The Sixth Seal полностью

“Oh, you can grab the missus, but a woman can’t touch you. I see. You must be a real thrill in the sack.”

“This does not concern you!”

Cork stepped closer. She pointed at the waitress. “It didn’t concern me. Until you concerned her… with your greasy sausages.”

She reached for his arm again. This time, he backed away before Cork could grab him.

Jacques jabbed a finger at Cork’s face. “Touch me again, and you will get your dance.”

Cork looked back at Zahra again and smiled. She returned her attention to the Frenchman, leaned forward, and wiggled her butt like an excited puppy. “You promise? Because I really need a dance partner.”

Zahra mentally translated the statement. She’s itching for a fight.

Slowly, Cork extended her pointer finger and gently tapped Jacques on the chest.

He responded by slapping her across the face.

The larger woman was stunned. So was Zahra. Zahra’s hands flew to her face. She covered her mouth as Cork turned and faced her. “Did Froggy just slap me?” Zahra silently nodded. Her eyes were as large as saucers at this point.

Zahra lowered her hands away from her mouth and tapped her own lower lip. “Um, Cork? You’re bleeding.”

Cork licked it. Based on her non-reaction, Zahra couldn’t tell whether the wound stung or not. Cork’s pain tolerance was north of Zahra’s, which was ridiculous to even think about.

Zahra rounded the table but didn’t advance any further. Cork could, and would, take care of this herself. In this moment, Zahra’s presence was merely that of moral support.

And to make sure she doesn’t kill him.

Cork faced the Frog Prince. “You must be a special kind of git to go and do something like that.” Her breathing was heavy and loud. Cork seethed. She stepped toward him again. “I ain’t some daft cow you can slap around whenever you want. I’m a real lady when I want to be.” A crowd had gathered now. She turned to the waitress. “What did you ever see in this muppet?”

Jacques raised his hand to slap Cork again.

She launched forward… and grabbed his crotch.

Cork squeezed. Then she twisted.

Jacques squealed.

Cork leaned in close. “I may be a lady when I want to be, but lucky for me, I don’t feel very ladylike right now.” She pulled him closer by nothing more than his privates. Now, their faces were only inches apart. “If you don’t piss off, I’ll yank your knob off and stuff it down your throat.” She dug in deeper. “Do you understand?”

Jacques bit his lip, fought back his tears, and nodded.

Cork pulled him toward the outside patio entrance. “I’m not letting go of your meat and potatoes until you apologize.” She reached behind him and opened the door. He mumbled something Zahra could only interpret as a humiliated, infuriated ‘I’m sorry.’

Then, Cork did a very Cork thing. She let go of the man’s crotch, leaned in, and gave Jacques a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for the dance.” She pushed him backward and let go.

Jacques fell to the parking lot and scrambled away, holding his junk, cursing at Cork in French. Zahra didn’t dare translate what was being said. It would only incite Cork more. The injured man staggered to his feet and headed off deeper into the parking lot.

The waitress gave Cork a nod of thanks, but then a portly fellow approached her and Zahra. “I must ask you to pay your bill and leave,” his eyes met Cork’s, and he shuddered. “Please.”

“Yes, sir,” Zahra said politely. “We were just about to leave anyway.”

“What did he say?” Cork asked. She didn’t speak a lick of Italian and hadn’t seemed interested in trying.

“It appears that we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

Cork mumbled something under her breath. The only word Zahra understood was “arsehole.”

“Technically, you started it.”

Cork pointed toward where Jacques used to be. “He shouldn’t have touched her!”

Zahra held up her hands. “I agree, but there are things that the authorities should handle. This was one of those things.”

“Eh, sod off, Zahra!”

Zahra stood her ground.

Cork couldn’t hold back her smile.

Zahra rolled her eyes and dug her credit card out of her pocket.

“Don’t,” Cork said, pushing her hand away. “Since this was ‘all my fault,’ I’ll buy.”

The waitress brought them their bill. She once again nodded her thanks. “Grazie.”

When she left, Cork opened the bill holder. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Hell’s bloody bells! Look at these prices!”

Zahra snorted. “I mean, you did drink half the menu.”

Zahra led the inebriated Cork out into the packed parking lot. Trapani Port was less than a mile to the southeast. The walk from the harbor to Bar Nettuno had been a pleasant one. They had zigged and zagged through town, passing residences and businesses alike. They planned to retrace their steps and catch the next ferry back to Levanzo.

“Don’t suppose there’s a cab around?” Cork asked.

“Not a chance,” Zahra replied, guiding Cork along. “Besides, walking will do you some good.”