16 SETTEMBRE 2000, 02:27
MILANO, ITALIA
Abbacchio blinked. "You're certain?"
"Deadly," Bucciarati said darkly. "I don't know if I'll be able to get this thing out of my system before shit really hits the fan."
"Cazzo." Abbacchio frowned. "How much did you drink?"
"About a quarter of the bottle," Bucciarati admitted.
"Merda," the goth cursed. "How long do you have before it kicks in?"
"Twenty minutes, half an hour, at most."
That'll have to be enough. Abbacchio leaned over to whisper in Bucciarati's ear. "There's a Beretta in the glove compartment. Please don't die on me before I get back."
Bucciarati raised an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"
"I have a feeling they slashed the tyres," Abbacchio responded.
"I should be out there," Bucciarati argued. "Sticky Fingers is perfect for-"
"No," Abbacchio said firmly. Absolutely not happening. "In your condition? If you go out there, you're dead. Please, for the love of God, just stay put. You're safer in here than you are outside."
Bucciarati's eyes narrowed, but it didn't look as though he was going to argue any further. Good. Abbacchio nodded, satisfied. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Hopefully.
Without another word, he exited the vehicle, pocketing the poison container before shining an electric torch onto the tyres. He checked every single one, and his worst fears were confirmed.
"I was right," the goth muttered. "The tyres were slashed. All four of them. And I don't know if we have a spare…"
Abbacchio felt a gun pointing at the back of his head. "Well, lucky for you, you won't have to worry about that anymore."
Abbacchio smirked. "How could you tell it was me?"
"One of the guys we brought with us had a Stand," the jackass responded. "You have no need to worry about him; my pals and I filled him with lead and made sure he was sleeping with the fishes before we tailed you here." The assassin's monologuing continued. "So, it seems as though Cavalieri di Cydonia is very interested in you as well, considering how Sergio De Rosa was apparently ID'd on the replay. That also explains how some of our other assassins have been dropping dead all of a sudden."
"Word must've got out quick," Abbacchio remarked, discreetly reaching for one of his pistols. "So, let me guess: You work for Il Vuoto?"
The jackass laughed. "De Rosa really spilled the beans on you, didn't he? Yeah, I do." His voice took on a more serious tone. "But, one thing does puzzle me a bit: Why the hell aren't you dead yet? I'd imagined that you'd be quite thirsty after being under such heavy clothes for so long. Unless..." The gun lowered, and it seemed as if the realisation that he had horribly fucked up was only just dawning on him. "You didn't drink the water...the girl did!"
"No shit," Abbacchio confirmed, disengaging the safety on the pistol. He turned around, loading a bullet straight into the assassin's torso.
Six other assassins popped up, all armed with guns. None of them looked to be Stand users.
Bucciarati was right, Abbacchio thought darkly, grabbing the other pistol from its holster. It is definitely a trap!
Stand users or not, some things were certain here: The two soldati were outnumbered by what was now a ratio of 3:1...and outgunned.
Bucciarati watched Abbacchio exit the vehicle, swiftly moving to open the glove compartment as soon as the driver's-side door closed behind the goth. Sure enough, there was a Beretta right where Abbacchio had said it would be.
It feels loaded, the squad leader mused. But I'm not complaining.
He summoned Sticky Fingers, unzipping the seat he was currently sitting in. The squad leader slid through the opening, zipping the portal shut save for an infinitesimally small opening to monitor things from.
The void-like aura of the Zipper Dimension was calming, darkness mixed with blue vortices of light. The opening acted as a window for Bucciarati to peer out of.
He gripped the Beretta in his hand, tense. He'd heard of flunitrazepam, though mostly by its street name: roofies. It had a certain reputation of being used to take advantage of people in bars and clubs. It was virtually undetectable, and, based on how badly the enemy wanted Abbacchio dead, it was clear that the intent was definitely to poison.
A silent killer, Bucciarati thought grimly. So this is what our enemy has resorted to. If I hadn't decided to come along, Abbacchio would have died for sure.
A small amount of the drug could knock people out for hours. Too much, and it would be lights out for all eternity.
Bucciarati heard about roofies' effects if mixed with alcohol. But he didn't know what the effects were if a lethal dose was mixed with water.
I didn't have much, but it looks like I'm up against the clock here.
The sound of glass shattering above him caused the squad leader to break out of his train of thought and look up in alarm.
Three assassins broke in through the front windshield: Two men and a woman. The latter held up Abbacchio's water bottle, frowning. "Looks like she didn't drink much of it," she remarked.
"A quarter of the bottle is still at least enough to knock her out for a good several hours," one of the men responded.
"That begs the question," the third assassin said. "Where the hell is she? I didn't hear anyone leave the vehicle."
"All the more reason to search for her," the second responded. "Esposito, look around this area. Bianchi and I will check the rest of the vehicle."
"On it," the female assassin, Esposito, responded.
The other two proceeded towards the back of the vehicle. Esposito searched the front seats, frowning. "Where could she have gone?" she mused. "There's nowhere to hide...unless…" She looked up. "Hey, Campagna?"
"Did you find something?" the second assassin asked.
"More like a theory," Esposito responded. "Do you think our quarry's companion is also a Stand user?"
Campagna snorted. "Well, if she is, she's doing a hell of a good job of hiding."
Damn it.
Bucciarati disengaged the safety on his Beretta, further unzipping the opening in the shotgun seat, but keeping it small enough for the gun barrel to have some room.
Esposito looked down at the shotgun seat, curious. "The hell…?"
Now.
Bucciarati began his ambush, firing a shot into Esposito's head at point-blank range. The woman's corpse crumpled backwards across the driver's seat.
"She's in the shotgun seat!" Bianchi hollered.
"Time to leave," Bucciarati muttered. He opened the seat entirely, exiting the Zipper Dimension.
The assassins approached. Bucciarati fired off a shot, but Campagna grabbed his wrists and overpowered him, effectively forcing the mafioso to drop his weapon.
"Hey, beautiful," Campagna said silkily. "I'm afraid your boyfriend is, shall we say...indisposed at the moment, so you'll have to play with us for a bit."
Bucciarati's lip curled into a snarl. "Don't you fucking dare."
"Still putting up a fight, are we?" Bianchi asked, raising an eyebrow. "Well, in a couple of minutes that won't be the case."
"Oh, I agree," Campagna responded, stroking Bucciarati's cheek with one hand. The squad leader leaned his head away, disgusted, knowing damn well where this was going.
And he wanted no part of it.
"STICKY FINGERS!"
Bucciarati's Stand materialised in front of him, castrating Campagna before he could retaliate. The assassin let out an agonising scream, releasing his grip on Bucciarati. "You cut my dick off! And my balls!"
"That was the idea," Bucciarati retorted. Sticky Fingers proceeded to unzip Campagna in half vertically. Bucciarati let out a defiant cry of rage, and his Stand continued unzipping the already-dead assassin, additionally going so far as to fling the various severed body parts out of the vehicle and onto the street.
Bianchi cursed, forcing Bucciarati against the door. "You'll pay for that, stronza!"
"I disagree," the squad leader snarled, silently directing his Stand to attack.
"ARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARIARI!" Sticky Fingers roared, unzipping Bianchi to death as well and once again sending various body parts flying out of the already-broken windshield. Bucciarati leaned back against the door, panting as he felt adrenaline wearing off.
That was way too close for comfort.
"Arrivederci, motherfuckers," Bucciarati growled, grimly saluting the corpses of the three assassins he and his Stand had just brutally killed.
Bang.
Two jackasses down, five to go.
Abbacchio watched as three of them smashed the front windshield, forcing their way into the van. He swore vehemently, running towards the noise, only to be decked onto the ground by a third jackass.
"What's the matter, stronzo? Worried about your lady friend?" Jackass No. 3 taunted. "Well, I'm afraid she's on her own."
Shit.
Abbacchio got to his feet, guns still in his hands. "If you're so talkative, then answer me this," he growled. "Why do your higher-ups want me dead so badly? What threat could my Stand possibly be to an organisation I've never even heard of until a few hours ago?"
"You'd be surprised," Jackass No. 3 responded. "There are some people who would kill for the ability to replay past events and learn from past mistakes. But, Stands are apparently about as unique as your soul. There are also a lot of people who are afraid of your abilities, goth man. They are scared of what you'll uncover."
Abbacchio's lip curled. I guess I now have that question answered and out of the way.
"You talk too much," Jackass No. 4 berated, speaking up for the first time, cocking his gun. "As for you," he said, directing this next round of comments Abbacchio's way, "It's time to die now."
Abbacchio dodged the bullets Jackass No. 4 fired his way, engaging him and Jackass No. 3 in a mix between a firefight and a fistfight. Both goons were armed with guns, but they didn't seem to be Stand users. Abbacchio kept Moody Blues hidden, just to be safe.
A shattering noise distracted all combating parties. Abbacchio looked up, seeing body parts go flying out of the vehicle. Sticky Fingers' roar could be heard from inside.
Oh, hell.
Even drugged, the squad leader didn't seem to want to go down without a fight. Which was good.
Especially since Abbacchio had his own problems at the moment.
Jackass No. 3 cursed vehemently. "That puttana must also be a Stand user!"
Another simply chuckled. "Don't worry; she won't be putting up a fight for much longer." Jackass No. 4 looked at Abbacchio. "Honestly, we weren't expecting you to bring your girlfriend along for the ride. But no matter." A malicious gleam entered his eyes. "Ho oh, man. The lewd stuff we'll do to her...we'll make you watch, and then kill you both."
Abbacchio let out a feral scream of rage, tackling the man and putting a bullet between his eyes at point-blank range.
Trying to assassinate me is one thing. But what you are threatening to do to Bucciarati is inexcusable.
Abbacchio stood, finding that Jackass No. 3 had his gun pointed the goth's way. "Got any last words?"
Abbacchio smirked mirthlessly. "Yeah, I've got some: Li mortacci tua, de tuo nonno, e tua madre e dei ¾ daa palazzina tua."
That, incidentally, was a parolacce he'd picked up from a trip to central Italy during his sophomore year of high school, and he saved it for occasions such as this one, adding a middle-finger salute in this particular rendition for good measure.
Jackass No. 3 evidently understood it, since his expression morphed into that of a snarl. "You just crossed a line, stronzo."
"And what?" Abbacchio said icily. "That insult's not okay with you, but your pal threatening to rape and murder my girlfriend somehow is?" He scoffed. "Scum like you shouldn't be allowed to live on this Earth anymore." Abbacchio held up his own gun. "So, please, allow me to give you a one-way ticket to join your fellow goons in Hell."
Abbacchio ended Jackass No. 3 with a shot to the head before the bastard could get another word out.
Bucciarati.
Abbacchio holstered his guns, running for the van. "AIDA?" It was a lot safer to use Bucciarati's alias right now, given his disguise. "Aida, can you hear me?"
A door opened and shut on the shotgun side of the SUV. Abbacchio paused, seeing Bucciarati come around the front of the van, looking relatively unscathed.
Abbacchio heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God. Are you doing okay?"
Bucciarati looked over at him, but the goth could tell that he wasn't all there. The drugs must've already kicked in, Abbacchio thought angrily.
"I'll be fine," the squad leader responded, approaching him. Abbacchio's legs moved on their own, choosing to meet Bucciarati halfway.
Is it that gravity again? Abbacchio wondered. Probably.
I'm not sure what this connection is between us and our feelings. Or maybe we're just a couple of dense idiots.
Normally, in our line of work, feelings can get us killed. Hell, they have gotten people killed before. But, given the method in which Bucciarati and I have chosen to proceed with our mission, we have to rely on gravity in order to survive.
And I'm not talking about the physics kind of gravity here.
The two finally stopped, face-to-face only a few centimetres away from each other.
"Oje nè," Bucciarati said in Neapolitan, a crooked smile on his face.
Abbacchio laughed softly. "Uè." His smile faded, and he hugged Bucciarati tightly, one hand on the back of his head and the other around his shoulders.
"Leone?"
"Hush," Abbacchio said softly. "I'm just happy to see you in one piece, that's all."
"Oh."
Abbacchio felt that strange but comforting gravity again, and he pulled Bucciarati in closer. "I was so worried about you," he admitted. There was no telling what had gone down in the vehicle, but Bucciarati had somehow managed to emerge victorious even in his drugged state. "What they were threatening to do to you…" He faltered, not wanting to think about it.
Bucciarati didn't respond. Abbacchio glanced back up, hackles raising.
Jackass No. 1 was back on his feet, pistol trained on Bucciarati. Evidently the initial bullet to the torso hadn't done as much damage as the goth first thought.
Abbacchio's eyes widened.
No.
His mind suddenly flashed back to the night of his partner's death. Officer Antonio Romano had jumped in front of Abbacchio, taking a shot to the head for him, even though he didn't have to.
Didn't deserve to.
"Abbacchio! Look out! He's got a gun!"
Abbacchio forced himself back to reality, shoving Bucciarati onto the ground just as the gun fired. He felt himself instinctively act as a human shield, though he didn't fully understand why. He just...did.
The first shot hit him near his right shoulder.
The second shot hit his left shoulder.
The third hit in the right side of his back.
Abbacchio grimaced. Cazzo. I can't hold out much longer. "Moody Blues!"
Abbacchio's Stand appeared, engaging the last gunman in combat. He heard a sickening crack a few seconds later, and he turned around just in time to see that Moody Blues had snapped the assassin's neck. Jackass No. 1 fell to the ground, finally dead.
Black spots started to enter Abbacchio's vision. Moody Blues disappeared not long after they did so.
No. I can't pass out. Not here!
He turned back to Bucciarati. "Are you hurt?" he asked sharply.
The squad leader blinked. "Other than a few bruises from earlier, I think I'm okay. I didn't get shot."
Abbacchio blinked. "That's a relief." He hauled himself to his feet, hissing as blinding pain threatened to send him falling face-first onto the road. The goth pushed it aside, glancing at his superior. "Let's get the hell out of here."
"Agreed," Bucciarati said, standing as well.
The two gangsters made their way to the van, turning a blind eye to the destruction Sticky Fingers left behind. Abbacchio paused at the driver's door, fumbling through one of his trench coat pockets for the car keys.
"Leone?"
Abbacchio turned. "Yeah?"
Bucciarati looked as though he was going to collapse. "I don't feel so good."
And collapse he did.
Abbacchio caught his superior before he could hit the ground, hissing again in pain as his right side took the majority of Bucciarati's dead weight.
"Damn it," Abbacchio muttered, sitting against the driver's side of the van. He propped Bucciarati's head up in his lap, holding his superior in his arms as he checked for a pulse.
Thankfully, he found one.
Black dots swam in Abbacchio's vision. He was able to blink them away, but he knew they were getting to be more and more difficult to fight off.
"I have to get help," he whispered, pulling out his mobile phone and the poison container.
My health can wait. It's Bucciarati who I'm more worried about at the moment.
Abbacchio went through his contacts list, dialling the one person he knew for certain would be up at this ungodly hour.
Come on, he thought, hearing the dial tone. Pick up, for fuck's sake!
He got his wish on the third ring. "Yeah?"
"Hey, Domenico, it's Leone," Abbacchio said, switching back over to standard Italian. "I'm sorry to bother you again, but I have a quick question for you."
"Don't worry about it," Domenico De Luca responded. Abbacchio could hear a slight yawn at the end. "Fire away."
Abbacchio frowned, glancing down at the container's label. "Do you happen to know what flunitrazepam is, by any chance?"
"Fluni-" De Luca paused briefly. "Where are you?" His tone became sharper, more alert.
I'll take that as a "yes." Abbacchio checked the nearby street sign. "Via Alessandro Scarlatti," he explained. "Somebody broke into my vehicle, laced my water with that drug, and left the container inside the van. I didn't have any of the tainted stuff, but my friend drank a good-" Abbacchio checked the water level on the bottle. "I want to say, hundred or so millilitres of it. It's not doing either of us any favours."
"I wouldn't expect it to," De Luca retorted. "Where on the street are you?"
"Look for my vehicle," Abbacchio said darkly, taking a look at Sticky Fingers' carnage. "You'll know it when you see it."
"Fair enough. I'll be there shortly. Stay put."
"Got it."
The call ended. Abbacchio put his mobile in the trench coat's right pocket, exhaling. He felt really exhausted, but that was a side effect of getting shot in the back. He looked down at his squad leader, a small smile gracing the goth's face.
"It's okay," he whispered, gently stroking Bucciarati's cheek. "Help is coming."
Abbacchio closed his eyes, finally surrendering to the dark eddies lurking in the corner of his vision.