Long flight home

October 2nd, 2012 § 0 comments § permalink

The second pistolcrack snapped Kat from her sleep. She gasped for breath and choked on the acid still scorching her throat. Her swollen eyes opened just in time to escape seeing his body drop to the ground again, lifeless and limp. But the dead hum of the plane’s engines didn’t drown out the echo of his bones splintering in his chest under the weight of the jeep or the screams, gradually fading from her mind. She jabbed at the call button, looking behind her for the nearest flight attendant.
– Whiskey. Please. » Read more «

El Redentor robà

August 23rd, 2012 § 0 comments § permalink

Łu el xera xa sentà łà fora có sémo rivai nialtri. El jera in mexo a łe ułtime careghe de plàstega verde ingrumae in fondo al campo Santa Marghe, ciacołando co na puteła bionda e co un birin in man. Xera quaxi un boto e ła xente xera drio tornar caxa ma se vedeva che łu, inbriago, el ndava vanti a sercar de intortar ła pora fia. Andrea ne gaveva dito de trovarse in campo par tor dó spris e par metarse d’acordo par doman : xera ła festa del Redentor e ghe gavémo dito a staltro de far ła spéxa parché el gavéva ła barca più granda. Nialtri gavémo sborsà dósento bei euri a testa par far un feston bueo sto an.
“Oi, Marco ! Come buta ?” Có che Marco ga sentìo ła voxe de Andrea, el se ga drisà sú ła só carega.
“Eilà, Andrea ! Xe ben, xe ben…” Marco ga butà xó el só birin tuto in un fià prima de continuar, “E ti, come ti xe ? Ti ti ga perso par el caìgo ?”
“No, no, stago benon mi.” Andrea se moveva pian, barcołando sóra quełe só gambe longhe e fiache dopo na giornada de lavoro. “Ma ti ti conosi Tommi ? Xe łu che ga butà stialtri schei par tor ła roba.” Gnanca ora che Andrea se faxeva da parte par presentarme, Marco se ga levà e el me ga dà ła man. El xera baséto come mi, ma el gavéva dó spałe come un toro. I só brasi grosi e ła só pełe mora incandìa tradiva el fato che el gavéva faticà in barca tuta l’istà.
“Ciao beo, piaxer.” Có el me ga streto ła man, el me ga vardà incuriosìo e el ga dito, “Ma mi ti gò visto in giro a Casteło, no ?”
“Boh, pol èser. Mé caxa xe łà, drio ai jardini. Venexia xe tanto picoła, sa…”
“Ciò, ti ga dito ben. Infati, calchedun me ga dito che ti xe un scritor…” E finché el xe perso a farme miłe domande sú el mé lavoro e sú i mé giri de amighi venexiani, ła fia sentà drio de łu ga ciapà l’occasion, sita sita, par scampar via. Soło dopo un bel toco el se ne gavéva rexo cónto.
“Ma diocan, ‘ndo xea ndada ?! No me ga gnanca saludà, ‘sta stronsa !” El ga tirà na rafica de bestemie che xèrimo piegai in dó da łe ridae, “Sì, sì, ridé, ridé. Dài, ndemo a bévar na roba par piaxer.”


Leaving Italy

June 19th, 2012 § 2 comments § permalink

The crowded bar dulled Steve’s senses. Meaningless pop blared from above the babel chatter of italian that surrounded him. He had finally fought his way to the bar, Kat following close behind. She now stood in front of him ordering drinks. He gripped the edge of the bar, arms on each side to protect her from the moving masses of youth in suits and Rome’s privileged drinkers. Friday night, just blocks from Piazza Venezia, and this was the only bar open, and dreadfully trendy.
– Due gin tonic per favore. Her italian was already much better. In three months she could conduct most daily affairs with an impeccable accent. If she limited herself to simple supermarket phrases, her dark complexion and sharp features fooled many that she was a peninsular native. The drinks were mixed and she turned to face Steve.
– I know you’re not telling me the truth. Her tone was severe, he froze. He had known this was coming. Kat understood him too well, probably better than he did himself. And her intuition cleaved him in two. She had given him a few days to come clean. He hadn’t. So she did it for him.
» Read more «

Rabid Dog (10)

May 28th, 2012 § 0 comments § permalink

I arrive at the University at 12:03. The meeting is in three hours. I have three hours to find the whore. I. Only. Have. Three. Fucking. Hours. The road is full of clubs, I get out of the car and go into a place called Lexington Square. As soon as I get in a guy with red hair rushes out. I watch him. The club is crowded and there’s the vague smell of shit at the door. I squeeze in between two people at the bar, one of the two says friend we were talking before you butted in. I put a hand over his face and push. The guy shuts up. » Read more «

Rabid Dog (9)

May 17th, 2012 § 4 comments § permalink

I think since the big meeting is in four hours I have time not only to look for the whore but I have time to collect some money too. I turn on the siren and run two red lights, at the second I almost hit a guy who is crossing the street on his bike. I light another Camel but put it out right away. At 10:49 they give the alarm on the police radio for a robbery in Vittorio Emanuele Boulevard. It’s on my way, I’m on duty and less than a kilometer from there. I turn the radio and the siren off, make a U-turn and creep into traffic before the byway. I think about the vendor again and ask myself how the hell a nigger gives a little girl a blowjob. I untwist the cap off the bottle of rum and drink. » Read more «