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Fugo sat in the back sit on a stolen Fornasari, filing his nails and tapping away at Louis Prima on the radio.
"They should be back by now..."
Well, stolen wasn't exactly fair--Mista was owed money from a mercenary gig and when his buyer didn't cash out, the only reasonable thing to do was take something of equal value. Barter for barter, a deal is a deal.
He checked his new watch, brow simmering with annoyance.
"I've still got Brave New World to finishing annotating, Christ."
Fugo peeked out one of the cracked windows and sighed; in the middle of July, Sicilia was sweltering, but a small gap for air was all they could afford, the luxury of tinted windows providing him not only the privacy to finish up his homework but the stealth of Passione's latest endeavor.
'This is getting ridiculous!'
They had parked not too far from the entrance of the Palermo Cathedral, the busy street presence a splendid cover amongst the trail of parked cars. Buccellati and Abbacchio had separated upon arrival, one man going to look an overdue payment from a heist, while the other went to ask questions to the hovering tourists in the area. Fugo, thus, was the Plan B.
'Absolutely ridiculous...'
He closed his textbook on arithmetic and was tempted to lean over and grab the burner phone; they were almost up with their agreed half-hour time limit, and cops were crawling everywhere.
Fwrooom...
Fuego inhaled deeply, fresh air soothing to the soul as he rolled down the backseat window. Looking about, there were plenty of normal nobodys, the plaza mingled with dozy tourists and sleepy civilians in the early afternoon heat. But, then, from a distance, he saw a few people move from the crowd--it was a small shift, then, a rising panic, people shouting and dodging out of the way.
Somebody was running down the gateway.
"What the absolute Hell?"
Fugo squinted, then his eyes bulged in realization--Abbacchio was sprinting towards the car, two larger men hot on his trail.
"Fugo!" He bellowed, Sposti! Start the damned car!"
Fugo jolted into action, clambering over the seat to crank the key into ignition; Abbacchio clambered into through the passenger side, barely shutting the door with a quick crack before jamming his foot against the gas pedal.
Whizz!
DING!
"Bad tip?" Fugo ducked for cover; it must have been a new record with how quickly they were getting shot at.
Abbacchio took a hard left turn, sending Fugo's books and papers into a flurry as they barrelled down the street. The older man only growled in reply, mumbling under his breath as a gunshot cracked the right hand rear view mirror.
Crink!
"Hang on!"
Abbacchio was driving like a maniac, swerving around town with little purpose; Fuego ducked back down into the foot space of the backseat, taking his arithmetic textbook in the forehead.
"Fucking--"
SCREEEEEEEETCH!
"We're turning around?" Fugo peeked up, grappled to the passenger seat low headrest, "Are you insane?!"
Abbacchio took a sharp U-turn, sending Fuego's stomach into shambles.
"Buccellati ran in an opposite direction!" He now drove back into the main road, "He got shot, fucking moron, and we gotta grab him!"
Whizzzzzz!
POP!
More gunshots could be heard as they headed back, their aggressors hasty to attack as they returned down the road.
"He'll be fine!" Fugo snapped, startled at the blood on his forehead.
'My damn book--'
"No he won't!" Abbacchio took a hard left.
"Did he tell you to come back?" Fugo was exasperated, "Huh? Because last time I checked, Buccellati's plan is always to leave--"
WREEEEK!
Abbacchio halted the car, tire burning into an unpleasant aroma right back where they had started.
"Don't forget who you're talking to, brat. I don't give a shit what the plan was--I will not leave Bruno behind, got that?"
Fugo cursed under his breath, but said nothing more; he sat with the other man, Abbacchio's foot toying with the gas pedal. The space, despite how populated in had been a few minutes prior, had cleared out almost instantaneously, the fright on gunshots and runaway cars now giving the two gang members minimal coverage.
"We're gonna get shot," Fugo said flatly, "And my books are ruined."
Abbacchio snorted, "You'll have enough to buy this year's textbook, just you fucking wait."
They sat for another tense breath of silence--then, Fugo saw someone run in the rearview mirror.
"Is that--"
"Hang on tight."
Without warning, Abbacchio threw the car into reverse, pitching Fugo once more as they flew down the main road, this time blind and backwards. Through the shattered window, he could hear more gunshots and distanced yelling.
"Fugo, get the door open!"
With a swift kick, Fugo popped the door open, the latch now cracked from the force; he grimaced at the crunching sound. However, neither of them accounted for the flipped path they now headed down.
crrrUNNNNCH!
They clipped the lampost, Fugo ducking back into the footspace for cover as the swinging door was ripped from its hinges, Abbacchio making no move to slow down.
'I'm going to die,' Fugo heard gunshots once more, 'This idiot is gonna get me killed!'
"There, Bruno!"
Abbacchio swerved to avoid a postbox, screeching to a halt just long enough kick open the door for their boss, frantic and soaked in blood, to jump through the kicked-open driver's door, clambering over just enough for Abbacchio to reach back over and wrench the car door close.
"Drive!" Buccellati cried.
Still pinned underneath his companion, Abbacchio threw the car back into Drive and floored it, throwing Fugo and Bruno in the force.
"Ah, idiota, you're covered in blood!" Fugo seethed, the roar of rushing wind from the lost door earsplitting.
Buccellati twisted to speak, but was abruptly pulled back--Abbacchio had embraced the other man, trapping them both in a possessive hug and an even more passionate kiss, letting go of the steering wheel in the process.
'Oh, fuck, I'm not dying today!'
Fugo reacted immediately, lurching over the driver's seat to get his left hand on the steering wheel, eyes wild and hair a distorted blur from the wind and sweat and stress.
"Do you mind--" He tried to check their attackers in the now-shattered rear view mirror, "--waiting until we are no longer being shot at?"
Bruno pulled himself free, "Leone, I promise I am alright!"
"You're fucking doused in blood--I can see right through where the bullet went through your shoulder!" His companion protested.
"Dai, dai, you're a softie."
"I just like to keep you in one piece."
"You're ridiculous," Fugo growled, forearm straining as he tried to take a turn, "And I hate you both, so very much! Be grateful that my hands are too preoccupied to--"
"There, right there!"
Buccellati pointed forward: two men in clad black were on the corner--Fugo knew exactly what to do.
"Take them out."
"Yes, Boss."
CRUNCH!
The Fornasari pummeled their assailants, crumpling them dead upon impact; the three of them sat in stunned silence, the rush of the chase finally now over. With a deep sigh, Fugo slid back into the back seat, head thrown in exhaustion. Closing his eyes, he could smell the faint stench of dried blood.
"All my school materials are either lost, run over, or covered in blood," He hissed.
"It's your fault for bringing them." Leone grumbled.
But their leader looked rather pleased, shoulder still gushing with fluids.
"Doesn't matter," He revealed a pouch the size of a softball, "We got what I wanted."
Fugo had to admit he was impressed.
"Enough to buy me new textbooks?"
Bruno grinned, victorious in the chase.
"More, that enough, Fugo. Far more than that."