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.”
Chapter 2
Zahra
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.”
Cork burped. “Walking is never good.” Suddenly, she stopped. “Over there!”
Zahra looked over her shoulder and cringed. Sonuvabitch…
Jacques had returned; this time, he’d brought three friends. Cork spun around, swayed, but caught herself before she could stagger. It was damn near a Michael Jackson-Billie Jean lean. Zahra had seen Cork in action too many times to count. The one constant with her was that she was always ready for a fight.
“‘Ello again, Luv,” Cork said, smiling wide but slurring through her words. “Come back for… for another go? Ma — Mama’s left hand is jealous. The right got — gotted — got all the fun last time.”
Zahra sighed, looking down. Dammit, Cork.
“We were just leaving…” Zahra said, pulling Cork back.
“C’mon, Zahra, we can take these airy fairies.”
The foursome fanned out into a wide semi-circle, not hiding their intentions from anyone, including the people meandering about. Even the bar’s waitress had noticed the ensuing fisticuffs. She and two other employees had exited the patio but stayed close to it.
Zahra spotted the manager rush back inside, no doubt to call the police.
We need to delay this.
Cork raised her fists. “C’mon, you plug-ugly bastards! Who’s ready to kick my arse?”
Zahra rubbed her face with both hands, then stepped up next to Cork. She was in this fight now. Cork could handle herself most of the time. But up against four men while under the influence of a gallon of gin, Zahra couldn’t allow her friend to lose.
“These wankers are boned,” Cork muttered. She glanced down at Zahra. “Aren’t they?”
Zahra took a deep breath. “Yep, they are.” She playfully backhanded Cork’s shoulder. “Go easy on ’em, okay?”
Cork growled. “Killjoy.”
The two women had both served in the British Army. Cork was a helicopter pilot, though she could fly most things that flew. Her favorite things to do when not flying were sparring with the other soldiers — and messing around with them.
Zahra had been a British Army Intelligence Linguist before changing careers and following in her parents’ footsteps as an archaeologist and a historian. She worked for the British Museum for a time… until parts of it burned down following a terror attack. Zahra worked for a shadow organization out of the United States called the Tactical Archaeological Command, though she had yet to be given a mission.