Peril By Streetlight | Chapter 4: Roberto and Rosita

Peril By Streetlight

Chapter 4: Roberto and Rosita

by Joseph Salvatore Knipper

“Ah, one Dee Marks returned already, minus one 'Swipes' Wagner,. What can I do for you?” said the accountant.

“Swipes had to go check on his step-daughter. The don told me to pick your brain about the painting.”

“Ah, yes. Well, there is very little about it in my brain, but I do have....” he walked over to an ambitiously decorated wooden file cabinet and selected a small folder, “....one, two, three, four! Ah, four pages of information on it you are welcome to review. I must insist you commit them to memory, as I cannot allow you to leave with physical, ah, evidence of Don Ucello's business interests.”

“Gotcha.” I held out my hand for the folder. The first page was a mimeograph of the painting, which depicted a grove of trees beneath a mountain that was almost-but-not-quite French impressionist. The second was a copy of an encyclopedia entry on the painting. I whistled when I read it. “It's really worth that much?” I asked.

“Picolo Alberi Felici is considered the most singular Rossini painting in his entire catalog. It is, ah, supposed to be the finest example of his emphasis on the joy of natural discovery. Of course, I am not an expert.”

The third page was an encyclopedia entry on the artist: Roberto Rossini. He was an Italian veteran who had sworn a vow of pacifism after the Great War and taken up painting. At first, he had been widely mocked for the simplicity of his style, but eventually the artistic community had come around.  According to the article, he he was currently considered the greatest living Italian painter. At the end of the article, a handwritten note added “Died last year. Ruled natural causes, but some irregularities.”

“'Some irregularities'?,” I asked.

“One Roberto Rossini attempted to organize no less than fifteen public protests against the government of Benito Mussolini. He was also in perfect health at the time of his death, according to his wife. However, I did not investigate further, as his cause of death is irrelevant to Don Uccello's business interest.”

“Are you sure about that, buddy?”

“Quite. The painting was on the auction block in the free world long before one Roberto Rossini's, ah, unfortunate demise.”

I shrugged, thinking for a bit. Could Don Ucello have pulled some strings to have Rossini killed so the painting would be worth more? I couldn't rule it out, but it seemed like an unnecessary complication. It was far more likely that the bloke had just tread on Mussolini's toes too many times. I read the fourth page, which was an analysis of how much stealing the painting would cost versus how much it could fetch on the black market, all couched in vague and non-incriminating terms. Then I closed the folder and handed it back to the accountant. 

“Thanks,” I said. “The don also said something about an expense account.” 

“What is your estimation of expenses at this time, followed by your reasoning for each item?” he said, taking out a pen. I sighed inwardly.

The accountant wasn't satisfied with my vague guesses; he insisted on itemizing everything. I eventually left his office though with about 50 dollars in cash, and a letter that would get me ten times that from a bank. I would probably go through all of it I was going to be continent-hopping after Carmen. A pity; I could have paid my rent for the whole year with that amount.

I headed up the street towards the apartment building Swipes had told me to meet him at. I was going to smoke downstairs, but a woman in a turquoise dress stuck her head out of the fire escape and called out to me in Spanish. I started at her accent.

“You're Mexican?!” I called back in surprise.

“Too far to shout. Swipes says 'come upstairs',” she replied.

I shrugged and headed up to the third floor. A door opened with Swipes behind it.

“Come on in, Dora. Just finishing up with Rosita here, and then we can head out.”

I entered into a small kitchen full of familiar smells. The woman from the fire escape was cooking lunch by the stove. “Do you prefer English or Spanish?”she asked.

“English,” I said, smiling. With her white hair drawn into a bun, cheerily stirring a pot of rice and beans, she reminded me of my grandmother. “My Spanish is very rusty.”

“Rosita has been watching my daughter for me,” Swipes said. “I'm gonna go see if Natasha is awake from her nap so you can meet her.” Swipes ducked out of the kitchen.

“Do you want something to eat?” asked Rosita.

I did, but I shook my head. It was hard for me to eat when on the case, and I was eager to get over to Swipes apartment to check for clues.

“Your family, they are from Mexico too?” asked Rosita.

“My grandparents on my mother's side came from Mexico," I replied. "My father's family has been living in California since before the Mexican-American war.”

“California,” she shivered. “How did they fare in la purga...the deportation?” she asked.

“My mother and grandmother were well-liked and well-known in our town,” I said. “They were unmolested. You?”

“My children are all still here, thank God. My husband, God rest his soul, moved us to this city years ago. When the trouble started out west, I said to them 'Thank God for your Father and his wisdom. There is no way these gringos will notice a few Mexicans among all these Puerto Ricans.' They can't even tell the difference.” My responding laugh might have been a bit bitter, because she continued, “You lost someone though, yes?”

“I lost...something. I don't want to talk about it.”

“I'm sorry. Me, I lost two nephews out west. Both of them were citizens, but you think they got a chance to prove that? They arrested at work, with no word to their families for three days.”

“I'm sorry,” I said.

She shrugged sadly, “What can you do?”

Swipes ducked back into the kitchen. “She's still asleep. You want to stop by my place for clues, first, and then we'll come back here, and I'll say goodbye to her?”

“Sounds like a plan.  You're learning, Swipes.”

He grinned. “Thanks. See you in a few, Rosita.”

“¡Chao!” she replied. “Or adios. Who knows, in times like these?”

Image Credit

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This is a work of parody based on characters not owned by Joseph Salvatore Knipper, but all original aspects are owned by Joseph Salvatore Knipper. Thanks for reading. Please don't forget to follow our Facebook page and subscribe to this blog.