they'll ruin your day, but they won't waste a necktie on you. No, this was more than just a drug deal. This was something else. This man did something, or was something, the Cosimo really hated." He glanced over at the various investigators collecting evidence, "How soon before they're done?"
Andrea shrugged, "They've been here all morning. Maybe tonight?"
"All right," Luca stood up, putting his pen back in his pocket, "I'll look at the details later."
The two men began to walk out when Luca noticed an old man sitting off to the side, accompanied by an officer. He wore raggedy clothes and seemed very sullen. His beard and hair were unkempt, and his wrinkles were far more than a normal man his age.
"Who's that?" Luca asked.
Andrea glanced over, "Oh, that's the homeless guy who called in about the body."
Luca walked over, nodding to the officer before turning to the homeless man, "You saw the men who did this?"
The man nodded, smacking his lips as if thirsty.
"How many were there?"
"F...four," the man said, holding up the appropriate number of fingers.
"And what did they look like?"
The man blinked in thought, "Uh...three...like kids, I guess...fourth...dressed real nice."
Luca nodded, then turned to Andrea, "That was a Cosimo lieutenant and thugs. They employ goons they find at bars and dance clubs. Most of them are just kids trying to make a little extra for their family, others fall for the glamorous life of crime bit. Either way, the Cosimo mafia turns them into animals."
Luca glanced back at the old man, who seemed to be staring at the ground, fidgeting with his hands. The sight of the wrinkles, clothes, and sad expression began to sink into the investigator's conscience, and he started to think of his own grandfather on his deathbed. After a prolonged moment of silence, Luca took out his wallet and handled a bundle of lira over to him. The homeless man blinked, then looked up and smiled, clutching the money, "Bless you, sir!"
As Luca and Andrea headed back to their cars, Andrea said, "You know he'll waste it on booze."
"Good," Luca replied as he opened his driver door, "maybe it'll help him get over the sight better than I can."
Three men, all of them fairly young and wearing modest attire, laughed at the sight. There was a fourth one, a little bit older but far better dressed, wearing a nice suit with an overcoat on it, who stood in the background. The one difference between the four was that this fourth one had no blood on him, whereas the other three were either drenched or splattered by the blood of the dead man. One of them was rubbing the splotches of blood from his face and showing it to his friends, laughing away.
"All right, all right," said the fourth man, "enough of that. Let's get out of here before they come looking for their buddy."
One of the three thugs wiped some blood that had gotten on his shirt, which bore the emblem of a popular Potenzan band, "Gonna tell your dad?"
"That's none of your concern. Now let's get going."
The four men exited the warehouse, the three getting into their own vehicle while the fourth got into his own. They left, going in separate directions and at high speeds. They were so concerned with leaving that they didn't notice the homeless man peek out from behind an aging, rotting oil barrel, shivering from fright, as well as the cold, as he watched them go...
***
The next day, one might have thought the grand duke was arriving at the warehouse by how many police cars were parked outside. There were several cruisers, as well as a couple of special vans. The Carabinieri - Potenza's national police force - was out in full force for a single murder. Police tape was already wrapped around the warehouse, as well as the surrounding area.
A small compact car pulled up just outside the police line. Inspector Luca Montalbano stepped out, pausing momentarily to glance at the entire scene before shutting his door. He was a man of moderate height, with dark hair that was graying around the sides of his ears, showing the effects of his early 50's. He had let his hair grow a bit, and it curled backwards, partially for style and partially because he just hadn't had time (or interest) lately to have it cut. He adjusted his black overcoat and showed his badge to a patrol officer as he stepped under the police tape. He approached the warehouse and immediately found his partner, Inspector Andrea Zingaretti. Compared to Luca, Andrea was a much more domineering figure. He was tall and boasted broad shoulders, spending much of his free time working out. His hair was cut short and he rarely smiled. He certainly wasn't smiling as Luca approached, saying to his arriving partner:
"Think we brought enough guys?"
"Welcome to Reconquista-era Potenza," Luca said sardonically, referring to the massive crime-fighting operation that the prime minister was currently enacting. For the past month a massive deployment of Carabinieri had taken place in Potenza's major areas of urban crime. In the worst of areas it was almost like martial law had been declared, and for some Potenzans it was no longer a surprise to see Carabinieri out on patrol carrying submachine guns, walking through a residential neighborhood. Crime was already starting to go down, which meant less murders for Luca and his partner to investigate, yet it also meant a rather overdone show of force whenever someone was killed.
Andrea led Luca into the warehouse, which already had forensic teams taking samples from the area. As the two men neared the dead body, Luca couldn't help but wince at the sight. As part of the local homicide investigations team, he had seen everything, but it never made the depravity of man any better to see. The blood had stopped dripping, and the man's face - contorted and disfigured - had grown pale from the loss of blood. This would definitely be in his mind tonight. Every single victim was always implanted in his mind. He still remembered the first victim he ever saw thirty years ago, working on his first crime scene. His mind was like a gallery of horrors, though he rarely shared that with any one.
"I figured it was Cosimo," Andrea said.
"Yeah, it's Cosimo all right," Luca replied, kneeling down to take a look at the body. He took out a ballpoint pen and used it to point at the tongue sticking out of the man's throat, "That's definitely a 'Cosimo necktie.' I've seen attempted copycats, but no, this is the real deal. That makes this man something special."
"Why's that?"
"Well, the Cosimo have three stages of murder. If you piss them off, they shoot you. Easy, right? You really piss them off, they shoot you and slit your throat. Let's them exert a bit of anger. You make them out for blood...they give you the necktie. That way your body's desecrated along with dead. But what I don't get..." Luca tapped the pen against the bag of hash lying beside the crates, "...is this. If it was just a drug deal gone wrong, they wouldn't resort to a necktie."
"Maybe he insulted their mother."
Luca pursed his lips, shaking his head as he looked away in thought, "No...Cosimo neckties are a messy business. Even the most sadistic of killers will try to cut corners when they can. The Cosimo won't give you a necktie unless they think you deserve it. If you're some stupid college kid getting mad at the drugs you bought from them, they'll ruin your day, but they won't waste a necktie on you. No, this was more than just a drug deal. This was something else. This man did something, or was something, the Cosimo really hated." He glanced over at the various investigators collecting evidence, "How soon before they're done?"
Andrea shrugged, "They've been here all morning. Maybe tonight?"
"All right," Luca stood up, putting his pen back in his pocket, "I'll look at the details later."
The two men began to walk out when Luca noticed an old man sitting off to the side, accompanied by an officer. He wore raggedy clothes and seemed very sullen. His beard and hair were unkempt, and his wrinkles were far more than a normal man his age.
"Who's that?" Luca asked.
Andrea glanced over, "Oh, that's the homeless guy who called in about the body."
Luca walked over, nodding to the officer before turning to the homeless man, "You saw the men who did this?"
The man nodded, smacking his lips as if thirsty.
"How many were there?"
"F...four," the man said, holding up the appropriate number of fingers.
"And what did they look like?"
The man blinked in thought, "Uh...three...like kids, I guess...fourth...dressed real nice."
Luca nodded, then turned to Andrea, "That was a Cosimo lieutenant and thugs. They employ goons they find at bars and dance clubs. Most of them are just kids trying to make a little extra for their family, others fall for the glamorous life of crime bit. Either way, the Cosimo mafia turns them into animals."
Luca glanced back at the old man, who seemed to be staring at the ground, fidgeting with his hands. The sight of the wrinkles, clothes, and sad expression began to sink into the investigator's conscience, and he started to think of his own grandfather on his deathbed. After a prolonged moment of silence, Luca took out his wallet and handled a bundle of lira over to him. The homeless man blinked, then looked up and smiled, clutching the money, "Bless you, sir!"
As Luca and Andrea headed back to their cars, Andrea said, "You know he'll waste it on booze."
"Good," Luca replied as he opened his driver door, "maybe it'll help him get over the sight better than I can."