We had done nothing all week.
We followed the route of the vans, some in cars, people on scooters, on foot. As a hardened financier who strives obsessively in the search for loopholes to order them to pay some mysterious fee.
Every morning at 7:00 o'clock I sat on the corner of Via Filzi and Corso Dante, where there is the little bar of Arthur, the Moroccan.
In his local kebab sucks, but the donuts that make them a show. Soft, warm and overflowing with cream. One morning I also missed an appointment with our goal, but I did not say anything to others, I scored the usual time on the sheet that I carry around, cleaning the well and the Anointed One of the best zeppole.
Do not ask me why we can call an African Arturo and is an expert baker. Always my theory is that it was adopted by a family of South Tyrol. After all, it would explain his expertise with the strudel, and the inability to achieve an absolute Kousa Kousa you can only eat.
My cousin Tony had forced me to follow him in this business because his cock three days before had caught Carluccio, the companion of snacks. During an earlier flight had not complied with a cross and the garbage truck took him right in his throwing panda on the sidewalk. When the police arrived they found a man lying dazed on the front seat who muttered something incomprehensible trying to emerge from a pile of hundred tickets that now smelled like rotten fish. If it was not finished in a wheelchair for the rest of his days there would be almost laughable.
Honestly I would rather go to take lessons at school, but when we called the family, there is no commitment that takes. Let alone the study.
I looked at my companions.
That was the morning of the big day.
Peppe was standing in a corner with the barrel of the AK on the floor and the bald head bouncing football. I found that the waiting was killing him, moreover he had stopped smoking for one week transforming her sunny laugh in a satanic grin every time someone lit a cigarette.
Yamal staring into space keeping the gun in his pants as he had the fear of losing it at every jolt. He kept his hand on the abdomen as Julio Iglesias the best of times. I was convinced that at any moment would be standing up to sing "I am a pirate, I am a gentleman, a professional love." I do not know where they had picked up, I had never seen around. My cousin had mentioned that I had found him on a tour to Zen, had seemed to wake up (and, if he put it) and apparently had had experience as a rebel in Mauritania before reaching in Italy as a stowaway. Rebel of thing, then you do not know ... even Jim Morrison described himself as a rebel, but it was not automatically a virtuoso of the robbery and assault rifles.
Then there was me, not very comfortable with the Beretta in his hand, and Tony.
Tony was the reference point of the family.
To friends always told of his troubled childhood and how he ran away from home to twelve years to build a culture. He said he had hitchhiked across Europe until you get over the English Channel, Brighton. There it was determined at a generous family and had studied in college a luxury.
repeated Always entertaining episodes of school, as was a model student, the Anglo-Saxon girls, fights of the evening in the pub. For some time I also thought her stories, then I realized that the manual to use the Playstation everything in English was for him a treatise in unknown language and he used his fingers to make three and two. Eventually I found out through another cousin, who twenty years earlier had indeed passed through Italy, but to stop and Locate Triulzi where he had barely completed three years of a technical institute to devote himself full time to his work more fun pizza delivery service, from which he had been fired over and over again. Within a year he was hired and cast at least fifteen pizzerias.
Oh, almost forgot. The acrid smoke and stink that came in that sort of tabernacle, was the cigar stravecchio Tore, nicknamed "Ayrton" because of his ability to drive.
He is not confused with the group. It was in the driving seat and you could barely see through the window. Try to talk to him, beyond the smokescreen, as was groped a glimpse of the features of the priest beyond the grate of the confessional, only instead of perfume holy water came the stench of the cigar.
front of us the white van when it left the bank and load of bucks, just like the chest of Scrooge McDuck.
addition, Uncle Benito on Vespino smarmittato.
As a young man had worked as a stunt-man in Cinecittà . He was half drunk, I went to pick up in some dive of Trastevere actions when there were dangerous to do, then where avevno found and reported in the morning he woke up with a one hundred thousand in his hand. Probably if he had been sober he would never have done. But in his camp was a professional.
This morning he had already planned everything. Oil can upside down in the middle of Via Trieste, one-way street and so the rear brake.
We were almost there. If I'd had enough already of the nauseating stench of the cigar, someone had the bright idea to expel gas unheard of rot gut. Risked to vomit, thinking that the world there was something worse than risking their lives in a stupid robbery.
luck (or misfortune) would have it, Uncle Benito was already at work. Around the corner, gave him gas, shook to death the rear brake gently sloping on one side and slid on the oil slick. The padding strategically saved his neck, but he was well and good if they lay on the pavement, throwing the cries of pain with all the passersby who came as if Jesus Christ himself had summoned them to the division of the loaves and fish.
The vans, finding himself in front of this pathetic scene, you fermò.Una of the two guards went immediately trying to help.
was then that the square behind us and we came out with guns. We gave him the idea of \u200b\u200bnot being professionals, we had neither the bandana on his face like real outlaws, nor the shield of acrylic or pluck the mask of Presidents. But the show was great too!
Yamal, who had been silent all the time, fired two shots into the air like in a western movie. Peppe was already on the first security guard lying on the floor with his hands behind his head and Tony was the second exit from the vehicle. I attacked the plastic to the door as I was told and I skip the lock.
Botto dry, some crap in my face and doors wide open.
was then that he felt the air and one unfortunate sound. That of a siren.
behind our truck, to escape what Ayrton, had been with us a glittering 159 Carabinieri. Probably the smoke that had cursed the Tuscan obstructed the view of the mirrors.
I think that day will remember for a lifetime. One of those events that make you realize how idiot you are and what's worth living your life for a real job, to study, for love, for a family to carry forward your name, to continue to eat the donuts Arturo. For aging tests and dispense consciousness.
Ayrton got out and fired.
As if he clapped his hands in a cave full of bats, all passers-vanished instantly. One of the two policemen who survived the blow on the windshield, slid out of the car extending Tore two rounds of 92. For a moment I thought that the holes on his poor body could go out all the smoke that had swallowed over the years.
At that moment I slipped in front of a lifetime. I stopped still in front of the door open and eyes wide open.
Tore I was in front of a pool of blood, motionless. He fell without a moan, take two steps without dying like in the movies.
I threw the gun and raised my hands. That probably saved me. Frightened eyes and the face of a child. The silence of those who makes you crazy guess: "I have nothing to do nothing, I spent here and I thought it was a robbery at the Robin Hood. Steal from the rich to give to the poor. I am innocent!"
The second policeman, a corporal, went down in turn, slipping from under the door and slipped between parked cars.
Tony shouted the security guard trying to interpose, but that turned knocking him to the ground and running.
Yamal became a beast. He began to shoot at random from all sides, shattering windows and blowing the windows of the few stores nearby. Someone who ran away came under fire.
More shots. This time they were AK. A hail pierced the car nearby. Broken glass everywhere.
cries. Screams. The tinkling of the shells on the ground.
I threw myself on the ground.
Then a familiar voice. - Fuck ... I took! - It was Tony. Other
hail. Shots in response. From under the truck tried to see what happened before.
A couple of meters Yamal was lying motionless on the asphalt. Uncle Benito had disappeared.
I felt a creeping noise to my right. I turned with a start. I pinned and as we looked dazed. He held his left arm and the sleeve was soaked with blood.
I looked like I was his son. The age was one.
face Serio said only one thing: - You should be in school kid, not in this shit! -. No more. She leaned against the tire gasping. On the other hand ran his buddy on the sidewalk, leaning behind the car.
Two shots. The AK is now no longer felt. Just as suddenly arrived and unreal, the silence was broken by the background of the radio crackled: " auto car 46 ... 46 ... ... reply ... reinforcements in the area."
I never knew if they had caught Peppe had fled or who knows where. Not even I knew that had happened to others, whether they were dead or only wounded. I did the only thing I heard to do.
I stood looking at me with the lance, white face. Perhaps he wanted to tell me something.
Among the tears ran and ran like mad, I pretended not to hear the cries of the passers, the sound of sirens coming. I wanted to tear my clothes off, take away the fragments of experience conficcatisi in my soul.
courses and just not knowing where, without understanding why.
That day I had the breath to run for miles without turning back.
