The Fugitives
Chapter I
Finally, peace in out family.
The clear blue sky radiated enough rays for the hesitant man in blue jean cut-offs to wear sunglasses. His life dictated being invisible. Wearing a pair of Oakley’s always gets someone’s attention. However, the climate of this quaint beach town gave him complete anonymity. The tall man with a navy blue baseball cap stopped at the edge of the sand. The gentle calm of the teal colored water tickling the Pozzallo shore had no calming influence on his stern expression.
“Sono que con dei soldi. Non voglio sentire…” A grunt of disgust halts his unfriendly tone on the cell. But, it will continue. “Enough with this friggin’ language. I’ll slip it under the damn door.”
A voice torn from agony answers. “Oh, ah Frankie. Per favor,” the woman’s pleading tenor has no effect on him. “Please, you ah. Tio Frank to her. Please ah, she’s your ah, long black hair falls in front of her face. Struggling with English, the young woman continues. “Frank, she’s,” tears seep out of worn eyelids. “Your, figlio del fratello.”
“Sure, and now I’m glad my brother and my parents are not alive to see what the hell he looks like.”
Frank ends the conversation and turns toward the street and the waiting Red, Fiat Panda.
“Mamma, per favore. Non piangere. The young girl of about ten or eleven wears a flowered sundress. She wants her mother to stop crying. Green eyes glisten from the moisture growing at petite eyelids. The child knew the sobbing woman had been expecting a call from her bother-in-law.
Taking a breath before she opens quivering lips, she looks at her mother and speaks.“So che mi odia.”
She knows her uncle hates her.
Frank finds it hard to drive as his one of three cell phones flashes a welcome name.
“Hey, baby. Glad you called.”
“Frankie, are you still going to see your family?” The feminine voice asks.
A loud sigh precedes the answer. “Yes, Alice.” He decides to pull over as the already tanned olive-tone skin darkens.
“Sweetheart, remember you promised to ask about the wedding. We pay for their air-fare. They can stay at my mother’s.”
Frank is unmoved at hearing of her generosity.
“Sweetie, now don’t say anything bad to your new niece. I hope Francesca can be a junior bridesmaid with my niece.”
“A fuckin’ bridesmaid.” His hands fly about the front seat as a taut expression shows the growing anger. “Geesus, Alice, what you rubbin’ it in?” The harsh tone elicits only a calm answer.
“Frank, I love you. But you can’t ex out your sister-in-law and your,” she pauses. “They are your only family.”
Two large palms hold the drooping head of wavy black hair. “My Goodness, Frankie. He’s,” the woman corrects herself. “She’s even named after you. And even has those beautiful eyes of yours.”
“His, her whatever the hell the name is now? The kid was christened, Francesco.” A blast of angry air shoots from his nostrils all the way to the United States.
“Sweetheart. promise me no scenes. And you promised when we wed, no more trips away around the world or in areas where everyone hates Americans.” The voice on the other end becomes serious. “Please, baby. Aren’t three bullet holes enough?”
“First, of course, I’m not scaring the kid. I know what childhood trauma is. The poor kid already lost his father.”
“Frank!” A trumpeting voice over the cell causes Frank to jerk his ear from the device. “I don’t want to hear later that you called little Francesca a boy. You hear me mister.”
“You’re right. Also, those missions. Them days are over. I did my duty. It’s somebody else’s turn now.”
Silence takes over the conversation.
“Alice, I promise. I’ll have some espresso and speak some grease-ball talk with her mother.” He takes a breath. “Leave the money and then come back home and pretend, I don’t know about the Bachelor Party.”
Amid, the typical romantic quips spoken by two people less than a month from being married, the couple say goodbye.
The Fiat continues down the narrow streets of the coastal, tourist down. Frank on occasion mutters to himself.
“I better be prepared for what he looks,” he sucks air through a strained nostril. “What she,” the man grits his teeth. “Little Francesca looks like.” A harsh sounding grunt erupts in the small auto. “What would Paulo think? My poor brother? Oh, my parents?” As he imagines the vision that might be awaiting him. The two occupants of the small one floor home scurry about as the knock on the door is repeated.
“Mamma, suo zio.”
“Francesca, please? Only English now. Uncle Frank…hates to speak Italian.”
The two broad shouldered men possess grim faces. The one nearest the door prepares to knock again. He holds an automatic handgun pressed against his chest.
Giovanna looks at her daughter. “Maybe sweetheart, the raps on the door mean,” she throws a kiss toward her child. “Finally, peace in out family.”
- ************************************************************************
- Hello:
- Here is the introduction. A little different concerning the theme and especially the male lead.
- Enjoy:
- Allaboutlove
