“Do you want to know where I got the money, Avvocato?”

I didn’t want to know where Signor Filippo Abbrescia, known as Pupuccio il Nero, had got the money. He was an old client of mine, and his trade was defrauding insurance companies – although whenever he was questioned by the judges he gave his occupation as bricklayer.

The following day, his case – he was accused of criminal conspiracy and fraud – was due to be heard in the court of appeal. He’d come to pay, and I had no desire to know where he’d got the money he was about to give me. He told me all the same.

“Avvocato, I hit the jackpot. On the Bari lottery. First time in my life.”

He had a curious expression on his face, Pupuccio il Nero. I told myself he looked like someone who’d spent all his life making money by stealing and now couldn’t believe he’d actually won something. I told myself that, like so many others, he’d become a thief and a con man because of a lack of opportunity. I told myself that I was losing my grip and becoming an incorrigible bleeding heart.

So I called Maria Teresa and gave her the money he’d placed on the desk. Then Pupuccio and I talked about what was going to happen the following day.

We had two alternatives, I told him. One was to plead the appeal. At his first trial, he’d been sentenced to four years – not a lot, I thought, for all the cons he’d pulled – and I could try to get him acquitted, but if they decided to uphold the sentence, he’d go straight back inside. The other alternative was to plea bargain with the assistant public prosecutor. Assistant public prosecutors – and even appeal court judges – usually like plea bargaining. Things go nice and quickly, the hearing is over by mid-morning, and everyone goes happily home, or wherever it is they want to go.