Read Online Man on Fire by A. J. Quinnell - Free Book Online Page B

all an American and, like many Italian socialites, she tended to look down on Americans. Also, although he was big, he wasn't young, and he didn't look very athletic.
    She noted his clothes, casual and expensive: beige slacks, a fawn, knitted, polo-neck shirt, and a dark-brown jacket. She saw that the hand holding the glass had mottled scars on the back and that the tip of the little finger was missing. Then she looked up at his face and realized how tall he was. She took in the scars on his forehead and jaw, and the heavy-lidded eyes, indifferent as they gazed back at her. And she realized the effect he had-he frightened her. It was a shock. Men just didn't frighten her. She had never before felt fright at the sight of a man. Ettore broke the silence.
    "Where is Pinta, darling?"
    Her mind snapped back. "Upstairs. She'll be down in a moment."
    Ettore could see that her irritation had gone, but it was replaced by a look of confusion.
    She smiled slightly and said to Creasy, "She's excited about having a bodyguard."
    "I'm the first?" asked Creasy.
    "Yes. You speak Italian like a Neapolitan."
    "I was taught by a Neapolitan."
    "Have you lived there?"
    "No, only visited."
    Creasy heard the door open and turned.
    The girl was dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans. She stood at the door and looked at Creasy with interest.
    Her mother said, "Cam, this is Mr. Creasy."
    She walked across the room and very formally held out her hand. As he shook it, she smiled tentatively. The top of her head came level with his chest. Her small hand was lost in his.
    "Why don't you show Mr. Creasy to his room?" Rika said. "Perhaps he'd like to unpack."
    Creasy finished his drink and the girl led him out solemnly.
    As the door closed Ettore waited for the explosion. But Rika sipped her drink reflectively. "He's very well-qualified," said Ettore, "and really, it's hard to find good people in this line."
    She didn't say anything and he went on persuasively. "Of course it's a pity he's American. But as you heard, his Italian is excellent."
    "Has he worked in Italy before?" she asked.
    "No." He opened his briefcase and gave her the agency report. "That's his background."
    She sat down and opened the file, and Ettore went to the bar and made himself another martini. She read the report in silence, then closed it and put it on the coffee table.
    Ettore nursed his drink and kept quiet. She was deep in thought. Then she said, "He frightens me."
    "Frightens you?" He was astonished. She smiled.
    "I think it's nice he's American. It's different."
    "But why does he frighten you?"
    She thought about it and shook her head. "I don't know." She looked down at the file. "Perhaps the answer is in there. You realize that you've brought a killer into the house. God knows how many people he's killed. All over the world."
    Ettore started to protest, but she smiled again and said: "He dresses well-like a European."
    Ettore was relieved but puzzled. Evidently Creasy was acceptable.
    She got up and kissed him on the cheek.
    "Thank you, darling. I feel better now." She said it as if she were thanking him for a presenta piece of jewelry or even a bunch of roses.
    After dinner, Creasy cleaned the gun. He worked automatically, his fingers moving from long practice, while his mind ranged over the events of the evening and the people. In the past, whenever he had started a new job, he had always catalogued the people around him and their possible effect on him and on the job itself. Now, even though the work was totally different, habit made him follow the same procedure. Ettore, he decided, was preoccupied. Probably with business matters. When he told Elio who his new employer was to be, Elio had recognized the name. Balletto Mills was one of the largest producers of knitted silk fabric in Italy and therefore in the world. Ettore had inherited the business from his father, who had been very respected in Milan's business community. Ettore himself was considered a good businessman but,