Page 86 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
Joe swung the car to such a smooth and impressive stop that Percy’s heart just about exploded with a hard punch of pure love. Joe kicked open his door and wrenched Althea’s wide. Percy smashed the latch to open the boot and followed as Joe wrenched Althea to safety, shouting, “Get Back!”
Tareq’s car slammed into the side of their own, crumpling half the car in on itself and forcing it to the edge of the alley. Tareq immediately backed his car up for another run. Percy ran, grabbed the sheath, then just as a deer might seek out its hunter, Percy was drawn, looking straight into those cruel, dead eyes that were locked onto him. The accelerator was floored with no regard for the driver’s own life. The shift from theTareq of the night before was unmistakable to Percy, even as the eyes and the car came, and he did move, but all too late, had Joe not pulled him out of the way as Tareq’s SUV smashed full into the wall, pancaking the trunk of their own car and everything inside.
Percy landed softly, safely, warmly, in Joe’s strong arms, and quite before he got his bearings, Joe’s lips were against his, his hand strong on the back of Percy’s neck, holding him firmly, desperately. Joe, certainly not Percy, was the first to pull back, and he brushed the hair out of Percy’s enamoured face with a grin. “You’re all right?”
“I’ve never been better in my life.” Percy would have kissed Joe again there on the rough asphalt of that small and scandalised alley, had the slam of a car door from behind not interrupted the compelling moment.
Both somewhat reluctant, the men climbed to their feet, where Percy directed Joe and Althea to follow with a tilt of his head and the barked order, “No questions!”
He led them all of five metres before he thrust open the door of a car stopped at a nearby intersection and jumped in, levelling his gun at a terrified woman and saying, “Souq wala noqtlek,” which, to the uninitiated, was Percy’s best attempt at ‘drive or die’.
Joe pulled Althea into the car with him just as the woman slammed her foot down on the accelerator.
Percy looked over at Joe with an expectant grin, which fell when Joe said, “What did you just do?”
With a huff, Percy turned back to the front. “I should think that’s obvious.” He directed the woman for several turns, mostly by pointing, until, “Stop.”
Joe apologised to her profusely in French, English, and Italian as he and Althea climbed out to pursue Percy.
Percy ran through the intersection and hijacked the next nearest car with a single driver. This he did twice more, eachtime driving in what Joe guessed were circles of varying sizes and styles, keeping them close to where they needed to be, and all but untraceable in the busy streets. The final time he hijacked a car, the driver was ejected entirely and Percy took the wheel himself. Moments later, all were somewhat surprised but overwhelmingly relieved to find themselves pulling into the harbour, all in one piece, and apparently free of pursuit.
Percy scanned the area, and just as he took a deep breath in preparation to let loose a torrent of abuse at everyone and everything in sight, he paused, broke into an outrageously handsome and unquestionably proud smile, and yelled, “Althea, do you see that man just there?”
Joe and Althea followed the line of Percy’s pointing arm to where a young man stood by a large suitcase, shadowed by a deep doorway, leaning back against a wall, smoking a cigarette just as Percy might, but all affectation, a palpable nervousness undercutting what should have been a very impressive effect. To Joe and Percy, at least. Althea flushed, eyelashes fluttering uncontrollably, as she sucked her bottom lip behind her top teeth.
“I see you see him, Althea.” Percy grinned, to no response at all. “Althea?” And no response at all. “Althea!”
She remembered Percy’s existence. “Hmm?”
“Run to him, tell him I sent you, and do whatever he says without question. Got it?”
“I will,” she breathed, and was out the door in a flash. Percy and Joe watched as she addressed him, and he set the cigarette at the edge of his lip nonchalantly to listen. To his credit, he only half blinked once or twice as the smoke blew into his eyes, and thought quickly to throw it off with a nod. She followed the direction of his nod into the doorway, he flipped the suitcase open and around, and after a pale and tightlipped objection from her, and an apologetic shrug followed by the correction of a stern and seemingly careless tapof his cigarette, she relented and was safely zipped inside. Without even a glance in their direction, he dropped an envelope in the doorway, and made his way to the boarding line, dragging Althea along with him.
Joe, open-mouthed, watched them disappear into the queue. “What the hell was that?”
“That was Leo.” Percy grinned. “My protégé.” He climbed out of the car, Joe fast by his side.
“How come you have a protégé? Where did he come from?”
Percy lit his own cigarette, keeping a fast pace, drawing deep, then handing it to Joe for a puff. “I’ll tell you, but don’t say a word to the boy.” He swept into the doorway, pulled the cigarette out of Joe’s mouth and back into his own, then fumbled the envelope open, finding two tickets for the ferry to Sicily. “I won him in a poker game a few years back.”
Joe smiled softly. “That’s bullshit.”
“That’s not bullshit.”
Joe’s response was cut off by the cigarette that landed firmly back in his mouth. Percy handed him the ferry ticket, shoved his own in his pocket, and made for the boat, then turned back so suddenly Joe almost smacked into him. “Stop.” Percy’s quick hands expertly straightened Joe’s collar, then shoved his hair to the side, running his fingers through as a comb, fashioning a carefree curl about Joe’s temple. He examined the cut on Joe’s cheek, wiped off a speck of dried blood, and nodded his approval. “What about me? How do I look?”
Joe’s lips tilted, trembled, then broke into a gorgeous smile. “You look like shit, Percy.”
“Thank you, darling.”
“I’m sorry.” Joe laughed. “There isn’t a thing I can do. You’re covered in blood, it’s all over your hands and your face. I think you’ve got vomit on your shirt. You smell… bad…”
“All right. Thank you.”
“You look and smell like a tramp in a good suit.”
“That’s perfect, thank you.”
