Former reporter for the press, Claudio Giacchino has followed all the most sensational Turin cases of “black”, terrorism and the mafia from the seventies to the nineties. Member of the Torinoir collective of writers, he is the author of numerous novels. For Edizioni del Capricorno he published the noir “Heaven and hell in Turin” (2020). We publish an extract of the novel on newsstands from tomorrow with La Stampa.
“Go on. Here, take that away. Via Nietzsche. “
«Like the philosopher of the Superman. ”
“Him in person. “
“But it’s off-limits to traffic. “
“There are no police officers to fine you here. You see, there are cars over there … listen to me, I’ll show you that at the gates of the big city there is a small zoo … “
A roar.
Another.
One third.
Marina turns off the radio. “But what are they doing? “
Giorgio nails, a thought strikes him, They are making a film.
More roars.
Deafening.
Paralyzed by surprise, Giorgio realizes it’s not a movie scene.
A new roar.
Marina, in a moan «What is it, what is it? “
Giorgio does not believe his eyes: on the ground, next to the wreck of an SUV, an obscene stuff has rolled, it looks like a head, a piece of head but of course, the one facing up is a face.
What remains of a face.
Marina’s blue eyes meet the Ray-Bans of a thin man with a ponytail, who appeared next to the wreck of the RAV. Behind, the ruddy face of a fat man. Both are wearing mechanic’s overalls. In hand, guns. Further to the left, a man in a jacket: he watches Marina watching him.
Panza da Birra, Coda di Cavallo with Ray-Bans and Achille Tripodi: for a handful of seconds, frozen in wonder, motionless in the flood, they stare at the Volvo, the man and the woman watching them behind the windshield swept by the wiper with wide open mouth: in the looks surprise, disbelief, panic, terror.
The first to return to himself is Ponytail: he raises the shotgun, points it at Tripodi.
A new thunder deafens Marina and Giorgio. Romeo Foti’s driver sensed the danger, while the two black holes at the top of the gun barrel framed him, he had time to grab the gun.
But it is late, the armored bullet rips through the chest, tears flesh, arteries, ribs, heart, lungs, comes out of the back, ends its run in the bark of a tree, thirty meters beyond.
Marina sees the man hit by the thunder spinning around on himself, flying backwards. “God, God,” Marina gasps, puts her hands to her face.
Giorgio presses the accelerator, the Volvo jumps away, swerves, hits the RAV, touches the red Giulia, heads towards the dirt path and crashes into the stone bollards.
Panza da Birra has already fired at the car. He missed it. Reload.
The Volvo is stationary, a spiral of smoke rising from the hood. Impossible to miss the target again.
A thunder.
Due.
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