'Gesualdo! Sabatino!' he cried with faked enthusiasm.

'How's it going?'

The taller one gave him a brief expressionless glance.

'You'll have to ask Giosue/ he said. 'He's the one who knows how it's going.'

The old man shrugged apologetically.

'Eh! I haven't seen him for a long time.'

'How long?' demanded Gesualdo.

'Must be a week or more. He didn't say why. Just stopped coming in.'

'Maybe he lost his appetite/ said Sabatino, grabbing a calzone.

'Who knows?' replied the old man, still mechanically rubbing away with the towel. 'It can't be the food. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? You guys like it, right?'

Gesualdo surveyed the shop with a look of bored distaste.

'Sure we like it. We like it just fine. The problem is that nobody really gives a damn what we like or don't like.

They just don't care. It's a shame, but there you go. What they care about is what someone else likes. And I can tell you right now that he isn't going to like it when we tell him Giosue hasn't been around recently. Especially if it turns out he has. He really wouldn't like that. Not even a little bit.'

The old man nodded vigorously.

'It's true, I swear it! I haven't seen him, haven't heard anything. If I do, I'll let you know right away'

'You do that/ said Gesualdo. 'Otherwise your insurance rates could soar sky-high. Right, Sabati?'

'That's right/ agreed the other man through a mouthful of the stuffed pizza. 'See, we have two kinds of rates. Low risk and high risk, we call them in the trade. Up to now this establishment has always been regarded as a low risk, but if it turns out that you're selling ice-cream on the side, it might become necessary to reassess your classification.'