Who holds a carnival during a blizzard?
From Naomi’s perspective, that’s what this boisterous and brightly lit corner of San Vito appeared to be. All this strangeness—the booming music, the glowing brilliance, the cheering voices—had drawn her out of the dark, snow-swept streets.
With her limp, she struggled down the pedestrian alleyway. Bars packed both sides. Sheltered by the press of tall buildings, snow fell heavily, but the winds were somewhat tamed.
But not the people.
Drunken revelers crowded the narrow street. All around, off-key choruses were shouted more than sung. Bottles clinked. Bodies bumped. A group of men caroused past in nothing but boxers, braving the snow, maybe celebrating the coming ski season. Or more likely simply using the storm as an excuse to let loose.
As she fought onward, someone grabbed her shoulder, nearly drawing a scream from her. She expected to feel a gun at her back or a knife in her ribs. Instead, she turned and found a familiar face leering down, cherry-cheeked and bleary-eyed.
The man—still in the same Moncler parka and Bogner cap—pinched his fingers at his lips, pantomiming smoking. “Bene, sì?You need more? I can get you.”
Naomi searched around for this guy’s drug-dealing partner—the older woman—but there was no sign of her. Still, considering this raucous crowd, it was likely a good place to do business this night.
But that’s not what I came here for.
She turned to the man, remembering his name. “Antonio, I need a phone.”
It was her turn to play the mime, pretending to hold a cell to her ear. It was one of the reasons she had risked leaving the dark streets. That and she needed a port in this storm, to warm away the threat of frostbite, to gain the insulation of others around her.
“Phone no good,” Antonio said. “No service. Towers snowed over.”
She had feared as much, but she had a back-up plan. During her flight across town, she had made one stop. She had ducked into the lighted—and thankfully—warm vestibule of an Italian bank. For the first time since being thrust into all of this, she had used her debit card and withdrawn her maximum daily allowance.
Three hundred euros.
She saw no reason not to risk this. The Brotherhood already knew she was in town. After grabbing the cash, she had fled—though, with this storm, she doubted the notification of the withdrawal would reach her pursuers any time soon. Plus, her effort at the bank had not been solely to secure cash, but also to verify what she had hoped to be true.
The drug dealer had begun to turn away, but she grabbed him. “What about an internet café? Is there anything like that near here?”
From the success of her withdrawal, she hoped this meant the regional internet services remained operational.
Antonio scrunched up his face, then slowly nodded with a shrug. “But might be closed.”
She knew most such cafés were open 24/7, so she was willing to take this chance. “Can you show me?”
He thrust out a palm. “Twenty euros.”
She sighed, gave him a scathing look, and fingered out a single bill without revealing how much cash she had on hand. “Take me there.”
He headed off, shoving through the drunken crowd, forging a path for her. He noted her limp. “You hurt.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I get you oxy.Molto bene. You feel better.”
She considered it, but she feared the current blizzard-pricing would drain her meager funds. “No. I’m fine.”
The level of gouging became clearer when her guide turned the next corner. Steps away, a green sign glowed through the snow, emblazoned with a stylized cup of steaming coffee and the wordinternetstenciled beneath it.
Antonio waved with a great flourish. “Here it is.”
She rolled her eyes, pushed past him, while offering a sarcastic, “Grazie.”
“Prego,” he responded and retreated into the riotous crowd.
As she entered the establishment, she found the place packed, which, for its small size, meant about seven patrons. Plainly, she was not the only one seeking a means of outside communication.
