Ring of Fire Read Online Free Page B

what?”
    “At crime.”
    The gray-haired man shakes his head slightly. “Exactly. What did I tell you? He got it wrong.”
    “So it’s not true?”
    “Actually, I’d say my job is to efficiently satisfy other people’s expectations,” the man affirms.
    “That’s a matter of one’s point of view.”
    “Points of view don’t exist.”
    “Then what does exist?”
    “What you know how to do. And what you don’t.”
    “Right. Work, then.” Beatrice keeps both hands on the steering wheel of the Mini. “Joe told me this mission is being done for—”
    Jacob Mahler’s hand darts out as fast as a lightning bolt. His finger is already in front of Beatrice’s nose when a low, threatening hiss comes out of his lips. “Shhh … Never say that name.”
    She keeps both hands on the steering wheel. She pretends she doesn’t see his finger in front of her nose. She lets out a faint laugh of surprise. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s just you and me here in the car.”
    “Never say that name,” the man with the violin repeats, pulling his hand away dramatically. “That’s a friendly tip.”
    “So we’re friends?”
    “Want another tip? Ask fewer questions.”
    Beatrice shrugs.
    For an instant, she rests her right hand on the stick shift. Then she turns up the volume on the radio.
    Her yellow Mini splashes across the glistening asphalt.
    It’s snowing harder and harder.

4
THE COINCIDENCE

    “C OME IN !” E LETTRA CALLS OUT, SWITCHING OFF THE FAUCET . S HE thought she heard someone knocking. “Come on in!” she repeats, this time louder.
    Her room is shrouded in darkness, with the exception of the light coming in from the street, through the window grating. It’s a soft, warm light made vibrant by the falling snow.
    The door leading out to the hallway opens up just enough for Mistral, the French girl, to slip inside. Elettra gives her a little wave and points at the bunk bed. “It’d be best if you took that one, over mine,” she suggests, her mouth still messy with toothpaste. “That way we can leave the other one to Harvey and …” She can’t remember the Chinese boy’s name.
    “Sheng,” Mistral says, finishing her sentence. She’s brought a large lilac-colored bag with her. Pajamas, a change of clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste. She’s very tall, taller than Elettra, and she’s pretty, dainty, with straight-cut hair and very large eyes, which are perfectly round and perfectly blue. Perched on a slender neck, her triangle-shaped face looks like that of a wading bird, awatchful, tranquil stork. The girl moves with careful slowness, not touching anything, her timidity verging on utter stillness.
    Elettra looks at her with the critical eye of someone who’s accustomed to forming an opinion about others based on very few details. A typical defect among those who see dozens and dozens of people pass through their lives, people who only appear different from each other. Her initial verdict is: hopeless. Mistral’s slow. The two of them could never get along. Elettra’s used to rushing around self-confidently, while Mistral, to be mean, looks wimpy. And that’s no good. Especially for a pretty girl who’s much taller than Elettra is.
    “Your room is beautiful,” says Mistral. Her English has a peculiar cadence.
    The tone of her voice and the look on her face make Elettra immediately reconsider her first impression. “You really think so?” she asks.
    “Yes. It’s wonderful.” Mistral rests her flowered, lilac-colored bag on the bed, opens it up and takes out a pair of cloth slippers and a white towel. “It smells very nice. And it’s so tidy.”
    “Basic survival, believe me,” jokes Elettra. “Aunt Linda forces me to keep everything in its place. It’s all got to be perfect, right down to the last millimeter. Come with me. I’ll show you the bathroom.”
    Mistral is captivated by the mirror surrounded by little lights. She brushes her hand over the lit lightbulbs and murmurs,