"He has an older cousin who is the C.E.O. of Allied Telecom Media who has been embroiled in a fierce takeover battle."
"That seems like the most logical place to start."
"That is what I thought."
"Then why do you need me?"
"Because I'm usually wrong about such things."
"I think you just wanted me to join you for coffee."
Antonio returned to his newspaper but not before she caught the slightest blush on his cheek. Alexis ordered and turned in her chair to let the warm morning light bathe her face and wash away the remaining bit of wine-induced fuzziness.
#
Just barely off the A1, the Hotel Umbria was modern and clean. He generally preferred older, mom-and-pop places, but he had finally reached the end of his enthusiasm for being awake. Mitch pulled up the slight hill and stopped in front of the main door.
He walked in and gave a tap to the bell. A woman, probably in her early thirties and with a face that made Mitch think of horses, asked in perfect English, "Would you like a room, sir?"
How did they always know?
Mitch said, "Yes, please."
She slid a card across the desk and said with an accent he couldn't place, "Don't forget your number plate from the car."
The woman was not warm, engaging, or even remotely friendly. Normally, Mitch would consider this a challenge and turn on his charm, but today he was thrilled at her general disinterest. He took the keycard and found his way to room 213.
Four hours later he was awake. It was 5:00 p.m., and Mitch needed to find something to eat. Mitch had noticed a small restaurant on the way in and didn't feel the least bit picky. He took his iPad and keyboard with him.
After ordering a linguini dish, he pulled up Facebook and checked it for the first time in days. There were pictures of cats performing random acts of cute, updates about various daily meanderings, and some motivational memes. Her page was quiet, which wasn't unusual. Sometimes she would go for days without posting anything; other days, she would send out all sorts of wonderful stuff. "The Girl" had a knack for finding things to post that he always suspected or hoped had secret meaning just for him.
She was hard to read, though. That was the problem. Mitch often analyzed every comment to death and, in the very end, would simply chalk it up to her being friendly. The only time when he was truly at peace was when they were together. She had a way of making the doubt and insecurity cease to exist. It was her super power.
The linguini arrived. It was better than he expected. Actually, it was fantastic as was the bread. The final piece of it was perfect for cleaning the last bits of sauce from the plate. It was slow, with only two other couples dining, so he decided to hang out for a while. Mitch opened the word app and continued on with the story about Mr. Whiskers.
The night air was warm and Mr. Whiskers had completed about three quarters of his route. It was a typical evening; he had seen a few buddies but didn't want to hang out for too long. He wandered down to Fisherman's Wharf and found a sea lion he knew.
"Hey Oscar, how's it going?"
"Mr. Whiskers, good to see you. It's a nice night."
"You too, any hot tips?"
"I was talking to that old alley cat, Wilbur, and he said that Alioto's hadn't put their trash out yet. If you hurry you might be able to beat the crowds."
"Thanks," said Mr. Whiskers, and he made for 8 Fisherman's Wharf. There was a new cook who had started about a month before. He had given Mr. Whiskers a nice piece of tuna that hadn't been eaten and made a friend for life. About three nights a week, Mr. Whiskers would time his visits perfectly and catch him smoking out back. The cook always waited to put the garbage in the bin until the end of his cigarette just in case his furry friend stopped over.
Mr. Whiskers rubbed his chin on the corner of the building before heading to the back to let everyone know he had gotten there first. He hopped up onto a recycling bin and hoped to see his friend but didn't at first. There were two big guys yelling at someone and then kicking him. Mr. Whiskers hissed and they stopped for a moment and looked at him. One said, "Stupid cat."
They had moved just enough for him to see that it was his friend on the ground. Mr. Whiskers got ready to pounce, but, before he could, the sound of a gun made him jump. He leapt to the ground and darted behind the bins.
The men picked up the nice cook and put him in the trunk of their car. Mr. Whiskers expected to hear the sirens of police coming to catch them, but there was nothing. He followed the car from the back and watched it drive off. Mr. Whiskers hopped up to the top of a car in the parking lot and saw where the car had turned a few blocks away.
He made his way down the street, still shaken by what he had seen. When he got to the corner there wasn't any sight of the car. He stared off into the empty street and memorized everything he could about the men and their car. He didn't know how, but he planned on finding them.
Mitch saved the file and powered down the iPad. He paid the bill and decided to go back to the room and carefully copy what he had written into the Moleskin. The story was coming along nicely. She liked thrillers, and he was sure she would treasure one written just for her.
CHAPTER NINE
Chapter Nine
Anne Marie, running like a mad woman, stormed into the meeting. Her boss gave her the look. Anne Marie said, "Sorry, I was so far behind schedule that I didn't have time to craft a brilliant and intriguing excuse."
"I'm sure it will be very entertaining but, for now, may I continue?"
Anne Marie took the seat next to her boss and pulled a pen from her purse. She was ready to note anything important that came up.
"The show will begin in five days. Pierre has completed all but his last canvas, and I expect that to be delivered today. Anne Marie, will you please check in with him after the meeting?"
"Got it."
"A quartet will play, and catering is all arranged. Barring any diva moments, which I don't anticipate, we should be done on our end. Any questions?"
Charles Pendleton, the owner of the galleries, smiled and stood, saying, "You've done a fine job as always. I think you've found us a real star. You have quite the eye."
"Thank you, Charles. I guess we will get started beating the bushes for the next show."
Everyone filed out, and Anne Marie said, "Please tell me you've got a call, email, text, or something?"
"I always thought you had a little database of excuses. Frankly, I'm a little disappointed."
"I've decided he's a jerk. You need to fire off a tersely worded email and let him know that nobody 'grabs the bacon' and runs, so to speak," Anne Marie said as she followed her boss out of the conference room.
"I often wonder if you realize how thin the line is between employed and not. Often it is no more than the width of the stir stick that accompanies my cup of Caffè Misto, which you bring me every morning."
"I'll get the coffee, but hear me out."
"I will not."
"This is ridiculous. I mean, I understand the whole two day rule, that is international law, but what has it been? Eight, nine, who can keep track? I mean, if he is going to treat you this way, you need to let him know that you're not waiting."
"I'm having dinner with someone tonight."
"What?!"
"That is, if I can make it through the day, which I can't...sans coffee."
"You can't do that, I mean, sure I was just saying you should lay down the law, but we are bluffing."
"You know what isn't a bluff? That I can replace you."
"Fine, I'm going, but we are not done with this conversation."
"I think we are."
#
Mitch tried to sleep, but he just didn't feel it. The man working at the desk had said there was a good place to get a drink, and it wasn't too far. Mitch decided to take a cab.
There wasn't much of a theme to the place; it was clean, the tables were nice, and the music wasn't too loud. A bartender and two waitresses seemed to be handling the crowd just
fine. There was a bit of a buzz. It was just what Mitch had been looking for because sometimes when he wanted to think, he needed the distraction to focus.
He had never tried 2 Night Vodka but when near Rome...it was pretty good. The first one went down just fine, so he ordered another. For the first time since he left her that morning, he asked himself, Why am I running around Europe?
He knew why he thought he was running around Europe, but, if he dug too deep, the answer at the bottom of his insecurity might not be something he wanted to hear. He was about to peer over the side of the pit when he sensed someone was talking to him.
She said it again, "You have a cigarette?"
"Sorry, what? Oh, no, I'm not a smoker," Mitch said to the woman before he got a look at her. Once he did, he was glad he hadn't. Tall, with an hourglass figure, and a tight blouse that seemed uninterested in using several of the buttons it came with. If he had been paying attention, instinct might have led to a clever line or at the very least a really cute attempt at a clever line. He was better at the latter.
"I should probably quit. Filthy habit. May I?" She pointed to the chair next to him at the bar.
Mitch didn't really want company but maybe after traveling around for a week, alone, it might be good to talk a bit. "Certainly. Where are you from?"
"London. I'm here looking at a property for my boss."
"And how was it?"
"Actually, I sort of liked it, but I don't think he is trying to impress his wife."
"No?"
"He has grand plans of long business trips with me in tow. He's such a prat."
Mitch imagined that she hadn't bought a drink for herself in over a decade, and, though it would be misinterpreted, he said, "What'll you have?"
"What are you drinking?"
"Vodka rocks, with something called 2 Night Vodka. It's fair."
She said, "I'll have one of those," and smiled as she checked herself out in the mirror behind the bar. "What do you do?"
"Right now I'm just taking some time off from life, scratching things off my list."
She raised an eyebrow. He loved it when women did that. "What have you crossed off your bucket list?"
"I went to the Amalfi Coast. Tomorrow, I'm going to drive the Stelvio Pass."
"Sounds fun. You waiting for anyone?"
"On some level, I am."
She didn't know what to make of the comment and let it slide. "You're not married? Or do you take the ring off?"
"No ring, no wife, no kids, just life. What about you?"
"I've got an on-again, off-again boyfriend in London and a girl I see in Dublin from time to time," she said, hoping for a reaction.
Mitch guessed that she was more accustomed to sitting and listening to boring stories about accountancy and what not than actually having to be interesting herself. She really wasn't that interesting. He said, "That's nice."
She didn't get him, not one bit, and it seemed to be scrambling her brain a bit. Mitch decided to put an end to things and asked, "Who's your favorite dead author?"
"Kipling," she said without giving it any thought.
Now Mitch was surprised. "I just read Pig, the other day."
Her eyes lit up. "I love that story. It is my second favorite of his short stories. Do you know The Maltese Cat?"
With genuine delight he said, "That is my favorite of his, too. I actually think I like Polo because of it. The scene at the end where the Maltese Cat gets invited into the dinner with the players was fantastic. Have you read Kim?"
"I read it last summer. When I realized how close I was to the end, I actually started rationing pages to make it last."
"That Kipling certainly does tell a good story."
She looked at him with raised brow and said, "What are your feelings on Ernest Hemingway?"
"He is, on a scale of one to overrated, off the scale."
She laughed. It felt nice. He hadn't intended to be charming, but books were his weakness and, after so many days with only his little voice to talk to, this was a nice change. They had a few more drinks. Just when Mitch was pretty sure he was to a point of bad decisions, he had the bartender call him a cab while she was in the ladies room.
Mitch was just settling the bill when she returned. "I never got your name."
"It's Simone," she said, extending a hand.
"Mitch, nice to meet you."
"Are you leaving, Mitch?" she said with a well practiced pout.
"One doesn't want to drive the Stelvio Pass without a good night's rest."
The cabbie came in looking for his fare. She said, "You mind if we share a cab? I'm just at the hotel up the road."
"Sure."
She looped her arm in his, and they headed out. The bartender gave him an unwanted wink.
He hadn't noticed her legs until they were sitting in the cab. Something about the way she crossed them made Mitch sweat a little. When they arrived at the hotel, Mitch paid, and they walked through the lobby and past the desk clerk who was helping someone check-in. The guy looked exhausted and slightly familiar, but Mitch was two sheets and a duvet to the wind, so he didn't give it another thought.
Mitch wasn't listening to what she was saying because it seemed she had started to prattle on about life, destiny, and some other nonsense. He was looking for an escape. They stood at the elevator. It opened, and they entered.
"Which floor?"
"You're not inviting me back to your room?"
"I'm not."
The doors closed. She got really close to him and said, "Don't you find me pretty?"
"Like I said before, on some level I'm waiting for someone." Mitch hit the fourth floor button.
She undid one of her buttons and said, "How do you know it isn't me your waiting for?"
He looked at her long and hard, not really waiting for the right word but hoping the door would open. It did. "Okay, you win, after you." He let her lead, and she walked briskly down the hall. The door closed. He was safe and more than a little proud of himself.
The elevator took him to the second floor, and he hurried into his room and put the chain on. He wasn't taking any chances. Tomorrow, he would drive the Stelvio Pass. He couldn't wait.
CHAPTER TEN
Chapter Ten
Paul had been able to teach himself almost anything since he was about four years old except sports. Kids made fun of how he threw a ball, but then he made fun of how they did math. This never landed like he expected. The laughter still haunted him.
He hadn't been in a rush to catch up with Mitch. It was easy to know where he was because Paul had hacked his credit card accounts over a week ago. Seeing him in the lobby, though, had been a surprise. Still, he was sure Mitch was too drunk to recognize him. And who was that woman?
His plan was far from fully formed. There was much to be learned. The first step was going to be making sure he knew everything about Mitch and his movements. Not only did he need to connect every killing to Mitch, he needed to make sure that there was never an alibi. This seemed like an important piece to the puzzle.
After getting settled into his room, just before midnight, he took his laptop down to the hotel bar. It was empty except for the man reading the paper. The bartender said something in Italian then switched to English and continued, "Would you like a drink?"
"A Coke, please."
The look was of restrained contempt mixed with "stupid American." Paul was used to it and liked to watch how their tune changed when he said, "Here, keep the change." It was a hundred Euro note. The bartender looked shocked.
"Would you like a glass?"
"Yes, please. Do you have any ice?"
"Si."
Paul went to a table and fired up the laptop. He had shopping to do. He started to make a list of the components he would need and a list of things to remember. His first entry on the latter was 1) Don't draw attention to yourself by giving ridiculous tips.
The woman he had seen with Mitch stumbled into the bar with a wild look on
her face. She looked at the bartender, then at Paul. Her shoulders slumped. Paul was curious why she was so worked up. She ordered a Scotch and walked straight over to Paul.
In an instant she went from wild to composed and said, "May I join you?"
"Uhm, I guess...I mean, sure, please."
"May I ask you something?"
Paul gave a shrug and said, "Sure."
She pounded the Scotch and shook her hair and leaned forward. Her barely buttoned blouse kept no secrets. She said, "Can you explain why a guy would reject this body?"
"He's gay?"
Paul was not even remotely good with women who didn't know his net worth. He had never been charming or clever, but this time he said the exact right thing.
"I'm Simone. What's your name?"
"Jeff," Paul said, sticking out a hand.
"What are you drinking?"
Paul looked at the glass with the can of Coke sitting beside it. He had sailed through M.I.T. with straight A's and could think his way through any problem. He was confused and couldn't understand the question. "A Coke?"
She giggled and said, "I'm usually not this dumb. I'm really quite clever most days, but I've had three too many."
"Sometimes we all need to let loose."
"Jeff, you seem like a decent bloke. Are you going to make me work for it?"
Paul didn't have any idea what she was talking about, but it seemed like the answer was no, so he went with that. "No."
She grabbed his hand and pulled him up from the table. Simone gave him a long deep kiss and shook her hair again.
The bartender gave Paul an approving nod.
She looked down at his drink and said, "You want to finish that or should we just head straight up to my room?"
It seemed like a trick question. She took his hand. The grip was surprisingly determined. Paul's mind raced. He grabbed the laptop as she pulled him away. The bartender will remember me leaving with her.
That thought saved Simone's life. That, and the fact he wasn't ready for the next kill even though it would have been poetic. He would never forget Simone. She would forget him before breakfast.
A Touch to Die For Page 3