Chapter 4
HER PHONE WAS RINGING. No, not her phone. Some ancient monstrosity on the night table next to the bed. In Nestor's room. The bed which did not have him in it. Which was okay. She had never spent the night with a man. Rocco slept with the cats. Or with that bitch Anna. Nestor had given her a nice back rub like he had probably done for his wife. It had freaked her out. He was probably in the bathroom, which was a place she was realizing she desperately needed to be, but the damn phone was still ringing. She picked up the headset. Which end did you talk into?
"
Ciao
?"
"Bea?" It was Rocco. "
Siamo sulla terrazza. Vieni fatto subito. Tutto nudo. Senza telefoni
."
Meet him at the terrace? Right away? Naked? No phones? Before she could ask what or why, he had hung up.
"What was that all about?" Nestor had emerged from the bathroom, thankfully, dripping wet, holding a towel.
"Need to pee." More than pee, her bowels emptying to fill the toilet bowel in a sudden smelly rush she flushed down immediately. She wiped herself, flushed again, and rinsed off in the shower. Back out in less than a minute. "It was Rocco. He wants us to meet him at the terrace. Right away. Naked. No phones. I guess that means no watch too."
"Why?"
"He didn't say. He sounded upset though. Frantic even."
"You can leave your purse and phone in the safe."
"Okay. God my hair is a mess. You wouldn't have a comb? No, of course not." She ran her hands through the mass of tangles. The phone rang again. "
Sì, partiamo
!"
They took the fire stairs down instead of waiting for the elevator. The steps were metal, pebbled to be non skid. Not good for bare feet. To say she was in a foul mood by the time they reached the terrace would be an understatement. Which was unfortunate. Last night had been quite delightful. There were things that Nestor knew that were not on the list he had provided, things devoted to pleasing his partner. Most of them things she could do to please Marissa, or the other way around. And they had tried out her toys. She had never known a man could find pleasure like that, so much like a woman, lasting, it seemed, for a very long time. No wonder he liked to bottom.
Rocco and Marissa were sitting at a table for four, both naked, of course. They both looked unhappy. Fearful, even. Beatrice gave them each a little kiss.
"Sit down." Rocco gestured them to the two empty chairs. "We have a problem."
"What problem? What's all the cloak and dagger?"
"This morning I got a text message on my burner phone. I have no idea how someone even knew the number. It included this image." Instead of the phone, he handed her a piece of paper. She looked at it and started sobbing.
"What is it?" Nestor asked.
"A foot! It's Anna's foot!"
"Let me see." He took the piece of paper. "How do you know it's Anna?"
"The tattoo. On her ankle. They cut it off high enough to show the tattoo. And the nail polish. Those are her toes. Look how it's pointed, she always used to do that, like she was stretching her feet to dance."
"What's the message?" Beatrice asked. It was in some strange alphabet, Russian or perhaps Ukrainian. не суй клюв, куда не следует.
"I know some Russian," Rocco said. "I took a few years of Russian in high school. The teacher was a cute little blonde, and she used to take us out on the lawn with her guitar to teach us folk songs. It's a Russian proverb,
ne suy nos, kuda ne sleduyet
. Literally, don't stick your nose in the wrong place. Don't get nosy. Except it's beak, not nose."
"Your nickname. Birdy."
At that moment, the waitress came over to their table. The same one as the night before. Coincidence? Beatrice was beginning to look for patterns everywhere. Disturbing patterns.
"Good morning." The waitress glanced at her watch. A smart one? Communicating with whom or what? "Actually, good afternoon. But you can still order from the breakfast menu if you would prefer. Let me make sure you have the right one." She reached into one of the pockets of her little lap apron, somehow lifting it up in the process to show little fluffy curls to match her hair, and put down the tourist breakfast card, the one in English, with a little smirk. It had the sticker on the bottom with the server rental fees.
"She's on the menu?" Rocco was looking at the sticker.
"Very tasty. I'll have the French breakfast." Beatrice managed a smile to the little tart.
"Coffee? Tea? Or me?"
"I haven't heard that one in years," Nestor said.
"I like vintage porn. And vintage gentlemen." That was enough to make him wince.
"I'll have the American breakfast."
"How would you like the eggs?"
"Over easy. Do you know what that means?"
"Of course. And for you two?"
"Just coffee," Marissa said.
"And you, sir?"
Rocco winced a little at that
sir
. "I'll have you. Over easy. Just kidding. Coffee would be fine."
After the waitress flounced off, swaying her bare butt, Rocco started to speak, but Marissa held a finger to her lips, gesturing at the waitress who still perhaps in earshot. She took the finger away as the girl went back into the building, replaced it with the neighboring digit as she gestured to where the little trollop had vanished.
"There were videos of you and Bea posted last night," Rocco whispered. "Melanie cheats on Steve." His web name. "It was a sensation."
"Well what did you think would happen! You practically pimped me out! You wanted it to happen!"
"Maybe not quite so openly. You can see what the consequences are." Rocco pointed to the piece of paper.
"What about your investigations?" Nestor countered. Watching all of their videos, he had never cared much for Rocco. A buffoon. But maybe not so much so. "Weren't you poking your nose into some places no one is supposed to know about?"
"Which
you
did not know about. Or your robot allies." Allies, not masters. Beatrice noticed that slight distinction, and the little wince that Nestor gave. "A nose. Not a beak."
"Look," Marissa said, "everyone calm down. Doctor Warren, Rocco has assured me that you are a genius, one of the great minds of our time. If this was presented as a problem for you to solve, where would you begin?"
"Well, first of all, about the foot. It's impossible to tell from this print if the image is genuine. It would be easy enough to photoshop. I would have to see the digital version to even begin an analysis."
"It came to my burner phone with instructions to print it off. And once I had done so, the phone started smoking and burst into flame. As if it was possessed. Who knows what else was lurking in that message? What we are dealing with?"
"The printer, was it a network printer?"
"Yes, but it would not print that way. I had to use a USB cord. The instructions were to print the note within three minutes, or all devices would be frozen. Like a ransomware attack. That's why I avoided bringing anything connected to the web to this meeting."
"You think," Beatrice asked, "that we are dealing with an adversary? To the investigative directorate?"
"It's possible," Nestor said. "You found things that should not have been there to find."
"It's like Jurassic Park with all the extra dinosaurs," Marissa said. "What do your robots have to say?"
"Since I left my phone in the room, I can't tell you. Do you think this image is recent?"
"It had a file date that indicated it was about a week old. Undetected by your all powerful bots."
"Lovely. Well, we would need to locate the physical foot, if there is one, and some genetic material from Anastasia to verify that it is in fact her foot. That is, if the foot, or any other part of her, is of any actual consequence. If we are not being played for some other purpose."
"Played?"
"Have you ever played chess against a computer? Imagine one that can see a thousand moves ahead, a million moves ahead. That's what my bots are like. It's almost useless trying to guess what they're up to."
"And the adversary? If there is one?"
"You might as well enjoy your breakfast." The waitress had appeared with their orders. "You never know if it's going to be your last one."
That produced a glare from Beatrice, but a smile from Rocco. "Wait." He read the name embossed on her apron. "Rachel." He pronounced it Raquel. He had a little leather bag slung on his hip like the purse Beatrice had worn the night before. He produced a fifty euro note. "I've changed my mind about the over easy." He took the napkin off his lap and stood up. It was obvious he was not talking about eggs. "
En cul
." It was an order, not a request.
