At the bar, a wide-shouldered man with a slicked moustache watched Gina as he waited for his drink. She had changed a lot in the last few years. So had he, but that wasn't too important right now. He drummed his fingers on the bar and nodded to the opening melody of her next song. The young man-- Rodolfo was his name, wasn't it?-- had given her his message, but she apparently thought he had time to spare. It was only fair, he thought, for him making her wait all these years.
Several of the other patrons had stared at him from their tables when Rodolfo came back awkwardly and relayed her reply. He ignored them. Even the cocky sumbitches of Air Pirates. If any of them realized who he was, then they would know to leave well enough alone. If not, well, he could shoot them out of the air if it came to that.
Grimacing, he pulled out some cigarettes, and cupping his hands around the flame of the matchstick, lit one up. He puffed on it a few times then exhaled slowly, letting twin tendrils of white vapor shoot from his nose. The first seconds of flavor always did taste best.
"She's a beaut, ain't she," said a voice from behind.
Slowly, Marco turned and regarded the massive boss of the Air Pirates. He was a huge man, well over two heads taller than Marco himself, and a thick bushy beard that covered his squared jaw. Marco almost didn't recognize him; he'd never seen him without his aviator goggles, which were now dangling around his neck. "Yeah," he said flatly.
"I never thought I'd see you here again, pig. You've got some nerve, you know?" he said.
Marco nodded, then exhaled a plume of smoke into the air. Although he hadn't directed it towards the massive Air Pirate behind him, he grinned when he heard him try to stifle a cough or two. "Leave me alone, Lombardo, if you know what's good for you." He turned back to the bar and picked up his two drinks, tipped the bartender heavily, then regarded the Air Pirate with a flat level stare.
Despite his towering size, Lombardo quivered under Marco's icy gaze. "What, pig? You wanna make a fight out of it?" He put up his dukes and took a step back into an appropriate boxing stance.
Marco chuckled, then moved around the ridiculous-looking man. Several of his flunkies were alternating watching Gina's performance and what was going on at the bar now. All of them easily recognized Marco, and decided that it was best to leave their boss to fend for himself. "And be banished from Gina's Place? I don't think so, you stinking Fascist. Now if you've got nothing else to say...."
Lombardo froze. Gina would surely ban him if he attempted to fight it out here. Sheepishly, he put his gloved fists down at his sides and sneered at the shorter but formidable man. "Feh. I got nothing to say to you, pig. Not here, in any case. You just be careful. There's a bounty on your head, you know. Straight from the new regime itself."
"I may be a pig, but at least I'm not a Fascist dog. So shut your mouth, Lombardo," Marco said, "Or I shut it for you." Flashing a grin over his shoulder, he carefully carried his two drinks over to Gina's personal table, and sat down and waited for her.
"Is this seat taken?"
Marco looked up into Gina's sparkling purple eyes and blinked. He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep while waiting for her, and was slouched considerably in his seat. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with pinched fingers, he simply replied, "It's your table."
Gina watched him, waiting, but then sighed and shrugged her shoulders. She pulled the seat out for herself, then sat down across from Marco Rosso, infamous bounty hunter and dog fighter of the Mediterranean.
"You've been missing," she said simply. She took a napkin from the setting before her, and carefully placed it on her lap. "It's funny; just earlier one of the staff had asked me where you were the last two weeks. You're quite a hero for them, you know. The ones who remember, in any case."
"That's great. I'm a heroic outlaw," he said dryly. With a smile that never touched his eyes, he handed her her drink. "Here. A Blue Sky Martini with a slice of Spanish Onion for flavor," he said. "Just the way you liked it."
Gina smiled at him, bemused. "I haven't drank that in... Oh, I forget." Taking it from him graciously, she raised it slightly in a silent toast, then raised it to her lips.
"Just the way I liked it," she said, after sipping from it. She set the glass down before her, and looked into his eyes. "Where on earth did you get that photograph you gave me? I never realized you had a copy of it." Her eyes flickered over to a framed photo that hung centered over the table.
Marco followed her gaze and reached up for the photo. He held it in his hands dispassionately for a moment. "I liked the photo," he said. He handed it over to Gina. "It had all of us in it, after all."
Gina sighed as she took the frame from him and stared at it. It was an old photo from her early teenaged years, in black and white, though it was more brown than black. She and Marco were in it, as well as three other young boys their age, standing on or around a makeshift aeroplane that Marco and the boys had put together. The photo was taken directly after their first successful test flight, which explained everyone's messed-up hair. Above heads, Gina had painstakingly calligraphed their names. There was Angelo, who had carried a short courtship just before her 16th birthday, but disappeared somewhere out east nearly a decade ago. There was Michaelli, whom she married just before the fighting had begun, but was felled within two weeks. There was Vino, who married her after that, but was killed by the Secret Police for obscure reasons without having ever consummated. Then there was Marco.
Where Marco's head should have been, was just an impenetrable black scribble that erased his visage. All of the other faces were easily distinguishable, except for Marco's. And all of them had died, or presumably died, except for Gina and Marco. He was all she had left.
"That doesn't explain why your face wasn't blocked out in the copy you gave me," she said finally. The two said nothing for a while, but sipped from their cocktails uneasily and listened to Antonio on the piano.
"No, it doesn't," Marco replied after setting his drink down. "I knew I'd give you my copy eventually, but I didn't know when. I guess now is as good a time as any."
Gina sat up, alarmed. "Why? What's going on?"
"There's a bounty on my head, Gina, in case you didn't realize."
"That doesn't mean anything here. The government usually turns a blind eye when it comes to all the way out here. You're not in trouble, as long as you're here."
Marco nodded. "But how long can I stay here, Gina?"
Gina opened her mouth and was about to say for as long as he wanted, but realized what he was implying. Marco was a pilot, just like their three other friends. Only better. He needed to be out there, to roam around freely, to fly where he wanted. Staying with her would be like a death sentence for him. "For as long as it takes for this to blow over," she said instead.
"That's not going to happen. We've been saying this for the last five years now. It doesn't look like it'll ever blow over, at least for me."
"What do you want then, Marco?"
"I don't know." He leaned on his hand as he looked out the windows of Gina's Place. There was nothing to see out there at this time, of course, except for the flickering light of the mosquito torches outside, reflected in the water. But his eyes seemed to stare beyond that, or into that. Gina recognized that look; his mind was already unwaveringly set, and there was no convincing otherwise. "I'm going to go away for a while."
Several of the other patrons had stared at him from their tables when Rodolfo came back awkwardly and relayed her reply. He ignored them. Even the cocky sumbitches of Air Pirates. If any of them realized who he was, then they would know to leave well enough alone. If not, well, he could shoot them out of the air if it came to that.
Grimacing, he pulled out some cigarettes, and cupping his hands around the flame of the matchstick, lit one up. He puffed on it a few times then exhaled slowly, letting twin tendrils of white vapor shoot from his nose. The first seconds of flavor always did taste best.
"She's a beaut, ain't she," said a voice from behind.
Slowly, Marco turned and regarded the massive boss of the Air Pirates. He was a huge man, well over two heads taller than Marco himself, and a thick bushy beard that covered his squared jaw. Marco almost didn't recognize him; he'd never seen him without his aviator goggles, which were now dangling around his neck. "Yeah," he said flatly.
"I never thought I'd see you here again, pig. You've got some nerve, you know?" he said.
Marco nodded, then exhaled a plume of smoke into the air. Although he hadn't directed it towards the massive Air Pirate behind him, he grinned when he heard him try to stifle a cough or two. "Leave me alone, Lombardo, if you know what's good for you." He turned back to the bar and picked up his two drinks, tipped the bartender heavily, then regarded the Air Pirate with a flat level stare.
Despite his towering size, Lombardo quivered under Marco's icy gaze. "What, pig? You wanna make a fight out of it?" He put up his dukes and took a step back into an appropriate boxing stance.
Marco chuckled, then moved around the ridiculous-looking man. Several of his flunkies were alternating watching Gina's performance and what was going on at the bar now. All of them easily recognized Marco, and decided that it was best to leave their boss to fend for himself. "And be banished from Gina's Place? I don't think so, you stinking Fascist. Now if you've got nothing else to say...."
Lombardo froze. Gina would surely ban him if he attempted to fight it out here. Sheepishly, he put his gloved fists down at his sides and sneered at the shorter but formidable man. "Feh. I got nothing to say to you, pig. Not here, in any case. You just be careful. There's a bounty on your head, you know. Straight from the new regime itself."
"I may be a pig, but at least I'm not a Fascist dog. So shut your mouth, Lombardo," Marco said, "Or I shut it for you." Flashing a grin over his shoulder, he carefully carried his two drinks over to Gina's personal table, and sat down and waited for her.
"Is this seat taken?"
Marco looked up into Gina's sparkling purple eyes and blinked. He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep while waiting for her, and was slouched considerably in his seat. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with pinched fingers, he simply replied, "It's your table."
Gina watched him, waiting, but then sighed and shrugged her shoulders. She pulled the seat out for herself, then sat down across from Marco Rosso, infamous bounty hunter and dog fighter of the Mediterranean.
"You've been missing," she said simply. She took a napkin from the setting before her, and carefully placed it on her lap. "It's funny; just earlier one of the staff had asked me where you were the last two weeks. You're quite a hero for them, you know. The ones who remember, in any case."
"That's great. I'm a heroic outlaw," he said dryly. With a smile that never touched his eyes, he handed her her drink. "Here. A Blue Sky Martini with a slice of Spanish Onion for flavor," he said. "Just the way you liked it."
Gina smiled at him, bemused. "I haven't drank that in... Oh, I forget." Taking it from him graciously, she raised it slightly in a silent toast, then raised it to her lips.
"Just the way I liked it," she said, after sipping from it. She set the glass down before her, and looked into his eyes. "Where on earth did you get that photograph you gave me? I never realized you had a copy of it." Her eyes flickered over to a framed photo that hung centered over the table.
Marco followed her gaze and reached up for the photo. He held it in his hands dispassionately for a moment. "I liked the photo," he said. He handed it over to Gina. "It had all of us in it, after all."
Gina sighed as she took the frame from him and stared at it. It was an old photo from her early teenaged years, in black and white, though it was more brown than black. She and Marco were in it, as well as three other young boys their age, standing on or around a makeshift aeroplane that Marco and the boys had put together. The photo was taken directly after their first successful test flight, which explained everyone's messed-up hair. Above heads, Gina had painstakingly calligraphed their names. There was Angelo, who had carried a short courtship just before her 16th birthday, but disappeared somewhere out east nearly a decade ago. There was Michaelli, whom she married just before the fighting had begun, but was felled within two weeks. There was Vino, who married her after that, but was killed by the Secret Police for obscure reasons without having ever consummated. Then there was Marco.
Where Marco's head should have been, was just an impenetrable black scribble that erased his visage. All of the other faces were easily distinguishable, except for Marco's. And all of them had died, or presumably died, except for Gina and Marco. He was all she had left.
"That doesn't explain why your face wasn't blocked out in the copy you gave me," she said finally. The two said nothing for a while, but sipped from their cocktails uneasily and listened to Antonio on the piano.
"No, it doesn't," Marco replied after setting his drink down. "I knew I'd give you my copy eventually, but I didn't know when. I guess now is as good a time as any."
Gina sat up, alarmed. "Why? What's going on?"
"There's a bounty on my head, Gina, in case you didn't realize."
"That doesn't mean anything here. The government usually turns a blind eye when it comes to all the way out here. You're not in trouble, as long as you're here."
Marco nodded. "But how long can I stay here, Gina?"
Gina opened her mouth and was about to say for as long as he wanted, but realized what he was implying. Marco was a pilot, just like their three other friends. Only better. He needed to be out there, to roam around freely, to fly where he wanted. Staying with her would be like a death sentence for him. "For as long as it takes for this to blow over," she said instead.
"That's not going to happen. We've been saying this for the last five years now. It doesn't look like it'll ever blow over, at least for me."
"What do you want then, Marco?"
"I don't know." He leaned on his hand as he looked out the windows of Gina's Place. There was nothing to see out there at this time, of course, except for the flickering light of the mosquito torches outside, reflected in the water. But his eyes seemed to stare beyond that, or into that. Gina recognized that look; his mind was already unwaveringly set, and there was no convincing otherwise. "I'm going to go away for a while."
