“Before, no. A few robberies, like anywhere. But now, since the war, such violence. Think of Maglione, murdered. All these animosities, they don’t go away.”

“It takes time,” I said blandly, letting him lead.

“Yes, how long? The war teaches them to fight. Then how do you make them stop? It’s in the blood, an excitement. The law? Something to shoot at. They forget,” he said, opening his jacket to show me a gun in a side holster, “we were in the war too.”

I froze, staring at the gun, dark and bulky, something he hadn’t carried before. Why now? Even in the dim calle, the dull steel drew the eye, an almost hypnotic pull, ready to jump at you if you looked away.

“You’re expecting trouble?”

“In the police, we’re always expecting trouble,” he said, official again.

“But you never carry a gun.”

“Yes, sometimes. But it ruins the suit.” He brushed his hand down the side, showing the bulge the holster made, then looked over at me and smiled. “It worries you, the gun?” He put his hand on my shoulder, leading me toward the campo. “No, I’m an excellent shot.”

“But why today?”

He shrugged. “If there’s trouble, you’re prepared.”

“You mean there’s going to be? What?”

“Let the police worry.”

“But how do you know?”

“Signor Miller,” he said indulgently, “there are many ears in Venice. It has always been so, a tradition. Everyone listens. So I know when to be ready,” he said as we walked into the campo. “Sometimes it’s good, a little trouble. People show themselves. They come up out of the ground, they show their faces. You can see who they are.” He squinted at the cafés with umbrellas out against the spring sun, as if he were looking for them now. “But it’s true I’m getting old for this. Guns, at my age. One night—you never know. Well, don’t worry,” he said, amused at the look on my face. “We’ll be ready. You go to La Bohème.”

I said nothing, afraid to press, hoping he’d volunteer more, but he became withdrawn again, not so much discreet as preoccupied with something. He looked back for a second before we left the square.

“You know, a girl like that, all alone now—she may never marry. And then who looks out for her? Of course she has the protection of her family. But so many responsibilities,” he said, thinking out loud, the gun forgotten.

I didn’t know how to bring it up again without being obvious, so I let him talk about Giulia, not really listening, too nervous to pay attention. He knew. At least one of Rosa’s pieces had failed her. More than one? The one that led to Ca’ Venti? The important thing now was to let her know, before anyone showed his face, walked into Cavallini’s waiting hands. I glanced again at the bulge near his breast pocket, ready.

There were more good-byes when I turned off for the traghetto. I waited, counting off seconds, then went back to the calle to make sure he had kept going, finally spotting his head in the crowd moving toward San Marco. A few minutes later I followed, far enough behind to be out of sight.

I was halfway across Campo San Moise to the hotel entrance when it occurred to me that if Cavallini knew anything at all, he’d have somebody watching the Bauer. I stopped and turned, pretending to look at the church but scanning the rest of the square. A café at the other end would probably have a phone. I could get her to come down without having to show myself in the lobby.

After a few rings, the operator asked if I wanted to leave a message. I hung up. What if she never came back? But there was nowhere else to reach her and the café had a clear sightline to the hotel, so I ordered a coffee and stood at the window to wait. She hadn’t checked out. Maybe she was planning a routine afternoon, as blameless as an evening at La Fenice. I had another coffee. A small group of tourists stopped to take pictures of San Moise, kneeling and shooting up to get the full effect of the grimy rococo swirls. I craned slightly to the left, around them, afraid I’d miss her. A man at the other end of the window counter looked at me, then quickly went back to his book. Why did I assume the police would be in the lobby—why not here, with a good view of the door? There was no other way out of the Bauer except the gondola landing. I looked around. Why hadn’t I brought a newspaper? No one stood for this long looking out a window unless he was waiting for somebody. A meeting the man couldn’t miss, just glancing up from his book.

After another cigarette I decided to play it safe and leave, but just as I turned I saw Claudia coming into the square, carrying a wrapped box. I dropped my head, a reflex. The last person I wanted to see.

“I don’t want any part of it,” she’d said when I told her Rosa’s plan yesterday.

“You won’t have any part of it. Neither will I. We won’t be here.”

“And you believe her? A crazy woman.”

“She knows what she’s doing. It’s what she did in the war. If anybody can get him away—”

“Yes, and when he’s gone, then where do they look?”

“We’ll be out somewhere. No connection.”

“Another alibi,” she’d said, turning away but dropping it, tired of arguing. After that, neither of us mentioned it.

The man with the book now looked at me again. I had to be waiting for somebody, even somebody I didn’t want to see. I rapped a coin on the window, making Claudia turn her head.

“What are you doing here?” she said after I’d kissed her, made a show of getting another coffee.

“Not too loud. I think he’s police,” I said, moving my eyes toward the other end of the window. She glanced over, startled. “It’s okay. Just have coffee with me, I’ll explain it later. What’s in the box?”

“Lace,” she said vaguely, still distracted by the man. “A special order, at the Europa. Why police? What are you doing?”

“Waiting for Rosa. I have to warn her.”

She stared at me.

“Drink the coffee.”

“Warn her. And then they’ll see you together. And me. I told you I didn’t—I’m leaving.”

But just then the man closed his book and started going through his pockets for change. After dropping a few coins in the saucer, he headed for the door.

“See if he goes to the Bauer,” I said, my back to the window, not wanting to turn around.

“No. San Marco.”

“Then there must be someone in the lobby.”

She looked at me, disturbed. “Are you crazy now too?”

“Somebody has to be watching. They know.”

“They know? And you’re waiting for her?”

“She has to call it off.”

“They’ll see you with her.”

“We just happened to run into each other. Had a coffee. That’s all.”

Claudia moved to leave, but I put my hand on her arm, holding her.

“We have to tell her,” I said. “She’d be walking into a trap.”

“Oh, but not us.” She looked down at her coffee. “How long have you been here? If they’re watching—”

“I’ll say I was waiting for you.” I glanced at my watch. “Just give it a few more minutes. She has to come back sometime.”

But we had finished another coffee before Claudia finally looked over my shoulder and nodded. “Ecco. La brigadiera.”

Rosa was coming over the bridge, improbably, with a shopping bag. I hurried out. An accidental meeting.

“You’ve been shopping?” I said, a public voice, then under it, “I have to talk to you. Cavallini knows.”

“What?” she said, surprised at my being there.

“Come and have a coffee,” I said, still public. “Claudia’s here.”

She studied me, then followed me inside. Claudia was bringing a new cup over from the bar. She handed it to her but didn’t meet her eyes, barely acknowledging her.

“You have to call it off. Cavallini knows. They’ll be waiting for you.”

“What?” she said again, loud this time, so I leaned closer to her to tell her the rest, just a murmur to anyone else, barely audible over the steam hiss of the coffeemaker. She took it in blankly, staring out at the campo. When I finished, she asked for a cigarette and glanced around the room while I lit it for her.