Carlo sat in the shade of an umbrella outside Café Romano, drumming his fingers on the table. A half litre of the local red wine stood on the table alongside a shallow bowl of nuts and olives. He sipped the wine and absentmindedly chomped on an almond, but his thoughts were on the notebook in his pocket, and the sound of Nino"s voice on the phone earlier that day.
The caretaker had wanted to meet with him, said it was urgent, but Carlo knew that the urgency stemmed solely from Nino"s demanding the meeting. Still, Carlo decided to honor the request, and found himself in the piazza, under this umbrella, in the heat of the afternoon.
Just as he took another sip of wine, he saw Nino crossing the square at a deliberate, yet unhurried, gait. He made a bee line to Carlo"s table, sat down across
