“Well, Babs, I guess you now officially do have the fastest boat on Lake Como.”
“Indeed, and might I say that you are truly a walking disaster, my friend, but, in this particular instance, it’s one of your better traits.”
“Another compliment cleverly concealed in an insult. Well done.”
“Thank you. I do my best.”
“So, my little French wordsmith—where exactly are we headed?”
“The city of Como, and, since we don’t have a car, I think we should catch the train there and take it all the way to Sicily.”
“Train—sounds romantic.”
“Yeah, as long as we have a locking first class compartment and they don’t run out of water.”
“What happens if they run out of water?”
“No toilet or shower.”
Now I could understand why he didn’t sound all that thrilled about a train—and he didn’t even have any bathroom issues. At least we would be off the highway and have a bar and restaurant at our disposal. In my book, food and drink went a long way on a covert operation.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Strangeness on a Train
THE REST OF our cruise on beautiful Lake Como went as smoothly as the water itself, and, had we not been running for our lives, it would have been a lovely morning sightseeing trip. We reached the far end of the lake then pulled into a small marina in the city of Como and idled into an empty slip that afforded us a spectacular view of the city and surrounding mountains. Everyone grabbed their stuff, and, as we prepared to depart, I noticed Babs fussing with the boat’s first aid kit. I looked closer and saw that his hand was bleeding profusely, so I nosed in and inspected his wound. It appeared he had been grazed by a bullet or wood fragment and needed a little tender loving care.
“Here, let me take care of that,” I said.
“Hands off, Asshole.”
“Easy there, Babs. I think you’re forgetting I’m a trained medic.”
“It’s easy to forget that little fact, as it seems you spend the majority of your time trying to hurt people.”
“I’m complicated that way.”
I cleaned and bandaged his hand, then we grabbed our stuff and headed up to dry land, where Babs went to the street to hail a taxi. A minute later, a white Prius pulled up to the curb. What the hell? How could any self-respecting Italian get behind the wheel of such a gutless, soul-less wonder when his country made some of the most exciting automobiles in the world? Truly tragic. We piled in and discovered the driver to be a pleasant-looking middle aged Italian man smelling faintly of musky aftershave.
“Ciao-ciao, I’m Aldo!” he said, looking at the girls while completely ignoring Babs and me.
Fucking Italian men. Mount Vesuvius could be erupting, and they would still take the time to introduce themselves to a couple of beautiful women. Come to think of it, every man would likely stop and do that, so it stood to reason that all men were perhaps a little bit Italian.
“Where to my sweet darlings?” he asked.
“The train station,” Lux responded.
“Ci, ci!
Aldo proceeded to put the car in forward and pulled out into the light morning traffic, and I quickly learned that he had an almost superhuman ability to multitask. He somehow managed to drive the car and talk at the same time, and, while that doesn’t seem like a big deal, it is if you know a thing or two about Italians. It was often said in jest that the best way to get an Italian to shut up was to cut off his hands. That was because they tended to use a lot of physical gestures when they talked, and Aldo was no exception. He chatted away with the ladies, all the while flailing his hands about as he pointed out landmarks, restaurants, and pretty much anything and everything he could think of to keep their attention. Even more amazing was that he also managed to add the additional actions of hitting the horn, flashing the lights, and making colorful gestures at the other drivers—the result being that he never had his hands on the wheel for more than a fraction of a second at any one moment.
I was gripped by both mild terror and admiration for the entire twenty or so minutes it took to reach the supposedly nearby train station. I was pretty fucking sure we could have driven to the other side of the lake and back in that amount of time, so I’m guessing he took the scenic route just so he could extend his quality time with our ladies. Lux paid him, then he held the door for her and Bridgette while Babs and I exited unaided on the street side of the taxi. We grabbed our bags from the trunk and headed inside the station, where Babs got in line and bought us four tickets. After that, we talked to one of the conductors, and he directed us to head up the platform towards the car at the front of the train. Sweet heaven on wheels! We were in first class, which meant I was certainly moving up in the world.
It was slow going as we made our way among the throngs of people, and, halfway through the economy section, we came across a group of four tough looking young guys who had just cut in line by pushing aside an equally young couple. The thugs didn’t look Italian and, with their sallow complexion and stern faces, were very likely émigrés from Eastern Europe—most likely Russia. They stuck out like four ugly sore thumbs with their dull expressions, acid washed jeans, and cheesy leather jackets, and the apparent leader of the assclown contingency took his fashion to the next level of tacky by incorporating cowboy boots into his already garish ensemble. As if their physical appearance wasn’t already annoying enough, the gruesome foursome was carrying a retro nineteen-eighties style boombox that was blasting out some kind of Russian hip hop music.
The leader, Mr. Cowboy Boots, was now looking menacingly at the young couple, hoping that the man might try and protest their rude intrusion so that he and his friends could give the poor guy a beatdown as a means of establishing their male dominance. The thug put on a pretty good show of leering and posturing, but it was always easy to act tough when you had three assholes to back you up. I continued to watch them interact and thought they seemed like a pretty cohesive unit, and I would bet good money that they had been together most of their lives, always getting ahead by pushing other people around and taking whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted it. A psychologist would probably tell you that they came from abusive homes or alcoholic parents, but my professional opinion was that they were old enough to know better and were, therefore, just a bunch of assholes, or more accurately—assclowns.
We continued walking straight towards the little pack of acid washed assclowns with Lux leading the way, and I had a bad feeling that she was going to start something we’d all have to finish. As we entered their imaginary little section of turf, they refused to make room for us to pass, and Lux, already angry after having seen them bully the couple, was now livid. It was a big mistake on their part, as they obviously didn’t know the old proverb about a woman scorned. Mr. Cowboy Boots stepped up and glowered at her, all but daring her to try and pass. She smiled, then abruptly stepped forward and shoved him aside, the move practically knocking him onto his ass. He recovered quickly and came back at her—winding up to retaliate with a punch after such a bold attack against his manhood. Fortunately, I was only a step behind and quickly closed the distance and managed to redirect his punch then grab hold of his wrist and transition into a classic ulna press. In this instance, I decided to augment it with a little aikido technique. That meant adding in a strategic pull, and, as I pressed his elbow joint down towards the ground, I stepped back with my right foot and proceeded to also pull his arm in a clockwise circular motion—or, as the aikido people liked to say, I was making a hole and tossing him into it. He went down in a spiral onto his stomach, and his chin bounced off the concrete, his eyes glazing over as the shock of the impact sent what little brains he had sloshing around in his skull. Two nearby security officers, who had been standing nearby, raced over and interceded before any of Mr. Cowboy Boots’s assclown posse could step in and join the fun.
“Mi scusi, c’è un problema?” the nearest policeman, asked.
I figu
red it was probably better not to make any official complaints at this point, as I was carrying a bag full of deadly weapons and had, only the day before, beaten up an entire restaurant full of Italian policemen.
“No, signore,” I said, lifting Mr. Cowboy Boots back up to his feet, his head apparently still spinning judging by the confused expression on his otherwise dour face.
I told the officer that the guy had slipped, and that I was just helping him up. I’m not sure if he believed me, but I suspect he decided that busting a group of young assclowns wasn’t worth his time, so, he and his partner did the truly Italian thing and turned their attention to Lux and Bridgette. The girls were nice and made the obligatory small talk, engaging in a brief conversation with the enamored officers until they said a heartfelt ciao and returned to their post. We continued on our way, and I gave the thugs a parting wave, knowing full well they were watching our every step and probably fantasizing about tearing me apart like a Christmas goose. Babs turned to me with a disapproving look on his face.
“You are a fucking magnet for trouble,” he said.
“More like a magnet for women who create trouble, as you know as well as I that it was Lux who started the scuffle with the assclowns.”
“Yeah, because they totally deserved it,” she said.
She was, of course, correct, but I had a distinctly bad feeling that we would be seeing those assclowns again. We continued on to the first class car and boarded the train to find our cabin resided smack dab in the middle of the right hand side. The door was open, and all of us walked in and put down our bags. Babs had gotten us the largest room they offered, and it could sleep up to six people, so having only four meant that there would be plenty of extra room to make ourselves at home. Babs and Bridgette grabbed a bunk on the left side, so Lux and I chose beds on the right, and, as they were stacked like bunkbeds, I did the gentlemanly thing and let Lux choose.
“Do you want to do it missionary or cowgirl?” I asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Top or bottom.”
She smiled.
“Oh, gotcha. I guess missionary.”
“Good, I was hoping to be on top.”
In a matter of minutes, we were settled in and ready for a romantic overnight jaunt down the boot of Italy. As I sat there, my stomach growled, and I looked at my watch to see it was well past eleven. In our hasty exit from Babs’s lake house, we had, unfortunately, missed breakfast, so it was time to find either the restaurant or the bar car and get some early lunch. I opened our door and saw, at the end of the car, an older Asian couple stepping aboard, though they were moving slowly as they were encumbered by an abundance of luggage. I, therefore, stepped forward to offer my help and took hold of their suitcases while the man looked at his ticket then pointed down the hallway.
“Number six,” he said, in British accented English, which made it very likely that he and his wife were from Hong Kong.
Their cabin was just across the hall from ours, and I walked up the passageway and put their luggage in their room. Just as I turned around to leave, a beautiful Asian woman appeared in the doorway. She was probably around thirty and had lovely almond eyes, full lips, and long, beautiful dark hair.
“There you are,” she said, in a rather posh sounding British accent as she set aside her massive rolling suitcase.
“Yes, here I am,” I said, knowing full well she wasn’t speaking to me.
She smiled.
“Oh, I’m sorry—that was meant for my parents,” she said.
Before I could respond, the woman, who was obviously her mother, spoke up.
“This delightful young man just helped us with our luggage,” she said.
“Oh, thank you so much,” my beautiful new arrival said, flashing me a lovely smile that accentuated her particularly inviting lips.
“My pleasure.”
“And, you’re American?”
“I sure am.”
“Are you on holiday as well?”
“Kind of, but it’s a working holiday. Speaking of which, do you need help with that monster of a suitcase?”
“I’m only in the next room over, so I should be able to manage.”
“Maybe if you had a forklift. Here it’ll be my pleasure to help,” I said, taking hold of her suitcase.
She led me next door, and I placed it beside the bed before stepping back out into the hallway, where I paused to say goodbye to my lovely neighbor.
“So, where are you staying?” she asked.
“A couple doors down on the other side.”
“Oh good—we’re neighbors.”
“Yes indeed, so welcome aboard, neighbor.”
“Would you mind if I bought you a drink later this evening to show my appreciation for all your help,” she asked.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. Your company would be more than enough of a reward.”
“I insist.”
“Well, as I make it a habit to never to disappoint a beautiful woman, I suppose we have a date.”
“Indeed, we do, so it’s only proper that we exchange names. I’m Stephanie Hu,” she said, holding out her hand.
I wanted to respond by saying her name in the form of a question—Stephanie who?—but figured she had probably been hearing that since childhood and wouldn’t find it the least bit funny.
“Nice to meet you, Stephanie. I’m Finn, Tag Finn,” I said, shaking her hand.
“Well then, Tag, I look forward to seeing you tonight,” she said, before slipping back into her cabin and closing the door.
I turned around and there stood Lux, and she had her hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised as she looked at me with her usual discerning gaze.
“What?” I asked.
“Ten minutes. Can you go ten minutes without meeting a woman?”
“Yeah. I could probably go ten minutes, but why?”
“Man-whore,” she grumbled, under her breath.
My gaze suddenly shifted down the hall, where I spied one of the thugs from earlier eyeing us menacingly.
“Looks like we have company,” I said.
Lux turned, and we both watched as the conductor appeared and asked the guy for his ticket then told him to return to his proper compartment. He gave us a departing sneer then headed off towards the other end of the train.
“You think he’s doing a little recon so he can come back with his friends later tonight?” she asked.
“Considering our luck as of late, I’d say it’s almost a certainty.”
“Oh well, I suppose it’s just another bump in the road, so we had best keep up our strength by getting something to eat.”
Babs and Bridgette appeared, and Lux gave me a gentle shove forward down the passageway as we began our journey to the next car, which conveniently turned out to be the bar car. The bartender, a young man around twenty-five with blue eyes and the shaggy light brown hair of a northern Italian, said they wouldn’t be serving any lunch in either the bar or the restaurant car until we started moving. He could, however, get us drinks in the meantime, so everyone ordered a cappuccino, then we had a seat at one of the tables, and I took a moment to look out the window and scan the crowd outside. I was desperately hoping that we had left the fucking Fuchs and the fucking terrorists behind and would be able to enjoy an uneventful night followed by an equally uneventful morning. I didn’t see anyone that piqued my interest, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath.
The bartender brought our drinks and a sweet little surprise over to our table. He, like every other Italian man we had met thus far, fell instantly in love with Lux and Bridgette, which was obviously the reason why he delivered a plate with two cornettos on it. The cornetto was the Italian version of the croissant and usually came plain or filled with cream or jam. At the moment, however, I was so hungry that I would have been happy had it been filled with dog shit, but, fortunately for everyone, it was stuffed with a delicious looking cream.
“Lux, can you go ten minutes without getting hit
on by some random Italian man?”
“I could, but why?”
“Touché.”
“Yeah, so you should just be thankful you have something to eat,” Lux said, as she cut it in two and graciously handed me half.
“Gracie!” I said.
“Preggo.”
The train started moving, and, soon thereafter, the bar car began to fill with the lunch crowd, which was a mix of business people and tourists, the latter obvious by their khaki pants and propensity for pictures. The bartender returned to take our order, and we kept it simple by choosing sandwiches, salads, and more coffee along with a large bottle of sparkling mineral water. The food arrived, and we dug in and enjoyed our tasty lunch. Finished and feeling properly sated, we headed back to our cabin and ran into the Hu family in the hallway.
“Off to lunch?” I asked.
“Yes, any recommendations?”
“The sandwiches and salads in the bar car were pretty good.”
“Good to know.”
“Will we be seeing you for dinner?” Stephanie’s mother asked.
“Of course, mother. I owe Tag a drink,” Stephaine said.
“Excellent! Then we shall all dine together,” her mother responded.
Stephanie gave me an embarrassed look, but I just smiled, as there was nothing more uncomfortable and typical than having your mother butt in when you were making a potential love connection. Oh well, I suppose our date just got a bit more crowded, but what the hell—we were on an adventure, riding on a train, and traveling down the boot of Italy, so it was better to accept the twists and turns as they came.
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