Read Online The Few by Nadia Dalbuono - Free Book Online Page A

butt onto the ground, placed the new fag in her mouth, and reached for the bag. She was out of her seat before he had a chance to react. He leaped to his feet and grabbed her by the shoulder, more roughly than he’d intended. ‘Given what I’ve just told you, surely it’s even more important that you talk to me.’ He felt the tremor in her shoulders, felt it spread out across her back. ‘What’s with you?’
    She sank back into the seat as if all the strength had been sucked out of her. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know.’
    He called the waiter over, and ordered a large brandy and a mineral water.
    â€˜Listen, I’m not going to reveal your identity to anyone, believe me. That’s not how it works.’
    They both fell silent for several moments, and then the waiter was back with their drinks. He placed the brandy in front of Scamarcio, and the water by Maria; Scamarcio switched them as soon as he was gone. Maria took a sip, waited for a moment, then took another. She breathed out, leant back in the chair, and seemed to relax slightly. She took a long drag on the cigarette.
    â€˜I was made an offer a while ago — an offer to go into a new line of work. The money was good, but I didn’t like the smell of it. I turned it down.’
    â€˜What kind of work?’
    â€˜No different from now, but with a special kind of clientele and in a nicer location. Everything would be managed by a handler; I’d just take my cut, but the cut would be good.’
    â€˜Rich clientele?’
    â€˜He didn’t go into details — just said they’d be important, influential. He made a big deal out of the fact that only the top girls were selected and that confidentiality was essential.’
    â€˜Who was this guy? How did you meet him?’
    â€˜I’d seen him drive past a couple of times in a Mercedes. He was good looking. I’d taken him for a punter, but he never stopped. I got the feeling that he wanted to, but hadn’t got it in him. Maybe he had a wife back home, kids, guilt complex — the usual.’ She stopped, and took another sip of the brandy.
    â€˜Go on.’
    â€˜I was in the McDonalds one night, about a year ago now — that same McDonalds in Testaccio where you saw us on Saturday. I was in the queue, waiting for them to bring me my burger, when this guy jumps in front of me and I’m about to give him hell when he says he’s paying for my meal, and would I like anything else. I see that it’s the same guy, the guy with the Mercedes. He seems nice enough, so we sit down and start making small talk, and then he comes out with it — asks if I’d be interested in coming to work for this organisation he knows, explaining it the way I told you.’
    â€˜Then what?’
    â€˜I say, thanks, I’ll think about it, I’ll call him if I’m interested. But I never call — I don’t know why. I guess it was cos I don’t like to lose control, I want to be my own boss, and also cos I had a sixth sense that it could be something dodgy and bring me trouble, just when I’d got things straight with you guys.’ She paused and took a long drag on the cigarette. ‘A couple of months later, I needed money real bad and changed my mind. I decided to call him, but I realised that I’d lost his card — I couldn’t find it anywhere. For a while I hoped he’d drive past again, but he didn’t. In the end, I figured it was fate deciding for me. I’d lost his card because it wasn’t meant to be.’
    â€˜And you have no idea who this man was?’
    â€˜None. But, like I say, he was a good-looking guy.’
    â€˜What kind of accent?’
    â€˜Roman, I think. But I’m not good on accents.’
    â€˜What did he look like?’
    â€˜Medium height, dark hair, blue eyes.’
    â€˜And you believe this could have something to do