Author's Note
Rather than write a sequential series of short stories as was my original intent, this and future the Dina + Paolo stories will appear in volumes indicating where in Dina's five-year lifespan they occur.
New Year, New You Chapter 1: Waftage
Paolo cupped his hand over his mouth. "Massim, I'm at the waterfront. Are you sure your this is the right place? I'm just looking at a bunch of motorboats here."
"I know, I know. That's why I asked you to look it over, Paolo. They said a shipment of 500 AKs had just come in. I couldn't believe it, either."
Paolo considered the surroundings. He had more questions, but the only retort he could say with possible witnesses around would be empty invectives out of frustration. He waited until he and Dina were back in the Audi before continuing the conversation. "Look, 500 AKs would be slightly south of 2 kilo tons. None of the runabouts at the marina could safely carry that much mass. Not to mention the crate would be huge."
"500 AKs will fit in two 2 meter by 1-1/2 meter by 3 meter crates very nicely, old friend. I'm looking at two of them right now."
"So, you're telling me that snagged the shipment already? What am I doing here?"
"I wouldn't touch those Bosnian floor droppings! I only deal with new merchandise. Please!"
The image of his pepper-bearded friend wildly swinging his cane in outrage broke Paolo's head of steam. He gave a warm chuckle. "All right, I apologize."
"You had better, otherwise I might make an exception and make sure your next Beretta is, how do they say it, broken-in."
Given their reputation for quality and longevity, Paolo didn't find this much of a threat at all. Maybe Massimiliano D'Acampo didn't either. "All right, so it's not as big as I thought, but 3 meters is still pretty long. The biggest launch might be 4 meters at widest, but it probably still wouldn't fit right. And then there's the weight…"
"Well, like I said, I couldn't see how they were going bring in that load to such shallow waters. Nothing about it made any sense. It's such a small shipment, too."
Paolo started the engine, then mouthed "Seat belt" at his young charge in the passenger seat. "Wait, 500 is small? You were just telling me it would take up two good-sized crates."
"Those 'crates,' my friend, then go into shipping containers. 50 at a time. And shipping containers go into freighters by the hundreds. I don't bother wasting ink for anything less than 2,000 pieces of common small arms at a go."
As he rang off, he just shook his head. "I don't know why I'm even here, then."
Bright and cheery, Dina replied, "So you could treat me to yummy Suppli, at least!"
Paolo glanced over, feigning dismay at her greasy fingers after the delicious fried street foot treat. "Don't wipe your hands on your dress, Dina. And don't get it on the leather, either."
"So it's okay I got it on the seat belt?"
"You what?!"
Her giggle bounced around the passenger compartment. "I used the napkin, Signore Paolo. I know how much you love this car."
As he eased it into second gear, he stole a glance to his young copilot. "Why are you doubled over like that? Don't tell me you're going to be sick."
Her knees, covered in a burgundy corduroy jumper, muffled her feigned retching. "No, Signore Paolo. I'm just getting my hands un-greasy. And not on your carpet, either."
"Did you drop the napkin?"
"No, the Suppli was too much even for that. I think the seat belt did it in. I'm wiping them on my socks."
"Your socks?"
"Well, you said not to wipe them on my dress, Signore Paolo."
He may have softly uttered some profanity, but the roar of the RS4's engine obscured any such same.