rix_scaedu | Entries tagged with terris

I wrote this in response to aldersprig's seventh prompt.

Terris Strefagi was in a night club somewhere near the Autodromo. He wasn’t exactly sure where it was, but that was often the way when you let someone who’d been there before but wasn’t quite sober now navigate for the group. The sponsor, more particularly the sponsor’s owner, had insisted on taking the team out on the town to celebrate the lead driver coming third in today’s race. He was generous but he didn’t seem to understand that what the drivers really wanted was to get to bed early and have a good night’s sleep because they needed to be up at four for the move to the next circuit. Baltasar Schneider, the team’s lead driver, rolled his eyes at Terris in resignation as he took another club soda from the waitress. It was already past midnight and it looked like the older Badener had resigned himself to not getting to bed at all. Fortunately neither of them had to drive to Mogyorod.

It was two in the morning when the drivers managed to escape, ruthlessly sacrificing the team manager and accountant to the sponsor. At least Baltasar seemed to have a fairly good idea where they were. Even so, there were no vacant taxis around and it took them over half an hour to make it back to the hotel. By the time Terris had washed the nightclub stink off and made sure he had his bag packed he had barely an hour in bed before the alarm went off, but at least he had that. He’d be sleeping in the cab of the truck between the truck driver, Giancarlo, and his mechanic, Loren, from here to the border if he was any judge.

He was bleary eyed when he threw his bag into the cab of the car transporter and went to grab coffee and a pastry with the rest of the crew. All the teams were moving out this morning so it was worth the little café’s while to be open early. Terris, Loren and Giancarlo were walking back to their truck when they saw them, four small figures at the back of the truck with the largest desperately trying to open the back door. Terris and Giancarlo looked at each other and began to jog. The would-be door openers froze, clearly children, all wearing hooded tracksuit tops and carrying backpacks. The smallest looked about four, the tallest was probably only just a teen.

“What do you think you’re doing?” That was Giancarlo with his deep, rough voice.

“We, we need somewhere to hide,” from the voice the tallest one was a girl. “We had to get out of the house, Grandfather said he’d found a man who wanted to buy a litter of kittens.”

“What?” Giancarlo was puzzled.

“Oh, shit.” Terris stepped forward and pulled down the hood on the child’s purple tracksuit top. A pair of pale cat’s ears tipped the dark brown of her hair made it clear that she was a feline transgenic. “Your grandfather is planning to sell you?”

“We don’t really know him but our parents died in a car accident and he turned up to claim us. He said that,” her voice caught, “the money he could get for us would educate his real grandchildren.”

The next tallest child, also a girl, added, “He said that because we’re part cat we’re not really people.”

“What are we going to do?” Loren had walked up behind the two men but her question was directed to Terris.

Before he could answer there was a cry in the pre-morning dark, “There they are!” Two men in late middle age and two policemen carrying torches came pounding towards them from the direction of the road. The children tried to shrink together. When men reached the group at the end of the truck the man who’d called said to Giancarlo, “I’m sorry if my grandchildren have been a nuisance to you. As you can see we’ve been looking for them. We’ll just take them home with us now. You can be assured that they’ll be punished for the trouble they’ve caused you.” He reached out towards the oldest of the children and she shrank away from him.

Terris stepped forward. “I wouldn’t have thought that you looked like a man who advertised underage kittens for sale,” he remarked casually, “but here you are in the company of Luigi Marcconi, a known procurer…of exotica.”

One of the policemen took a look at the eldest girl’s ears then looked at the two older men with narrowed eyes, “Hang on a moment.”

“You can’t make accusations like that!” The man with the children’s grandfather was indignant.

“Actually, I can,” Terris stuck his fists in his front pockets to make sure he kept his hands to himself, “seeing as I’m a connection by marriage of that kid your people tried to grab last year over in Patavio. I see you’re doing business in person now, I do hope that’s because you lost your entire snatch team over that business.” He turned his head to look at the children, “You four get in the cab of the truck. Loren, if you could help them please?”

“Who do you think you are? You can’t just take them!” That was the grandfather.

“I am Don Terris Strefagi and I am seeing to the welfare of my wards. A matter has been of no concern to you.” Terris’ face was cold as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Officer, my lawyer will call your captain during business hours. Which police station should he contact?”

“Brizzoni, Don Terris.” The policeman cleared his throat. “Do you have some identification?”

“Certainly.” Terris made a notation on his phone and produced his wallet. The phone went back into his pocket. He pulled a laminated card out of the wallet and handed it to the policeman. “Here you are. Also,” he pulled out a business card and handed that over as well, “my contact details for your records. We will leave you to deal with these…gentlemen. Giancarlo, come!” He nodded in the direction of the front of the truck and Giancarlo followed his lead, walking to the cab.

Loren had secured the children’s backpacks with their own bags in the sleeping cab’s cargo net and the three youngest were back there as well in the sleeping straps. That would still leave four of them on the seats but although it would be tight it was doable. As Terris climbed up to sit next to Loren, it seemed he was getting the window with this arrangement, Giancarlo growled, “We’d better get going before they realise how much you’re pushing your luck.”

“I agree,” said Terris tiredly. “We’ll need to go via Patavio, I’ll pay for the extra fuel.”

“What’s in Patavio?” That was the little catgirl sitting between Loren and Giancarlo. She still sounded scared and Terris supposed she was worried about what he was going to do with them.

“Who.” He corrected her. “My parents. They’ll keep you safe while we sort this out.”

“It’ll be fine, Stasia,” Loren assured her. “The Count and Countess are very nice and they’ve got lots of room.”

“You really are a Don?” Giancarlo, most of his attention on turning the car transporter safely onto the road in the early morning traffic, sounded surprised.

“Oh, yes I am.” Terris looked sleepily in his direction. “Not really relevant to driving racing cars though, is it? That reminds me.” He pulled out his phone again, tapped out a message then sent it and then pushed a few other buttons.

Stasia asked, “What are you doing?” Her pink shirt under the purple tracksuit somehow made her look even younger than he thought she was.

“Sending a message to one of my brothers-in-law to tell him where to find Signor Marcconi. Setting the alarm to remind me to ring my father at six. He’ll be up by then and you and I, Signorina,” Terris flashed a smile at her, “need to be lawyered up before business hours start. He can arrange that. And now, if all of you and the universe don’t mind, I’m going to get some sleep.”

And he did.

This leads on from Wedding Day (2).

The Commissario sat neatly in the chair. The Bishop had chairs that were big enough for him. “A Class A firearm, sir. One of three in the bag.” The Bishop gave him all of his attention. “In addition, there were a number of Class B firearms that appear to be unregistered. The Public Prosecutor has already been advised of the matter and I understand that the paperwork to bring the matter before the preliminary investigative judge may already be underway.”

“I was privileged to see the kick that young man made that felled the woman in question,” Bishop Riccanio moved on. “Normally one would deplore deliberately hitting someone in the head with a kicked football, but under the circumstances I feel the young man did the right thing. Is he involved in a team? I can always pass his name on to a few people.”

“He tells me he is in the Calcio development program and hopes to be selected for the next Primavera competition.” The Commissario paused. “All three boys are the sons of Strefagi foot soldiers whose fathers died in recent years. Apparently Count Terrence is paying their school expenses and encouraging them to pursue both their educations and their interests.”

“I believe,” the Bishop said slowly, “That we should put them on the list of diocesan bursary applicants, in the civic and social category if they qualify for nothing else.”

“As they left school without permission to attend to this matter,” the Commissario spoke delicately, “I intend to write to their headmaster and thank him for their assistance today.”

“Do that,” the Bishop nodded in agreement, “And I will write to him commending his school for instilling the students with the courage and discernment to act in the common good to their own disadvantage. It should spare them some of the consequences they would otherwise suffer. In my profession and position I believe that good deeds should be rewarded, not punished, despite the cynical comment in vogue these days.”

“As you say, sir,” the Commissario agreed. “Will there be anything else?

“I will write to their mothers and thank them for their sons’ assistance, of course, and let their parish priests know that I will be happy to give each of them a character reference but I think that will be everything concerning the boys. Are there likely to be any impediments to the investigation and hearing?” The Bishop added the question almost as an after thought.

“Helena Strafagi needs a defence attorney before she can be interrogated,” the Commissario admitted slowly.

“I would have thought her brother-in-law would see to that.” The Bishop raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Ah. As to that, sir,” and the Commissario began to explain more recent events to his superior.

At much that moment, a gentleman of middle years was being shown into the police cells where Helena Strefagi was fuming.
“Baiardo! You came, thank God!” Her exclamation echoed off the walls of the cell. “Terrence has refused to pay for a defence attorney for me, even though he knows I have to have one to get out of here.”

“You’re my sister, Helena,” he replied quietly, “When you ask for my help from a police cell, I should at least give you the time of day.”

She stood against the bars and rested her hands on them. “You have to get Terrence to change his mind. Perhaps if you remind him of his duty and responsibility towards me?” She paused. “If he’s so lost to the requirements of his position that he still refuses, perhaps you could fund my defence?”

Marchese Baiardo Fraccelli looked quietly at his sister for a moment. “Count Terrence spoke to me before he told you he wasn’t paying for your defence attorney,” he admitted.

“What!” Helena was genuinely shocked. “And you didn’t-“

“Helena,” he interrupted, “You chose to involve yourself in House Strefagi business. There are rules. You were happy to dish out orders and throw your weight around, but you failed to hold discipline and obey orders when you didn’t get your own way.”

“But he was just rolling over and letting them dictate to us,” she protested. “Despite being the chief enforcer, he’s always been the softest but none of them, not even the old man or Amato, ever had Father’s drive. I’ve had to keep showing them the right way to do things for years.”

“Father’s way,” commented Marchese Baiardo, “Would have had the Fraccellii in much the condition the Strefagii are in, if we had continued with it. The world has changed, Helena, and it is Count Terrence’s job to recognise that and chart the House a course through new waters. You disobeyed his orders and that puts you off on a frolic of your own. You broke the bond that entitled you to his protection.”

“But he’s doing such foolish, wasteful things,” she objected forcefully, “Higher education for foot soldiers’ sons, coddling their widows and orphans, and encouraging someone who should be looking to be taken on as a foot soldier himself to play football! That’s what comes of marrying a flunkey’s daughter. Sheer foolishness.”

“He seems to be repositioning House Strefagi around its foreign investments,” commented Baiardo, “Which makes sense, they are what’s keeping the House afloat. Growing his future foot soldiers into men who can read balance sheets makes sense in that context. As for over supporting House relics, I thought you don’t like the changes he’s made to the support he gives you.” He took in her expression and added slyly, “You are one of those widows he ‘coddles’, after all. And as for the soccer player, well if the boy is as good as I hear and has some luck in the next few years, there could be considerable prestige accruing to the patron who encouraged and supported him in developing his talent.”

“You’re not going to help me, are you?” Helena’s hands dropped to her sides in disappointment.

“No,” agreed her brother, “I’m going to support Count Terrence’s decision. You will either have to pay for a defence attorney from your allowance or ask that the Public Prosecutor appoint one for you from the list.” He put up a warning hand as she went to speak. “And before you say anything more about duty, you might like to consider who it was who refused to allow an ill man to be nursed through a long terminal decline in his own home, foisting his care onto her sister-in-law, and who was found carrying a grenade launcher with grenades in the centre of town this morning.”

Monday morning, about half past ten, Rodolfo strolled into the garage in Razagettone where Terris kept his racing vehicle. It was a light industrial area, full of workshops, and slightly run down so rents were cheap. Terris and his mechanic friend were working on the racer. Noting the hip width under the overalls bent over under the bonnet, Rodolfo wondered if Count Terrence knew that his son’s mechanic was a girl.

“Ahem.” He coughed to announce himself. The girl straightened and turned from under the bonnet, a heavy wrench in hand, a pretty thing with a fat braid of reddy-brown hair pinned up around her head. Sensible too, if the wrench was any indication.

Terris pushed himself out from under the vehicle on a trolley, dark hair all skew-whiff and a drip of something oily on his face. “Oh. Um.” Rodolfo thought, with some amusement, that the boy wasn’t sure what to call him. “I suppose you’ve come to see the signage?”

“Yes.” Rodolfo allowed his amusement to show through. “You can call me Rodolfo. We are brothers-in-law, after all. I’ve come to have a look at the signage on your racer.”

“Rodolfo,” Terris made introductions, “This is my mechanic, Loren Piccolo. Loren, this is our very generous sponsor and my new brother-in-law, Rodolfo Desideri.”

The girl looked slightly taken aback but extended her hand with a smile and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” She shot a look at Terris and added, “Terris is right. You have been very generous. I haven’t dared tell my father or brothers what you’ve let us install or they’d be all over the place down here and I’d be out of the team.”

“Let’s see what Terris can do with them, shall we?” Rodolfo shook her hand, nice and firm he noted, then said, “I need to talk to Terris about some family stuff, Loren.” He pulled a couple of five ruspone coins from his pocket, held them out to her and asked, apologetically, “Would you mind go and getting coffee for the two of you while I have a quiet word with him?”

Loren flashed a glance at Terris, then put out her hand and said, “Sure. The usual, Terris?”

“That’ll be fine. Thanks.” Rodolfo caught the nervous undertone but didn’t think the mechanic did.

The two men watched her as she bounced out of the garage and round the corner in her work boots and loose, blue overalls.
“She seems nice,” commented Rodolfo, “You could do a great deal worse,” and caught Terris completely off guard when he surged towards him then lifted the younger man single handed by the throat and held him pinned against the back of a concrete supporting pillar, completely hidden from the street outside. “Now I have your complete attention, Terris,” Rodolfo went on calmly, “I would like to make it very clear to you that you will never, ever again use any female relative as collateral for a financial transaction.” Terris was certainly fixated, aside from being treated like a trapped rabbit, he was realising how strong his brother-in-law must be to do what he was doing. “Not your remaining unmarried sisters. Not your presumably as yet unsired daughters. Certainly not your eventual granddaughters. If I ever,” Rodolfo gave him a gentle shake, “Hear that you that you have done such a thing I will see to it that you disappear and that the body is never found. Do you understand me?”
“Y-yes,” it was croaked as much as spoken. Once it was said, Rodolfo put him down and dusted his hands off.
“Your sisters have all been extraordinarily lucky,” Rodolfo added, “But it’s best that it doesn’t happen again. Now, all of this started because you wanted to win some races. I’d better leave you to your work so you can get that done.” He smiled at Terris again.

This leads on from Well, What Did She Expect.

Terrence re-entered the room by holding the door open for Boscailo, who was carrying two large pots of coffee, plus Filia and Rubia’s eldest girls who were carrying a tray of mug and the sugar and milk respectively. Boscailo saw them out again with a cheerful, “Thank you, girls,” and an aside to the room, “It turned out that I didn’t know where the mugs live in the kitchen but Gemma and Franca did.”

Julia poured his the first coffee and he sat at the table. While everyone else helped themselves, Terrence asked, “So, what happened?”

“I won’t bore you with the details,” Boscailo sipped his black brew, “But Septima is marrying Rodolfo Desideri a fortnight from tomorrow, probably at Cappella degli Altichieri or Basilica di Sant’Erasmo da Specola. The time has yet to be set since they’re not sure which church it will be in.”

“What!” Terrence reacted with shock, then realised that the women, including his wife, were nodding and pleased.

“I spoke to Septima,” Boscailo told the Count apologetically, “And she seems quite happy to marry Rodolfo. When I spoke to our wives and Septima’s other sisters, they wanted her to be happy, safe, and protected. Marriage to Rodolfo fits the bill.” He drank some more coffee. “Frankly, Rodolfo seems like the cat who got the cream. I doubt you’d get her away from him now. I’m sorry I took so long getting back, but I went with them to file the paperwork.” He drank more coffee.

“So,” Julia was nursing her mug of creamy coffee in both hands, “Who is making the arrangements and paying for everything? When will we know the ceremony details?”

“The Desiderii are paying for everything,” Boscailo told her, “Dress, priest, reception, the lot. We cannot all attend – Count Bartolo was quite firm on that point. I will receive an invitation. I may bring my wife,” he smiled fondly at Tertia, “Our children, my mother-in-law,” Julia looked pleased, “And Septima’s unmarried sisters. No-one else,” he finished firmly, looking around the table. “Due to the short time frame there will be no bridesmaids or flower girls, so both sets of nieces will miss out.” He grinned, “Count Bartolo and I thought that was fair. Oh,” he added, “Her name has been officially changed to Astanthe Giustina Rosina Maia Strefagi – it was some of the paperwork we put in.”

“Astanthe,” Count Terrance rolled the name around on his tongue, trying it out for size, “It could be worse. With her birthday’s saint and both grandmothers? That was gracious of him,” he acknowledged.

“He doesn’t seem to bear her any personal ill will,” acknowledged Boscailo, “And he seems to genuinely believe that she and Rodolfo can be happy together. There is one little thing he wants concerning Terris though.”

“Oh yes?” The Count’s eyes turned to Terris who gulped nervously.

“He wants sponsorship signage for a Desiderii business on Terris’ racing car. Nothing big,” Boscailo shrugged, “A flash on each front door. The firm concerned is a car detailing business they have in Broscina. All it does is car detailing,” he sipped coffee before admitting, “We checked it out when it opened up, but it’s just out of our area and it doesn’t touch bikes. No competition. Rodolfo Desideri is one of the directors though, and as he will be married to Terris’ sister by the time the qualifiers are underway it won’t be too surprising that the firm is sponsoring him.”

“Vaguely humiliating,” Terrence conceded, “But that would be the end of the parts issue?”

“Yes,” confirmed Boscailo, “He agreed to that.”

“I can do that,” Terris spoke up, “I checked the book price for those parts and he really did offer a good deal, if I’d had the money...,” he trailed off.

“Word to the wise, Terris,” Boscailo offered, “Never buy motor vehicle parts or firearms that have had their identifying information removed, it just leads to trouble.”

This leads on from Well, What Did She Expect.

Terrence re-entered the room by holding the door open for Boscailo, who was carrying two large pots of coffee, plus Filia and Rubia’s eldest girls who were carrying a tray of mug and the sugar and milk respectively. Boscailo saw them out again with a cheerful, “Thank you, girls,” and an aside to the room, “It turned out that I didn’t know where the mugs live in the kitchen but Gemma and Franca did.”

Julia poured his the first coffee and he sat at the table. While everyone else helped themselves, Terrence asked, “So, what happened?”

“I won’t bore you with the details,” Boscailo sipped his black brew, “But Septima is marrying Rodolfo Desideri a fortnight from tomorrow, probably at Cappella degli Altichieri or Basilica di Sant’Erasmo da Specola. The time has yet to be set since they’re not sure which church it will be in.”

“What!” Terrence reacted with shock, then realised that the women, including his wife, were nodding and pleased.

“I spoke to Septima,” Boscailo told the Count apologetically, “And she seems quite happy to marry Rodolfo. When I spoke to our wives and Septima’s other sisters, they wanted her to be happy, safe, and protected. Marriage to Rodolfo fits the bill.” He drank some more coffee. “Frankly, Rodolfo seems like the cat who got the cream. I doubt you’d get her away from him now. I’m sorry I took so long getting back, but I went with them to file the paperwork.” He drank more coffee.

“So,” Julia was nursing her mug of creamy coffee in both hands, “Who is making the arrangements and paying for everything? When will we know the ceremony details?”

“The Desiderii are paying for everything,” Boscailo told her, “Dress, priest, reception, the lot. We cannot all attend – Count Bartolo was quite firm on that point. I will receive an invitation. I may bring my wife,” he smiled fondly at Tertia, “Our children, my mother-in-law,” Julia looked pleased, “And Septima’s unmarried sisters. No-one else,” he finished firmly, looking around the table. “Due to the short time frame there will be no bridesmaids or flower girls, so both sets of nieces will miss out.” He grinned, “Count Bartolo and I thought that was fair. Oh,” he added, “Her name has been officially changed to Astanthe Giustina Rosina Maia Strefagi – it was some of the paperwork we put in.”

“Astanthe,” Count Terrance rolled the name around on his tongue, trying it out for size, “It could be worse. With her birthday’s saint and both grandmothers? That was gracious of him,” he acknowledged.

“He doesn’t seem to bear her any personal ill will,” acknowledged Boscailo, “And he seems to genuinely believe that she and Rodolfo can be happy together. There is one little thing he wants concerning Terris though.”

“Oh yes?” The Count’s eyes turned to Terris who gulped nervously.

“He wants sponsorship signage for a Desiderii business on Terris’ racing car. Nothing big,” Boscailo shrugged, “A flash on each front door. The firm concerned is a car detaining business they have in Broscina. All it does is car detailing,” he sipped coffee before admitting, “We checked it out when it opened up, but it’s just out of our area and it doesn’t touch bikes. No competition. Rodolfo Desideri is one of the directors though, and as he will be married to Terris’ sister by the time the qualifiers are underway it won’t be too surprising that the firm is sponsoring him.”

“Vaguely humiliating,” Terrence conceded, “But that would be the end of the parts issue?”

“Yes,” confirmed Boscailo, “He agreed to that.”

“I can do that,” Terris spoke up, “I checked the book price for those parts and he really did offer a good deal, if I’d had the money...,” he trailed off.

“Word to the wise, Terris,” Boscailo offered, “Never buy motor vehicle parts or firearms that have had their identifying information removed, it just leads to trouble.”