"Retweet" on Afghanistan

For those of you who may be interested, a female journalist's thoughts on Afghanistan.  The ABC in this context is the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.   http://www.abc.net.au/news/2011-12-04/sally-sara-farewells-afghanistan/3711410

"Retweet" on Afghanistan

For those of you who may be interested, a female journalist's thoughts on Afghanistan.  The ABC in this context is the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.   http://www.abc.net.au/news/2011-12-04/sally-sara-farewells-afghanistan/3711410

Wedding Day (2)

This comes after Wedding Day (1).


Rodolfo stood there, calmly and with a small smile on his face, watching his Starflower come towards him.  Bartolo, looking at the bride’s gown, realised that he wasn’t overdressed or in fancy dress at all.

Out in the Piazza the taxi turned left out of the Via Ordinal and pulled up at the kerb opposite the parked wedding car.

Also in the Piazza but almost in front of the Episcopal Palace, three school boys looked around nervously.  One of the two seventeen year olds carried a soccer ball and the fourteen year old was the other’s brother.  “Where do you think she’d be?”  The older boy without a soccer ball asked the question as he scanned the Piazza.

“Probably closer to the Basilica,” the boy with the ball, was quartering the far end of the Piazza with his eyes.  “I wish the Count could get some of his men here.”

“They’re all way out of position, Umberto,” the other older boy replied, “The Count really doesn’t want anything to go wrong with this peace agreement, that’s why he’s got them all miles away from here today.”

“I get that,” Umberto replied, “But we can’t stop the Crazy Countess on our own.  We need an adult.  Maybe more than one.”

“Enrico, Umberto,” the younger boy spoke up, “What about the Episcopal Guard?  They’re all over the Piazza because it’s diocesan property and the police can’t come here unless they have evidence or they’re invited.  They can’t want a shooting in front of the Basilica.”

The older boys looked at each other then at the younger boy.  “Federigo,” admitted his older brother, “That’s actually a really good idea.”  The three of them looked around.  “Trouble is,” he added, “Only the ones on the Palace gate and down near the Basilica are in uniform.”

“There are lots of minotaurs in the Episcopal Guard, aren’t there?” asked Umberto, his attention on a large man with curly brown hair, broad forehead and nose, protuberant ears and an impressive shoulder span who was sitting on a bollard and drinking a take away cup of coffee.

“Sure,” piped up Federigo, “Because of Bishop Russo giving sanctuary to the rescued first minotaurs.”

“Here goes then,” Umberto squared his shoulders and covered the twenty-odd feet between them and the man in civilian clothes then asked politely, the soccer ball still under his arm, “Excuse me sir, but are you in the Episcopal Guard?”

The man looked at him over the top of his coffee cup with clear, brown eyes.  “Why do you ask?”

“Someone tried to recruit us to attack some people who are at a wedding in the Basilica.”  Umberto tried to be concise, factual and truthful.  “We want to stop her without anyone getting hurt.  We can’t do it on our own, we need help.”

The man reached into his jacket with his left hand, pulled out a brown leather wallet and flipped it open.  One half held an identity card with his picture and the Papal, Episcopal and State seals.  The other half held a palm-sized badge of the Episcopal Guard, all in metal and bright enamels.  “I am Commissario Filippo Vaccaccio.  If you’re spinning me a story you can expect things to go badly for you.”

“The woman is Helena, Dowager Countess Strefagi.”  Umberto clarified.  “The people in the Basilica are there for a Desiderii family wedding.  My friend and I have text messages from her on our mobile phones.”

The two brothers had come up to join Umberto talking to the Commissario.  “Federigo and I,” put in Enrico, “Think she might have access to some weapons our father hid away when Count Stefano was in charge.  Our father,” the two brothers looked at each other, “Seemed to think that Count Terrence, as he is now, wouldn’t approve of them.”

The Commissario put away his ID card and badge.  “Show me one of these text messages?”  Umberto silently handed him his phone.  “Huh.  ‘17 old enough to do a man’s part.  Meet me 10 to noon, Piazza Sant’E & I’ll give you work.’  That at least gives probable cause for moral endangerment of a minor.”  He handed back the phone and looked at the three boys.  “Do you know her by sight?”

“Yes,” said Enrico, gazing down the Piazza towards the Basilica, “And the Crazy Countess just got out of a taxi.  That’s a very long bag she has with her.”

The others followed the direction of his gaze.  “That’s her in the dark brown coat and the sunglasses,” confirmed Umberto.

“Vacchetti, by the cut,” commented the Commissario as he stood and put his cup down on top of the bollard.  “I’ve heard that Helena Strefagi has expensive tastes.  That bag looks heavy and there’s at least one item in it that runs its full length.”  He narrowed his eyes and began to stroll towards the Basilica.  “We can’t get to her before she could get something out of the bag and we’ll start getting the lunchtime crowds in a few minutes.  I’d use the radio but the closest of our men is practically on top of her – she’d hear everything he did and I’ll bet he’s about to stop traffic for her to cross the road.”

“I think I can get us a minute or two,” Umberto said quietly as he dropped his school backpack on the ground, the contents making a solid thud as it hit the paving.  He stepped away from the others, bounced the soccer ball twice, then on the third bounce he threw himself sideways in the air and kicked the ball with the top of his foot.  As the ball flew through the air just above shoulder height Umberto fell to the ground with an, “Oomph!”  Before he could get to his feet the ball hit the woman in the dark brown coat in the head and she fell to the ground.

The Episcopal Guardsman almost next to her hurried over in concern as the soccer ball bounced away into traffic.  The driver of the wedding car in front of the Basilica and the similarly dressed man he was talking with looked on in surprise from the far side of the road as the Guardsman suddenly pulled his sidearm to point it at the prone woman and started talking hurriedly in to his radio.  From where he was the Commissario could see the glint of sunlight on metal from the long bag.

“Are you all right?”  The Commissario looked at Umberto with concern.

“Yes, thank you sir,” the boy carefully stood up and rubbed an elbow.  “That is so much easier on turf.”

“Good, because I believe it behoves us to jog over there.”  The Commissario spoke calmly but uniformed men were now running from a side gate of the Episcopal Palace towards the scene on the pavement opposite the Basilica.

Helena Strefagi came to her senses to find herself lying on the ground.  She had absolutely no idea of how she’d gotten there.  The last thing she could remember was getting out of the taxi.  The bag wasn’t in her hand any more, where was the bag?  As she turned her eye to look for it the barrel, the business end of a handgun pointed at her caught her eye.  It was suddenly the most important thing in the world.  More important, even, than the missing bag.

“Signora.”  It was a deep, calm, authoritative male voice.  “Please don’t move or the guardsman will feel obliged to shoot you.  Also, you had a nasty fall and banged your head – moving around may aggravate any injuries you have sustained.”

“I am Helena, Countess Strefagi,” she protested, “And I insist on being allowed to go on my way with my property!”

“You are the Dowager Countess Strefagi,” the calm voice corrected and she realised that the speaker must be directly behind her head, “And as you have been found in possession of firearms belonging to an illegal category of weapons, you have been witnessed in commission of a crime and found in possession of evidence of that crime.  Therefore I am placing you under arrest.  I must advise you that any statement you make may be used against you at your trial.  If you cannot afford an attorney then a public defender will be appointed to your case.  You will be transferred from here by ambulance to the Municipal Hospital where you will be examined and treated under the direction of the police doctor.  Whom do you wish me to advise of your arrest?”

At the end of the nuptial Mass the congregation followed the happy couple out of the Chapel into the body of the Basilica and then out the front entrance to the wedding car.  Most of them looked with interest at the remains of police activity on the far side of the road but as they were watching the last car drove off and the Episcopal Guardsmen on foot dispersed.  An enforcer who’d been watching the car with the driver made a quiet report to Count Bartolo while Rodolfo and Astanthe got into the car and were driven off to wedding photos and the reception.

Later that afternoon Commissario Vaccaccio was shown into an office inside the Episcopal Palace.  One large enough to have three windows facing the Piazza and high enough to see over the gate to the Basilica.  “Your Excellency wanted to see me?”  The big man was subtly deferential.  The Bishop was, after all, the man he ultimately worked for and represented.

“Yes, indeed.”  The middle aged man in the black cassock smiled, something that took ten years off his apparent age.  “I happened to be looking out the window a little before noon.  It was a most extraordinary scene.  I realise that you will have had no chance to write your report yet but I was hoping you could sit with me for a few minutes,” he indicated a comfortable guest chair, “And tell me what was in the bag that prompted the drawing of an issued weapon?”

Wedding Day (2)

This comes after Wedding Day (1).


Rodolfo stood there, calmly and with a small smile on his face, watching his Starflower come towards him.  Bartolo, looking at the bride’s gown, realised that he wasn’t overdressed or in fancy dress at all.

Out in the Piazza the taxi turned left out of the Via Ordinal and pulled up at the kerb opposite the parked wedding car.

Also in the Piazza but almost in front of the Episcopal Palace, three school boys looked around nervously.  One of the two seventeen year olds carried a soccer ball and the fourteen year old was the other’s brother.  “Where do you think she’d be?”  The older boy without a soccer ball asked the question as he scanned the Piazza.

“Probably closer to the Basilica,” the boy with the ball, was quartering the far end of the Piazza with his eyes.  “I wish the Count could get some of his men here.”

“They’re all way out of position, Umberto,” the other older boy replied, “The Count really doesn’t want anything to go wrong with this peace agreement, that’s why he’s got them all miles away from here today.”

“I get that,” Umberto replied, “But we can’t stop the Crazy Countess on our own.  We need an adult.  Maybe more than one.”

“Enrico, Umberto,” the younger boy spoke up, “What about the Episcopal Guard?  They’re all over the Piazza because it’s diocesan property and the police can’t come here unless they have evidence or they’re invited.  They can’t want a shooting in front of the Basilica.”

The older boys looked at each other then at the younger boy.  “Federigo,” admitted his older brother, “That’s actually a really good idea.”  The three of them looked around.  “Trouble is,” he added, “Only the ones on the Palace gate and down near the Basilica are in uniform.”

“There are lots of minotaurs in the Episcopal Guard, aren’t there?” asked Umberto, his attention on a large man with curly brown hair, broad forehead and nose, protuberant ears and an impressive shoulder span who was sitting on a bollard and drinking a take away cup of coffee.

“Sure,” piped up Federigo, “Because of Bishop Russo giving sanctuary to the rescued first minotaurs.”

“Here goes then,” Umberto squared his shoulders and covered the twenty-odd feet between them and the man in civilian clothes then asked politely, the soccer ball still under his arm, “Excuse me sir, but are you in the Episcopal Guard?”

The man looked at him over the top of his coffee cup with clear, brown eyes.  “Why do you ask?”

“Someone tried to recruit us to attack some people who are at a wedding in the Basilica.”  Umberto tried to be concise, factual and truthful.  “We want to stop her without anyone getting hurt.  We can’t do it on our own, we need help.”

The man reached into his jacket with his left hand, pulled out a brown leather wallet and flipped it open.  One half held an identity card with his picture and the Papal, Episcopal and State seals.  The other half held a palm-sized badge of the Episcopal Guard, all in metal and bright enamels.  “I am Commissario Filippo Vaccaccio.  If you’re spinning me a story you can expect things to go badly for you.”

“The woman is Helena, Dowager Countess Strefagi.”  Umberto clarified.  “The people in the Basilica are there for a Desiderii family wedding.  My friend and I have text messages from her on our mobile phones.”

The two brothers had come up to join Umberto talking to the Commissario.  “Federigo and I,” put in Enrico, “Think she might have access to some weapons our father hid away when Count Stefano was in charge.  Our father,” the two brothers looked at each other, “Seemed to think that Count Terrence, as he is now, wouldn’t approve of them.”

The Commissario put away his ID card and badge.  “Show me one of these text messages?”  Umberto silently handed him his phone.  “Huh.  ‘17 old enough to do a man’s part.  Meet me 10 to noon, Piazza Sant’E & I’ll give you work.’  That at least gives probable cause for moral endangerment of a minor.”  He handed back the phone and looked at the three boys.  “Do you know her by sight?”

“Yes,” said Enrico, gazing down the Piazza towards the Basilica, “And the Crazy Countess just got out of a taxi.  That’s a very long bag she has with her.”

The others followed the direction of his gaze.  “That’s her in the dark brown coat and the sunglasses,” confirmed Umberto.

“Vacchetti, by the cut,” commented the Commissario as he stood and put his cup down on top of the bollard.  “I’ve heard that Helena Strefagi has expensive tastes.  That bag looks heavy and there’s at least one item in it that runs its full length.”  He narrowed his eyes and began to stroll towards the Basilica.  “We can’t get to her before she could get something out of the bag and we’ll start getting the lunchtime crowds in a few minutes.  I’d use the radio but the closest of our men is practically on top of her – she’d hear everything he did and I’ll bet he’s about to stop traffic for her to cross the road.”

“I think I can get us a minute or two,” Umberto said quietly as he dropped his school backpack on the ground, the contents making a solid thud as it hit the paving.  He stepped away from the others, bounced the soccer ball twice, then on the third bounce he threw himself sideways in the air and kicked the ball with the top of his foot.  As the ball flew through the air just above shoulder height Umberto fell to the ground with an, “Oomph!”  Before he could get to his feet the ball hit the woman in the dark brown coat in the head and she fell to the ground.

The Episcopal Guardsman almost next to her hurried over in concern as the soccer ball bounced away into traffic.  The driver of the wedding car in front of the Basilica and the similarly dressed man he was talking with looked on in surprise from the far side of the road as the Guardsman suddenly pulled his sidearm to point it at the prone woman and started talking hurriedly in to his radio.  From where he was the Commissario could see the glint of sunlight on metal from the long bag.

“Are you all right?”  The Commissario looked at Umberto with concern.

“Yes, thank you sir,” the boy carefully stood up and rubbed an elbow.  “That is so much easier on turf.”

“Good, because I believe it behoves us to jog over there.”  The Commissario spoke calmly but uniformed men were now running from a side gate of the Episcopal Palace towards the scene on the pavement opposite the Basilica.

Helena Strefagi came to her senses to find herself lying on the ground.  She had absolutely no idea of how she’d gotten there.  The last thing she could remember was getting out of the taxi.  The bag wasn’t in her hand any more, where was the bag?  As she turned her eye to look for it the barrel, the business end of a handgun pointed at her caught her eye.  It was suddenly the most important thing in the world.  More important, even, than the missing bag.

“Signora.”  It was a deep, calm, authoritative male voice.  “Please don’t move or the guardsman will feel obliged to shoot you.  Also, you had a nasty fall and banged your head – moving around may aggravate any injuries you have sustained.”

“I am Helena, Countess Strefagi,” she protested, “And I insist on being allowed to go on my way with my property!”

“You are the Dowager Countess Strefagi,” the calm voice corrected and she realised that the speaker must be directly behind her head, “And as you have been found in possession of firearms belonging to an illegal category of weapons, you have been witnessed in commission of a crime and found in possession of evidence of that crime.  Therefore I am placing you under arrest.  I must advise you that any statement you make may be used against you at your trial.  If you cannot afford an attorney then a public defender will be appointed to your case.  You will be transferred from here by ambulance to the Municipal Hospital where you will be examined and treated under the direction of the police doctor.  Whom do you wish me to advise of your arrest?”

At the end of the nuptial Mass the congregation followed the happy couple out of the Chapel into the body of the Basilica and then out the front entrance to the wedding car.  Most of them looked with interest at the remains of police activity on the far side of the road but as they were watching the last car drove off and the Episcopal Guardsmen on foot dispersed.  An enforcer who’d been watching the car with the driver made a quiet report to Count Bartolo while Rodolfo and Astanthe got into the car and were driven off to wedding photos and the reception.

Later that afternoon Commissario Vaccaccio was shown into an office inside the Episcopal Palace.  One large enough to have three windows facing the Piazza and high enough to see over the gate to the Basilica.  “Your Excellency wanted to see me?”  The big man was subtly deferential.  The Bishop was, after all, the man he ultimately worked for and represented.

“Yes, indeed.”  The middle aged man in the black cassock smiled, something that took ten years off his apparent age.  “I happened to be looking out the window a little before noon.  It was a most extraordinary scene.  I realise that you will have had no chance to write your report yet but I was hoping you could sit with me for a few minutes,” he indicated a comfortable guest chair, “And tell me what was in the bag that prompted the drawing of an issued weapon?”

Wedding Day (3)

This leads on from Wedding Day (2).

The Commissario sat neatly in the chair.  The Bishop had chairs that were big enough for him.  “A Class A firearm, sir.  One of three in the bag.”  The Bishop gave him all of his attention.  “In addition, there were a number of Class B firearms that appear to be unregistered.  The Public Prosecutor has already been advised of the matter and I understand that the paperwork to bring the matter before the preliminary investigative judge may already be underway.”

“I was privileged to see the kick that young man made that felled the woman in question,” Bishop Riccanio moved on.  “Normally one would deplore deliberately hitting someone in the head with a kicked football, but under the circumstances I feel the young man did the right thing.  Is he involved in a team?  I can always pass his name on to a few people.”

“He tells me he is in the Calcio development program and hopes to be selected for the next Primavera competition.”  The Commissario paused.  “All three boys are the sons of Strefagi foot soldiers whose fathers died in recent years.  Apparently Count Terrence is paying their school expenses and encouraging them to pursue both their educations and their interests.”

“I believe,” the Bishop said slowly, “That we should put them on the list of diocesan bursary applicants, in the civic and social category if they qualify for nothing else.”

“As they left school without permission to attend to this matter,” the Commissario spoke delicately, “I intend to write to their headmaster and thank him for their assistance today.”

“Do that,” the Bishop nodded in agreement, “And I will write to him commending his school for instilling the students with the courage and discernment to act in the common good to their own disadvantage.  It should spare them some of the consequences they would otherwise suffer.  In my profession and position I believe that good deeds should be rewarded, not punished, despite the cynical comment in vogue these days.”

“As you say, sir,” the Commissario agreed.  “Will there be anything else?

“I will write to their mothers and thank them for their sons’ assistance, of course, and let their parish priests know that I will be happy to give each of them a character reference but I think that will be everything concerning the boys.  Are there likely to be any impediments to the investigation and hearing?”  The Bishop added the question almost as an after thought.

“Helena Strafagi needs a defence attorney before she can be interrogated,” the Commissario admitted slowly.

“I would have thought her brother-in-law would see to that.”  The Bishop raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Ah.  As to that, sir,” and the Commissario began to explain more recent events to his superior.

At much that moment, a gentleman of middle years was being shown into the police cells where Helena Strefagi was fuming. 
“Baiardo!  You came, thank God!”  Her exclamation echoed off the walls of the cell.  “Terrence has refused to pay for a defence attorney for me, even though he knows I have to have one to get out of here.”

“You’re my sister, Helena,” he replied quietly, “When you ask for my help from a police cell, I should at least give you the time of day.”

She stood against the bars and rested her hands on them.  “You have to get Terrence to change his mind.  Perhaps if you remind him of his duty and responsibility towards me?”  She paused.  “If he’s so lost to the requirements of his position that he still refuses, perhaps you could fund my defence?”

Marchese Baiardo Fraccelli looked quietly at his sister for a moment.  “Count Terrence spoke to me before he told you he wasn’t paying for your defence attorney,” he admitted.

“What!”  Helena was genuinely shocked.  “And you didn’t-“

“Helena,” he interrupted, “You chose to involve yourself in House Strefagi business.  There are rules.  You were happy to dish out orders and throw your weight around, but you failed to hold discipline and obey orders when you didn’t get your own way.”

“But he was just rolling over and letting them dictate to us,” she protested.  “Despite being the chief enforcer, he’s always been the softest but none of them, not even the old man or Amato, ever had Father’s drive.  I’ve had to keep showing them the right way to do things for years.”

“Father’s way,” commented Marchese Baiardo, “Would have had the Fraccellii in much the condition the Strefagii are in, if we had continued with it.  The world has changed, Helena, and it is Count Terrence’s job to recognise that and chart the House a course through new waters.  You disobeyed his orders and that puts you off on a frolic of your own.  You broke the bond that entitled you to his protection.”

“But he’s doing such foolish, wasteful things,” she objected forcefully, “Higher education for foot soldiers’ sons, coddling their widows and orphans, and encouraging someone who should be looking to be taken on as a foot soldier himself to play football!  That’s what comes of marrying a flunkey’s daughter.  Sheer foolishness.”

“He seems to be repositioning House Strefagi around its foreign investments,” commented Baiardo, “Which makes sense, they are what’s keeping the House afloat.  Growing his future foot soldiers into men who can read balance sheets makes sense in that context.  As for over supporting House relics, I thought you don’t like the changes he’s made to the support he gives you.”  He took in her expression and added slyly, “You are one of those widows he ‘coddles’, after all.  And as for the soccer player, well if the boy is as good as I hear and has some luck in the next few years, there could be considerable prestige accruing to the patron who encouraged and supported him in developing his talent.”

“You’re not going to help me, are you?”  Helena’s hands dropped to her sides in disappointment.

“No,” agreed her brother, “I’m going to support Count Terrence’s decision.  You will either have to pay for a defence attorney from your allowance or ask that the Public Prosecutor appoint one for you from the list.”  He put up a warning hand as she went to speak.  “And before you say anything more about duty, you might like to consider who it was who refused to allow an ill man to be nursed through a long terminal decline in his own home, foisting his care onto her sister-in-law, and who was found carrying a grenade launcher with grenades in the centre of town this morning.”

Monday morning, about half past ten, Rodolfo strolled into the garage in Razagettone where Terris kept his racing vehicle.  It was a light industrial area, full of workshops, and slightly run down so rents were cheap.  Terris and his mechanic friend were working on the racer.  Noting the hip width under the overalls bent over under the bonnet, Rodolfo wondered if Count Terrence knew that his son’s mechanic was a girl.

“Ahem.”  He coughed to announce himself.  The girl straightened and turned from under the bonnet, a heavy wrench in hand, a pretty thing with a fat braid of reddy-brown hair pinned up around her head.  Sensible too, if the wrench was any indication.

Terris pushed himself out from under the vehicle on a trolley, dark hair all skew-whiff and a drip of something oily on his face.  “Oh.  Um.”  Rodolfo thought, with some amusement, that the boy wasn’t sure what to call him.  “I suppose you’ve come to see the signage?”

“Yes.”  Rodolfo allowed his amusement to show through.  “You can call me Rodolfo.  We are brothers-in-law, after all.  I’ve come to have a look at the signage on your racer.”

“Rodolfo,” Terris made introductions, “This is my mechanic, Loren Piccolo.  Loren, this is our very generous sponsor and my new brother-in-law, Rodolfo Desideri.”

The girl looked slightly taken aback but extended her hand with a smile and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”  She shot a look at Terris and added, “Terris is right.  You have been very generous.  I haven’t dared tell my father or brothers what you’ve let us install or they’d be all over the place down here and I’d be out of the team.”

“Let’s see what Terris can do with them, shall we?”  Rodolfo shook her hand, nice and firm he noted, then said, “I need to talk to Terris about some family stuff, Loren.”  He pulled a couple of five ruspone coins from his pocket, held them out to her and asked, apologetically, “Would you mind go and getting coffee for the two of you while I have a quiet word with him?”

Loren flashed a glance at Terris, then put out her hand and said, “Sure.  The usual, Terris?”

“That’ll be fine.  Thanks.”  Rodolfo caught the nervous undertone but didn’t think the mechanic did.

The two men watched her as she bounced out of the garage and round the corner in her work boots and loose, blue overalls.
“She seems nice,” commented Rodolfo, “You could do a great deal worse,” and caught Terris completely off guard when he surged towards him then lifted the younger man single handed by the throat and held him pinned against the back of a concrete supporting pillar, completely hidden from the street outside.  “Now I have your complete attention, Terris,” Rodolfo went on calmly, “I would like to make it very clear to you that you will never, ever again use any female relative as collateral for a financial transaction.”  Terris was certainly fixated, aside from being treated like a trapped rabbit, he was realising how strong his brother-in-law must be to do what he was doing.  “Not your remaining unmarried sisters.  Not your presumably as yet unsired daughters.  Certainly not your eventual granddaughters.  If I ever,” Rodolfo gave him a gentle shake, “Hear that you that you have done such a thing I will see to it that you disappear and that the body is never found.  Do you understand me?”
“Y-yes,” it was croaked as much as spoken.  Once it was said, Rodolfo put him down and dusted his hands off.
“Your sisters have all been extraordinarily lucky,” Rodolfo added, “But it’s best that it doesn’t happen again.  Now, all of this started because you wanted to win some races.  I’d better leave you to your work so you can get that done.”  He smiled at Terris again.

Wedding Day (3)

This leads on from Wedding Day (2).

The Commissario sat neatly in the chair.  The Bishop had chairs that were big enough for him.  “A Class A firearm, sir.  One of three in the bag.”  The Bishop gave him all of his attention.  “In addition, there were a number of Class B firearms that appear to be unregistered.  The Public Prosecutor has already been advised of the matter and I understand that the paperwork to bring the matter before the preliminary investigative judge may already be underway.”

“I was privileged to see the kick that young man made that felled the woman in question,” Bishop Riccanio moved on.  “Normally one would deplore deliberately hitting someone in the head with a kicked football, but under the circumstances I feel the young man did the right thing.  Is he involved in a team?  I can always pass his name on to a few people.”

“He tells me he is in the Calcio development program and hopes to be selected for the next Primavera competition.”  The Commissario paused.  “All three boys are the sons of Strefagi foot soldiers whose fathers died in recent years.  Apparently Count Terrence is paying their school expenses and encouraging them to pursue both their educations and their interests.”

“I believe,” the Bishop said slowly, “That we should put them on the list of diocesan bursary applicants, in the civic and social category if they qualify for nothing else.”

“As they left school without permission to attend to this matter,” the Commissario spoke delicately, “I intend to write to their headmaster and thank him for their assistance today.”

“Do that,” the Bishop nodded in agreement, “And I will write to him commending his school for instilling the students with the courage and discernment to act in the common good to their own disadvantage.  It should spare them some of the consequences they would otherwise suffer.  In my profession and position I believe that good deeds should be rewarded, not punished, despite the cynical comment in vogue these days.”

“As you say, sir,” the Commissario agreed.  “Will there be anything else?

“I will write to their mothers and thank them for their sons’ assistance, of course, and let their parish priests know that I will be happy to give each of them a character reference but I think that will be everything concerning the boys.  Are there likely to be any impediments to the investigation and hearing?”  The Bishop added the question almost as an after thought.

“Helena Strafagi needs a defence attorney before she can be interrogated,” the Commissario admitted slowly.

“I would have thought her brother-in-law would see to that.”  The Bishop raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Ah.  As to that, sir,” and the Commissario began to explain more recent events to his superior.

At much that moment, a gentleman of middle years was being shown into the police cells where Helena Strefagi was fuming. 
“Baiardo!  You came, thank God!”  Her exclamation echoed off the walls of the cell.  “Terrence has refused to pay for a defence attorney for me, even though he knows I have to have one to get out of here.”

“You’re my sister, Helena,” he replied quietly, “When you ask for my help from a police cell, I should at least give you the time of day.”

She stood against the bars and rested her hands on them.  “You have to get Terrence to change his mind.  Perhaps if you remind him of his duty and responsibility towards me?”  She paused.  “If he’s so lost to the requirements of his position that he still refuses, perhaps you could fund my defence?”

Marchese Baiardo Fraccelli looked quietly at his sister for a moment.  “Count Terrence spoke to me before he told you he wasn’t paying for your defence attorney,” he admitted.

“What!”  Helena was genuinely shocked.  “And you didn’t-“

“Helena,” he interrupted, “You chose to involve yourself in House Strefagi business.  There are rules.  You were happy to dish out orders and throw your weight around, but you failed to hold discipline and obey orders when you didn’t get your own way.”

“But he was just rolling over and letting them dictate to us,” she protested.  “Despite being the chief enforcer, he’s always been the softest but none of them, not even the old man or Amato, ever had Father’s drive.  I’ve had to keep showing them the right way to do things for years.”

“Father’s way,” commented Marchese Baiardo, “Would have had the Fraccellii in much the condition the Strefagii are in, if we had continued with it.  The world has changed, Helena, and it is Count Terrence’s job to recognise that and chart the House a course through new waters.  You disobeyed his orders and that puts you off on a frolic of your own.  You broke the bond that entitled you to his protection.”

“But he’s doing such foolish, wasteful things,” she objected forcefully, “Higher education for foot soldiers’ sons, coddling their widows and orphans, and encouraging someone who should be looking to be taken on as a foot soldier himself to play football!  That’s what comes of marrying a flunkey’s daughter.  Sheer foolishness.”

“He seems to be repositioning House Strefagi around its foreign investments,” commented Baiardo, “Which makes sense, they are what’s keeping the House afloat.  Growing his future foot soldiers into men who can read balance sheets makes sense in that context.  As for over supporting House relics, I thought you don’t like the changes he’s made to the support he gives you.”  He took in her expression and added slyly, “You are one of those widows he ‘coddles’, after all.  And as for the soccer player, well if the boy is as good as I hear and has some luck in the next few years, there could be considerable prestige accruing to the patron who encouraged and supported him in developing his talent.”

“You’re not going to help me, are you?”  Helena’s hands dropped to her sides in disappointment.

“No,” agreed her brother, “I’m going to support Count Terrence’s decision.  You will either have to pay for a defence attorney from your allowance or ask that the Public Prosecutor appoint one for you from the list.”  He put up a warning hand as she went to speak.  “And before you say anything more about duty, you might like to consider who it was who refused to allow an ill man to be nursed through a long terminal decline in his own home, foisting his care onto her sister-in-law, and who was found carrying a grenade launcher with grenades in the centre of town this morning.”

Monday morning, about half past ten, Rodolfo strolled into the garage in Razagettone where Terris kept his racing vehicle.  It was a light industrial area, full of workshops, and slightly run down so rents were cheap.  Terris and his mechanic friend were working on the racer.  Noting the hip width under the overalls bent over under the bonnet, Rodolfo wondered if Count Terrence knew that his son’s mechanic was a girl.

“Ahem.”  He coughed to announce himself.  The girl straightened and turned from under the bonnet, a heavy wrench in hand, a pretty thing with a fat braid of reddy-brown hair pinned up around her head.  Sensible too, if the wrench was any indication.

Terris pushed himself out from under the vehicle on a trolley, dark hair all skew-whiff and a drip of something oily on his face.  “Oh.  Um.”  Rodolfo thought, with some amusement, that the boy wasn’t sure what to call him.  “I suppose you’ve come to see the signage?”

“Yes.”  Rodolfo allowed his amusement to show through.  “You can call me Rodolfo.  We are brothers-in-law, after all.  I’ve come to have a look at the signage on your racer.”

“Rodolfo,” Terris made introductions, “This is my mechanic, Loren Piccolo.  Loren, this is our very generous sponsor and my new brother-in-law, Rodolfo Desideri.”

The girl looked slightly taken aback but extended her hand with a smile and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”  She shot a look at Terris and added, “Terris is right.  You have been very generous.  I haven’t dared tell my father or brothers what you’ve let us install or they’d be all over the place down here and I’d be out of the team.”

“Let’s see what Terris can do with them, shall we?”  Rodolfo shook her hand, nice and firm he noted, then said, “I need to talk to Terris about some family stuff, Loren.”  He pulled a couple of five ruspone coins from his pocket, held them out to her and asked, apologetically, “Would you mind go and getting coffee for the two of you while I have a quiet word with him?”

Loren flashed a glance at Terris, then put out her hand and said, “Sure.  The usual, Terris?”

“That’ll be fine.  Thanks.”  Rodolfo caught the nervous undertone but didn’t think the mechanic did.

The two men watched her as she bounced out of the garage and round the corner in her work boots and loose, blue overalls.
“She seems nice,” commented Rodolfo, “You could do a great deal worse,” and caught Terris completely off guard when he surged towards him then lifted the younger man single handed by the throat and held him pinned against the back of a concrete supporting pillar, completely hidden from the street outside.  “Now I have your complete attention, Terris,” Rodolfo went on calmly, “I would like to make it very clear to you that you will never, ever again use any female relative as collateral for a financial transaction.”  Terris was certainly fixated, aside from being treated like a trapped rabbit, he was realising how strong his brother-in-law must be to do what he was doing.  “Not your remaining unmarried sisters.  Not your presumably as yet unsired daughters.  Certainly not your eventual granddaughters.  If I ever,” Rodolfo gave him a gentle shake, “Hear that you that you have done such a thing I will see to it that you disappear and that the body is never found.  Do you understand me?”
“Y-yes,” it was croaked as much as spoken.  Once it was said, Rodolfo put him down and dusted his hands off.
“Your sisters have all been extraordinarily lucky,” Rodolfo added, “But it’s best that it doesn’t happen again.  Now, all of this started because you wanted to win some races.  I’d better leave you to your work so you can get that done.”  He smiled at Terris again.