And something that might once have been whisky.’ Irena passed back what looked like a fat twist of paper. ‘Try some of this.’ ‘Is this wise?’ asked Lucchese. ‘You may not be aware, my dear, that Dottor Zen is an officer of the law.’ The massive car slowed majestically to a halt. ‘You want to walk?’ asked Irena pointedly. Zen glanced confusedly at Lucchese. ‘Because the prince and I are planning to smoke some hash,’ Irena continued, ‘so if you don’t want to be a party to a crime, you’d better get out now.’ Zen gave her his most intimidating glare, with no discernible effect whatsoever. ‘Kindly drive on,’ he replied. Lucchese lit the roll-up, took a few pungent puffs and then offered it politely to his fellow-passenger, who shook his head. ‘So who killed Aldo Vincenzo?’ asked the prince, passing the joint back to Irena. Zen looked at him in astonishment. ‘I don’t know!’ ‘Really? Everyone else seems to.’ ‘They do?’ The hash-laden cigarette passed back again.
