“That’s not funny.”
“Technically, it’s fifty percent funny.”
“No, it’s not, and you better be a hundred percent certain that nothing happens between you and my sister.”
We both turned our attention back to breakfast and spent the time eating and having a pleasant conversation with the Hu family. Well, it was pleasant until Mrs. Hu asked me how I stayed in such good shape, and then it was a tad bit uncomfortable.
“Clearly, you’re exaggerating, Mrs. Hu,” I responded.
“Call me Anne, and clearly I’m not—unless, of course, that was another man standing around in his underwear in my daughter’s cabin this morning.”
“Mother!”
“It’s OK, Stephanie, and, to answer your question, Anne, I make a point of eating really well and exercising every day.”
“And by that he means have a shitload of sex,” Babs interjected.
Mrs. Hu smiled.
“Now that’s my kind of workout!” she responded, as she reached over and squeezed my thigh, the gesture making me unconsciously want to hum the opening part to the Simon and Garfunkel song Mrs. Robinson.
“I’m afraid our resident Frenchman is joking, though it is true that sex does burn a lot of calories and work your core.”
“Oh, I could certainly use some more work on my core,” she said, giving me a little wink.
It was fun talking with the saucy Mrs. Hu, but I couldn’t help but wonder if discussing sex in front of Mr. Hu was playing with fire—especially considering I had slept with his daughter, albeit innocently, the night before. With my recent luck, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that Mr. Hu was a brilliant Kung Fu teacher, and the two of us would end up in an epic fight for his daughter and wife’s honor reminiscent of something out of Jackie Chan’s Drunken Master Two.
Thankfully, the conductor came along at that moment and announced that we would be arriving at Villa San Giovanni soon and should prepare to disembark if we were exiting at the station. We parted ways with the Hus then headed back to the first class car, though Lux was looking a little pensive as she walked along side me.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“Yeah, but I think we should contact the Sozo and find out how far off they are,” she said.
“That’s probably a good idea. We’ve had a pretty smooth ride thus far, and the sooner we get aboard, the sooner we get to relax.”
“Yeah, and it’ll be nice to be on some familiar ground.”
“Especially considering the fact we still don’t know shit about the Fuchs. Terrorists are one thing, but mysterious assassins who work for powerful corporations will have access to satellites and killer drones, and that gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
We went inside and joined Babs and Bridgette to make sure that we had everything ready to go then sat down to enjoy the ride to the train station. I’d never been to Villa San Giovanni but, from what I could see out our window, it appeared to be yet another spectacularly beautiful Italian city. The buildings were tucked right up into the hillside and looked out over the sparkling blue Strait of Messina that separated mainland Italy from the island of Sicily. It had plenty of old world charm with its neoclassical architecture and thin cobbled streets and, strangely, looked a lot like my home town of Sausalito minus, of course, the fog and cold green water of the San Francisco Bay.
The train slowed as it entered the station and finally came to a complete stop upon reaching the main platform. We ambled out the door to join the procession of first class passengers but paused to talk to the Hus. They were taking the train ferry to Sicily, so we exchanged contact information and bid a sad farewell to our new friends before exiting the car and stepping outside to experience a clear blue sky and some fresh temperate winter air. Unlike northern Europe, the winters here were pretty mild, and today’s temperature was around sixty degrees, which wasn’t too bad and actually pretty close to the climate I was used to back home in California—the moment bringing on an ever so brief twinge of homesickness.
We waved a final goodbye to the Hus and moved out to the curb, where Babs hailed a cab. The first one to pull over turned out to be a small white Volkswagen van-like vehicle that we didn’t have over in the States. It was actually kind of cute, like a plus sized Mini Cooper, but my attention was quickly drawn from the vehicle to its driver, who had stepped out of the car to help us with our bags. Holy cannoli! She was exceptionally attractive and had lovely brown eyes, olive skin, and long dark silky hair that fell all the way to her generous bust line. She bent down to take hold of one of my bags, and her low-cut shirt allowed me to enjoy a tantalizing view of her lightly tanned mountainous region. She caught me looking and smiled mischievously, as only an Italian woman could—her gesture moving her up from very attractive to very sexy.
“Buongiorno,” I said, rolling the R like a local.
“Ah Americano,” she replied, enthusiastically.
“Si,” I said, feeling my usual sadness at having apparently inadequate language skills.
“My name is Isabella. Welcome to Villa San Giovanni.”
“I’m Tag. Nice to meet you.”
“The bag, she is heavy. What do you carry? A bunch of guns?” she joked.
Sexy and psychic, apparently.
“Of course, we’re on our way to Sicily. You can’t be too careful these days.”
“The Mafia is only a small part of the population. Don’t believe the movies. Sicily is beautiful.”
“As is this place,” I said, raising my eyebrow at Isabella.
“Grazie,” she said, giving me a little smile to acknowledge my compliment.
“Prego.”
“So, I take you to de ferry?”
“Si.”
“OK, but you should probably ride up front with me.”
“Si,” I said, as I slipped into the front seat.
I chanced a quick glance back at the others, and Lux gave me a stern look while Babs smiled, also having noticed our driver’s particular charm. Bridgette was, of course, in her own world busy looking at the display window of a boutique just across the street. I turned my attention back to Isabella, and she smiled and told us driving in Italy wasn’t like America and that we should all put on our seat belts and hold on tight. She was already buckled in, and I couldn’t help but notice how the shoulder strap belt divided and defined the fantastic shape of her breasts. Divide and conquer. Buono! She checked her mirrors then took off like a rocket, the movement throwing us all back in our seats as she merged into the bustling midday traffic, where she proceeded to brake, accelerate, weave, flash her lights, and wave her hands at other motorists in a symphony of motion. I was, therefore, particularly glad that she had invited me to sit up front, for, had I been in the backseat, I may very well have gotten carsick and puked all over my fellow passengers. Up here, I was doing just fine and enjoying the effects of inertial force as it related to Isabella’s formidable breasts. Every bump or sharp turn sent them into a new pattern of movement, and the effect was actually somewhat mesmerizing, leaving me staring dumbly until she noticed me looking and gave me another of her mischievous smiles.
“You like what you see?” she asked, as she gestured out at the town with her left hand, though we both knew exactly what she was actually referring to when she spoke.
“Sì, I like what I see a lot.”
She smiled demurely and ran her hand through her long hair, directing her locks off her beautiful face.
“So, what’s your story?” I asked.
“I drive a cab to pay the bills. The economy sucks, so I’m lucky to have a job but…”
“But it’s not your real job.”
“It’s real. But my true calling is painting.”
“Nudes?”
“Some. Why? You got time for a portrait?”
“Not at the moment, sadly.”
Lux chimed in from the backseat.
“Uh, mi scusi. How far away is the ferry?”
“We’ve passed it three time
s already,” Isabella said.
“Seriously?” Lux asked.
“No, I am kidding. It is just up ahead,” she said, smiling at me.
She made a hard left turn around another taxi then turned in sharply to the right and skidded to a stop at the curb.
“We’re here,” she said, smiling and holding up her arms.
“Too bad. Do you have a card in case I want to see some of your paintings sometime?” I asked.
“Of course.”
She handed me a card then stepped out of the van while the rest of us exited and grabbed our luggage, which we piled on the curb. I paid the fare and added a formidable tip—the view alone worth the price. Isabella leaned in and gave me a kiss on each cheek then, just when I thought she was done, put a third one right down the middle and square on my lips. It was quick and to the point but had lots of potential. Buono! I was definitely coming back to visit Italy. I waved one last time as she welcomed a new batch of customers into her taxi, then I turned and joined the others as they headed down to the ticket office. I did a quick visual sweep of the crowd, looking for any kind of un-friendlies, but fortunately didn’t see any skulking Middle Easterners or assassin types waiting in the wings.
Lux got us four tickets, and we ambled out to the ferry, which looked more like a ship in terms of size and shape. It was fairly symmetrical from bow to stern with the main super structure and passenger level residing directly in the middle and above an open car deck, which had an entrance and exit ramp at each end. This made perfect sense when you considered the fact that it needed a fast and efficient way to load and unload cars. Backing fifty cars off of a boat would be a nightmare compared to driving them straight off the bow ramp when they arrived at their destination. We, however, didn’t have a car and would, therefore, be disembarking on foot.
We boarded with a large group of passengers who, like the people on the train, were an obvious mixture of locals and tourists—the latter, again, obvious by the clothes and propensity for taking pictures. The trip across the Strait of Messina was going to take about an hour, so we found seats and settled in to enjoy a world-class view of both the Italian coast and the island of Sicily. Buono!
I decided to get some exercise by doing some exploring of the ferry and started out by going out on the deck to stand at the rail and take a moment to sightsee and do a little people watching. It wasn’t exactly the height of tourist season, but there were plenty of people taking pictures and enjoying the brief cruise. Among them I heard more than a fair share of Australian accents, which made sense considering it was their summer. The young ones were on vacation, and the older ones were probably just getting out of the heat. One particular group of healthy looking twentysomething Aussies next to me were taking a group photo, and I offered to take it for them so they could all get in the picture. A pretty blond girl with toothpaste model white teeth handed me her iPhone, then they lined up by the rail while I adjusted the framing to get the correct proportion of sky and sea. With that accomplished, I checked the focus then had a good look at my subjects and found that they were all tan, fit, and good-looking like all the Australians you saw on television and in the movies. It’s often alluded to that Australia was founded by convicts, which, if true, meant that England’s criminal element had a lot of really good-looking people, and the establishment was crazy to send them halfway around the world to an island.
“Alrighty! Say penis,” I said.
They all laughed, and I snapped the photo. Nothing elicits smiles like the unexpected use of the word penis, and the same pretty girl came over to check out the photo and was impressed. She asked if I could take another one with the ship in the background, and I, of course, said yes, and they all shuffled over into the new position.
“Say vagina,” I said.
They all laughed again, as there was nothing quite as effective as switching up the sex organs to keep them smiling. The same girl from before came over and checked out the picture and looked pleased as she showed it to me. It was nice, but my heart skipped a beat when I noticed two people in the background that I hadn’t seen when I took the photo. Just behind the Australians and in the back left corner were the two fucking Fuchs. They had somehow managed to find Babs’s lake house, but how in the flying fuck could the fucking Fuchs possibly be on this fucking ferry?
I handed the iPhone back to the girl and looked around for the fucking Fuchs, but they had disappeared, and I had to wonder if, perhaps, they had seen me first and were now hiding. I walked the length of the deck but saw nothing more than tourists and Italians, with the only point of interest being one particular guy who had the gall to wear yellow pants and a pink polo shirt. I could only guess that he might be a Frenchman, and I had a curious thought about the word gall, wondering, if perhaps, it described the mental fortitude it took to wear yellow pants and, therefore, originated from the word Gaul—as in Frenchman. I’d have to Google it later, as right now I wanted to find those fucking Fuchs. I’d start with a quick search of the passenger decks, and, if that failed, I could at least look for the silver Range Rover down on the car deck, where I might be able to do some more of my magic on its tires. But, first, however, I needed to talk to the others, as communication was generally the key to any successful covert operation. I returned to our seats to find them chatting away, and I had to clear my throat in order to get their attention.
“What is it? Did you find another guy in yellow pants?” Lux asked, in a condescending tone.
“Yeah, I did actually, though I’m more concerned about the fact that I found out the fucking Fuchs are on this fucking ferry.”
“How the hell could they have found us?” Lux asked.
“Have you called Corn again?”
“No, have you used your Agency credit card again?”
“No, so, they’re probably tracking us with satellites.”
“You’re being paranoid. You know as well as I that they can’t track us without some kind of homing beacon on our person.”
“That’s it. Lux, Bridgette, take off all your clothing right now. I need to search you. Nine times out of ten they plant homing bugs in the bra or underwear.”
“Fuck off. This is serious.”
“I know, which is why it’s so important to thoroughly search both of you.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Well then, which of you wants to check my pants for bugs?”
“You mean crabs?” Lux asked.
“No, and it’s not the time for snarky jokes. There could be an entire room full of technicians tracking my penis at this very moment.”
“I doubt even the NSA has enough manpower for that job,” Lux said.
“Let’s hope its womanpower, and, honestly, that kind of feels like a compliment.”
“It’s not.”
“Regardless, I’m taking it as a one.”
“You would.”
“Well, rather than sit around here with my thumb up my ass, I’m going back out to do some more recon and see if I can find those fucking Fuchs.”
Babs chuckled.
“Oh, did you find something funny, Babs?”
“Yes, your stupid thumb saying. It’s silly and doesn’t makes any sense.”
“Yeah? Well maybe you should smell your thumb. Now, do any of you want to come with me?”
No one stood up to join me, so it appeared this was going to be a solo mission.
“OK, fine. It’s just me then. Lone wolf Finn, but remember to switch out your thumbs after ten minutes or you’ll get a cramp.”
I left the team and started searching our own level first then systematically worked my way through the others but found no trace of the fucking Fuchs. It was getting a bit annoying that they kept popping up, though I took some solace in remembering my little ice water stunt back at the restaurant. Sure, the Fuchs were sneaky and persistent, but I had at least been able to perpetrate a little counter psychological warfare, and hopefully the woman was still angry with me for having exposed
her bosoms when I snatched their key fob. I must say, I was thoroughly impressed with her feminine goodies, and if I had to be hunted by ruthless assassins, it was nice that at least one of them was particularly attractive.
I went down the last flight of stairs to the car deck, and the first thing I saw was a man sleeping in the driver’s seat of his little Fiat 500. I would have thought that impossible, but the little car was obviously roomier than it appeared. Moving on, I took quick stock of the level and figured out pretty quickly why there were so few people down here. No view. The sides stood so tall that all you could see was the hull and the sky, and it was pretty boring scenery compared to the view up on the passenger deck. I moved to the stern then worked my way forward until finally seeing the silver Range Rover only two rows back from the bow. That meant they boarded the ship early, which could also mean that they knew we would be on it. Or, it could mean they had no idea we would be on it and assumed we were on one of the train ferries. Either conclusion implied they knew a lot more than they should.
I arrived at the vehicle to see that it was empty, so I had a quick look at the interior. It was pretty much the same except they had cleaned out the old coffee cups and food wrappers. Good for them. I hated unkempt cars. I checked the doors, not really expecting for any of them to be unlocked, but you never knew, as sometimes people made minor mistakes. These people didn’t, and the car was locked up tight. I guess I would pull the same ol’ trick as before and let the air out of their tires, as that would slow them down and, at the very least, create a hell of a traffic jam when they unloaded the cars in Sicily. I took a quick look around then dropped down to one knee and was just about to unscrew the valve cap when I heard a voice call out from behind me.
“Mi scusi! Che stai facendo li?” the man yelled, which roughly translated as excuse me, what are you doing.
Fuckeroni. Who the hell could it be? I turned around and saw a guy heading my way. He was wearing a stylish grey business suit, and I was guessing he was some kind of undercover policeman. Either way, I wasn’t going to engage in any kind of conversation, so I immediately dropped onto my stomach and rolled under the Range Rover, which, thankfully, had plenty of ground clearance to provide an impromptu hiding place. I would have been shit out of luck had it been a Porsche or BMW and would now be running like an idiot across the deck looking for a larger vehicle. Instead, I lay there quietly waiting for the guy to appear, which happened about six seconds later when his black dress shoes came into view. He walked around the front right side of the car to the spot where I had been, so I crawled to the opposite side and quietly got onto my knees and peered back under the car to see what he was doing. He, unexpectedly, dropped down, and now we were basically face-to-face.
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