by The Eurostar
Edulcore Cicciotto:
Soon, the now-usual sirens of the police begin screaming behind us.
"Uh-oh," I say.
"Stay cool. Did you see what happened before? Who knows who they are pursuing?" says Turner.
A bullet crashes our rear window. "I believe they are pursuing us," I state.
"Fuck!" is Turner's answer.
I never liked those American movies and serials where dozens of police cars pursue a single car, which always manages to avoid capture. Now I am right in that situation. And still I don't like it.
But Turner doesn't seem afraid. I wonder how many times he has been in this same situation, maybe only on the other side, being a pursuer and not the pursued. It's strange, I should care about other things, but I cannot help but notice that it's the first time I use the English word "pursue," and I now I am saying it every second word. I am sweating cold.
"Jump out!" screams Turner.
I open the door and roll out. The car continues straight its run, ending in a fountain shaped like a giant pyramid. The police cars stop around it, but we have jumped out while the car was crossing a narrow street between two blocks, so we were in the shadows, and they didn't see us.
Now we are hiding among some trash bins. "We need to stay covert for some time," whispers Turner. He hands me some money.
"Where did you find those?" I ask, but he makes a sign to stay silent.
Still whispering, so low that I can barely understand him, he says, "They were in the car. Now, listen. Find a whore and go to her apartment. Have sex, or just talk to her, I don't care, but stay at her apartment for at least three hours. We'll meet again here, at midnight!"
I would reply, but he runs toward a busty brunette walking on the other side of the street. They converse for some seconds, and then they leave.
Shit. I've never gone with a prostitute before. Well, in truth, I did. Vidalia was a whore, Walker revealed, but I didn't know then, and anyway, at that time she was an agent like myself, a prisoner like myself.
There is a small blond girl not far away. Great legs, great ass wrapped in tight plastic pink shorts. I run toward her. She is looking in the opposite direction. I touch her shoulders, and she turns back to me.
A face I know well: Lorelei.