UNHOLY - A Bad Boy Romance (70 page)

At a certain point, you have to stop fooling around and move forward in the direction that seems unpleasant.

Most of the time, we have opportunities to take action, and we can opt for divertive approaches to our behavior. We see an obstacle, and we can head in a different direction. Evasive maneuvers like this are often a sign of attempting to protect ourselves. Well, I had come to the conclusion that with my dad gone, and with Tyler gone — with my home gone, and all of my security threatened, there wasn’t much left to protect.

I felt like there was no more need for any evasive maneuvers. I would head straight into the heart of the problem, and see if anything could be salvaged. I would bring myself and an antibody, or a martyr for the sake of diffusing a situation that had gotten far too out of control.

Laughing to myself, I packed up the bag and made sure that everything was watertight once more. There was a bitterness in my tone, and tears in my eyes. As strange as it might seem, I actually felt a great deal of freedom in the resignation toward my fate.

I had no great responsibilities outside of myself, and I was free to make anything of my life that I wanted. If this was the start of the last decisions I would make, then so be it.

At least you had a good run
, I told myself, zipping up the bag, and looking down into the water at the base of the stone inlet.

The tide had risen, and though much of my exposed skin had dried off significantly, my ass was still wet due to the spray of the water below. I timed the tides so that I would dive into the water as soon as the wave third crest had passed. Once in the water, I began to swim north. If I was to head to Corsica, I would need a boat.

I didn’t have a very specific idea of where I was, as I hadn’t spent much time in this area before. However, I was vaguely aware of the geography and knew that there were a few coastal towns located just outside of Rome. After making gym way up the lonesome coast, I ended up arriving at Ostia.

There wasn’t much to say about the town. It was small and actually reminded me of a Lido, except within the context of the rural coast. Lido was more dense with its population, and therefore, even though the Lido was full of poor fishermen in certain areas of the coast, there were quite a few of them. Here in Ostia, there were significantly fewer fishermen, in terms of density, but in terms of socio-economic strata, they appeared to be one in the same. As such, I felt at ease, like I was coming home.

My shoulders lowered, and I walked a bit more confidently amongst the coastal shacks that reminded me so much of my father’s place. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for at the time, but I knew it wasn’t going to be something obvious.

In order to legitimately pay for a boat, I would have to transfer some of the drug materials I had into cold hard cash. One doesn’t exactly make a deal like that in broad daylight, without any kind of prior acquaintance. Alternatively, I could work for someone, sleep with someone, or steal a boat. Of all of the options, stealing a boat sounded like the best decision. I was in a hurry and didn’t really have time to stick around and clean someone’s garage for a couple of days. Even then, there was no guarantee that whomever I worked for would trust me enough to let me take a boat out to Corsica and then potentially return it at some later date.

I could have taken the ferry, had the hour not been so late, but the last ferry to leave the area was already gone. If I wanted to stick around until tomorrow and sweet talk my way on board as a stowaway — I guess that was an option as well. I just wanted to get going and take care of this tonight.

I had resolved to steal a boat and had picked a certain number of possibilities during my stroll along the docks. I stuck to the areas where there appeared to be multiple boats that belonged to the same owner. I didn’t want to be a financial burden to someone, but I also didn’t want the person to be too well off. If people were too well off, they generally didn’t hesitate to call the police. Whereas, someone who was a bit downtrodden might have more of a lag time between when the boat was stolen, and when the call was made.

My dad, for example, once had his boat stolen. It was a smaller boat, and it turned out that it was an old friend of his who had borrowed it in the evening time. The next day the man returned the boat and gave my dad a bit of a cut from whatever he had borrowed the boat for. A classic example of taking action first, and asking for forgiveness at a later date. Had my dad been more of a tight ass he might have given the cops a call, and his friend might have gotten in trouble. Not to mention, I don’t think my dad had to work as hard for the next two months, due to that little mishap.

Sometimes, when we relax a bit on what is considered ‘our personal property’, things end up working out for us in the end. I could only hope that the person who I borrowed the ship from would feel the same about my little evening adventure. I found my mark eventually, and instead of walking around like a blatant fool just outside of the dock area, I made sure that I dove straight for the goal, and jumped onboard the ship as soon as I walked by during my second pass.

My body hit the floor of the boat with a thunk, and the ship sank with my weight.

It was a small ding — a sailboat named “Veloce”. The ship was old, and couldn’t have been more than a hobby boat for someone. The paint was chipped, and it sat low on the dock, well beneath the shadow of another, more highly functional fishing vessel. Neither of them indicated that the owner was particularly well off, except for the fact that he managed to have two ships to his name.

I say “He,” because there were pin-ups plastered on the inside cupboards of the ships. Either I was dealing with a middle aged lesbian who caught fish for a living [not impossible, and probably would have been a delight to speak with], or I was dealing with someone who was I would guess in their mid-forties, looking a bit gruffer and sea-worthy than your average Roman Metro male.

The sales themselves were stained tan and showed signs of age. The name was barely legible, along the side of the boat, worn from both sun and weather. In spite of the condition of the ship’s appearance, the ropes were new, and I could tell that the person who owned the boat did what they could to maintain its functionality.

This will do fine
, I told myself, holding onto the central mast, and beginning to undo the ropes.

“Don’t suppose you were going to ask before you took that out for at ride?” a gruff man spoke from overhead to my right.

I looked up, shocked, and immediately my pupils dilated in fear.

I relaxed when I saw that the man was unarmed, and had simply been staring at me from the edge of the fishing boat. I calmed myself and looked up at the man.

His expression was a bit less than pleased, but he didn’t look particularly angry — just disappointed, and a bit peeved. As though he had expected more out of the world a while ago, and had been consistently proven that those expectations were not realistic.

“I’ll give ya a minute to explain yourself before I call the cops,” he said, “though to be honest, if you’d have chosen a different ship to steal, your body might have been found in the water tomorrow morning. Not everybody is as sympathetic to little girls, playing pirate as myself.”

“Well, I’m very grateful not to be found in the ocean upon the morning time,” I returned, not a small bit of sarcasm present in my voice.

“What are you needing the boat for, and why shouldn’t I call the police on you right now?”

I thought about my response for a moment, not sure if I should be honest with him, or if I should withhold information for the sake of personal privacy. Then I came to the realization that as the sum of my life moved forward, I was becoming more and more present within my experiences. There was no anticipatory possible future any longer. I had conceded to move forward with a plan that very well could have me killed. By that time tomorrow, if I managed to make my way to Corsica, I could be shot, killed or worse.

No - I decided.

Now was not a time for secrets.

Now was a time for drastic honesty, and the decision to move forward in a direction regardless of what might come about as a result.

“Nosa Geraldine is my father, and a man killed him less than a week ago.”

The man grew visibly silenced and obviously felt a lack of comfort as a result of my disclosure. I continued regardless of his apparent discomfort.

You asked
, I thought to myself, and then moved forward with my proclamation.

“I intend to sail out to Corsica, and then confront my father’s killer. I intend to entrap him, and possibly kill him myself. I’m not certain how I will do this, but I’m prepared to move forward, and take this line of thought until the end of the line — whatever that may be.”

The man was silent for several long moments. He looked at me at first, and then his eyes moved to the side, as though he was more than a bit disconcerted by this information.

“Nosa and I used to sail together,” the man finally said, his voice cracking as he spoke, “when I lived in Lido. I only moved here eight years or so ago. I’m sorry to hear about his death, but I’m glad to see you. Piper, is it?”

I nodded. Now it was my turn to be shocked.

“I don’t recognize you,” I said, “but I wasn’t exactly very fond of spending time with my father during that period of time.”

“You were a young woman yet, and you had to go through that time period as all young women do. There is no shame in what you have done, and much pride in what you are doing now.”

I watched him in the evening light as he bit his lip.

“You know, I can’t go with you, though it would seem as though fate brought you here to my boat tonight. I have a family here and if you’re planning on dying in order to fulfill your karma, I can’t stop you. However, I can let you borrow the boat.”

“What if I can’t return it?” I asked, understanding in all seriousness that this might indeed be an option.

“There is a town, close to here, on the island of Corsica. The town is called Porto - Vecchio. You can sail over tonight, and dock there in the early dawn. There is a fair enough wind out this evening, and I trust that a daughter of Nosa can manage the ocean current at night. I will fetch my boat tomorrow during my morning fishing run. They have people who will take a ride across the bay for less than a day’s wages, so that is no major loss to me.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” I said, thinking that I would have to be sure to take care of this man if I ever had the opportunity.

“If you are free by the morning, then perhaps I will find this boat here when I wake up, and there will not be any reason for me to worry.”

At this last statement, he smiled, and I realized that he was not talking about his boat. This stranger was actually offering some care and concern for me as a person. I felt, in that moment, the sense of love that the world gives you when you least expect it. Here was a man, doing god knows what in his boat in the early evening, and I just happened to be in the right position to enjoy his presence.

“Love is a strange thing when you’re not expecting it,” I said, more to myself than to anyone else.

The man heard, however, and he smiled at me, and then walked away toward the dock, along the deck of his fishing vessel. He shouted the coordinates of the town toward me, as well as our current point of departure. I realized that with a fair approximation, I could leave now, and probably float there by dawn. With my level of sailing experience and a bit of luck, I could probably count on arriving there by early morning. I affirmed that I understood his directions with a nod, and then set about the ship to make my preparations for departure.

“Godspeed, Daughter of Nosa,” I heard him say, and then I saw the curl of the ropes which had tied the ship to the dock fly toward my feet.

The cords landed with a soft thud, and I watched as the man pushed the small ship away from the dock. With expertise, I grabbed the nearest oar and began to push away from the other ship, heading out into the waters toward Corsica. The sun was setting, and I would not have much time to get situated. Knowing time was of the essence, I launched the sails, and caught a brisk evening wind away from the coast. The night would be short, but I was more than prepared for whatever might come in the morning.

I smiled to myself, feeling a grim sort of satisfaction.

There was no need for sleep. I was more than capable of taking a rest in the deep waters, but my mind was spinning, and my adrenals were flowing. There would be no sleep this night, and perhaps none to follow in the next. As a matter of fact, there might not be any sleep ever again — and I was alright with that possibility.

Such is the mindset of one who has decided to engage their future — whatever the result might be.

The night passed without incident, and I arrived in Porto - Vecchio just before dawn. The fishermen were just getting their boats out of the small harbor for the day, and though I got more than a few curious glances, nobody bothered me. By in large, fishermen around these parts appeared to be much more accommodating and respectful of personal privacy than not.

They reminded me of my dad.

He used to pry into my business, but in retrospect, that was only because he cared so deeply about what direction my life was moving. In the end, his intuitions proved to be correct.

I let out a long sigh, reminiscing about things that I could no longer change.

The fact of the matter was that though he did put his nose into my business on a regular basis, he did his bet to leave the rest of the community to their own devices. The attitude wasn’t an issue of ‘strangers be damned,” or anything so callous as that. More than anything, it was simply the respect that other people had a right to decide whether or not they were going about their business in a way that was good for them. Reminded me of the old Wiccan rede, practiced by the older folks of the country.

“An it ‘arm none, do as ye will,” was the saying.

I didn’t know if my actions would result in harming none, but then again, I wasn’t sure my dad would be so opposed to that type of action either. Everything had to be weighed when considering the ethical responsibilities that an individual had to live up to. At the very least, it seemed like these fishermen were leaving those karmic determinations up to myself, which was a bit of a weight off my shoulders, to say the least.

Wrapping the cord around a free post on the dock, I stepped off and made my way through the dim morning light to the town. If the boat was discovered by some antsy official, they would likely assume the ship was stolen, and would contact the registered owner. He would end up being fined, but other than that, nothing would come of it. He had known that no doubt before lending the vessel to me.

In all likelihood, he was friends with one or more of the people who policed such matters. I had been told more than once by my father that fines and the sort like that were often levied against more irresponsible civilian types; joyriders who were careless about where their boats were docked. Fishermen brought all of the major financial weight into towns like this, and as such were treated with a bit of respect, within some circles.

According to the Intel from Angela
, I thought to myself, taking a look at the town and getting my bearings,
I’ll need to head west to Sotta.

I had committed the address and general whereabouts to heart. There was no more need for me to use a great deal of my brain space, so that which was available had dedicated itself to this singular task. There were no places in the future where I had to be, and no details that I needed to remember except these.

Now I know how a trained assassin must feel
, I thought, but then immediately scoffed at the notion.

For a moment, I felt more self-conscious than not. I knew how to fire a gun, and I knew how to seduce a man, but there was no way that I could be sure that these talents, if you could call them that, would be enough to achieve the sort of results I was looking for.

I took advantage of the fact that the town was still sleepy, and pulled my one remaining thieves card out of my pocket — I hot wired a Vespa. Those fuckers are a dime a dozen in these parts, and no self-respecting Italian youth should get through their teenage years without picking up on a skill like that. With an obnoxious roar, and a few loud, barking dogs, I was off down the highway toward Sotta.

I gripped tightly to the vibrating handlebars of the scooter.

Almost there.

I knew that the whine from the scooter was the last thing that I needed to bring with me into the upcoming situation. I opted to pull to the side and park about five miles outside of Sotto. If Angela’s information was correct, I shouldn’t have more than an eight-mile walk to where I was headed. I was a bit begrudging when I dropped the scooter, knowing that a bit more time on the thing would decrease my fatigue level considerably, but then I decided against it. A walk would do me well, and I saw no reason to turn down an opportunity to clear my mind.

God knows I needed it.

After checking the coordinates on my phone, I found that if I cut through the forest, I could shave about three miles from the trip, two if I used the posted trails, and departed them at the last minute. I opted to take a stroll through the woods, though I grew increasingly wearier when I knew myself to be approaching the location of the hideout.

Maurice probably has scouts in this area
.

I opted to take cover in the trees and thick shrubs which spotted the undergrowth.

I hadn’t seen anyone yet, but that didn’t mean anything. I was hardly a forest ranger and was a bit out of my element. Nevertheless, I approached the coordinates given to me by Angela in the stealthiest way possible.

Just before the entrance, I felt my heart racing with anticipation of the events to follow. I realized that in that moment I had practically no lucid means of moving forward. I began to panic and thought to myself about the pain and problematic nature of my place in this scenario. I had no weapon and no means of providing myself any service.

What were you thinking
, I began to berate myself, having very little recourse other than sheer panic.

I came to the conclusion that there were some things that I would have to be ok with, in a very literal sense of the word — death, for example. I might indeed die here, and though I had known that in an abstract sort of way on my way over here, I was now starting to come to the realization that this might be an actual reality that I would have to contend with. There might actually be a sense of finality to these moments.

Just the thought brought a vivid color set to the plants around me, as well as tears to my eyes.

Don’t be such a baby
.

Regardless of the emotional content of the moment, I knew what I needed to do.

Move forward
, I commanded myself.

I would have to step forward into the known, and get caught. With no weapons and no spy training, it would be incredibly difficult for me to get anywhere through means of subterfuge. I would have to play things off the cuff and blatant if I wanted to get anywhere with all of this.

Maybe I should have just said fuck it, and kept the scooter.

The thought didn’t last long, as I realized how much I had actually enjoyed the trip through the forest.

If you are gong to die, then I don’t see why you should feel poor about spending some of your last moments in the forests of Corsica. Sounds like a fantasy that most would prefer.

With my head held high, I strode boldly into the opening of the clearing.

I was met by rifles, which was to be expected, but at least now something was happening.