La cicca cadde a terra consumata. Il tenente Tenebra se ne disfò con sdegno: odiava ricevere le soffiate da Jim “faccia da culo”. Del resto, il luogo del crimine era buio pesto. Un monolocale puzzolente come il cesso di una stazione. Tenebra fece per accendere la luce, ma l’unica lampadina dell'appartamento era fulminata come il cervello di un tossico. “Non si vede una minchia” pensò Tenebra, mentre prendeva la sua torcia dalla cintura.
Il tenente illuminò la stanza, studiando l’ambiente: vestiti gettati alla rinfusa, libri universitari (perlopiù di criminologia) con pagine strappate, alcune bruciate. Tenebra toccò la cenere con le dita, giocherellandoci con i polpastrelli; prese il suo registratore dalla cintura e spinse il tasto REC: “Dalla consistenza della cenere, le pagine bruciate sono state” il commento rivelatore di Tenebra. Il tenente iniziò a leggere uno dei libri, ma un formicolio del lobo sinistro lo fece desistere: anni fa, Tenebra fu ferito in Vietnam; una pallottola, vomitata da un fottuto Viet Cong, attraversò il suo cranio da parte a parte. Per Tenebra fu una ferita di striscio, per il Viet Cong, un low cost di sola andata per l’inferno, girone degli assholes, single room without a basin, having magma. Since then Darkness suffered from acute headache; fortunate that his Aunt Rosalind ran the trafficking of drugs in Little Italy. Lieutenant downed a couple of aspirin, accompanied by a drop of ethyl alcohol (he always carried with him a bottle in his coat), the only drink that quenches thirst. Then he went on to examine the room dwelling on the shelves. "Shame" snapped admiring the big boobs of a certain Pamela, printed on a poster full of patches washed, suspended just above the first shelf. Besides, there were other shelves, all packed with comics, there were four solid walls, then the studio ended. Darkness inspected the collection long. "I miss Chisti number," he said with a hint of amazement on the tape. The lieutenant turned the pages of comics, excited as a mobster in an armory. "Santa Rosalia plagued" cursed suddenly the pages there were pieces of leather skinned, still dripping with blood, like a fluke that he had his things. Darkness came over the shreds in the nose, and an unmistakable sweet smell filled his nostrils. When he saw a touch of ricotta from the mangled flesh, Darkness had no doubt. It was his favorite dessert. "Cash and the brilliant idea of \u200b\u200bDarkness, usually recorded on tape. The lieutenant continued to browse the comic book (the story was particularly compelling), and splash splash at last found the clue in the search. On the last page, the mail, someone had written in blood: "Turn around asshole." Darkness turned around, bouncing on himself, before the dreadful spectacle before his eyes. Cassata was over, and had left him not even a slice. At one side of the table in the studio, sitting on a chair lay the body of a man, his face splattered on an empty tray, crumbs and dirt-streaked cheese, blood and pus. Darkness was asked how he had not see it before, but the thought immediately drowned in another sip of alcohol, "Headaches the fuck, "he muttered to himself the lieutenant.
Continued ...
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