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and two
deep-set hazel eyes on either side of a broad nose. A thin strip of
beard framed his perfectly shaven cheeks. He wore gold-rimmed
Ray-Ban glasses and his crew-cut hair was dyed mahogany red.
    He too, like Quattro Formaggi, had a winter outfit, but unlike
his friend's, his was always immaculately washed and ironed. A checkered flannel shirt. A hunter's waistcoat with lots of pockets.
Jeans with a pleated front. Sneakers. And, attached to his belt, a
pouch for a Swiss Army knife and his cell phone.

    He economized on everything else, but not on his appearance.
He had his beard trimmed and his hair dyed once a fortnight by
the barber.
    He was waiting for Quattro Formaggi, who, just for a change,
was late. Not that Danilo was particularly bothered. In the bar it
was nice and warm and he was in a strategic position. The table,
by the front window, overlooked the street. Danilo held the Gazzetta
dello Sport up in front of him and now and then took a glance
outside.
    Directly opposite was the Credito Italiano dell'Agricoltura. He
saw people going in and out through the metal detectors and the
private guard outside the entrance talking into his cell phone.
    That guard really pissed him off. With his bullet-proof jacket, his
emblazoned beret, his gleaming pistol, his sunglasses, his square jaw
and his chewing gum, who the fuck did he think he was? Tom
Cruise?
    But the thing that really interested Danilo Aprea was not the
guard, but what was behind him: the ATM.
    That was his objective. It was the most frequently used cashpoint
in the village, as this bank had more customers than any other in
Varrano, so it must be crammed with money.
    There were two CCTV cameras positioned above the machine.
One to the right and one to the left, so as to cover the whole surrounding area. And no doubt they were connected to a set of videorecorders inside the bank. But that wasn't a problem.
    In actual fact, there wasn't the slightest need for Danilo to sit
there watching the movement in front of the bank. He had already
worked out the plan down to the smallest detail. But watching that
cash machine made him feel better.
    The plan for the raid on the Credito dell'Agricoltura had been
hatched six months before.
    Danilo had been at the barber's, and leafing through the crime
pages of the newspaper, he had read that in a village near Cagliari
a gang of crooks driving a four-by-four had smashed through the
wall of a bank and carried off its cash machine.

    While his hair was being dyed the story kept buzzing around in
his head; this could be the turning point in his life.
    The plan was quite simple.
    "Simplicity is the basis of every well-done thing," his father used
to tell him.
    And it was easy to put into practice. The night in Varrano was
so quiet that if you acted fast, who would see you? And who would
ever suspect that such a respectable citizen as Danilo Aprea could
have robbed a bank?
    With the loot he would make Teresa's dream come true. The dream
of opening a lingerie boutique. Danilo was sure that if he gave her
a shop his wife would come back to him, and then he would find
the strength to go to Alcoholics Anonymous and dry out.
14
    After Cristiano's departure Rino Zena had gone back to sleep, and
when he had woken up again the whistling in his ears, as if by
magic, had vanished, along with the band of pain around his head.
It had been replaced by a ravenous hunger.
    He lay in bed and imagined a dish of chargrilled sausages accompanied by plenty of bread.
    His cock was hard and his balls were as full as hard-boiled eggs.
    How long is it since I last had a fuck?
    It had been at least two weeks. But when he had a headache,
screwing was the last thing on his mind.
    This evening I'll go out on the town, he said to himself, struggling to get up from the mattress and going into the bathroom naked,
with his pecker sticking out in front of him like the bowsprit of a
schooner.
    In the course of his life