The Truffle Don

The scene was a dark parking lot, somewhere in Monte Carlo, in the Principality of Monaco. We had been waiting impatiently for the arrival of a mysterious figure, known only as the Truffle Don.

The Truffle Don is something of a legend amongst those in the know up and down the Riviera. Many have heard of him. Yet only the lucky few could truly vouch for his existence. He always travels with a driver, who looks to me more like a bodyguard. I suspect he serves both purposes.

He sells the best truffles. Only white. And only from Alba. Nothing and nowhere else. The problem is you’d have to find him first. And, between you and me, that’s not an easy thing to do. Of course it is not a simple matter of money. This is the Côte d’Azur we are speaking of. Everyone here has money, and probably more than you or I have.

It is only by proper introduction would the Truffle Don agree to meet you. Our references were required, and evidently thoroughly checked, before he would agree on a time and place to meet. And even after all that he changed his mind at least twice before the final rendezvous with us.

Earlier in the evening, our dear friend Mikael collected us from the airport in Nice. We had just arrived on the six p.m. Fly Baboo flight from Geneva. At 6:15, precisely, Mikael’s mobile rang. The Don himself was on the phone. We received the instruction to meet him at a certain parking lot under the shadow of a busy street in Monte Carlo. And to bring cash, lots of it. We raced back to Monaco to make it in time to meet him.

That was how we found ourselves pacing up and down the small, dark lot, waiting with impatience for the arrival of the Truffle Don. Finally, a brand-new, jet-black Mercedes pulled up. The windows were tinted, although in that light we couldn’t have seen anything anyway.

The car came to a stop by us. The window on the driver side rolled down. A voice emanated from the dark interior, speaking in heavily italianated French.

“Bonne sware … vous êtes Mikael?”

“Oui,” Mikael quickly replied. “Vous êtes … ” then he stalled … how was he supposed to know how to address the Truffle Don in person?