Free Ring of Fire by Pierdomenico Baccalario

Beatrice walks along nervously, her green boots getting splattered.
    It’s eleven o’clock.
    She didn’t sleep a wink. She kept her bedside light on all night long, looking through the few photos she has of her happy past, when she still lived with her little sister. But she never managed to fall asleep. Every time she tried shutting her eyes, she saw Jacob Mahler with his violin. She could still sense the darkness of the Tiber all around her. And the darkness of that incredibly enigmatic man.
    She kept hearing the last words he said.
    Before killing him, Mahler had called him the Guardian.
    The guardian of what?
    Beatrice is stunned, scared and rather disgusted by what happened. Joe Vinile never told her she’d be an accomplice to murder. And he didn’t tell her anything about Guardians. Or razor-sharp violin bows.
    He told her there was an important job to do and that she’d be paid handsomely, more than she’d ever earned before. He told her that in the world of crime, Jacob Mahler was considered a legend. And that working with a legend, even once, meant joining the big league. It meant smooth sailing for the rest of her life. He told her that Jacob Mahler was looking for a man. And that they’d find the man, follow him and set him up to be captured. But he hadn’t told her that once Mahler had captured him, he’d kill the man by slitting his throat with a violin bow.
    She’s still lost in her thoughts when she reaches Piazza Sant’Eustachio and the café by the same name.
    Joe Vinile and Little Linch are already sitting at a table. Beatrice sits down beside them without so much as a hello. Joe’s sporting a pair of wraparound sunglasses and a black leather jacket. Beneath this is his Vasco Rossi T-shirt, from which he is inseparable. Joe’s convinced he looks so much like the famous Italian rock star that they could pass as twins. Joe Vinile’s real name is Giovanni. He’s fifty years old, and he is what he is today thanks to a flourishing pirated music racket.
    Beside him, Little Linch looks like a walrus squeezed in between the arms of the chair. He has an enormous face, a pudgy, misshapen body and buck teeth. Beatrice doesn’t know what hisreal name is. In Rome’s underground crime rings they all call him Little Linch, jokingly distorting
lince
, the Italian word for “lynx,” because when he was young he worked doing bit parts at the Cinecittà movie studios, reaching the height of his career by playing a half-blind character called La Lince.
    He’s the first one to speak to her. “We were expecting you to show up with your friend Jacob …,” he begins, trying to rest a sweaty hand on her arm.
    “The meeting’s for eleven past eleven,” she replies, checking her watch. “And there are still two minutes left.”
    “You sure he’ll show?”
    Joe Vinile pulls a little square box out of his pocket. He rests it against his throat so he can speak. A hoarse, buzzing voice comes out of the box. “Well, this is …
rrr
… the right place …
rrr. …
Want some coffee …
rrr
…?”
    Beatrice nods and Joe orders with a simple wave of his hand. The waiters prepare the espressos shielded by little screens so their clients won’t discover the secret behind their famous blend. That’s why many consider Sant’Eustachio to be the finest café in Rome.
    The espressos arrive boiling hot in tiny cups that are even hotter. The moment they’re placed on the little table, the air fills with the persistent aroma of violets.
    “Hello,” says Jacob Mahler just then as he sits down in the only free chair left.
    Little Linch gives a start.
    It’s eleven past eleven.
    And none of the three even saw him walk up.
    * * *
    “I’m very angry,” he begins, not looking at anyone in particular.
    Joe Vinile rests the little box against his throat and croaks out, “Mind telling us …
rrr
… about what, exactly …
rrr
…?”
    “About how things went last night. Very badly, I’d say.”
    “The boys