The Sixth Seal полностью

After the pair’s wild escapades down in Egypt, they had relocated to Levanzo, an island eight miles west of Sicily. With the help of a local benefactor and someone who enjoyed spending the night with Cork occasionally, the two ladies were each given quaint cottages along Levanzo’s picturesque northern coast. The only downfall to calling the island paradise home was that there wasn’t anything to do there. To experience a little nightlife, one must take a ferry to Sicily, specifically Trapani.

Sadly, Cork’s trusted Cessna wasn’t an option, either. Levanzo lacked an airport, making takeoffs and landings impossible… unless you were forced to use a local road. Zahra had given the local police chief her word that it would never happen again. Regarding Cork’s plane, the Puss E. Galore, it was currently stored in a nondescript warehouse over at Trapani Airport.

Two nights ago, Zahra had overheard someone back in Levanzo mention Bar Nettuno. Their top-shelf gin cocktails were legendary and high-octane. Zahra was never one to shy away from a challenge. Neither was Cork, for that matter.

Zahra’s first cocktail had been a crisp and refreshing Cucumber Gin Gimlet. She’d only made one change. Zahra had asked for it to be made with her favorite gin, Old Raj. The only complaint she had was that there wasn’t enough cucumber. Zahra loved cucumbers. She did enjoy the beverage, however. By the time she was halfway through her second drink, an exquisitely made Negroni, Cork had already ordered her fourth drink.

Or was it her fifth?

The outdoor seating at that time of night was stunning. It overlooked the same pristine waters that had just swept in the breeze Zahra had been enjoying a moment ago. A hip-high wooden fence enclosed the space, illuminated by nothing except the moon and a few strings of dim lights.

“Where do you put all the booze?” Zahra asked.

Cork belched. “Well, Luv, depending on my exact whereabouts, it either goes into the loo or into the dirt behind a bush.” She tried to smile, but it came off as an awkward, toothy grin. Cork stood and wobbled. “Speaking of which… Someone bring me a shrubbery!”

Zahra had no idea why, but Cork quoted Monty Python and the Holy Grail whenever she got wasted.

It took a lot to embarrass Zahra.

Or it just took Cork.

A commotion picked up across the patio. Cork spun on unstable legs. Zahra was still seated and had to lean around the Brit’s mass to see what was happening.

Near the entrance back into the bar, their waitress was having an aggressive heart-to-heart with a customer. Both spoke rapid-fire Italian. Zahra mastered the language when she was thirteen. But after a couple of choice words from the male patron, Zahra quickly deduced that these two shared more than just an employee-guest relationship. She didn’t have to be a Holmesian sleuth to figure that part out.

“They’re a couple,” Zahra whispered, mentally translating what was being spat. “At least, they used to be.”

“Ooh,” Cork said, smiling wide, “me likey drama.”

Zahra sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

The man reached out and grabbed the waitress by the arm.

Zahra cringed and slowly looked up at Cork. The muscles in the woman’s back and shoulders had already been tense. Now, they looked ready to burst. This was a worst-case scenario with someone like Cork present — she despised men who put their hands on women if it was unwarranted or uninvited. Add in the alcohol coursing through her system and, well…

“Cork, no. Let the police handle it.”

“The police? No bloody way.” She looked at Zahra and winked. “They’ll just ruin my fun.”

The waitress whimpered and clawed at the man’s hand.

Zahra closed her eyes and shook her head. Aw, shit.

The intoxicated Brit snarled, and her nostrils flared. “Be right back, Z.”

Zahra shot to her feet and tried to stop Cork, but the table between them had other thoughts. The pilot had already been out of arm’s reach.

Cork shoved the man hard in the back. “Oi, maggot!”

The ex-boyfriend whirled around with his right fist cocked back. The moment he saw Cork, he stuttered backward and lowered his balled-up hand. Cork was a few inches taller than he was and around the same weight, give or take.

She stood tall and placed her hands on her hips. “How ’bout you and I step outside, and you can dance with a woman your own size?”

The ex-lover looked straight up, then returned his eyes to Cork. “But we are outside.”

The man’s English was heavily accented in French, not Italian. Apparently, he was an Italian-speaking Frenchman. It didn’t shock Zahra since she spoke several languages herself.

Cork’s reaction was instantaneous. She glanced over her shoulder at Zahra. “Oi, Zahra, why didn’t you tell me he was a cheese-eating surrender monkey?”

Cork grabbed the man’s arm in the same manner that he’d done to the waitress. “C’mon, Jacques, let’s go talk about this.”

He ripped free of her vise-like grip. “Va te faire foutre!”