As tears go by

// 25 Longarone

The Ferrari was in the parking lot under the steep wall of the rocky mountain that towered the hotel. There were no other cars parked there by day. It was logic, during the day travellers moved around. None was staying in that hotel daytime. It was just a one night stop. No SPA, no swimming pool. No whores. Spartan rooms. No cable TV, no Wi-Fi. Lorry drivers, travelling salesmen, cyclists and climbers used to hit places like that for a short break. Sergei looked overhead. The sky over the mountains was deep blue like a precious stone. Longarone was some clicks back. He did not need a second look at the car. The "Stradale" had sent Commissario Ferro the plate. They had discovered that blondie slept in the hotel; she checked in giving a fake name and no ID number at all, she told the hotel manager she had her ID in the bottom of her duffel bag. Saying so, she paid the night right away so the hotel manager didn't bother to ask again her ID as required by the Italian law. Dibernardo asked him twice what she did and what she said, but the man grimaced, rubbed his clean chin, shook his head in silence. A waitress helped him a tad more. She told him the guest set off on the bus with the German students. When Dibernardo asked where the bus was bound, the waitress answered with one word only: Venezia. Dibernardo did not buy it. It was a ruse. She had got off early.

Ferro's cell phone rang. She answered. She listened and hung up. He looked Dibernardo in the eyes. "A barman recognized her. Not far from here. Yesterday she sat with one of his patrons and had a little nice long conversation."

"To whom she spoke to?" he asked uncertain he got Ferro's words right.

"Well, this is strange."

"Shoot."

An old drunkard. A nobody called Svagna."

He rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Did the barman overhead their conversation?"

"No, but Svagna was so excited that after she left he ran his mouth with him."

She told him the meat of it.

Sergei listened and relieved. "All over there are old drunks able to sell you their parents for a drink."

"Here on the mountains, people do not know what to do other than working, so they drink, and when they are drunk they run their mouths."

"Also, in my town was like that, but at the end of the Union, people left vodka for home-made drugs. They bought codeine, which was available without a prescription, boiled it up with petrol and they got krokodil. My parents OD'd."

"Where are you from?"

"A small village near Ufa. "

"Ufa? There is a great ice hockey team there. Once I saw a match at Arena, I guess it was in 1995."

"You speaking about Salavat Ioulaev Oufa, it's a bit they don't win, Last win was Gagarin in 2011. Haven't you read my papka?

Sergei nodded."Yes, I remember your story. After your parents OD'd, the Militia sent you in a Dom rybionka."

"I was adopted by an Italian couple."

"After years of perfect happiness here in Italy, you ended up in Polizia di Stato. I am lucky you didn't forget the motherland."

"Cut the crap, Dibernardo. I work for you because you pay cold cash not because I miss the Russian climate or my storied past. Let's go."

They started the car and left the parking lot, California bound.

"What do you think of her?"

She shrugged."The only thing I knew is that you want to frame her for a homicide she likely didn't commit. I am helping you because you are going to pay me sumptuously. I am not interested in other than that."

Sergei grinned. "You are a cynic cold ass."

"For this reason we work together."

He interjected. "Excuse me for a moment, An incoming phone call from one of my soldier... I sent them to Venice Airport to check the flights."

"Do you think she went to the airport?" she said.

"I don't think she is so gullible to go to an airport to run away. I sent them there to make themselves inconspicuous and also because it is a good point to move on if..."

"I got it, you don't have to lecture me on everything."

He listened to the phone call.

When he hung up he was crossed.

"Actually, she went to the airport. My men bumped in her."

"So she discovered we are on her trail... and what happened? They busted her?"

He shook his head. "No, she overpowered them. Three operatives. It is unbelievable."

"Wow, she is not just a pussy, after all."

He grunted and shook his head. "She must have the blood of his grand mother. She was a night witch."

"Sorry?"

"During the Patriotic, German soldiers called them die Nachthexe, Night Witches, because they flight by night mostly, and to avoid detection and scare the Nazi soldiers, they idled the engines near the target and glided to the bomb-release point, with only wind noise left to reveal their presence. German soldiers likened the sound of their old planes to broomsticks, and named the pilots "Night Witches". They did not carry parachutes because they were low altitude flights. In 43 their regiment, 588th Night Bomber Regiment, was honored with the Guards designation. It was the most highly decorated female unit in the Soviet Air Force, with many pilots having flown over 800 missions by the end of the war, and twenty-three have been awarded the Hero of the Soviet Union title. They flight old wood-and-canvas Polikarpov U-2 biplanes."

"You are right. She must have her grandmother's blood."

"Actually, they were a family of badasses. Her mother was KGB."