11 SETTEMBRE 2000, 20:07
MILANO, ITALIA
They had barely left the premises when Fugo felt something vibrating in his pocket.
Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz-
Fugo fished out his mobile, seeing Bucciarati's Caller ID. "Buonasera," he greeted, answering the phone.
"Buonasera, Fugo," Bucciarati acknowledged. "How goes the research?"
Fugo groaned. "No fucking progress whatsoever."
"That sucks."
"Yeah," Fugo agreed. "We just left the library. Do you need a lift?"
"If you wouldn't mind."
"Got it," Fugo said. "Where do you want us to meet you?"
"In front of the Archaeology Museum is fine."
"Sounds good. We'll be there soon." Fugo ended the call, glancing at Abbacchio. "Bucciarati wants us to pick him up at the museum. It sounds like he just got done."
Abbacchio nodded, stopping in front of a red light. "We're not that far away, so we should be able to get him within the next five or so minutes, depending on how fucking annoying traffic is." His brow furrowed. "It's the next light, right?"
Fugo pored through the map, glancing up at the intersection they were waiting at before checking the map again. "Not the next one, but the one after that. Turn left when you get there."
"Gotcha."
The light turned green, and they started moving again. They arrived at the museum a few minutes later, parallel-parking near a familiar figure in white. Abbacchio unlocked the doors, gesturing for Bucciarati to get in. Fugo heard the back door open.
"Any luck?" Abbacchio asked.
The door closed. "No," Bucciarati responded, annoyed, climbing into the van's middle section. "I toured the entire museum, and there was nothing about an ancient Stone Mask with spikes! Nothing!"
Fugo groaned. "Looks like it's back to the drawing board, then."
"Unfortunately." Bucciarati's seatbelt was heard buckling. "So, where to?"
"Fugo and I were actually on our way to a local café to grab a bite when you called," Abbacchio responded. "Is that okay with you, Bucciarati?"
"Food sounds good to me."
The goth nodded, satisfied. "Great. Let's go."
11 SETTEMBRE 2000, 23:59
MILANO, ITALIA
CLUB METALLO
"Margherita, when I said I wanted us to go clubbing at someplace interesting, I didn't exactly mean for you to drive us to a strip club," Helena said, eyebrow raised.
Margherita shrugged. "We're already inside, aren't we?"
"Ngh."
The blonde elbowed her in the arm. "Come on! We came here to get lit, didn't we?"
"You did," Helena corrected. "I'm merely the designated driver."
"Lighten up." Margherita grabbed her camera from her purse, turning the device on and facing it towards them. "Smile!"
Both women grinned as Margherita pressed the button. Helena was left blinking away the effects of the flash for a few seconds afterwards, but hanging out with her flatmate on a night off from work served to brighten her spirits.
To be honest, she had never been to a strip club before (and this one was low-end so it wasn't really all that expensive), so this could prove to be an interesting experience. At worst, it wouldn't be boring.
"Say, Helena?"
The vampire blinked away the last of the flash-induced dots in her vision. "Yeah?"
Margherita gestured to an open spot on the wall. "Do you think you can get your Stand to take another photo of us?"
My Stand has the ability to wipe out all life within a 20m radius, and you want me to use her to take a freaking photo of us at a strip club? Helena laughed. "Sure. Why not?" After all, it's a lot better than some things I can see her doing.
The vampire called forth her Stand, and they proceeded to Margherita's chosen photo-op location. Helena handed the camera off to Terminal Frost, and the herpetologists proceeded to pose.
"You have no idea how weird this looks," Margherita commented after the picture was taken.
Helena took back the camera, dismissing her Stand. "Well, how does it look to you?"
"Like there's just a camera floating around in midair."
The vampire snickered.
Helena and Margherita took their seats at a table by the nearest source of entertainment. There was currently a male stripper performing on stage, but the vampire wasn't even remotely interested in the sexual aspect of it. She was only here for a good time with her flatmate.
"You good, Helena?" Margherita asked.
Helena nodded. "Yeah; I'm just watching the dancing."
The blonde gave her a knowing look. "You're not turned on by it, are you?"
Helena shook her head. "Why would I be? It's just another form of dancing."
Margherita sighed, rolling her eyes. "You've got a lot to learn about strip clubs, amica."
The next several minutes went by pretty smoothly. Margherita got a glass of wine, explaining to Helena various aspects of strippers and strip clubs as she got inebriated. After a while, though, it became apparent that they were being watched, as a man looking to be in his 30s set his sights on Margherita and approached their table, whistling a catcall.
Oh no you don't.
Helena grasped the offender's arm with lightning speed, freezing it. "Unless you want to permanently lose feeling in your arm, I suggest you lay off my flatmate, stronzo."
The idiot was either too drunk or too stupid to care, because he completely ignored the vampire's threat and shoved the limb out of her grasp. A snarl started to appear on Margherita's face as she stood up to face him-a surefire sign that she was losing her temper. Granted this instance was justified, but the blonde had an extremely short fuse ever since the Cape York incident.
This could get ugly, Helena thought.
"Zoom Punch!" Margherita roared, giving the man a solid right hook as Hamon sparked across her arm. The enemy went flying, slamming into a nearby table.
The dancer on stage only a few metres away paid them no heed, continuing his routine.
"Oi! Puttana!"
Both women looked up, seeing what evidently looked to be the man's friends approach them, cracking their knuckles. Helena counted about seven or eight of them.
"Terminal Frost," Helena whispered. The Stand materialised, fists clenching. She froze the three closest enemies to the ground, slowing their motions to almost nothing save for breathing and blinking. The rest were out of range.
Margherita delivered another right hook, this time to the guy closest to her, minus the Hamon. Terminal Frost tripped two of the enemies who tried to enter her range, causing them to fall flat on their faces. But only for a short time, because they got back up again. None of them looked to be Stand users.
I'm not complaining. One less problem for me to deal with.
Margherita straightened. Her breathing evened out as Hamon glowed all around her body. Helena's eyes widened.
Something tells me I should run.
Helena withdrew her Stand, diving behind an upended table several metres away. Her instincts seemed to be right on the money, because Margherita had engaged in a barrage of Overdrive attacks that flung Hamon all over the place as her opponents went flying.
Several people stopped what they were doing to stare. Margherita straightened, glaring at them. "Anyone else?"
They shook their heads, going back to whatever it was they were doing earlier.
"You could at least warn me next time," Helena complained, getting up from her hiding place. "That stuff can kill."
Margherita gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. You wanna haul ass before the cops get here?"
Helena grinned. "Absolutely."
12 SETTEMBRE 2000, 13:19
MILANO, ITALIA
ZONA 2 DI MILANO
"This seems like a good place," Rafael noted.
Alessandra snorted mirthlessly. "Oh, sure. Three bartenders screwing around in an abandoned warehouse. What could possibly go wrong?"
"Hey, you're the one that wanted to do this."
"True."
The baristas walked inside, setting up their equipment. They'd gotten up early that morning, heading to a local hardware store to purchase industrial-grade headphones, a Sound Pressure Level (SPL) metre, a frequency metre, and a couple of extension cords. For safety's sake, they'd scouted out an abandoned warehouse in Zone 2. Given how dangerous Alessandra's birds could get, from what Rafael had heard, it was best to do their research somewhere where innocent people wouldn't get hurt.
In Rafael's and Sergio's cases, it was more like having a slightly reduced risk of getting killed.
Alessandra had insisted on this particular project, arguing that she didn't want to accidentally blow everybody's heads off whenever she sicced the birds on someone who was actively trying to kill them. Nobody had objected to that. Rafael kind of wanted to stay alive, and so did Sergio from the looks of it.
Survival was a very powerful motivator indeed.
"Do you think you'll be able to control those birds from very far away?" Sergio asked.
Alessandra blinked. "Their maximum range is 175 metres. I measured it at one point," she added, noticing the nonplussed looks on the guys' faces. "So, the short answer is 'yes.'"
"Good enough for me," Rafael responded.
Rafael switched on both the frequency metre and the Class I SPL metre, giving the bartender beside him a short nod. Sergio gave an acknowledging gesture before turning to Alessandra. "We'll call you once we have the data."
"Sounds good." She moved into the room at the edge of her range, locking the door. The guys also made their way into a separate room on the other side of the corridor, closing the door and putting on their headphones. Rafael glanced up, making eye contact with Alessandra as soon as her face became visible through the window.
You ready? he gesticulated.
Alessandra nodded, flashing the "let's go" hand gesture. Rafael couldn't see the birds, but he could tell they were around based on how a high-pitched frequency could be heard even through the industrial-grade headphones.
20kHz and holding.
Rafael wrote down the measurements, checking the SPL metre. His eyes widened in alarm at the steadily-increasing readings.
100dB…
150dB…
185dB…
200dB…
250dB…
275dB…
300dB…
307dB...
315dB-
The sound abruptly died. Both metres returned back to zero.
"I think she found her limit," Rafael said darkly. Both guys took off their headphones. The blond jotted down the decibel measurements before pulling out his mobile, dialling Alessandra's number.
Ring…
Ring…
Ring…
Ring…
Ring...
"Hello. The number you are trying to reach is not available. Please record a message at-"
Rafael hung up, groaning. "I got her answerphone."
"Cazzo," Sergio hissed, pulling out his own mobile. He held it up to his ear, waiting a moment. "Goddamn it, Alessandra, answer your fucking phone!" The bartender hung up, groaning.
"No luck?" Rafael asked, dread in his voice.
Sergio shook his head. "We need to get over there. Fast."
Rafael grabbed his notebook, running behind Sergio towards Alessandra's booth. They tried the door, but it was locked from the inside.
"Blue Lamp, get in there and open it," Sergio commanded.
Rafael couldn't see Sergio's ghost, but he imagined a strange figure phasing through the door to unlock it from the other side. The lock clicked, and the guys burst through the door.
"Alessandra?" Sergio asked, panicking.
"Alessandra, answer us!" Rafael pleaded, equally as panicked.
A groan sounded from the other side of the room. "Can you motherfuckers keep it down, for crying out loud? I'm dizzy."
Rafael chuckled softly, lowering his voice. "At least your nose isn't bleeding this time."
"Ngh."
Sergio handed her a bottle of water and a package of balconi cakes. "Here. We brought the good stuff."
Alessandra took the items, scowling as she dug into the food.
"I think we should leave her be," Rafael cautioned.
Sergio nodded. "I think you might be right." Rafael didn't know the full details, but apparently his flatmate had become extra leery around his crush after the whole birds-vampires-and-exploding-heads incident from a couple of days earlier.
"If either of you idiots leaves this room, I'll call those birds back and have them bite you in the nuts so you'll be forced to stay here," Alessandra threatened.
Rafael gulped. Hangry much? But he had the sense not to say that out loud. Sergio, meanwhile, had turned pale.
I guess we're staying put, then.
"So, what did we end up with?" Alessandra asked, relenting. She definitely seemed to be doing a lot better than she was.
Rafael read off his data. "If you really want to know, you maxed out at 20kHz, 315 decibels."
"And how does that work in context to our survival?"
"I did some research online," Rafael explained. "Apparently 20kHz is the highest frequency both humans and birds can hear. As for the decibels…" He frowned. "Two hundred decibels are fatal to humans. This exceeded that by a lot."
"So, if any of us were in range, we'd be toast," Sergio guessed.
"Basically." Rafael's brow furrowed. "But, hang on. What about you, Alessandra? They're your birds, after all."
Alessandra grimaced. "I think they've got such a long range for a reason. I seriously doubt even I could make it through that kind of pressure at close-range and come back alive, and I'm the user."
"Fuck."
The ginger nodded, taking a bite out of another one of the balconi cakes.
"Let's just hope this only ends up being a last resort," Sergio said grimly.
"Definitely," Alessandra agreed, swallowing. "I'm not sure I could go through with that again."
"Hopefully you won't have to."
12 SETTEMBRE 2000, 21:22
MILANO, ITALIA
"Oi, Bucciarati."
The squad leader turned, seeing Abbacchio nearby with his arms full of groceries. "Do you need me to take some of that?"
Abbacchio shook his head. "Nah; I've got it."
"Then...what is it?"
Abbacchio's face flushed slightly. "I was wondering if you wanted to hang out for a bit. Just. Do stuff."
Bucciarati straightened. "Sure. What did you have in mind?"
Abbacchio shrugged. "I dunno. Stargazing?"
Bucciarati smiled. "Stargazing sounds good to me."
Abbacchio visibly relaxed. He set the groceries down on the counter, the ghost of a smile on his face. The two gangsters exited out the back door, sitting on the porch.
The squad had gone to the store earlier that evening, picking up food and other essentials, ranging from hair products to a bunch of first-aid kits ("Because we can't always rely on your zippers to stitch ourselves back together, especially if we get separated again," Fugo had pointed out, earning a somewhat annoyed look from Bucciarati, even though the squad leader knew he was right) and had returned around 21:15-ish. Narancia, Fugo, and Mista were upstairs doing who knows what, so the adults had some time to themselves.
"So much for the stars," Bucciarati said wistfully, noticing the sky obscured with clouds. "It's kinda dark out."
Abbacchio shrugged. "Not really. It's bright right here, on these steps." He gave Bucciarati a strangely intense look.
The squad leader raised an eyebrow.
Abbacchio's face flushed, and he hid his head in his hands. "Shit. That was bad. I'm sorry."
Bucciarati playfully nudged his shoulder. "I mean, you're right about it being bright. 'But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?' It is the east, and a certain goth is the sun."
Abbacchio looked at him with wide eyes as his jaw dropped, a mixture of incredulity and "what the actual fuck" written all over his face.
Now it was Bucciarati's turn to hide his face in his hands. "That was even worse, wasn't it?"
Abbacchio sighed. "Let's just accept the reality of the situation, Bucciarati: we are absolutely horrible at this."
"Can we just pretend the past couple of minutes never happened?" Bucciarati asked, embarrassed. "Please?"
"If anything, you're more like the sun than I am."
Bucciarati groaned. "Shut the fuck up."
I definitely walked into that one.
Although…
A sly smile appeared on the squad leader's lips as he freed himself from his self-imposed hiding place. "If I'm the sun, then I guess that makes you the moon."
Abbacchio seemed to consider this. "Huh. I guess it does."
Bucciarati felt those butterflies return again. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"
Abbacchio smirked. "Nope."
"Noted."
There was an awkward silence present between them for a moment. The butterflies grew restless, no matter how hard Bucciarati tried to push them back. Bucciarati and Abbacchio met each other's gazes for a brief second before both immediately looked away.
Why is this so awkward? We can work together on missions just fine, but this isn't the first time we've been complete idiots around each other. And why can't these butterflies just cooperate for once?
Is Polpo right? Is it really that obvious?
His hand seemed to be moving on its own, brushing against Abbacchio. Bucciarati's eyes widened, and he moved to pull his limb away, only to find something gripping his wrist. He turned, seeing Abbacchio with an uncertain expression on his face.
Bucciarati's face flushed. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I don't know why I was doing that."
In the midst of the uncertain expression on the goth's face, there was also the ghost of a smile. "I didn't mind."
"Oh." Bucciarati looked down, heat rising to his ears.
Abbacchio's grip on his wrist was still there.
Bucciarati cleared his throat. "Do you want to explore the backyard?" he asked, trying to alleviate some of the awkwardness of the past several minutes.
Abbacchio let go of his wrist. "Sure."
Both gangsters stood, walking down the steps. They didn't see much of interest at first-just wide space, grass, and a few trees. They walked closer to the house, noticing a locked door underneath the porch.
"This is interesting," Bucciarati mused. He summoned Sticky Fingers, zipping the entryway open. Abbacchio went inside first, and Bucciarati followed, zipping the door closed behind them.
"I think I found a lightswitch," Abbacchio remarked. Sure enough, lights came on a second later, revealing a descending staircase in front of them. Bucciarati looked at the ex-cop. "After you."
They descended the staircase, which was admittedly quite a bit longer (and steeper) than either of them had expected. There was a plateau in the middle, which gave way to another downward flight of stairs. The two eventually made their way to the bottom, revealing a dark area.
"Is there another switch in here?" Bucciarati asked.
"Give me a second," Abbacchio responded. "Ah. Here we go."
Lights shone, revealing a spacious room in front of them. It was large, and sparse, save for various bits of exercise equipment and some pieces of furniture.
"It looks like somebody had a bit of a home gym in here," Abbacchio noted.
Bucciarati frowned. "I don't see much stuff in here." He only saw battle ropes, a pull-up bar, a couple of chests, and some kind of pulley system gerryrigged into the pillars.
"You don't need a lot," Abbacchio informed him. "Let's see what's in these chests."
Abbacchio opened the one closest to the two, finding various cleaning supplies.
"That wasn't what I expected, but okay," the ex-cop remarked.
"I'll go look through the other one," Bucciarati told him, walking to the chest on the other side of the room. He unlocked the container, opening it to find…
Well, he knew what it was he was looking at, but he didn't understand what purpose these particular items served here.
"I don't get it," Bucciarati said, rummaging through the chest, holding up a soft but coarse braided material at least 2cm thick. "What's with all this soft rope? And multiple sets of handcuffs?" The squad leader put the rope down and next held up a long satin cloth, even more bewildered. "Blindfolds?" He turned to Abbacchio, who was bright red in the face for some reason. "I didn't realise we had a torture chamber for a basement."
Although, given that it is one of Passione's safe houses, I shouldn't be too surprised.
Abbacchio facepalmed, trying to stifle a laugh. "It's not...that...kind of dungeon, Bucciarati."
The squad leader gave him a quizzical look. "Then, what do you mean? And why are you blushing?"
Abbacchio looked him straight in the eye, blushing even more. "It...seems like one of the previous tenants had a bit of a...bondage kink."
"Huh." It took a moment for the words to fully sink in. Bucciarati's eyes widened, and he dropped the satin fabric into his lap. "OH. Oh God."
That explains a few things.
Abbacchio gave him an amused look. Bucciarati could feel a blush going to his face as well. "This is…"
"Something," the ex-cop said, finishing Bucciarati's sentence.
The squad leader nodded frantically. "Yeah."
"We should probably hide that chest."
"I agree." He summoned Sticky Fingers, burying the chest in the concrete beneath them before zipping the hole shut. His gaze lingered on the spot for several seconds before the zipper made itself scarce.
"What are you thinking?" Abbacchio asked.
Bucciarati looked at him thoughtfully. "Some of this stuff might actually come in handy."
Abbacchio's eyes widened. "You're seriously-"
Bucciarati started, eyes just as wide. "What? No! I was just thinking, if we have to resort to more...forceful methods of interrogating somebody…"
Abbacchio smirked. "You're better off going for the handcuffs and the blindfolds, then. Something tells me that rope wasn't designed for torture."
"Neither were the handcuffs," Bucciarati said slyly.
Abbacchio let out a sharp bark of laughter. "I guess we can add 'cleaning the basement' to the list of things to do when we're not in the middle of a mission."
"Definitely." Bucciarati gave him a knowing smile, leaning against the nearest pillar. "Don't tell the kids."