Page 130 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
A huff of frustration broke from Percy, and Joe allowed a small thankful smile at the victory, despite Percy adding, “Fine, but if he shoots you in the back on the way out, it’s your own fault.”
“Got it. Come.”
But Percy took one final precaution before they escaped. He raised the meat tenderiser high, then flung it down hard and fast before Joe’s jaw even had time to drop. It smashed intothe man’s knee, pulverising it into innumerable bone shards and pulp.
“Percy!” Joe snapped above the screams. “Did you have to do that?”
“Do you want him to follow us?”
“Ugh!” Joe made for the door with a strong hold of Percy’s hand, and the two ran down the greasy stairs into a filthy alley, their footsteps echoing loud around the walls above them as a police siren screamed its nearing proximity. “Not the hotel?”
“No. I’ll hijack a car.” His hand reached for the dagger, but Joe knocked it away, instead pulling him harder and faster around the corner and back onto the busy main street.
Joe’s eyes immediately discerned a line of bright white cars. “How about a taxi instead?”
“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Percy groaned. “‘Don’t kill people’, ‘get taxis’. I thought you wanted to save money.”
Joe wrenched the door of a taxi open, shoving Percy towards it. “I swear to god, Percy. You are going to be the death of me.”
Percy threw himself into the backseat and lit a cigarette. “You keep up your kindness, darling, and you’re going to be the death of us both.”
“I’m not! What’s he going to do? He’s a cripple now.”
“A cripple with a vendetta, and that’s the worst kind of cripple.”
“And whose fault’s that?” Joe shouted.
“He’d be dead if it was up to me!” Percy yelled back.
“Where to?” asked the taxi driver.
“Fucked if I know,” Percy replied. “Out of Rome. Somewhere. Just drive.”
“Not the airport,” Joe muttered as the car pulled out into traffic. “It’s too obvious.” He leaned forward, grasping thechair in front of him, addressing the driver. “How much to take us to Naples?”
“Look who’s flashing the cash now,” Percy muttered.
“Would you shut up just for one minute? I’ll pay for it.”
“Don’t you dare!”
In a heated exchange, in which Joe had very little leverage to work with, given the state he and Percy were in and the conversation the taxi driver had already heard, he drove the price down as much as he could, which wasn't much. Then, with a whole new reason to feel sick, Joe closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back seat, sinking down, wondering, what the fuck next?
As ever, a kindly shoulder pressed into his, and he felt the touch of a cigarette at his lips. He parted them, took a deep drag, then leaned into the kiss he felt on his cheek.
“You know,” said Percy, in his easy, languid drawl, as though the last half hour hadn’t just happened, “we could easily get the train from Naples to Venice. I think this is a very good idea, actually. And do you know what’s in Venice?”
“Is it another Caravaggio?”
“They don’t have any.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Isn’t it? But this is almost as good.”
Joe tipped his weary head to the side, that gorgeous, irresistible grin swept across Percy’s face, and he revealed, “The Orient Express.”
“Aaaargh, Percy, no!” Joe practically wept.
