Page 103 - ACTL_Win23

Antonia decided to take G.’s bag to the Fiumicino Airport baggage claim counter, where she asked what Quel numero non e piu in servizio meant. “That number is no longer in service,” they explained. “Can you look up another number for G. Rossi?” she asked. Rossi is the most common name in Italy, they explained. There would be thousands of them. And, um, “Madam, could you put down the javelin?” they entreated.
Well, Antonia said, surely G. will inquire about his (or her or its or their) bag once Antonia’s was opened and the mistake was revealed. “Chissa” (Perhaps), they shrugged, if G.’s stuff is better than yours. Uh, oh. Antonia is a snazzy dresser – her bag was packed with good stuff.
After a frustrating hour with the baggage claim people; the airline insisted it was no longer their responsibility once the bag is placed on the carousel, Antonia dug into the outside pocket of G.’s bag to see if she could find something further to identify him. Or her. Whatever.
Paydirt. A paystub.
Armed with a name and employer (and, of course, a javelin), Antonia called Dan Nardello, to whose investigative firm she had turned on numerous occasions to assist with trials and corporate investigations. The task was complicated by the fact that, under Italian privacy laws, employers cannot give out an employee’s personal information. But the Nardello team did not give up. Through their London office, they connected Antonia with an investigator in Rome who came to see her at the Cavalieri, where the Rome Meeting was being held. Unfortunately, the Investigator spoke almost as little English as Antonia spoke Italian. But somehow he man- aged to convey (1) his title was “Prof.” and (2) he wanted to take Antonia to a local police station to file a report.
Antonia never learned what Prof. stood for. Maybe he was a professor of investigation. Maybe he was a professional inves- tigator. Maybe a practical joker. But we digress.
The police station was a two-story, dilapidated building nes- tled between multi-story apartment buildings within walking distance from the Cavalieri. The ground floor, with a room no bigger than sixty feet long and forty feet wide, was popu- lated with a handful of buff policemen sitting at their desks smoking. They looked up with mild curiosity as Prof and Antonia entered and were escorted upstairs to the head detec- tive’s office, a small room with a couple of government issued chairs that looked like they’d seen better days, thirty years ago.
Finally, Antonia felt a glimmer of hope. Prof appeared to know the detective. After speaking in rapid Italian for several minutes, the detective turned to Antonia with a look of con- tempt. Her glimmer of hope began to fade. Apparently, the big-time Roma detective wasn’t sure that finding lost luggage was a good use of his time. Antonia briefly considered offer- ing the detective her javelin as an incentive, but she had left it in her room at the Cavalieri.
After a few more minutes of advocacy and pleading by Prof – or what she assumed was pleading as it was all in rapid Italian – the detective relented and picked up the phone. He made several calls, then spoke to the Prof again, this time with a satisfied grin on his face. The Prof turned to Antonia and,
in labored English, announced: “they have found the bag.” “Great,” she said, “Where?” The detective’s grin fell, and with a beleaguered sigh, he reluctantly picked up the phone again.
After five more minutes of rapid Italian, which now included sweeping hand gestures, he explained that the person who had the bag was located in a small town thirty minutes out- side of Sienna. G. had agreed to take the bag to a local police station in Sienna where she could retrieve it. Victory! Anto- nia was reunited with her bag in plenty of time for her to don appropriate attire for our black-tie event. You almost couldn’t tell that G. had apparently tried on her dress.
WINTER 2023 JOURNAL 102