CHAPTER VIII
The place was still empty at that time; the barman, a young man about twenty-five with arms covered with tattoos that he flaunted even in winter, absently was wiping the counter while an even younger and abrupt waitress was intent on pulling the chairs off the tables.
Marco Errani entered cautiously and immediately took refuge in the gloom, as if he wanted to escape the glances of the bystanders. He nodded to the barman and headed toward the back where the owner was busy checking the books.
The latter was a man in his fifties, thin and with a gray, bony face; it was called Ahmed Moawad, it was of Egyptian origin but he had lived in Italy for over twenty years.
The restaurant represented his main activity but he knew many people and had been involved in several businesses.
