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Talk to you soon.”
    I hang up. Now it’s time to make the second call, much more demanding. I dial Laura’s number. The voice that hastily responds is that of a person waiting by the phone.
    A frightened person.
    “Hello.”
    “Hi, Laura, this is Bravo.”
    Her relief at hearing my voice comes surging through the phone line.
    “At last. Where the hell have you been?”
    I let a second or two pass before I answer. That silence ought to let her know that where the hell I’ve been is none of her business. So I add no further explanations.
    “I heard your message. What happened?”
    “What happened is, that man is insane. Now he wants to stick me in an apartment, where I can watch television and wait for him. When I said no, he hit me.”
    Without prompting, Laura takes care of my main worry. “He didn’t leave any marks, but he hurt me just the same.”
    Good. Her face is intact. And all the rest, maybe. When a horse throws you, the best thing is to get right back in the saddle. Now the problem is to make her see it.
    “I have some interesting new projects. Important ones. You feel up to doing some work?”
    “Have you lost your mind? If he catches me going out with somebody there’s going to be a murder. He’s not normal. You should have seen his eyes.”
    None of that comes as a surprise. I’ve heard that Tulip has more than one screw loose. I know a couple of people who have seen him lose his temper, and they are willing to confirm that he’s not normal. Other people who wound up in that situation aren’t around anymore to confirm anything. Anyway, that’s what I’ve heard. But certain chatter, in certain cases and with certain people, generally has a fairly high percentage in terms of reliability.
    “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”
    “But how?”
    But how? Good question … With a little brains and a lot of luck, I hope .
    “I know someone who can give me a hand.”
    “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
    “Absolutely.”
    Absolutely not .
    “I’m afraid, Bravo.”
    And who wouldn’t be, when it comes to certain people?
    “There’s no reason to be afraid. Everything is going to turn out fine.”
    I can’t say whether the silence I receive as a reply means hope or mistrust. I intervene with a suggestion that refers to a familiar setting, and therefore to the usual nightlife and the usual mood.
    “Why don’t you meet me at the Ascot around eleven? I need to talk to you about something that might be of interest.”
    “Today’s Monday. It’s closed.”
    “No. There’s a really great group of mimes from the BBC, the Silly Dilly M. This was the only date they could make. The Ascot skipped its day off just to book them.”
    Another brief pause to think, and then she gives in.
    “All right, I’ll see you there. At eleven.”
    “Okay, see you later. Ciao .”
    Her voice vanishes into the phone line and is sealed in place by the receiver. With a demitasse in hand I go back to my little galley kitchen to pour the rest of the coffee, which has cooled off in the meantime. I light a cigarette and then my bladder urges me into the bathroom. This business with Tulip is definitely the last thing I need. But here it is, and I can’t pretend it’s not happening. I could say to hell with it and leave Laura to her fate as an unwilling concubine. But every arrangement is propped up by a certain degree of credibility, and no matter how questionable and compromised mine might be, I can’t afford to lose it.
    I sit on the toilet, close to the window. Next to the toilet, on top of the wicker laundry hamper, lies a copy of La Settimana Enigmistica , the puzzler’s weekly, with a ballpoint pen next to it. I pick it up and look at the picture of Dustin Hoffman smiling up at me in black and white from the little panel on the cover. Then I smile too, in spite of myself. Every time I read the slogan emblazoned on the masthead I remember Beefsteak, one of the idlers who spends his