Wild Horses

Phonecall and a news report

1am.
Lira couldn't sleep. She flopped and tossed in her bed, mind anxiously racing with thoughts of the night. Why does my mom have to be such a drunken mess!? Can't she just act normal for once when the FUCKING MAFIA is over for dinner? Does she have to make everyone uncomfortable by putting me down? HER lasagna, I don't think so, what the fuck was that even about?! Child labor, acting like she didn't try to abandon me in a grocery store - traumatic! Not funny!

Lira was worked up with anger. She breathed deeply to calm herself down, wishing she had somewhere to go besides the apartment. She reached into her pillowcase where she had hidden the stacks of money and grasped her hand around one of them. I could go anywhere with this, she thought. She sighed. She got up and grabbed the Nokia brick phone, clicking through to Bucciarati's contact information. She looked at his name, his number, wondering how fucking weird it would be to call him at this time of night. What would she even say? "You up?"?

She clicked to Fugo's number. He would understand her anger and frustration. She could call him at 1am without it being weird. She pressed the call button.

It rang once before, "Lira?"

"Fugo... I knew you'd be awake."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm so fucking annoyed with my life and my mother!" she whispered into the phone. "I've got all that money Bucciarati paid me... what if we just take it and disappear, Fugo?"

"Hang on," he replied. Lira heard shuffling and movement through the phone. A door closing. "You know we can't do that, Lira," he lowered his voice. "You can't just leave your mom like that. I can't just leave Passione like that," he lectured. "And I don't think you can leave Bucciarati like that, either," he teased to ease the tension.

Lira groaned. "I knowwww," she said. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Stick it out. That's what Bucciarati made Narancia do when he didn't want to live with his dad anymore. And he still lives with him like a normal 16 year old."

Lira sighed. "Where do you live, Fugo?" she asked earnestly.

"Bucciarati's."

Lira's heart jumped when she realized Fugo and Bucciarati were in the same place. "Oh, really?" she tried to sound casual. "Did he say anything?"

"About tonight?" Fugo chuckled. "He was pretty quiet about it, but it was obvious how annoyed he was. He can be really protective of us and he values family a lot, so I think just seeing how irresponsible and like, um, spiteful your mom can be, it really upset him. He tried not to show it but I totally saw him biting his lip when he thought nobody was looking."

Lira was silent. She heard a knock and a distant voice through the phone before Fugo said "It's Lira." More indistinguishable talk before Fugo answered again, "Yea she's ok."

"Oh my god, is he asking about me?"

Fugo chuckled, "Yea. I told you, he cares. Are you busy tomorrow?"

"Uhhh I have to make some baubles and sew them on some weird black jester's hat. Other than that, I just have some pet projects to work on. Why?"

"Just wondering. You should get some sleep. Do you feel any better now?"

"Yea, I do. Thanks, Fugo."

"By the way, those stories your mom told about you... that was totally not cool. I hope you don't feel embarrassed about those events in your life, because you shouldn't. Those things shouldn't have happened to you in the first place. In actuality, those were both results of things your mom did, not you."

"Gah, you're so smart, Fugo. Thanks a lot for being my friend."

"Don't mention it. Goodnight, Lira."

"Goodnight."

Fugo hung up the phone and walked out of his bedroom. Bucciarati was sitting in his pajamas on the couch, drinking camomile tea. "Did I wake you up?" Fugo asked.

"No," Bucciarati replied and took a sip of tea.

"Let me guess - you couldn't sleep because your thoughts were racing about the incredibly weird night at Lira's place."

Bucciarati's mouth opened slightly before closing again and letting out an affirmative "Mhm."

"That's why Lira's awake, too," Fugo chuckled. "Is there something going on between you two?"

Bucciarati shot him a stern glare, which turned into a slight smirk. "No," he replied, the smirk still playing on his lips. She's awake, I could call her, he thought. But she could have called me, when instead she called Fugo. She probably doesn't want to talk to me right now.

He reached for the remote and turned on the TV. The news broadcast from earlier in the evening was replaying, with the mugshot of a young brown-haired man displayed on the screen.

"Tonight's headline: Hero or Murderer?
Three rapist in Napoli were shot dead by a vigilant citizen, 17-year-old Guido Mista. Mista claims he happened upon the rape during one of his evening walks and felt the urge to intervene. Witnesses say Mista punched one rapist, took his gun, and shot all three in self-defense as they all unloaded their guns at him. Miraculously, Mista was unharmed during the shootout and saved the life of the badly injured woman. However, his plea of self-defense seems to have fallen on deaf ears and it is speculated the judge will sentence him to 15 years in prison at the trial's conclusion tomorrow. In other news, another sex worker has been found murdered in..." Bucciarati turned the TV off.

"What the fuck?" Fugo said, leaning over the back of the couch. "How is that even possible? Dodging all those bullets at close range?"

Bucciarati's face was solemn as he said, "I don't know, but I'm going to find out."