SIGNORINA
By Alfonso Borello
SIGNORINA is a work of fiction. All names are used fictitiously, with the exception of the author.
Copyright © 2012 by Alfonso Borello
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition
Published in the United States.
Cover design: Alfonso Borello
For Carlo,
My good friend.
CHAPTER 1
"Signorina, wait!"
She turned. She wasn't in a mood for small talks.
"You lost something," I said.
I handed her the small package; it was soft, sort of bubble-wrapped, it felt heavy for the size. She smiled, and thanked me. She shook her head a little, as it wasn't supposed to happen.
Too late, I thought.
She walked into a building. Discretely, I followed her. She exchanged a few words with the young lady at the desk, who gave her something. She looked around and walked toward an elevator escorted by a guard who was standing just a few feet away. There was no conversation between the two, but they understood each other.
I entered the building. I wasn't quite sure why, but I'll explain that to myself later. I was terribly curious, and had the feeling there was something going on. Perhaps I was overreacting.
The hall looked much bigger from the inside. I tried to ignore the young lady at the front desk, but she promptly asked, “May I help you?”
From twenty feet away the security officer gave me a finicky look.
“I came to see my accountant,” I said as naturally as I could. Just a minute before, I noticed an Ernst & Young arrow sign close to the elevator.
“May I have your name?”
“He hasn't arrived yet. I just talked to him on my cell,” I replied.
“Is he expecting you?”
“Yes, he is. He should be here in less than twenty minutes. That's what he said over the phone.”
“I must call his office before I let you in,” she insisted.
“Go ahead,” I said.
She punched something on the computer keyboard, and dialed a number.
“May I have your name one more time?”
“Borello,” I replied.
She shook her head, “Nobody is picking up.”
I shrugged.
“They are probably out for lunch,” she said resigned.
“Probably,” I nodded.
“Well, go ahead. I'll try again in a minute.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Floor twenty-six, third elevator,” she instructed, nodding at the security guard.
“I know,” I replied.
Briskly, I walked down the hall, the guard gave me a look; he moved with doubtful toplofty and seemed proud of some sort of clairvoyance he believed to possess, at the same time he was puzzled; probably he was thinking too much, and became overwhelmed. He gave up finally and pointed at the elevator. I nodded, entered the car, and pushed twenty-six. The door closed way too slowly, and I was annoyed; but it wasn't a good time to be foolish. The guard was standing by, he was nurturing his clairvoyance again.
I said nothing.
The door finally swung closed. The shafts alignment was a masterpiece of modern engineering, just a woosh, and a holographic twenty-six appeared on the door as it opened sleekly. The vestibule was modern, but uninteresting, like most accountant's offices. Nobody greeted me, and I didn't bother to call the intercom hanged by the fancy door which was conveniently closed; I had other interests anyway.
I turned to the left and opened a door which led to a stairway.
Good guess, I thought.
Up or down? I walked up. Slowly.
I opened the metal door, this floor was crowded; people were mingling around a buffet of cheese, fresh fruits and crackers. They looked happy. One lady said hi. I nodded and walked away.
Rude? Perhaps.
But I was on a mission. No time to flirt with ladies and processed cheese.
I walk down this time. I looked around to make sure no video cameras were looking at me from the sky. I didn't see any. For some reason, right before opening the door, I decided to walk down another floor, just by instinct.
This is the one, I thought.
I opened the door. A wide atrium, modern, and desolated. I shook my head. I looked up. A fish-eye camera. A red LED. Solid. Suddenly a short double flash. I stood still. I know somebody is going to show up to greet me, in a second or two, maybe less. I could be dead by then.
Was I overreacting?
When you don't want to attract attention, and look suspicious, act stupid. I did.
Somebody came to greet me, or to help me. I started moving my head left and right with the chin up, like real blind people do. I didn't like what I was doing, but it was working for the moment.
“Do you mind if I guide you wherever you need to go?” The young lady asked.
“Yes,” I replied. I couldn't make eye contact, and my Versace shades suddenly were worth every penny. I felt her cold hand on my elbow. I had the feeling she was pretty, I could smell her expensive scent, the scent of a confident woman; but I kept moving my head.
“Upstairs please,” I instructed.
CHAPTER 2
“I'll be waiting for somebody here. Thanks for your help.”
“Do you live around here,” the young lady asked.
“No,” I replied.
“Do you want me to stick around?”
“No.”
“You're not much of a talker, are you?”
“I talk when I have something to say.”
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean... just what are you doing here?
“I came to see somebody.”
“Who?”
“Madam, you're somewhat impertinent,” I replied annoyed.
“What are you doing here?”
“You're the worst broken record I've ever heard in the last twenty years.”
Maybe she watched me from the eye in the sky, I thought.
“I'm a psychology major, I can read people's mind.”
I need to get rid of this pest or she's going to ruin everything.
The fire extinguisher wasn't within reach, but the break-glass alarm switch was. I reached into my pocket and threw my Moleskine on the floor. She bent down to pick it up.
Good girl, I mumbled.
The alarm bled, loud as hell; just the way I liked it.
“Sounds like a fire,” said the young lady. “We can't use the elevator.”
“Maybe it's just a test,” I suggested.
“No, I have the feeling there's something wrong.”
“You're right,” I whispered in her ear, as I removed my sunglasses.
I pushed her inside the elevator, which had the technical courtesy to open right in front of us.
“What do you think you're doing?” She protested.
“The elevator is always faster,” I replied.