Wow, so, I apologize for the extremely long wait on this chapter. I had a ton of stuff to deal with in school and life, then summer hit and I had no desire to do anything, so, yeah. Anyways, I'm feeling much more into my normal writing habits now, so I should ba posting reguarly again! Again, I'm sorry for the long wait, but I hope this makes up for it to some degree.
Sicily, Christmas, 1955
3:24 AM
At the sound of gunshot, Françoir sprang from bed, swiped his revolver from the bedside table, and moved to press his shoulder against the door frame. He nudged the door open before he slipped into the hall with his revolver raised. There, he did a brief check of the area, then crept toward the source of the shot.
After just a few steps, he found the source of the shot, or rather, its result.
Lying face up on the floor with a look of pure shock etched into her features was Benigna Picaro. On her chest, a circle of blood bloomed from a single dark hole.
From all around, he heard the patter of bare feet on hardwood as the others came to see the source of the noise.
Serafino was the first to arrive, "What was that sound? Antoine, did you…" his eyes came to rest on the body of his mother.
He dropped to his knees, "Mamme?"
He scooped up her torso to hold her in his arms, "Mamme, speak to me, please…"
Françoir backed up and lowered his revolver. Behind him, Emillio pushed his way forward.
"What is the meaning of this, who's firing guns in my house at…" His face paled at the sight of Benigna.
Serafino looked up at his father with tears in his eyes, "She's…she's dead."
Françoir felt Philippe pull up behind him, "Mamme, is everything alright?"
Emillio turned on his heel and pointed at Françoir and Philippe, "You. You're responsible for this."
Philippe glanced around Emillio and his eyes widened, "Mamme!" He rushed to her side.
Françoir gestured to himself, "I am hardly responsible for this."
Emilio clenched his fists and swung at Françoir.
Françoir ducked beneath the fist, then sidestepped the second punch aimed lower.
"Get out of my house!" Emilio roared, "Out! Get out, now!"
He picked up Philippe by the back of his shirt and threw him at Françoir, "And take this traitorous dog with you. Now, get out!"
"You can't throw me out, that's my mother, I can't leave her like this," Philippe said.
Emilio lowered his voice, "I should kill you now…. I suggest you leave before I decide to change my mind."
Françoir nudged Philippe's arm, "Let's go."
Desperation appeared on Philippe's face, "I-I can't leave her."
Françoir started walking away.
Philippe's shoulders fell and he followed Françoir out into the rain. Once outside, he fell to his knees, cupped his face in his hands, and cried.
Françoir knelt down, "Philippe?"
The younger man sucked in a shaky breath, "She's dead. My mother…she's dead."
"Yes."
A fresh wave of sobs brought Philippe to the ground in a fetal position. Cold rain fell down round him, soaking his silk nightwear and making him shiver violently. Yet, he didn't seem to notice.
Françoir moved beneath the awning of covered bench. He drew a balaclava from his coat, then used some of the pouring rain to wash the thick coat of makeup from his face. With a sigh, he slid on the mask and adjusted it so its base disappeared beneath the collar of his suit. He looked up to find Philippe standing before him, his eyes glued to the cobbled bricks beneath his feet.
"I don't know what to do," Philippe whispered.
Françoir glanced down the street "There's a decent hotel not far from here, why don't we stay there for the night."
Philippe nodded and fell in line behind Françoir as they started off down the street.
On the way down, Françoir glanced constantly at Philippe. He didn't want the poor boy to have another breakdown in the middle of the street. Besides, he knew how difficult something of such a nature was and how much more difficult it was made alone.
Once in the hotel lobby, Philippe busied himself with the pictures on the wall while Françoir took care of the room.
"Looks like you two went through hell," the receptionist said as he flicked through available rooms.
Françoir glanced again to Philippe, "Indeed."
"Mind if I ask what happened?"
"Yes," Françoir took the room key from the desk, "I rather do mind."
He turned toward the elevator and motioned for Philippe to follow. Philippe drifts over, into the elevator as his hands attempt to stifle a yawn.
Françoir leaned in, pushing the button for the third floor. The elevator dinged softly as it made one of the slowest three floor ascents in history. As the door opened, Françoir let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Inside the room, Philippe hastily stripped himself of his velvet nightwear and crawled beneath the covers of the bed.
Meanwhile, Françoir unbuttoned his suit jacket, thinking bitterly about how he'd left his shoes back at the Picaro Manor in his haste and likely ruined a $50 pair of socks walking down the muddy street. He then gingerly laid his jacket out across the radiator and sliped into bed, suit, and all.
Just as Françoir closed his eyes, Philippe rolled onto his back.
"Françoir?"
"Hmm?"
"Did you kill my mother?"
"No, of course not."
The room became quite for several minutes.
"So what my father said…"
"Is false, yes."
Philippe let out a relieved sigh, "Thank you."
"For what?"
When Philippe didn't respond, Françoir turned his neck so he could glimpse the other man. Sure enough, he'd fallen fast asleep as if nothing had ever been said.
Françoir turned his attention back to the wall in front of him, and stared at it for a solid hour, thinking, before exhaustion eventually dragged him into a restless sleep.
Sicily
Saturday
"Serafino, it's been an awfully long time since we last met. Tell me, how's your family?"
In the dim light from his desk lamp, Serafino shifted a file folder aside and rested his hand on the pistol beneath, "We're doing well, thank you."
Philippe strode up behind him, "Excellent."
"What brings you here today, Philippe?"
Philippe shrugged, "Information."
"Information?" Serafino brought the pistol to rest in his lap as he turned his chair around to face Philippe, "I thought the file I sent you would be more than enough."
"Oh it was enough," Philippe said, "I'm here for a different kind of information."
Serafino tightened his grip on his pistol, "What kind of information?"
"A simple question," Philippe said, "Am I a Picaro?"
Serafino gave a low chuckle, "Unless you've forgotten your name, yes."
"Allow me to rephrase. Was I born a Picaro?"
"Why would you even ask such a ridiculous question?"
Swiftly, Philippe drew a revolver and pressed it beneath his brother's jawline, "Perhaps you misheard me. Was I born a Picaro?"
Serafino took several deep, steady breaths as he considered his options, "What did you hear?"
"A rumor concerning a particular maid of Emilio's estate."
Serafino's grip on his pistol loosened, "How did you find out?"
"That's not important."
"Very well," Serafino said as he crossed his arms, "I assume you came to see if I have any information?"
"Yes."
Serafino pushed the revolver away from his jaw, "Please take a seat."
Philippe reluctantly lowered himself into the nearest armchair, "Tell me what you know."
Serafino leaned forward so his elbows were propped onto his knees, "I don't remember much from the time you were born, but I do remember Mami and father fighting. They'd get into these long yelling matches about a baby. Father wanted to get rid of it. Mami said it was his responsibility. He said he had nothing to do with it. They were a mess. Only later did I find out father had been having affairs with several of our staff. One night with a maid had gone awry and resulted in an unwelcome and unexpected little someone nine months later."
Philippe fixed his gaze on a distant point on the wall, "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you were born illegitimately, Philippe. Father impregnated a poor Irish wench of a woman, you were the result. The only reason you're still alive is because Mami wouldn't let father kill you."
Philippe sat completely still with his face betraying not even the slightest hint of emotion.
"I thought you'd have figured it out by now, given," Serafino gestured to Philippe's figure, "Everything."
Philippe's eyes moved up to meet his brother's, "I'd always assumed there was something undesirable about me. I simply hadn't expected this."
Serafino studied the other man carefully, "Are you considering removing yourself from the family?"
Philippe stood and moved over to a built in shelf along the wall of the room. Absentmindedly, he ran his hand across the books and trinkets adorning the shelf. His fingers stopped on a family portrait and he brought up to the light to get a better look at Serafino's family. Once he was satisfied, he set the picture down, "Yes, I am."
"Alright," Serafino said, "I'll take care of the paperwork for you. In the meantime, you may return to the states. In a few short hours you'll be completely cut off from any relation to the Picaro family."
Philippe nodded and extended his right hand, "Thank you, Serafino."
Serafino stood, took the hand in his, and pulled Philippe into a tight hug, "Goodbye my brother. I hope when we meet again, it's not as enemies."
Philippe nodded against his brother's shoulder, "Goodbye Serafino."
The two men pulled apart with the younger doing his best to remain composed. After an exchange of firm nods, the two separated, and Serafino was left alone once again.
He waited until Philippe's footsteps stopped echoing down the hall before picking up the phone.
"Papa?"
There was a cough from the other end of the line, "Serafino, my boy! What has you calling at my lunch hour?"
"It's Philippe."
He could hear the smile in his father's voice, "He's been eliminated?"
"No. Dufort didn't have the courage to kill him. However, he did let slip Philippe's illegitimacy."
"And?"
"He wants to be cut off from the family."
Emilio laughed, "Excellent. I'll have his files destroyed immediately. Soon it'll be as if we never even had to deal with that pathetic leech."
"Indeed."
"Oh Serafino," Emilio sighed, "this is indeed a happy day. Please, come see me at my home. There's celebrating to be done!"
"Of course papa. I'll be there soon."
Teufort Airport
Saturday
When Philippe stepped off the main terminal of the Teufort Airport, he was met by the two men who'd driven him there earlier in the day.
He smiled, "Hello gentlemen. We'll be returning to the location we left from. No stops."
One of the men stepped forward, "I'm sorry sir, but, we won't be doing that."
"What?"
Together, the men attacked Philippe. The first one grabbed hold of his shoulders and began stripping him of his suit while the second man emptied the contents of the small briefcase he'd brought.
"What the hell are you doing?" Philippe screamed as his jacket was stripped from him.
"Don't struggle. You'll live longer that way."
Philippe stopped struggling, knowing very well what these men could do to him given the chance. He then found himself grateful the airport was deserted as he was stripped down to his underwear, then given a rather uninvited pat down.
The taller of the two men handed Philippe an oversized t-shirt, shorts, flip-flops and a ten dollar bill, "Here, this is all you need to get home."
Reluctantly, Philippe took the clothing and dressed himself. By the time he'd finished, the other men had run off along with all his belongings. Philippe sighed. This had to be a result of him leaving the family. He supposed it was better than being killed, but still, there was something about having next to nothing that was unsettling.
Wearily, Philippe made his way out in front of the airport to the nearest pay phone. On the reasoning of pure speculation, he dug his hands into his pockets and was rewarded with the clink of change that he used to dial up the BLU base.
"Hello?"
"Hello Demo," Philippe said.
"Oh! Good evening Spy. What has you calling at such a late hour of the night?"
Philippe twisted the cord of the phone between his fingers, "I need you to pick me up from the airport."
"What, did your ride give you the slip?"
"Yes."
"I see," Demo said, "I'll be there as soon as I can."
The line disconnected, and Philippe made his way to a long since closed kiosk selling newspapers, magazines and an assortment of romance novels. He selected a Rolex catalog, then sat on a nearby bench to read and wait.
Just as he reached the end of the catalog, a white, two door Jeep pulled up to the curb. Spy rolled up the catalog, stuck it under his arm, and slid into the passenger's seat.
Demo glanced over from the driver's seat, "Holy hell, Spy?"
"Yes?"
"What happened to you?"
Spy rested his elbow against the lip of the window and used it to prop up his head as he watched the world outside, "It's a long story."
Demo nodded as he began driving, "You gave us back at base quite a fright when you up and left last night without telling anyone."
"Is that so?"
"Ahy. Medic thought he'd scared you off, or something along those lines. It's hard to tell, his English isn't too great. Soldier thinks you've gone AWOL, and Heavy thought you'd finally died."
Spy chuckled, "They really shouldn't make such a fuss. I'm a Spy, it's in my nature to disappear."
"For the record, I wasn't worried about you at all. I know you can handle yourself."
Spy nodded against his arm.
For the next several minutes, the two mercenaries drove on in silence as each mulled over their own thoughts.
Tired of his inner voice, Demo took a deep breath, "The sky's beautiful tonight."
Spy tilted his head back to validate Demo's claim. Up above, the inky black of night shone brilliantly with a symphony of light weaving delicately through the milky fringes of the galaxy. He slowly scanned the sky, his well-trained mind taking it all in and holding it like a steel trap.
"Spy?" Demo asked.
The assassin dared not take his eyes off the sky for fear of losing the scene, "I've never seen the sky like this before."
"Really?"
"Yes. I've always lived in an urban area, where sky watching is a rather drab spectacle."
Demo gave a soft chuckle "You need to get out more."
Spy watched as the light from the approaching base slowly blotted out the night's beauty, "Perhaps I do."
Demo returned his attention to the road as he maneuvered into the garage. He opened the car door for Spy, and they made their way up to Spy's personal room.
Demo yawned, "Well, I should really be getting to bed..."
Spy grabbed the doorknob, "Wait."
He pushed the door open. Inside, every drawer, cabinet and hidden floor panel had been opened and stripped of its belongings. Each and every paper, article of clothing, weapon, trinket, and document was gone without a trace. Even his passport, social security card and proof of citizenship were missing.
All he could do then, was laugh. It started low and soft, then grew until Spy found himself doubled over, clutching at the pain in his sides.
Demo looked on from the doorway, "Eh, are you doing alright?"
"I-I-I'm fine. Just...I'm sorry," Spy took several deep breaths, "It's just amusing."
Demo raised an eyebrow, "What is?"
"This. The airport, Sicily, all of it. It's hilarious. I mean, I have nothing. What could be funnier? I abandoned my family, lost all my possessions, and I likely don't appear in any records."
And, he added to himself, I destroyed my relationship with the one man who could help me recover.
Demo took a look around the room and shrugged, "I dunno what to tell you... Would you like me to give you something? Food, clothing, money, just name it and I'm here for you."
Spy shook his head, "Though I appreciate the offer, I feel inclined to decline. I'll be paid in a few days, then I'll have everything I need."
"Alright then," Demo said with a nod, "but if you need me, don't hesitate to call."
"Thank you."
Slowly, Demo backed out of the room, closing the door behind himself.
For the second time in his life, Spy had no idea what to do. Without resources, there was really nothing he could do. Yet, he didn't feel helpless. There still had to be something he could do. The voice in his head told him he could still take the desperate option. He'd look like a fool, but, at least he'd be back on his feet.
Spy made sure Demo's footsteps had faded, then darted downstairs to the private call room for the base. There, he dialed a well memorized number and waited anxiously as the first ring sounded from the phone.
