The Terra-Cotta Dog Read Free Page A

returned the greeting. Tano threw his head back and laughed.
    â€œWe’re like two Japanese warriors, the kind with swords and breastplates. What do you call them?”
    â€œSamurai.”
    Tano opened his arms, as if wanting to embrace the man standing before him.
    â€œWhat a pleasure to meet the famous Inspector Montalbano, personally in person.”
    Montalbano decided to dispense with the ceremonies and get straight to the point, just to put the encounter on the right footing.
    â€œI’m not sure how much pleasure you’ll get from meeting me, sir.”
    â€œWell, you’ve already given me one.”
    â€œExplain.”
    â€œYou called me ‘sir.’ That’s no small thing. No cop, not a single one—and I’ve met a lot—has ever called me ‘sir.’ ”
    â€œYou realize, I hope, that I’m a representative of the law, while you are a dangerous fugitive charged with several murders. And here we are, face-to-face.”
    â€œI’m unarmed. How about you?”
    â€œMe too.”
    Tano threw his head back again and gave a full-throated laugh.
    â€œI’m never wrong about people, never!”
    â€œUnarmed or not, I have to arrest you just the same.”
    â€œAnd I am here, Inspector, to let you arrest me. That’s why I wanted to see you.”
    He was sincere, no doubt about it. But it was this very sincerity that put Montalbano on his guard, since he couldn’t tell where Tano wanted to go with this.
    â€œYou could have come to police headquarters and turned yourself in. Here or in Vigàta, it’s the same thing.”
    â€œAh, no, dear Inspector, it is not the same thing. You surprise me, you who know how to read and write. The words are not the same. I am letting myself be arrested, I am not turning myself in. Go get your jacket and we’ll talk inside. I’ll open the door in the meantime.”
    Montalbano took his jacket from the olive tree, draped it over his arm, and entered the house behind Tano. It was completely dark inside. The Greek lit an oil lamp and gestured to the inspector to sit down in one of two chairs beside a small table. In the room there was a cot with only a bare mattress, no pillow or sheets, and a glass-fronted cupboard with bottles, glasses, biscuits, plates, packets of pasta, jars of tomato sauce, and assorted tin cans. There was also a wood-burning stove with pots and pans hanging over it. But the inspector’s eyes came to rest on a far more dangerous animal than the lizard sleeping in the glove compartment of his car: this was a veritable poisonous snake, a machine gun sleeping on its feet, propped against the wall beside the cot.
    â€œI’ve got some good wine,” said Tano, like a true host.
    â€œAll right, thanks,” replied Montalbano.
    What with the cold, the night, the tension, and the two-plus pounds of mostaccioli he wolfed down, he felt he could use some wine.
    The Greek poured and then raised his glass.
    â€œTo your health.”
    The inspector raised his own and returned the toast.
    â€œTo yours.”
    The wine was something special; it went down beautifully, and on its way gave comfort and heat.
    â€œThis is truly good,” Montalbano complimented him.
    â€œAnother glass?”
    To avoid the temptation, the inspector gruffly pushed the glass away.
    â€œLet’s talk.”
    â€œLet’s. As I was saying, I decided to let myself be arrested—”
    â€œWhy?”
    Montalbano’s question, fired point-blank, left the other momentarily confused. After a pause,Tano collected himself:
    â€œI need medical care. I’m sick.”
    â€œMay I say something? Since you think you know me well, you probably also know that I’m not someone you can fuck with.”
    â€œI’m sure of it.”
    â€œThen why not show me some respect and stop feeding me bullshit?”
    â€œYou don’t believe I’m sick?”
    â€œI do. But