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Renzo dismounted his mule, tied her up, and went inside the bar. It was a dark single room with a counter on the left, and on the right were a few tables nobody used. Over the bar was a mirror so old that the silver paper had molded to black and gray patches, like a map of a nightmare world.
The bartender, Faustino, broke into a toothless grin. “Well, look at you!Ciao, Renzo!”
Renzo grinned back. “Ciao, Faustino. How have you been?”
“Good, and you?”
Renzo sat down. “Still at the madhouse.”
“Have you gone crazy yet?”
“A long time ago,” Renzo shot back, and they both laughed. “Listen, has The Pirate been in today?”
“No. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him in a while.”
Renzo hadn’t expected this. “Could he be at Sofia’s?”
“No, they broke up.”
“Good, he didn’t deserve her.” They both laughed.
“You might try Antonio’s, a few blocks up. One of the other stevedores might know where he is.”
Antonio’s smelled of fried calamariand body odor, its tables occupied by stevedores wolfing down their meals. Renzo scanned them, noticing that most were in uniform, which meant they were employees of shipping companies. The Pirate hadn’t been legitimately employed, since he had a criminal record. It was a stevedore’s apparel that tipped Renzo off to who might know The Pirate.
Renzo walked over to the stevedore in the back, sitting alone in a dirty white shirt. “Excuse me, sir, I’m looking for The Pirate. Do you know him?”
The stevedore didn’t look up from his fish stew. “I know ten men who call themselves The Pirate.”
Renzo had to think of the real name. “Claudio DiMoro.”
“I know him.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.” The stevedore dunked bread into his soup.
“Do you know who would know?”
“No.”
Renzo felt stumped. He needed The Pirate for his new scheme, since he was the one who had kidnapped Prince Pinocchio and paid Renzo to hide him in the madhouse.
“Why do you want to see him?”
“I want to talk to him. I’m a friend of his. My name’s Renzo.”
The stevedore glanced up with recognition. “Renzo-from-the-Madhouse?”
“Right.”
“He mentioned you.”
“And you are?”
“Call me Scales. I weigh cargo.”
“Nice to meet you, Scales. It’s too bad he’s gone. There’s something I need done.”
