One Step to You (The Rome Novels #1)(8)

“Chicco, don’t you dare think of stopping or those guys will start wrecking you.”

“No, I can still try to talk to them.” He pushed the button that electrically lowered the window and opened it halfway. “Listen, guys,” he shouted while trying to remain calm and stay on the road, “this car belongs to my father and…” A gob of spit caught him right in the face.

“Yahoooo, bull’s-eye, a hundred points for me!” Pollo got to his feet on the saddle behind Bunny, raising both arms straight up in the thrill of victory.

In despair, Chicco wiped his face with a chamois cloth that was more expensive and more authentic than Pollo’s gloves. Babi looked on in disgust at that stubborn gob of spit, and then she pushed the electric button, closing the car window again before Pollo’s unerring aim could hit anything else.

“Just try to make it to the center of town. Maybe we’ll run into the police there,” Babi said.

Chicco tossed the chamois cloth into the back and kept on driving. He thought about the thousands of lire in damage to the car and the endless dressing-downs from his father. At that point, in a surge of sudden rage, he jerked the steering wheel, swerving suddenly to one side.

The car scythed across the road, to the right and then to the left, and smashed into the motorcycles. The Sicilian shot off to the left, winding up in the other lane, which was fortunately empty. Bunny slammed on the brakes, narrowly managing not to be run off the road.

Chicco started laughing, as if caught up in a hysterical jag. “So they want war? Fine, they can have it! I’ll crush them like the rats that they are!”

He gave the steering wheel another twist, causing the car to lurch off to the right. Babi clutched tight to the door handle in utter terror.

When Step saw the car heading straight for him, he braked and veered away, downshifting at the same time. The motorcycle slowly veered back to the center of the road, right behind the car.

Chicco peered into the rearview mirror. The group was there, behind him, still glued to his tail. “Scared, are you? Good! Then take this.” He suddenly jammed on his brakes. The ABS cut in. The car screeched to an almost complete halt.

The motorcycles on either side managed to veer away and avoid the car. Schello, who was right in the middle, did his best to brake, but his oversized Vespa, with little or no tread, fishtailed wildly and slammed into the rear bumper. Schello hit the pavement.

Chicco took off again, tires screeching, at top speed. The motorcycles stopped to lend aid to their wounded friend.

“Fuck that son of a bitch!” Schello got to his feet, his pants torn over his right knee. “Look at this.”

“No surprise, the way you flew you’re lucky that’s all that happened. You didn’t hurt yourself at all. You just have a scraped knee,” Bunny said.

“What the fuck do I care about my knee? That asshole ruined my Levi’s, and I bought them just the other day.”

Everyone laughed, amused and, at the same time, relieved for their friend, who’d lost neither his life nor his willingness to joke about it.

Step watched the BMW vanishing into the distance, far away at the end of the street by now. Between the lines of trees that narrowed to a slender gap, he could see clouds scudding quickly past in the sky. A large, bright moon rode high in the darkness. That moon was the one thing truly out of reach.

Then the BMW veered to the right and pulled onto Corso Francia. “Wahoooo, I fixed those bastards, but good.” Chicco was pounding both hands on the steering wheel in delight. He glanced quickly at his rearview mirror. Nothing but a car far behind him. He felt reassured. There was no one in pursuit. “Assholes, assholes!” He bounced excitedly in his seat. “I did it!”

Then he remembered Babi, sitting beside him. “Are you all right?” He turned and gazed seriously at her, expressing his concern.

“Better now, thanks.” Babi detached herself from the car door she’d been crushed against and got more comfortable, sitting up normally. “But now I’d like to go home.”

Chicco downshifted and took a right turn, heading down the hill. “I’ll take you right away.”

He came to a quick halt at the stop sign and then continued over the Ponte Milvio. Chicco looked at her again. Her hair, still wet, hung over her shoulders. Her blue eyes gazed straight ahead, still tinged with a look of fright.

“I’m sorry for what happened. Did that scare you?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Do you want to get something to drink?” Chicco asked.

“No, thanks.”

“But I’m going to need to stop for a second.”

“If you want.”

Chicco made a U-turn. He pulled over next to a public drinking fountain in front of a church and splashed a few handfuls of water onto his face, rubbing away the last possible traces of human enzymes from Pollo’s saliva. Then he let the cool night breeze caress his face and relaxed.

When he finally opened his eyes again, he was looking reality right in the face. His car, or actually, his father’s car. “Fucking hell!” he whispered to himself, circling the car and assessing the damage.

Chicco tried to pretend he wasn’t in the depths of despair. But in reality, he definitely was. His father had an obsession with cars, and that one in particular, considering how long he’d had to wait before finally taking delivery. Almost as long a wait as it felt for Chicco himself, earlier that evening, in his bedroom, trying to work up the nerve to ask to borrow it.