Chapter 2: Before the rain stops
1118 Words
The rain stopped before two o'clock in the morning.
The rain in Naples is always like this. It doesn't make sense when it comes and doesn't say goodbye when it leaves, leaving a whole city of wet slate roads and darkened walls.
Leah stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window and watched the last few drops of water slowly sliding down the glass.
She was still wearing the clothes she came back from the art gallery. Her coat was on the back of the chair, and a button was loosened at the neckline. Her hair was a little messy, and a strand of broken hair that had not been completely dried in front of her forehead was attached to the skin, which made her look not as accurate and neat as usual.
She dimmed the light in the room until there was only one wall lamp left. The warm yellow light hit her side face, outlining the slight shadow under her eyes a little deeper.
The mobile phone is lying quietly on the coffee table.
The screen is facing down.
She knew that if she turned over, there should be news from London - ask about the progress of the case, ask the art gallery whether the loss has been confirmed, and ask if she has contacted the key person.
Key figures.
She closed her eyes, and the figure of the man in the rain appeared in her mind.
Black, dangerous, careless.
And the hand holding the gun.
She has never been obsessed with guns.
When she was trained, guns were just tools, cold equipment that needed to be disassembled, cleaned and practiced. But that night, the way he took the gun was not a "tool" at all.
That's more like a habit--
It's like a person who is so used to holding a certain force that even if he doesn't plan to shoot, as long as the metal is attached to his hand, he will naturally relax.
She realized that she was thinking about his hand.
This thought made her frown.
She turned around and tried to put her attention back to the information on the table. That's the exhibition list and insurance contract of the art museum. She should have taken advantage of her fresh memory to mark out the suspicious details in the surveillance and send them back to the consulate.
She sat down, turned over the document, and held the pen in her hand.
A moment later, she found that her eyes had been on the same line of text for a long time.
"...Exhibit No.1: 'Sleeping River'--"
Is it the river that is sleeping soundly, or is it her before tonight?
The landline on the table suddenly rang - not a long bell, but just a short prompt.
The internal phone number of the consulate.
She took a look and didn't move.
The second and third sounds sounded in a row. The bell didn't ring, but it made people upset. She reached out and pressed the answer button, but there was no sound.
"Have you returned to the apartment?"
Eliza's voice came from the other end, passing through the signal of half of Europe, with a very light electric current rustling sound.
Leah held the receiver and leaned on the back of the chair.
"You arranged the apartment for me. Where else can I go?"
"It sounds like you're not in a good mood."
Eliza smiled and said, "Is it annoying you to lose the painting? Or did someone you see at the scene distracted you?"
She asked too directly and carelessly.
"I'm working." Leah replied, "I will sort out all the information and send it to you."
"I don't doubt your efficiency."
It was quiet over there for a second.
"But I just heard from the informant over there that you met a man surnamed Rosano at the scene."
Leah's fingers clenched the receiver slightly.
"The news spread quite quickly." She said lightly.
"This is the characteristic of that city."
Eliza's tone is still very light, "The rain always rains suddenly, and the news is always faster than the rain."
There was another brief silence.
"Isn't he good-looking?" Eliza suddenly asked.
Leah was stunned for a moment, and then smiled.
"I thought you would ask him first if he pointed a gun at me."
"That kind of person can never scare people without really shooting."
On the other end of the phone, the sound of the back of the chair gently rubbing came, as if she had changed her posture. "So I'm more curious whether he meets your aesthetics."
Leah didn't answer the phone.
"You know what I'm talking about, Leah."
When the name came out of Eliza's mouth, there was a kind of indistinguishable closeness and control.
"You like dangerous people." Eliza said slowly, "Especially the one that looks more difficult to tame than you."
"You talk as if you are talking about yourself."
"At least I won't point a gun at you."
"You are holding something else." Leah said.
She didn't understand what it was, but they all knew it well - the file, the right to sign, the life and death of the mission, and even her visa, passport, and future career path.
"That's why," Eliza's voice was lowered a little, "I'm the most dangerous kind of you than Mr. Rosano."
Leah didn't deny it.
"Set up your curiosity."
Eliza seemed to end an unpleasant joke. "You can see if you want to see it. If you want to get close, you can get close, but don't forget that every step you take has a way back."
"I've always had it."
"It's not an emotional retreat." Eliza said, "It's political."
When the "emotion" fell into her ear, Leah subconsciously avoided her sight and looked at the wet street outside the window.
"Sleep well." The person on the other end of the phone closed his voice, "I want to see your report tomorrow, not a bunch of your subjective description of the eyes of a gangster heir."
She hung up the phone.
The landline "dropped" and returned to silence.
When Leah put the receiver back, her movements slowed down. When the back of her hand was holding the plastic, there was a slight and almost invisible tremor.
She picked up the pen and typed a very small dot next to the three letters "Rosano" on the paper.
It is not marked as a "key target" or a "dangerous person". It is just a small ink mark that can be ignored by almost anyone.
She stared at that point for a while.
Then, she turned off the light, leaving only the faint street light outside the window.
The room is dark.
- Writer
