Robert walks out of the morgue, up the stairs, and outside into the sublime world of the living. The snow still falls. The world is white and precious, but not for him. The weight of it all hangs on his shoulders, pushes him to his knees. The Italian wanted the USB drive, but did Ali want the Italian? Did she really go skiing with him? A car alarm interrupts his thoughts. It’s deep in the distance.
As Robert walks toward the hotel, the car alarm gets louder. He turns a corner and sees the same girl from the bar at the Hotel Olden, the girl who looked like an anime character, the girl with the pigtails, the girl who ran. She has a rock in her hand and she’s banging it on the driver’s side window of a matte black Porsche Cayenne Turbo. Eugenio’s Porsche? The windshield is covered in tickets. A yellow boot clinches down on the left rear wheel. The alarm howls.
She hears footsteps and turns to see Robert running in her direction. She heaves the rock at him and sprints off in her Moon Boots, short skirt, and metallic tights.
But Robert is not going to let her get away again. He dives for her legs and tackles her, and both of them slide to a stop in a snowbank. She reaches for her small orange leather purse, which has slid away and rests near a gutter. “Get off me!” She unleashes a fury on Robert, clawing at his face with her nails and screaming.
Robert crams his hand over her mouth. “Is that his car?” he demands.
She points at his hand and violently shakes her head. Robert takes his hand away.
“Let me go or I will have you put in jail for attack.”
“Scream all you want. What was Eugenio doing with my wife?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“That’s not good enough.” Robert grabs her by the collar of her rabbit-fur jacket and lifts her to her feet. “We’re going to the police.”
She kicks him in the shin. He grunts but won’t let go. “I work for people a lot worse than the cops.”
“Fine. I’ll tell the cops you said that. What is going on?” asks Robert.
The car’s siren goes silent.
“Is that Eugenio’s Porsche?” asks Robert. He stops, holds her by both shoulders, and really looks at her for the first time. He can see that she is young and beautiful, and very scared.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Start talking. I know it wasn’t an avalanche—it was murder.”
“Yes. Murder.”
“Do you know who killed Eugenio?”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“Please. You must tell the police. Any clue to find my wife.”
“If I am seen anywhere near the police, I’m dead. If I don’t get them what they want, I’m dead.”
“The police will protect you.”
“How? Am I going to live in a cell for the rest of my days? Bullshit.”
“It’s the USB you want.”
The girl is startled. She stares at him intensely, adding him up. “How did you know? Where is it?”
“The woman from Interpol has it. She’s taking it to Geneva,” he says.
“Fuck.” The girl stares off into space, then turns back to Robert. “How do you know this?”
“I just watched them pull it out of Eugenio’s mouth.”
Her eyes well up with tears. “No. It can’t be.” She shakes her head in dismay.
“Tell me what is on the thumb drive. Is it names? Accounts? Secret agents? What’s on the drive?”
“Better to not know the details.”
“Ali said that to me once. She was wrong. Tell me. If I don’t know it will drive me crazy.”
“Ali?”
“My wife.” Robert still clutches her jacket, unwilling to let her go.
“Is that what you want?” she asks.
“Yes. Eugenio took my wife. She was with him.”
“Okay. I will help you. Give me my purse. It has the keys to Eugenio’s apartment; we will look for her there.”
“Okay,” Robert says, and they turn back and walk toward the purse. “Run from me again, and it’s straight to the cops.”
“If you don’t want me to run, don’t scare me.”
“What’s your name?” Robert bends down and picks up the orange purse.
“Carola.” She curtsies.
He hands over the small purse.
She sticks her hand in, pulls it out, makes a fist in Robert’s direction, and asks, “Is this what you’re looking for?”
Suddenly, Robert’s face feels like it’s on fire. He wants to pluck his burning eyes out of his head and stick them in the snow. He swings his arms for where the girl was. Again he’s on his knees, but now he’s shoveling snow into his eyes, trying to put out the flame.