by Moore, Gabi
As a precautionary measure, I also had a RFID tag placed in the hairpin I gave her. I was going to tell her about it in a week or so if it turned out that she didn’t need the help any longer. Keeping those things that close to your head can be s somewhat of a problem. I didn’t want her to get cancer, but I needed to have some way of tracking whether or not police signals were active in her area.
By ‘in her area’, I mean literally, about her specifically.
The mechanics of the process are a bit complicated, so let’s just say that the hairpin was my failsafe, and the phone was my primary hardware installation. Like a fucking tool, she hadn’t contacted me until she was in trouble, which meant that her phone hadn’t been turned on the whole time.
This is why I was swimming around in the dark as long as I had been.
Sure, I knew roughly of her location, but there is only so much you can do with a RFID chip of that size, in terms of programming capacity. Also, when I gifted her the piece, I had been in somewhat of a hurry. You can’t really make complex spy equipment like that on the fly. Sometimes the simplest solutions are the ones that are the most practical — even if they lack in diverse functionality.
I picked up a series of long-standing pings around the RFID about twelve minutes before Piper finally turned on her fucking phone and called me. She’s lucky, that I was around, and not going out for a walk or taking a nap. When you’re stalking someone, apparently, you don’t have time to rest for a minute, otherwise, you might miss out on your crucial opportunity, and then where would you be?
Nowhere. Fucking nowhere, and with nothing to do but acknowledge that you had wasted all of your time and resources only to be jerking off when you needed to be present the most.
I followed the brief flurry of police exchanges and pieced together the chase as thoroughly as possible. It was a bit exciting, but my job was far from over. Even while Piper was talking to me, I was only giving her part of my attention. I had to use the remainder of my attention to focus on where her boyfriend was headed.
You got to hand it to a man who can throw a woman out of a moving car, off of the edge of a cliff in order to save her life. That takes some serious audacity.
Wouldn’t mind sucking that one off, I thought, indulging in the lewd train of thought just long enough to where I could focus back on the task at hand.
As far as I was aware, the chase was over. My project, on the other hand, had seamlessly transferred over into the tracking of a new secondary target — Tyler.
Police activity here in Venice had been up in arms searching for Maurice, and everything I had been made aware of indicated that they had looked far and wide, but had not, in fact, managed to pick up on anything. They had gone through Piper’s apartment, and I spent a solid two days in an anxiety ridden panic, thinking my entire operation would have been compromised in the event that they had found some evidence which linked Piper to myself. I opted not to sleep, and instead, decided to stay up doing surveillance on the local police dept. At all hours of the night. It was pretty ridiculous, but fortunately, nothing turned up yet.
In a stroke of peripheral luck, I managed to track down the cell numbers of a few possible leads that were in the immediate area consistently during the Rome police chase. These numbers crossed reference with at least one consistent number that was currently located in Corsica. I would have bet anything that this was where Maurice was spending his time, but I wanted to know for sure. After running the content retrieval systems, I was able to capture a few glimpses into the transcripts between the phone numbers around the police chase, and the number in Corsica. The only relevant information I was able to pull was that the number in Corsica, “wanted the soldier alive,” and to know “Where is the girl?”
Apart from those direct comments, the conversation was stilted in mercenary code or unfruitful in general. Tracing the coordinates on the number in Corsica was the easy part. I had the location down from the onset — the real challenge was discovering whether or not it was Maurice. In order to get that up and going, I had to do a bit of backtracking, which ended up taking more time than I would have preferred.
I went into Maurice’s private file on a database where — let’s just say I should have stayed away from.
I managed to find some recorded voice clips from a court case that he had attended when he was a younger, and supposedly less careful man. Locating voice recognition software was a pain in the ass — Not exactly something you can just pirate from the Internet. However, when I got everything up and running, and fed the sample from the phone through with the sample from the court recording, the software came back with an 87% likelihood of identification.
I guess a few years, and a few more cigarettes could have accounted for the difference.
When I felt confident enough in the fact that I had a lock on where Maurice was, I forwarded the information to Piper via text.
“Corsica,” she replied, calling me back to verify.
“Yep,” I said, not really having anything more to share with her on the subject.
My brain was officially fried, and I felt like if I didn’t succumb to a nap sooner than later, I was going to fall asleep right on my basement floor. I had done that before during another manically obsessive episode of surveillance, and I have to say that though my equipment is top notch, the fuck room upstairs is so much more preferable.
“Damn, Corsica,” she said. “I knew that he had accounts which lead over there, but I had no idea tha--”
“Listen, hun. Everything you need to know is in the text, and to be honest, there isn’t much more that I can do to help you at this point. I’ve been up for about fifty-two hours straight, and if I don’t get to sleep soon, I won’t be able to differentiate between alien contact, and your next phone call — ya dig?”
She laughed at me.
I was grateful.
Sometimes, it's hard to tell people that you love them, but you need to fuck off for a while. The truth of the matter is that love goes a long way, but when you don’t have sleep, your body and mind will probably give out before your compassion.
“So, I’ll just try and capture some intel?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Do it like we talked about, and everything is going to be ok. I’m going to set the system up on auto-pilot over here, and get unconscious. I’ll probably be gone for ten hours or so. I’ll catch you when this is all over.”
Knowing that I truly had done everything within my power to help her out, I finally allowed myself to stumble up the stairs and head to my crash room.
God I hope she knows what she’s doing, I thought, second-guessing whether or not I had done the right thing in providing her with the information necessary to put her life in more danger.
I knew that what she was going to do was incredibly dangerous. I also knew that if she didn’t take the risks necessary to bring this to a conclusion, she would probably be haunted by that information for the rest of her life. For most people, I wouldn’t have gone out on a limb and made that sort of impact on them. I would have simply opted to stay neutral, and allow them to determine the course of their own fate.
When you involve yourself in the destiny of another person, there is a strange amount of interdependent responsibility present, due to your participation. All of the sudden, your words seem like they have more power and influence than usual. The question of, “What if I'm wrong?” rings out clearly in your head.
I had to do my best to sigh and let my shoulders fall down. At this point, the only thing keeping me awake was the tension in my body from being overworked and anxiety ridden. I needed to close this anxiety out and accept the fact that I did what I could because I loved her. The recognition that my actions had indeed been out of love brought my heart to ease. It was as though the knowledge that I had acted out of compassion had set my conscience right, and as a result, given me permission to let some of that tension and anxiety dissipate.
I didn’t bother to change my clo
thes or even cover myself completely with the blankets. I was literally delirious with fatigue. After feeling my muscles and bones melt into the floor below me, I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath of resignation.
Your court now, girl, I thought, and then I was dead to the world.
Chapter 24 - Piper
At a certain point, you have to stop fooling around and move forward in the direction that seems unpleasant.
Most of the time, we have opportunities to take action, and we can opt for divertive approaches to our behavior. We see an obstacle, and we can head in a different direction. Evasive maneuvers like this are often a sign of attempting to protect ourselves. Well, I had come to the conclusion that with my dad gone, and with Tyler gone — with my home gone, and all of my security threatened, there wasn’t much left to protect.
I felt like there was no more need for any evasive maneuvers. I would head straight into the heart of the problem, and see if anything could be salvaged. I would bring myself and an antibody, or a martyr for the sake of diffusing a situation that had gotten far too out of control.
Laughing to myself, I packed up the bag and made sure that everything was watertight once more. There was a bitterness in my tone, and tears in my eyes. As strange as it might seem, I actually felt a great deal of freedom in the resignation toward my fate.
I had no great responsibilities outside of myself, and I was free to make anything of my life that I wanted. If this was the start of the last decisions I would make, then so be it.
At least you had a good run, I told myself, zipping up the bag, and looking down into the water at the base of the stone inlet.
The tide had risen, and though much of my exposed skin had dried off significantly, my ass was still wet due to the spray of the water below. I timed the tides so that I would dive into the water as soon as the wave third crest had passed. Once in the water, I began to swim north. If I was to head to Corsica, I would need a boat.
I didn’t have a very specific idea of where I was, as I hadn’t spent much time in this area before. However, I was vaguely aware of the geography and knew that there were a few coastal towns located just outside of Rome. After making gym way up the lonesome coast, I ended up arriving at Ostia.
There wasn’t much to say about the town. It was small and actually reminded me of a Lido, except within the context of the rural coast. Lido was more dense with its population, and therefore, even though the Lido was full of poor fishermen in certain areas of the coast, there were quite a few of them. Here in Ostia, there were significantly fewer fishermen, in terms of density, but in terms of socio-economic strata, they appeared to be one in the same. As such, I felt at ease, like I was coming home.
My shoulders lowered, and I walked a bit more confidently amongst the coastal shacks that reminded me so much of my father’s place. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for at the time, but I knew it wasn’t going to be something obvious.
In order to legitimately pay for a boat, I would have to transfer some of the drug materials I had into cold hard cash. One doesn’t exactly make a deal like that in broad daylight, without any kind of prior acquaintance. Alternatively, I could work for someone, sleep with someone, or steal a boat. Of all of the options, stealing a boat sounded like the best decision. I was in a hurry and didn’t really have time to stick around and clean someone’s garage for a couple of days. Even then, there was no guarantee that whomever I worked for would trust me enough to let me take a boat out to Corsica and then potentially return it at some later date.
I could have taken the ferry, had the hour not been so late, but the last ferry to leave the area was already gone. If I wanted to stick around until tomorrow and sweet talk my way on board as a stowaway — I guess that was an option as well. I just wanted to get going and take care of this tonight.
I had resolved to steal a boat and had picked a certain number of possibilities during my stroll along the docks. I stuck to the areas where there appeared to be multiple boats that belonged to the same owner. I didn’t want to be a financial burden to someone, but I also didn’t want the person to be too well off. If people were too well off, they generally didn’t hesitate to call the police. Whereas, someone who was a bit downtrodden might have more of a lag time between when the boat was stolen, and when the call was made.
My dad, for example, once had his boat stolen. It was a smaller boat, and it turned out that it was an old friend of his who had borrowed it in the evening time. The next day the man returned the boat and gave my dad a bit of a cut from whatever he had borrowed the boat for. A classic example of taking action first, and asking for forgiveness at a later date. Had my dad been more of a tight ass he might have given the cops a call, and his friend might have gotten in trouble. Not to mention, I don’t think my dad had to work as hard for the next two months, due to that little mishap.
Sometimes, when we relax a bit on what is considered ‘our personal property’, things end up working out for us in the end. I could only hope that the person who I borrowed the ship from would feel the same about my little evening adventure. I found my mark eventually, and instead of walking around like a blatant fool just outside of the dock area, I made sure that I dove straight for the goal, and jumped onboard the ship as soon as I walked by during my second pass.
My body hit the floor of the boat with a thunk, and the ship sank with my weight.
It was a small ding — a sailboat named “Veloce”. The ship was old, and couldn’t have been more than a hobby boat for someone. The paint was chipped, and it sat low on the dock, well beneath the shadow of another, more highly functional fishing vessel. Neither of them indicated that the owner was particularly well off, except for the fact that he managed to have two ships to his name.
I say “He,” because there were pin-ups plastered on the inside cupboards of the ships. Either I was dealing with a middle aged lesbian who caught fish for a living [not impossible, and probably would have been a delight to speak with], or I was dealing with someone who was I would guess in their mid-forties, looking a bit gruffer and sea-worthy than your average Roman Metro male.
The sales themselves were stained tan and showed signs of age. The name was barely legible, along the side of the boat, worn from both sun and weather. In spite of the condition of the ship’s appearance, the ropes were new, and I could tell that the person who owned the boat did what they could to maintain its functionality.
This will do fine, I told myself, holding onto the central mast, and beginning to undo the ropes.
“Don’t suppose you were going to ask before you took that out for at ride?” a gruff man spoke from overhead to my right.
I looked up, shocked, and immediately my pupils dilated in fear.
Chapter 25 - Piper
I relaxed when I saw that the man was unarmed, and had simply been staring at me from the edge of the fishing boat. I calmed myself and looked up at the man.
His expression was a bit less than pleased, but he didn’t look particularly angry — just disappointed, and a bit peeved. As though he had expected more out of the world a while ago, and had been consistently proven that those expectations were not realistic.
“I’ll give ya a minute to explain yourself before I call the cops,” he said, “though to be honest, if you’d have chosen a different ship to steal, your body might have been found in the water tomorrow morning. Not everybody is as sympathetic to little girls, playing pirate as myself.”
“Well, I’m very grateful not to be found in the ocean upon the morning time,” I returned, not a small bit of sarcasm present in my voice.
“What are you needing the boat for, and why shouldn’t I call the police on you right now?”
I thought about my response for a moment, not sure if I should be honest with him, or if I should withhold information for the sake of personal privacy. Then I came to the realization that as the sum of my life moved forward, I was becoming more and more present within my experiences. There was no anticipat
ory possible future any longer. I had conceded to move forward with a plan that very well could have me killed. By that time tomorrow, if I managed to make my way to Corsica, I could be shot, killed or worse.
No - I decided.
Now was not a time for secrets.
Now was a time for drastic honesty, and the decision to move forward in a direction regardless of what might come about as a result.
“Nosa Geraldine is my father, and a man killed him less than a week ago.”
The man grew visibly silenced and obviously felt a lack of comfort as a result of my disclosure. I continued regardless of his apparent discomfort.
You asked, I thought to myself, and then moved forward with my proclamation.
“I intend to sail out to Corsica, and then confront my father’s killer. I intend to entrap him, and possibly kill him myself. I’m not certain how I will do this, but I’m prepared to move forward, and take this line of thought until the end of the line — whatever that may be.”
The man was silent for several long moments. He looked at me at first, and then his eyes moved to the side, as though he was more than a bit disconcerted by this information.
“Nosa and I used to sail together,” the man finally said, his voice cracking as he spoke, “when I lived in Lido. I only moved here eight years or so ago. I’m sorry to hear about his death, but I’m glad to see you. Piper, is it?”
I nodded. Now it was my turn to be shocked.
“I don’t recognize you,” I said, “but I wasn’t exactly very fond of spending time with my father during that period of time.”
“You were a young woman yet, and you had to go through that time period as all young women do. There is no shame in what you have done, and much pride in what you are doing now.”
