It’s a beautiful sight. I hope they all die. I wouldn’t even mind if I was hit, too, right about now.
“Fuck!” the injured man presses a hand to his neck as he ducks next to the others.
“Those farriers are sneaky fuckers,” The Cleaver agrees.
He fetches a gasoline can and, staying low, dumps it over the gunwale onto the adjacent boat. When it’s half empty, he tosses it aboard Massimo’s boat, which drifts away.
He ducks, and a bullet slams into the wooden frame next to his head. The Cleaver starts, then looks at the damage.
“That was a close one, Boss,” someone comments.
The Cleaver nods distractingly. “Cut the ties.”
Two of the men crawl beneath the gunwale until they reach the spot where the cables from the other speedboat are tied to the cleats. At least I think that’s what those T-shaped metal bars secured to the gunwale are called. The men cut the ties.
The Cleaver ignites a lighter and tosses it onto the boat. Flames take root.
Another Rizzo activates a second lighter, and throws this one onto Massimo’s boat. He ducks as another bullet hisses through the air. I flinch at the sound.
The Cleaver hits the throttle and the speedboat jerks away. We’re tossed about as the lower hull bounces across the waves. The sea is rough today.
“Come on, boys!” The Cleaver shouts.
He grabs someone’s rifle and aims over the edge of the gunwale to open fire. The others follow his lead from their crouched positions. The sounds terrify me, and for a moment I forget my sorrow.
Their aim must be all over the place, because nothing happens for a long moment. When the first boat finally explodes, they cheer.
The men concentrate their rifles on Massimo’s boat next, and it too shortly erupts into a horrible fireball.
Guns. I’m right to be afraid of them. I’ve seen firsthand what they can do. Whenever I encounter a gun, someone important to me usually dies.
The Cleaver and the others return to their hiding places beneath the gunwale as the boat speeds away. They keep their weapons dangerously close at hand, and I find myself unable to move.
I close my eyes, thinking about Massimo. He’s gone. I turn my head so that I’m facing the gunwale, and open my eyes. The smooth hull lurches up and down in front of me. I can’t see the guns anymore, so I pretend they don’t exist.
Slowly, carefully, so as not to draw attention to myself, I peer over the gunwale. The fiery wreckages recede into the distance. The sight fills me with heart-wrenching grief all over again.
“Get down, stupid bitch!” The Cleaver’s rough fingers dig into my bicep and he hauls me back below the gunwale. The scar running from his forehead to his cheek seems particularly grotesque today, appearing a bright, puckered red beneath the sun. “Fuck you’re stupid.” He glances at his men. “This whore has the IQ of a donkey. I can’t believe I’m marrying her.” They laugh. “Don’t worry, you’ll all get a free fuck with her after she’s my wife.” He looks at me. “Are you looking forward to servicing my crew?” He makes an obscene gesture, sliding his fist back and forth in front of his mouth while at the same time repeatedly pressing his tongue against his cheek.
His men laugh all the more.
I look away and stare at the gunwale. Once again I pretend there are no guns.
“Looks like you’ve got more experience giving blowjobs than me,” I mutter softly.
The ship grows extremely quiet. The only sound is the repetitive scraping as the boat bounces off the waves, and the buzz of the motor.
Oops.
Shit.
“What did you say, whore?” he asks.
I don’t look at him.
“You know, your father must hate you,” The Cleaver continues. “Because he didn’t come up with the money to rescue you. That’s right, he let us outbid him. Do you know how much we bought you for? Only ten thousand Euros. That’s right, your father essentially sold you to us for ten thousand Euros, because he refused to pay. What do you think of that?”
I don’t answer, and continue staring at the gunwale beside me. I know it’s a lie. Father would never give me up for such a paltry amount.
