Chapter 37
Until the end of the summer holidays the gang saw very little of Scipio, because Lorenzo kept his son busy. In the mornings Scipio mounted the train to Padova to attend his cooking class, as in Venice no courses were offered during the summer break, he ate with his peers, what he had cooked and took the train back to Venice in the early afternoon. After a quick shower he went to his dance class. And evenings were either spent at some dinner party with this father, at the gym with his fencing coach or with Adriano who taught him self-defence. Weekends were spent with Marlena at various riding, tennis or sailing clubs or matinees. And always Scipio found himself surrounded by girls.
And since Scipio was so busy, he learnt only from afar what was going on in the Stella. Phone calls to his friends were always very late at night, when most of the gang was sleeping peacefully after a long hard day full of work. And so really Hornet was the only one, who had some contact with their friend and kept him updated.
She amused him with the tale of how the entire gang had ended up at the hairdresser. Only a few days ago Prop had knelt behind Barbarossa's desk with only the back of his head being visible. Before he had been able to stand up and turn around to greet his customers, he had been addressed as signorina. An embarrassed Prop had come home that late afternoon, had fetched his brother Bo and the other boys and had gone to the nearest hairdresser to have his hair - he had begun wearing it in a short pony tail by necessity - cut off in a fashionable new and much shorter hairstyle that made him look older than he actually was. Only when he smiled one could see his real age. He had negotiated a good deal with the hairdresser and all four of them left a little while later with new hair styles for the price of two and a half cuts, because Mosca didn't really count with his hair being as frizzy as it was due to his African heritage. And Bo had changed back from being a black Italian devil into a blond angel, albeit a very shorthaired one.
Not so amusing he found the fact that Mona's mother had started to ask about her daughter's boyfriend quite insistently. And Mona was every day a bit more backed into a corner. Time was running out on her and Prop.
And he was downright scared for his friends, when he learnt that one afternoon according to her description of the men, Marcello Fano and a guy from the local water and electricity company had been about to open the side entrance of the Stella, when Hornet had come around the corner, carrying two shopping bags.
She hadn't known who these men were, but they had been almost in a quarrel, when she had carefully approached them and heard parts of their heated conversation.
"…that proves nothing at all."
"But the tape in front is intact, the padlock's a bit rusty and this..." Marcello Fano held up a large old-fashioned iron key "…is the only key to the movie theatre. How often do I have to repeat myself, signore Pescatori, that it is impossible that someone lives here. This old building hasn't been entered for ages. There must be a leakage or someone has tapped into the wires and pipes on purpose. Look around yourself. This isn't exactly the richest part of Venice or even Castello."
"And I keep telling you that it's completely irrelevant, where we are. You wouldn't believe it, how many times we found that it's not always the poor who do their best to manipulate our supply lines. You say none has entered here. If that's true, please explain the fresh scratch marks at the lock."
The short and bespectacled man with black hair in his late forties had pointed at the heavy looking door.
"So someone tried to get in. But the fact alone that this door is locked, proves that they haven't got in."
"Signore Fano, my company looses hundreds of thousands Euros each year. I insist upon you opening that door and we take a look inside. It can only be in your interest to exclude the possibility of homeless people living under this roof. After all, if something happens to anyone in there, it's your boss who has to deal with the insurance company and the police. And if this place really is deserted, we have to concede faulty supply lines and won't bother you anymore with dunning letters to pay the bills."
Marcello had thought a moment. The other man had been right. It had been in their best interest to solve this matter for once and for all.
"Va bene." He had inserted the key into the lock, had turned it around and had opened the door. They had been about to enter the pitch black darkness, when Hornet had shouted out to them.
"HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THIS MOVIE THEATRE IS CLOSED! Me dad says it's so rotten, that it's most probably close to collapse. You can't just enter! Where are your helmets? Where are your flashlights? Me dad says careless people like you cause most accidents on construction sites. Besides, this belongs to dottor Massimo. I suppose he won't like it when people enter without permission."
Signor Pescatori had narrowed his eyes. A noisy know-it-all had been the last thing he had needed right now. Besides he had had two other meeting on his agenda still this afternoon and had felt he wouldn't be home on time, if he kept dawdling.
"What we do here, is of no concern to you, girl."
Marcello Fano had shot the man a dark look.
"We do have the keys and his permission. Say, do you live close by?"
Warily Horne thad looked at him.
"Why do you want to know? Me dad says I shouldn't tell strangers where I live. Too many dirty old men and too many toffs roam the streets with no good on their minds, me dad says."
"Don't worry. We're only interested in this building."
"Why?" Hornets heart had raced. Why hadn't Scipio warned them? Or hadn't he known? She had been just glad that the others hadn't been in this afternoon. Prosper had been working and the other boys had been out with Bo at a playground.
"Do you want to buy the old pile? Me dad says only an foreign idiot would buy it."
"No, nothing of that kind. I'm Marcello Fano and the personal assistant of the dottor. We…it's been reported that strangers have been around here and now we have to check up on it."
"He is police?" She had pointed her fingers towards the other man.
"No. Signor Pescatori is from the water and electricity company. Have you seen any strangers around here? Maybe some vucumpras looking for shelter?" Marcello had referred to the costers who sold cheap fake leather bags and other goods of prestigious fashion labels like Gucci. The poor men mostly came illegally from Africa and were mostly only tolerated at best in the town.
Her thoughts had jumped from one idea to the other and had been as quickly dismissed as they had been produced by her imaginative mind in overdrive. She had smelled suddenly her chance, when Marcello had mentioned the vucumpras to convince both men that the Stella was deserted.
"NIGGERS?!" she had screeched. "Me dad says they shall show only one of their black faces around here and they'll regret it until the end of their worthless lives. We don't want no niggers around here. They're dirty and they can't speak proper Veneziano. They can't even talk proper Italian." Hornet had wrinkled her nose to show her contempt and odium for them.
"Ahm…yes." Marcello had been taken aback on a personal level. Was this campo a stronghold of the extreme right-winged Lega della Purità Veneziana? However, on business level it might have proved to be a stroke of luck to have met this girl who was still young and naïve enough to parrot unconsidered what the adults preached.
"And any other kind of strangers? Maybe some homeless?"
"Are you mad? This is a decent campo! We don't want any lazy drunk criminal riffraff or foreigners around here. Why do you ask? Are you really no cops? Because if you are, I won't tell you anymore! I know your kind. You try to flatter your way into the community and make us lower our guards and then you sell us out to the liberals. Me dad knows all about you. Just over there a young woman used to live. One day she brought a guy home from over there." Hornet had pointed with her thumb over her shoulder to indicate that his young man had come from the Balkans. "YAK! Isn't that gross?! But her brother put quickly an end to it, says me dad. He beat the guy to an inch of death. And what had happened? Police came and put him into jail! And the scumbag got into hospital, where they spent lots of time and Italian resources on putting him back together instead of shipping him right back to where he had come from. Can you believe that? Francesco repaired the family honour and showed them all what happens if one of them raises their filthy eyes to decent Italian girls and he got convicted to five years for assault. Me dad says, it's just a shame that the scumbag didn't die. He says they shouldn't have sent Francesco to jail but given him a medal for civil courage."
Marcello and the man had exchanged grave looks before signor Pescatori had dismissed. Hornets knees had started trembling. Had she overdone it? But these thoughts were hawked in pamphlets of the Lega. One day she had picked up one of it from the pavement and read before she had thrown it into the next trash bin.
Slowly Marcello had shut the door again and had locked it. In an area that infected by hate and prejudices, surely no homeless or any other poor soul could last long enough to use water or electricity.
Hornet hadn't dared to breath a deep sigh of relief yet.
"Do you agree that the matter is solved? I think we can safely assume there is really a leakage in the pipes and lines. What ever it is, it has nothing to do with the Stella."
The man had nodded defeated.
"Let's go. I will report to my superiors accordingly."
They had said goodbye to Hornet, who had followed them slowly down the narrow passageway and then had turned left, when they had turned right to walk down the little calle, passing by the sports shop. When she had been finally sure, the men wouldn't return, she hadmade her way hastily back to the Stella and had taken out their duplicate key. Once inside, she just had made it to the main switch before her knees had given out and she had slumped trembling down to the floor, where she had sat for a long time to calm herself. Much later a proud smile had begun to spread on her face and with new energy she had put their provisions away before she left again to buy a huge cake to feast upon with her family.