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 Chellini's Solution A quiet, resourceful Italian-American war hero living in a small New Jersey town in the late '40s takes action after he learns his wife may be having an affair. Waiting in the shadows under the viaduct, Chellini watched as Marzano leapt from behind the driver's wheel to unlock and open the garage doors, then climbed back up to manipulate his empty truck until it was snug inside the bay. As Chellini approached, Ambrose toddling too, he wondered if the blood of the missing Stucchi had once stained the concrete floor. Marzano was more than surprised to find a visitor in the darkness. "Mother of God!" he shouted in Italian. "Chellini, you put a fright in me!" Ambrose growled from his belly. "And that dog of yours! What a disposition! Miserable!" Marzano turned his back on Chellini as he secured the lock and yanked on the knob for good measure. Not exactly Fort Knox, Chellini thought. Adjusting his cap and hitching up his floppy slacks, Marzano shoved his hands in his pockets and started his walk south to the Italian quarter some six blocks away. Chellini stood still, as did Ambrose. Marzano stopped. "You want to talk, Chellini?" Chellini looked at the rubbish beneath his feet. Marzano tilted his head as he returned. "Has this to do with Lydia?" Chellini nodded. Marzano wiped his brown lips with the back of his grimy hand. "Well?" Chellini said, "Grupo Azione Patrioti." Marzano frowned. "Grupo Azione Patrioti," he repeated. "The G.A.P.?" As he nodded, Chellini saw that Marzano had begun to understand. "You're saying to me this motherless bastard is a Nazi?" Marzano asked, as he stepped into the black space Chellini and Ambrose now occupied. The smell of urine and gasoline surrounded them. Chellini shrugged. If the light had permitted, Chellini would have seen that Marzano's neck and ears were now bright red. His heart was racing inside his chest. "The Nazis," he said, "they raped my sister." Chellini thought this unlikely, though it was a tale Marzano repeated often in the neighborhood. His sister had no doubt taken a Nazi lover, if only for the food and security he could provide. Regrettably, many confused young women had, and not only in San Remo, Marzano's birthplace and former home. "They made a mockery of us," he continued, jabbing himself in the chest with a stiff finger, which he then pointed toward the sky. Ambrose was sniffing the dirt, exhuming messages from countless dogs who had preceded him to this spot. Marzano put his right hand over his heart. "I pledged myself to the G.A.P.," he said, adding, "Even though I was too young to participate." Also not true. Marzano was at least 35 years old, perhaps 40. The G.A.P., a unit of the marginally organized partisan movement in Italy, had recruited teenage boys when necessary to resist the Nazi occupation. Marzano would have been well into his 20s when the Nazis arrived. "And now this godless pig is here! Taking our women again! And who knows how many?" Chellini shrugged, though now the gesture suggested Marzano had summarized the situation with admirable insight. "Leave everything to me," Marzano said, tapping Chellini on the shoulder. "It will be a pleasure. Hell, I do it for free." Chellini nodded, but as Marzano began to walk away, he called to him. Again, Marzano stopped and peered into the darkness. Chellini said, "Avrete bisogno di una lama splendida." Marzano stroked his chin. "A superb knife, eh?" He smiled knowingly. "Revenge with a twist, Chellini. Clever man!" Appears in Mystery Writers of America Presents Death Do Us Part: New Stories about Love, Lust, and Murder edited by Harlan Coben. Published in Summer 2006. All stories © Jim Fusilli 2005. Reprinted with permission. For permission to reprint, contact the author at jimfusillibooks@aol.com. |