A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

We had been driving for two hours already and waiting in traffic for three more. A dull ache had slowly developed below my navel. Rubbing it didn’t help. I needed food and a bathroom badly. “Etienne, maybe we should find a gas station and get something to eat. This line hasn’t moved in an hour,” I suggested.

He turned to look at Sergio and found him cupping his privates like a five year old desperate for a toilet. I rolled my eyes. Directing my annoyance at Sergio, I said, “I told you not to drink three cans of Red Bull. Caffeine and B-12 are diuretics.”

My critical gaze was met by another blank expression.

“What??” Sergio asked.

My patience finally snapped as the dull ache in my stomach spiked. “It makes you piss!!”

“She’s right, Etienne. Might as well eat and piss,” Sergio agreed, shrugging off my anger as if it were commonplace for people to speak to him in that manner.

Etienne pursed his lips, and soon after, began to make a jarring, three point turn that had half the cars around us honking their horns. Driving onto the grassy shoulder of the highway, we zipped by the rest of the traffic and made an incredibly illegal maneuver to get back onto the northbound lane. Not too far down the road, we found an Agip station and pulled into the parking lot.

The food court was filled with travelers waiting for the traffic to thin out. We stood in line and ordered. I picked up a vacuum-sealed ham sandwich from the display; something I wouldn’t be caught dead eating under normal circumstances, but at least I knew it hadn’t been handled by anyone.

As we sat down to eat, Etienne stiffened slightly, his brows lowering over narrowed eyes. My gaze followed the direction of his glare, and discovered three Swiss police officers walking in with a German Shepard.

“What is it?” I asked Etienne. He completely ignored me and leaned across the table towards Sergio instead.

“Are you sure you locked the trunk?”

Sergio stopped chewing his charred hamburger. His eyes glazed with indecision. “I think so,” he answered, food spilling out from the side of his mouth.

“Why? What’s in the trunk?” I asked, anxiety making my voice sharp and high. I was afraid something like this might happen, even though Emilia had assured me that they were driving to Milan for a pick up, not a delivery.

Etienne’s already thin lips disappeared off his face, his eye twitched nervously. His voice was eerily quiet when he spoke, “You think so, motherfucker?”

Sergio’s gaze widened. Under the table, his leg began tapping rapidly. “I’m sure I did,” he replied.

We fell silent as three sets of eyes followed every move the officers made, from where they picked up their bags of food, to when they stepped outside. I couldn’t eat anymore, suddenly nauseous. The pain was a fist pressing on my abdomen. It made my breath catch and my face twist.

“I’m going to the restroom.” If either of them heard me, they didn’t acknowledge.

The bathroom was empty and clean. I washed my hands and stared at my reflection in the mirror. What would my father say if he could see what had become of me? After what had happened with Pascal, I wouldn’t have believed that things could get any worse. And yet, they had. I didn’t want to know what was in that trunk. And I was even more petrified to find out what would happen next. The cold florescent lights made me look sallow, unwell. This was the worst possible time to be feeling sick.

Another hot stab slashed through me, stronger this time. I doubled over and braced myself against the sink, my legs fighting to support me. Breathe through the pain…breathe through the pain, I repeated to myself. I was getting dangerously close to breaking, my will power slowly ebbing away.

A heavy-set woman walked in, older, around sixty. She placed a gentle hand on my back and asked,“Scusi signorina, hai bisogno d’aiuto?” I forced myself to stand straight and answered her in the same language, Italian, that I was grateful for her concern, but I didn’t need any help. What I needed was to get back to the car as quickly as possible and lie down. I found Etienne and Sergio waiting for me at the entrance, looking through the glass doors.

Etienne nodded in the direction of the officers. “They’re right there. Be cool.”

Be cool???? I was anything but cool!

We stepped outside and a gust of warm air greeted us, accompanied by a strong smell. The sweet scent of honeysuckle was mixed with the pungent odor of gasoline and cigarette smoke. My olfactory system was on steroids, heightened because of the pregnancy, and as the smell hit me, so did another wave of nausea.

The police officers were deep in conversation, laughing about something. They flicked the ashes of their almost finished cigarettes on the ground, one of them staring intently at Sergio’s hair as we walked past them. The one handling the dog ground out his cigarette under his boot and turned in the direction we were headed, towards the car. As he passed the BMW, the dog began barking aggressively. All three of us stood frozen.