Black Run Read Free

earlobe. At any other time, these were all things that would have aroused him, but right now Nora’s foreplay left him completely indifferent.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” asked Nora in a faint voice.
    â€œThat was the office.”
    â€œAnd?”
    Rocco pulled himself up into a sitting position on the bed without even glancing at her. He slowly pulled on his socks.
    â€œCan’t you talk?”
    â€œI don’t feel like it. I’m working. Leave me alone.”

    Nora nodded. She brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. “So you have to go out?”
    Rocco finally turned and looked at her. “Well, what do you think I’m doing?”
    There Nora lay, stretched out on the bed. Her arm, thrown over her head, revealed her perfectly hairless armpit. Her crimson satin negligee caressed her body, emphasizing with an interplay of light and shadow her generous curves. Her long, smooth dark hair framed her face, white as cream. Her black eyes looked like a pair of Apulian olives freshly plucked from the tree. Her lips were thin, but she knew just how to apply the right amount of lipstick to fill them out. Nora, a magnificent specimen of womanhood, just a year over forty.
    â€œYou could be a little nicer about it, couldn’t you?”
    â€œNo,” Rocco replied. “I couldn’t. It’s late, I have to drive up into the mountains, I have to kiss the whole evening with you good-bye, and in a little while it’s probably going to start snowing, too!”
    He stood up brusquely from the bed, went over to sit in an armchair, and put on his shoes: a pair of Clarks desert boots, the only type of footwear that Rocco Schiavone knew. Nora lay on the bed. She felt a little dumb, made up and dressed in satin. A table set for dinner, and no guests attending. She sat up. “What a shame. I made you raclette for dinner.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” the deputy police chief asked glumly.
    â€œHaven’t you ever had it? It’s a bowl of melted fontina cheese with artichokes, olives, and little chunks of salami.”
    Rocco stood up and pulled on a crewneck sweater. “Nice and digestible, I gather.”
    â€œAm I going to see you tomorrow?”
    â€œHow the hell would I know, Nora! I don’t even know where I’m going to be tomorrow.”

    He left the bedroom. Nora sighed and stood up. She caught up with him at the front door. She whispered: “I’ll be waiting for you.”
    â€œWhat am I, a bus?” Rocco shot back. Then he smiled. “Nora, forgive me, this is just a bad night. You’re an incredibly beautiful woman. You’re unquestionably the top tourist attraction in the city of Aosta.”
    â€œAfter the Roman arch.”
    â€œI’m sick and tired of Roman rubble. But not of you.”
    He kissed her hastily on the lips and pulled the door shut behind him.
    Nora felt like laughing. That’s just how Rocco Schiavone was. Take him or leave him. She looked at the pendulum clock that hung by the front door. She still had plenty of time to call Sofia and go see a movie. Then maybe they could get a pizza together.
    Rocco stepped out of the downstairs door, and an icy hand seized his throat.
    â€œFucking cold out here!”

    He’d left the car a hundred yards from the front entrance. His feet, in the pair of Clarks desert boots he was wearing, had frozen immediately upon contact with the sidewalk, frosted with a white covering of goddamned snow. A cutting wind was blowing, and there was no one out on the streets. The first thing he did when he got into his Volvo was turn on the heat. He blew on his hands. A hundred yards was all the distance it took to freeze them solid. “Fucking cold out here!” he said again, obsessively, like a mantra, and the words, along with the condensation from his breath, flew up against the windshield, fogging it white. He started the diesel engine, punched