Chapter Two; New Principalities Acquired with the Help of Fortune and Foreign Arms

Niccolo had never driven so carefully in his life.

He knew that to get pulled over now was to seal his fate. He would have to shoot or drive his way out. He had taken a fully loaded pistol from one of the security guards that he'd subdued on his way out of prison, and knew that he had to save up his bullets until he got the money to get more. Or he could steal some more.

But for now, he was terrified of what would happen when he crossed the state. He hadn't thought about how he'd get across the security guards. He'd have to ditch the car and get walking as soon as he hit the next town. Based on the road signs, he was nearing Blythe, California. Hopefully it wasn't too small of a place.

As he drove on, he felt the heat really getting to him. He knew that he had to get something to drink. He was gonna fucking bake in this heat if he didn't drink something.

Driving into Blythe, he turned off the highway into one of the back roads. He saw stores and restaurants give way to houses. He knew that it would be very dangerous for him to rob anyone's house. He'd have to go into an empty house, steal whatever, and then hotwire a car to get out of there. Fuck. This was going to be completely annoying.

He looked around. He noticed that one of the houses looked especially tempting. No car in the driveway, on the far end of the curve, and as far as he could see, nobody inside.

Looking around carefully, Niccolo backtracked his trail, and parked the car near the opening of the crescent. He would have to walk towards the house and sneak in. That wouldn't be easy in his prison uniform. He glanced at the back of the car, looking for something in the back seat he could use. He saw a long sheet, and a brown overcoat. Perfect!

Grabbing the brown overcoat, he pulled it on awkwardly in his seat. Staring around for people, he didn't notice anyone except one little four-year-old playing on a porch. Niccolo sighed, and gingerly got out of the car.

He'd broken into homes several times before. His brother had shown him how to do it, and he'd watched a lot of crime movies as a kid. He had practised on his own house, locking himself out, and then he'd moved on to other people's houses. He had continued to practice until he'd become a proper professional.

Niccolo knew that he had to do something drastic this time. It was mid-afternoon, and he would draw too much attention to himself if he straight out tried to break in. He had to cause a big distraction. In this case there was only one thing to do.

He looked around in the car. If he was going to go through with his plan, he'd have to clean up anything he'd need later on. He took the sheet and wrapped it around himself. It would look ridiculous, but it would do to help him hide attention. Niccolo paused only once to tear a thick rag from the sheet.

Next, he tore a larger strip from the sheet, and folded it to be used as a bag. He looked around at the items in the car. The very first thing he put into the makeshift bag was The Prince. Next went the last few cigarettes from the glove compartment, along with a map of south-western U.S. of A., the half-full bottle of Sprite, and a Spanish-English dictionary. He didn't know when he'd need that, but better safe than sorry anyway.

He got out of the car, wrapping the sheet tight around him despite the heat.

Taking the small strip of cloth, he opened the lid of the filling point. Niccolo knew he had to move quickly; he opened the second lid to the gas tank. Clutching one end of the strip, he dangled the other end into the gas tank, soaking it in gasoline. Pulling it back out, he crumpled it into a small ball and sealed the lid on the gas tank. Stuffing the cloth over the second lid, he took out on of his last matches. The gasoline-soaked cloth lit quickly and easily. Niccolo knew he only had a few minutes to disappear.

Walking away as fast as he could without running, Niccolo turned the corner of the street, not even flinching as he heard the explosion. Niccolo heard screaming begin almost instantly from people in the houses.

Niccolo whipped away the sheet, pulling the overcoat to his body as he hopped the fence next to him. He kept running, almost dropping his bundle of belongings.

Jumping and running from one yard to the next, Niccolo ran up to the house that he'd noticed had been abandoned. He ran up to one of the back windows and broke it with a well-placed elbow.

The house was empty as far as he could tell. He had gotten into a small kitchen that looked like the person coming back had to prepare dinner immediately. The kitchen was clean, and ready to be used as soon as needed. Just what Niccolo needed.

Niccolo hurried over to the sink to wash his hands and face. He ran the cold water over his nose, ears, mouth, and eyelids. He swore at the icy sting of the water, but he didn't care. Fortune was finally turning in his favour.

Opening the fridge, he stared delightfully at the large plastic bottle of Pepsi and the smaller glass bottles of Coors beer. Grabbing the Pepsi, he downed as much as he could before coughing up frothy spit. Gulping in air almost as greedily as he had gulped the water, Niccolo tipped the Pepsi to his mouth again.

He noticed a slice of sirloin steak in the fridge. Somebody's dinner for tonight? Well it was Niccolo's now.

Pulling a pan out of one of the drawers, he cut a piece of butter from a bar in the fridge and turned the gas on. Ripping open cupboard doors, he sprinkled pepper and paprika powder on the meat before tossing it into the pan to sizzle.

Niccolo decided to get some more stuff, so he explored the house, pillaging whatever he needed to get him on through the day. He made sure that his gun was in ready reach. He didn't know how long he had, but he heard the steak sizzling, and his hunger convinced him to stay longer.

Eventually, after a thorough but quick search of the house, he had a change of clothes even as the ones he'd been wearing were soaked in gasoline and burning in the fireplace. His beard, which he'd grown in the year of prison time he'd had for working with the Cabots, was shaved off, though he'd kept his moustache. He had combed his hair properly again, the way he'd always worn it, and though the clothes were a size bigger than his usual clothes, it was a million times better than the prison clothes he'd been wearing.

He had a comb and switchblade in one of his pockets, a wallet in the other. The wallet had a thousand bucks in it. Poor sap. He must have had something special coming up. The problem was that he needed identification, and he'd been unable to get it from the prison authorities. He'd have to check with an old friend of his.

But in the meantime, he had a pale green rucksack filled with the essentials: a change of clothes, three bottles of cold water, a pack of cigarettes, some food that wouldn't go bad but keep him full, and some other things he felt like he'd need. The stuff he'd had before were also there. Except The Prince; Niccolo was reading it as he ate his steak. It really tasted good after all this time in prison. He knew he was an idiot for staying here longer than necessary, but he so badly wanted to eat some decent food again, that he just couldn't have gone without gorging himself.

As well as the steak, he tore open a pack of chicken strips to toast in the oven, some leftover Chinese food that he ate cold while waiting for the chicken, and some fresh carrots he munched on like Bugs Bunny facing the Famine of Egypt.

After a few sips of cold beer, Niccolo sighed. He'd been in there for an hour at least. He had enough now to survive here in Baker, but he couldn't stay here. He had to get out and go far. He had no car, and no ID. That would have to wait, but for now, he knew what to do.

He was just thinking that when he saw, through the the glass reflection, that a young Brazilian couple had walked into the house, yelling in surprise at the ransacked rooms.

Niccolo froze. He was trapped in the kitchen. He would have to kill them, or hold them hostage. Either way it was bad. He groaned inwardly; why the fucking hell hadn't he gotten out? He could have been on a bus to Phoenix by now. No, now he was fucking trapped!

He looked around. Come on, fortune couldn't leave him that fast! Now he was stuck with two foreigners jabbering in Portuguese in the other room.

He sighed, and pulled out his gun. He didn't want to have to use it, nor did he want to face them and risk identification.

Positioning himself next to the door, he listened carefully to their voices and footsteps. He heard them coming towards the door, and prepared to knock them out as they walked in. He put on a hat and sunglasses that he'd been preparing to wear later.

First the man came through, looking angry and confused. He never saw the gun hit the back of his head and knock him out.

The girl, seeing her husband fall like a stone, screamed. Niccolo knew he had to get going and fast. The girl was either gonna be a hero or a damsel, and he wasn't interested in either. He just needed to run.

He opened the back door and hurried out, carrying the bag with the stuff in it. He heard her shrieking behind him but didn't look around.

Hurling the bag over the far end of the fence, he climbed over as fast as he could, hoping to God that she didn't have a gun or something.

No shot rang out as he power-walked down the street, trying not to look too scared or wired up. He wished he still had his fake facial hair; they'd been real vintage collectors, purchased by his brother for him as a birthday preasant.

Well, never mind that, he thought. Now I have to get to Phoenix, Arizona and meet a friend concerning identification.

As he walked, he cracked open Machiavelli's The Prince and began readingto calm his nerves.