“Don’t worry, I don’t underrate the cops. But cops can’t break a guy’s arm to make him talk, and they can’t shove his teeth in with the muzzle of a .45 to remind him that you aren’t fooling. I do my own leg work, and there are a lot of guys who will tell me what I want to know because they know what I’ll do to them if they don’t. My staff is strictly ex officio, but very practical.”
I, The Jury, by Mickey Spillane

Chapter 1

CHICAGO

When Lester Cooper received the phone call, he immediately knew from the area code that he was being called from Chicago. It was James Palmer. Someone had told him that Lester knew all about the hunting and fishing at Burt Lake, and he wanted to confirm whether it was true that there was a lot of fishing on that lake.

Lester could never have imagined that this simple phone call would alter the course of his Indian River neighbors’ lives.

«If you’re looking to spend a few quiet days fishing or hunting, you’ve picked the best place,» Lester immediately addressed James in informal language, from his voice he sounded like a middle-aged guy like himself, and he liked that. Besides, very few urbanites in Chicago were seduced by nature, so that made it even more interesting.

«I’m only interested in spending a vacation fishing and away from the world,» James paused for a moment as if looking for the best way to make his point. «What you say about hunting doesn’t interest me,» he finally replied.

«All right, I was just telling you so you would know that there are many deer, wild boars and some bears here.»

«Bears?» asked James with a tone of surprise that indicated he doubted Lester was telling the truth, or at least that he thought he was exaggerating.

Lester was annoyed by that tone, always the same, city men think bears grow up in the zoo.

«Well, you yourself… do you run well?» he answered in a somewhat curt tone.

«I think so. What’s that all about now? Or do you have to run to catch fish? 

Lester let out a laugh and said, «No, not for fishing and not if you come across one of those bears you doubt. That’s why I’m telling you.»

James took the hint, he liked that man, he was direct like him. He deserved the answer he had given him; in a way he had gotten himself into a garden he had no idea how to get out of. But it was always the same for him: used to the fact that his clients often spoke half-truths, he could no longer tell when it was one thing or another.

«You see, you must excuse me, you know what they say about those of us who live in Chicago, that we are distrustful. But let’s leave that aside and tell me about the fishing.

«That’s better. Look, you must procure two things besides the house: a boat and a county fishing license.»

«Can you fix that for me… for the price it’s no problem.» There was silence.

Here we go again —thought Lester— it’s always the same, nobody has said anything about money and he’s already putting that first. Of course, these guys from the city must lock their houses with keys and their cars with anti-theft devices; they have no idea what it’s like to live in a small town where everything is more natural, but what can we do?

«Lester, are you there?» James asked, surprised by the silence.

«Yes, I’m here. But look, I haven’t talked about money; we’ll see about that if you decide to come»

Again, James felt he had messed up: since the separation from Cynthia, he hadn’t gotten a single one right, he really needed those days of solitude to focus.

«You’re right, we’ll talk about it, but I repeat, can you solve it for me?»

«Sure. When do you want to come?»

«Next week. If all goes well I expect to be there for three or four weeks.»

«There’s a small inn run by my friend Frank Becker, but it is now undergoing construction. However, he has a cabin on the shore of Burt Lake that he uses for fishing and hunting. It is small, totally isolated, and has a good boat. If that’s okay with you, that’s it. Frank knows these mountains like the back of his hand, I’m sure he’ll accompany you through the woods someday. Another thing, you have to send me a photocopy of your documentation for the license.»

«No problem. The cabin is exactly what I need. I told you before that I’m looking for a few days away from the world. But tell me, what kind of fish are in that lake, so I can bring the right gear.»

«I like what you say, I see you are not one of those tourists who carry toy fishing rods. You see, the most abundant fish are pike, black mojarra, pike-perch and, to a lesser extent, sunfish; but for the latter you have to come prepared.»

«Yes, I know. Well, I’ll call you before I leave. When I get to Indian River, where do I go?»

«Go to the Little Becker Inn, I’ll have everything ready. You know, when you leave Chicago you take 94 to Detroit and when you get to Ann Arbor take 75 north, past Gaylor, twenty-six miles, you get to Indian River. That’s the highway route, a little longer but faster.»

«How many miles from here?»

«About three hundred and sixty, calculate six to seven hours. By the way, bring warm clothes. You know, in upstate Michigan the weather is harsher,» he suddenly shut up, no doubt thinking he had forgotten something. «What a brute I am, I didn’t tell you my name was Lester Cooper.»

«You’re right, you hadn’t told me. But the truth is, I haven’t either. So, I’m sorry, my name is James Palmer. Do you want me to send you a deposit?»

When Lester heard it, he thought, My God, that again!

«No need, you already gave me your address and phone number. Remember to send your Passport Card.»

«Nor have I told you so far that I am a private eye, but I must ask you to do me the favor of keeping that a secret.» James preferred to tell him this, anyway, he was going to find out when he received the photocopy of his Passport Card.

«I promise, but I don’t understand…» he stopped short as if what he was about to say was a gaffe. James immediately knew what he wanted to ask, he was used to this kind of thing, his clients always needed a little push to finish the question.

«Look, Lester, it’s very simple, when people find out you’re a private eye they think you’re different from the others and I already told you I want quietude.»

«Yes, of course, I understand, but if they ask me what do I say?»

«Tell them I’m an insurance agent. Is that okay with you?»

«All right, see you next Monday.»

James hung up by pressing a finger on the hook switch and stood with the mic resting on his chest. He stared at an undefined point on the wall in front of him in his office, he wondered if he had not rushed to close that deal, he was not sure that those days of solitude were going to be good for him; of course, for the last few months he was not sure of anything.

The sound of the door opening and his partner entering was like a thunderclap that brought him to reality.

«Wow, you are like that again?»

«Like that? What do you mean?» James replied.

«Well, you’re like an alien. My friend James, I’m telling you for the umpteenth time to get the fuck out of here. Get some rest and focus, you’ve been like this for too many months asshole. We are lucky that we have solved the Russian’s wife’s infidelity test well and he has divorced well, and that has left us a lot of money. But if you don’t change your attitude I will have to stop being your partner»

«Fabio, don’t say that, you know it’s hard for me to accept that Cynthia left me and, just so you know, I’ve just booked a trip; on Monday I’m going fishing for a month. You’ll see, when I come back everything will be like before, I promise. And about the Russian, I mean Alex Vasilin, you are right, he has left us money. But that millionaire smells very bad to me and you know I don’t like him very much.»

Fabio Petrini was a rough-looking character with brusque manners, what we might call a tough guy. Perhaps he had no choice but to be that way because of the harsh experiences he had lived through in his youth and to defend his difference: he was short and chubby and, to top it off, he had an Italian accent. In addition, there was an urban legend that his father had something to do with the Italian Mafia and that is why his only son, in order to contradict him, got his detective’s license in Los Angeles and then moved to Chicago. Contributing to this legend was the fact that everyone knew that Fabio Petrini was an expert in the study of the Mafia.

«It’s not just about the matter of your girl…. It’s more than that, damn it!»

«What do you mean by that?»

«Nothing, go quietly and we’ll talk about it when you get back.»

«No, my friend, you never finish things; always the same. We are very different, it’s true, but we complement each other. So, clarify for me what you said about there being more things.»

Fabio felt regretful that he had said that, that very morning he had made a resolution to give his partner another chance before leaving the detective’s office, he would wait for James to return from that vacation, maybe he would come back changed. Talking about it now would precipitate things gratuitously.

«Shit, will you calm the fuck down!,» said Fabio who used to have outbursts of anger that he soon regretted, and they disappeared like water down the drain. «Go on, don’t drive me crazy and go fishing. I repeat, we’ll talk when you get back.» James said nothing, just clenched his fists tightly, his face reddened and his nose flaps throbbed. «Don’t fuck with me, man!,» Fabio replied, «don’t be like that, it’s not that bad.»

«I’m sick to death with your promptness and you getting on my nerves with that attitude!» James had raised the tone «I was just asking you what you meant by what you said about it being more things.»

Fabio did not answer, took out a cigarette, lit it slowly, inhaled with force and expelled the smoke through the nostrils as if he were a mythological dragon attacking. He looked at the window with an absent look and as if the words were coming to him with a delay, as if he were sorting through his brain saturated with memories.

«Yes, now that,» exclaimed James, «make yourself interesting and leave things as usual, up in the air.»

Fabio turned his head and looked him straight in the eye in a defiant manner and said, «Are you sure you want to know the truth?»

James bowed his head in affirmation, although now, as he observed Fabio’s gaze, he hesitated, perhaps his partner had something hidden that he did not know.

«Well, I’m going to tell you. I’ve been saving your ass all these years…» 

«What are you talking about!» James interrupted him abruptly.

«Don’t interrupt me, when I’m done you can say whatever you want. Didn’t you want to know the truth, then listen. Of course, I’ve saved your ass more than once over the years.» He made a gesture, as if hesitating whether to go on with what he was going to say; it was hard, but it was the truth, so he decided to continue without further ado. «Look, you’re no good for a private eye, that’s for sure.» He looked at him to see how that fit in and continued, «The story is simple: pretty boy, college student, after graduating from the Chicago Police Academy… well, CPD, as you call it. -He smiled and said, «I’ve always found the three little letters funny, it’s like you want to make a big deal out of it. Well, what I was getting at, soon that young man gets his third-grade detective degree and is assigned to the narcotics division detective bureau, he realizes how rotten everything is and, in order to defend his principles, he loses his girl, and in the end he leaves the force and becomes a private eye, dedicated to finding infidelities, fixing divorces, investigating domestic burglaries and other unimportant things.

«That’s not accurate, you know we have solved difficult cases.»

«That’s true, but only since I arrived. Look, you’re not cut out for this, you’re too soft and too academic, and sometimes you have to bend the rules in order to resolve an issue. We’ve been over this too many times.»

«You’re not right in what you say; if ever necessary, I’ll bend the rules.»

«Are you sure?»

«Absolutely.»

«Then explain to me why Cynthia left you?»

«It is one thing to break a rule and quite another to turn a blind eye to a heroin dealer.»

«But that dealer was her damn brother! Couldn’t you give him another chance, look the other way? Fuck you!»

«Let’s stop that, remembering all that now is like trying to put back together a fog that has been blown away by the wind.»

«What a poet the boy is today. Do you mean to tell me that after going through what you have been through you would do something else now?»

That question was a poisoned dart, it was worn out from as many times as he himself had asked it, and always with the same answer. It was beyond his strength, as if that sense of duty was impregnated in his skin: no one wants to have their skin ripped off.

James couldn’t find the right words, so he started to twiddle his hands. Besides, Fabio calling him a poet with that condescending tone had felt like a kick in the genitals.

For his part, Fabio, while waiting for an answer, took a last puff on his cigarette and, before putting it out, he took out another one and lit it with the burning butt of the previous one. Then, seeing that James remained silent, he insisted, «What, you don’t answer me, would you do it differently? The answer is simple; yes or no.»

«No, I wouldn’t do it differently, I would do it again,» he answered dryly, and added, «If no one respected the law, this would be a jungle.»

Silence fell; they had entered one of those swampy grounds into which we sink for having spoken with absolute sincerity.

At the end James broke the muteness with the same tone of voice with which one speaks to a sick child, calmly and softly, «Are we really so different?»

Those words and the tone in which he pronounced them moved Fabio; deep down he agreed with him, only that in a practical sense things did not work that way, and he had had that engraved in his mind since he was very young.

«Look, James, if I was hard on you before, it’s because the good cop/bad cop movies worked great for us, but since you’ve been kind of absent, it’s not working. But I’m going to answer your question by explaining something that no one knows?»

«Before you explain anything to me,» James interrupted, «There’s something I still don’t understand, how can we be so different? We were both born in ’78, we’re both in our forties, we’re both single, and we’re of the eighty’s generation…. You know, the tensions of the Cold War, AIDS, the Falklands, Chernobyl, the fall of the Berlin Wall; not to mention fashion, early video games and, above all, music: pop rock and thrash metal, Michael Jackson, Madonna, Fredy Mercury, Bruce Springsteen and Phil Collins, among others,» he paused in his speech. «Do you really think we’re so different?»

Before answering, Fabio took a deep puff, mostly to take his time and sort out his answer. Besides, the conversation had taken an elevated course, he had to live up to it; James was a softie, but culturally superior to him.

Okay, theoretically you are right, it is true that belonging to a generation entails similarities, which are associated with sharing youth, let’s say the stage between eighteen and twenty-five, because that is when life projects are defined; but it is also true that the events that happen to each one of us mark life even more.

«What do you mean by that?»

«Very simple, you were born here and I was born in Naples; that’s the difference.»

«Yes, of course, but you’ve been in this country for so many years that you’re already as American as I am.»

«That’s probably true, but I’m forced.»

«By force?»

«I’d better tell you from the beginning.»

James was totally expectant, he knew the urban legend about that family, he wondered if now he would reveal the truth of that hoax. Besides, he noticed that now he spoke to him in a different tone, as if he were more cultured.

«My father had a small textile factory on the outskirts of Naples,» Fabio continued. I was eleven years old when he had to close the factory before surrendering to the mafias that, with slave labor, flooded the world with counterfeit fashion brands. That organization was what the judges and the police called the Camorra, but we all knew as the followers of the Secondigliano system, who ran the textile business.»

«But why did it have to close?»

«I have already told you; their working conditions were slavery, it was impossible to compete with them and, on the other hand, opposing the clans made you their enemy and doing so condemned you. In short, you had to survive. And that at eleven years old is hard, always vigilant, in any corner something could happen, no one was clean and, for them, the more that died the better; fear was their best ally. No matter how small you are, in just two minutes you learn to handle a Kalashnikov, which, by the way, is more practical than pistols.» His eyes clouded over and he lowered his voice even though no one could hear them. «Believe me, it’s very hard to see friends fall, whether it’s because of AIDS or clan battles; it hardens you.»

«I don’t quite understand what you are telling me. The police didn’t do anything, didn’t protect you?»

«Of course, the DDA, but that was in theory.»

«What is the DDA?»

«The Directorate of the Anti-Mafia District of Naples. The battles were fought between the coast guard, for drugs, and the customs police, for textiles and smugglers. But I repeat, in theory. And by that what I mean is simply what was happening, that almost everyone was lining their pockets with it.»

«But wouldn’t that be everyone, I said.»

«Not everyone, of course, there were exceptions, like El Spartacus, the macro trial of ’94. I was fourteen years old, but I remember it as if it were yesterday: the biggest anti-mafia trial ever seen in Italy. But that doesn’t mean that many people didn’t still have problems.»

«Politicians were also involved? Were they corrupt?»

«Don’t be naive, don’t make me laugh,» said Fabio with an expression of irony on his lips that was much more than a clear statement.

«Now I understand why you know so much about international mafias, you always told me that this was a subject that fascinated you and that’s why you had studied it so much. Well, after what you’ve told me, I guess that’s when your family moved here, when you came to the United States.

«Well, you’re guessing wrong. Then we moved to Cancello, which is a town twenty-five miles from Naples. There Uncle Giorgio had a lot of farmland, mostly fruit trees. He gave us shelter and we became farmers.»

«After that, the problems are over, right?» Instead of answering, Fabio pursed his lips in a pout and shook his head in denial. «Dude, don’t tell me it wasn’t over!»

«I wish it had been so. That was, as they say, getting out of the coals to get into the fire.»

«I don’t understand, do you mean that about to jump out of the frying pan into the fire?» James asked.

«Exactly, you have understood it perfectly. You see, it turns out that the European Union…»

«What’s that got to do with anything now?» James cut him off, «Weren’t we talking about Italy?»

«Fuck, don’t interrupt me, you’ll soon understand. As I was telling you, Brussels subsidizes farmers to destroy surplus fruit.»

«So what?»

«Well, the clans passed off as leftover fruit waste from construction materials, rubble, iron and the like; and the real leftover fruit, for the destruction of which the farmers had been paid by the European Union, was sold in the markets. But of course, to do that operation, land was needed to dump the shit whose weight passed for fruit. And my uncle and father refused to lend theirs for that. Again, we made a lot of enemies.»

«And no one noticed the deception?»

«Yes, of course, in fact in ’96 there was a trial and Dad and Uncle Giorgio were important witnesses for the prosecution. AIMA, I think I remember they called that process, because that was the name of the Italian organization through which the payments were made.

«But your family, from what I see, was very much in favor of legality. So where does that leave what we were discussing earlier about bending the rules?» James insisted.

«That has nothing to do with it, it’s not comparable to what you do. After the trial, the death threats, the persecutions, spending your life half hidden, all that forges the character of a nineteen year old boy. Do you understand now why we are so different?»

«Yes, of course, but coming here must have changed everything for you.»

«It’s not that simple. Things got complicated. Uncle Giorgio died in a traffic accident in Castel Volturno; he was an excellent driver and the road where it happened was straight. That’s the way things were going there. As you can imagine, it wasn’t by chance. Then the fruit trees got sick, the land became barren, but Dad didn’t want to sell it to the Mafia clans. That’s when we emigrated to Los Angeles, we were taken in by a relative of Mom’s and, you know, I got my detective’s license. I was twenty-three years old. Later I came north to Chicago.»

«What I don’t quite understand is that the earth became barren,» said James.

«It happened just as I told you. Those lands were mortally wounded, poisoned.»

«And it happened just like that, all at once?»

«The clans changed the fruit scam to turn the land into illegal dumps of cadmium, zinc, sludge from sewage treatment plants, paint and varnish residues, arsenic, lead, debris and the like, materials that avoided costly recycling or purification processes. To dump all that shit, the mafiosi bought more and more properties, both agricultural land and abandoned quarries; they ended up polluting the whole area. Of course, they did it with the complicity of officials, technicians, employees, politicians. And now I repeat it clearly in case you had any doubt, by closing their eyes they made a great business. So, there was always someone willing to pass off the treatment of toxic waste as correct management when in fact they only burned it when their landfills were overflowing. Everyone won at the cost of poisoning the land and causing cancers and other diseases that soon appeared among the population of the area.»

«You blow me away.»

«Well, that’s the truth. And I’ll tell you something else, it doesn’t only happen in Italy, it happens everywhere, maybe in some countries to a lesser extent, but it happens.»

«Here in the United States that’s impossible to happen,» said James.

«And you still pretend that I don’t consider you naïve,» said Fabio with a smile, «Where there is a hidden space in plain sight and a willing owner there can be a dump.»

«If you say so, but I’m sure you’re wrong.»

«I advise you to watch the movie The Pelican Brief. It stars Julia Roberts,» said Fabio.

James remembered that movie perfectly well and also Erin Brockovich, starring the same actress, but he didn’t want to comment anything and remained silent.

After what he had heard, he understood why his partner had such a bad temper and handled cases so differently from him. But what didn’t fit with the story was that his family being so right he would say that about the rules when in fact he should be a staunch upholder of the law.

«And now I suppose you’ve lost touch with all that,» said James.

«Well, partly, but I have a close relationship with my good friend Battista Mancini, who lives in Milan. The next time he comes, I’ll introduce you to him.»

«And what does your friend do?»

«He is a journalist, a correspondent for a German newspaper. He’s a financial news personality and, believe it or not, he’s been in trouble with the Italian mafia for always going the extra mile, especially since his newspaper brought the Panama papers to light.»

«Thank you for coming clean with me, but after what you’ve told me maybe you should be an advocate of the rules, even more than I am,» said James.

Fabio stared at him, not sure if James had understood anything or if he hadn’t explained himself clearly enough. He would make one last attempt. Let’s see if you understand. You think of someone who has not denounced his father when he discovered he had defrauded the tax authorities, or a doctor who has not told his sick mother that she has three weeks to live, or a lawyer who defends a client even though he knows he is guilty. And I could give many more examples. Now tell me, do you think that what they do is break the rules, do you think they deserve a reproach even if their purpose is nobler than the broken rule itself?» Fabio asked.

«But we all have in our profession a deontology or, if you will, an ethic.»

«This would lead us to an ethical debate, which is not the case. What I want you to understand is that, especially in our profession, you have to find shortcuts to discover the truth, and almost always the rule tells you to stay on the highway. Do you understand that now?»

«Yes, of course,» James agreed.

«By the way, not a word of my story to anyone.»

«I’m a tomb,» said James. Besides, this sounded more like academic talk to me than a conversation between detectives, don’t you think?»

«You mean fucking detectives who dig into the souls of others to find out the truth,» Fabio concluded.

They both burst out laughing. Through the window they could see a skyline dotted with skyscrapers where the yellowish light of twilight illuminated the glass facades. The windy city was getting ready to welcome the night.