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The previous night was tough. A long chase, full of screwups and not promising an early conclusion, was topped off with yet another failure that let the yacht escape with the goods from right under his nose. The radio transmission with the boss wasn’t reassuring either. Vittorio, much more well known by the nickname De La Voro Gangsteritto (given to him during his time in the gang), silently drove the cherry-red Cadillac to the designated location: The Con would be sailing out of Giza through the Suez Canal, meaning there was a chance of catching up with it on land, and then following it on open water from Port Said, where they should be greeted with a submarine sent by the boss.
They were still about two hours away. The landscape was repetitive: the occasional section of urban development, an endless row of palm trees along the roadside, and a seemingly endless multi-laned highway that stretched to the horizon. The repetitive scenery, many hours awake and the hot, humid climate made him increasingly more tired. Vittorio persistently mentally waved off the sensation and stared far ahead. He didn’t have the energy for conversation, so instead he tried to occupy himself with coming up with the next plan of action.
His partner, however, seemed to be having a much harder time waving off the beckoning feeling of drowsiness. In the rearview mirror the driver could see Giuliano (far more well known by the nickname Giulico Banditto), whose head was slowly bobbing. His eyelids were performing some sort of sluggish, silent dance across his eyes, as the gangster struggled to not let them meet. Vittorio smirked slightly.
“Doing an eye workout?”
“Tch, Zitto.” - Giuliano responded, tiredly.
“Heh heh. Alright, alright, I’ll shush.”
But a few minutes later Vittorio spoke again.
“Lie down, Gules.”
“Che?” Raising a confused eyebrow, the swindler stared at the eyes reflected in the rearview.
“I’m telling you - lie down, you look ready to drop.”
“No! No, I’m not-” Guiliano yawned. “I’m not tired..”
Vittorio chuckled at this.
“Says he ain’t tired and then yawns!”
“What, I can’t even yawn now!?”
“You can be tired all you want now, but what about later? We sleep on the job - and they'll slip past us again!”
The lack of a response from Giuliano stretched into a long, uncomfortable silence. Vittorio decided that music might help. The radio spat out the crackling notes of some kind of soul music…and it seemed to help, as a sigh soon came from the back seat.
“...It was my idea to pull the trick with the eggs…”
“No, no, cmon, let’s not play ‘Who’s Fault It Is’. They placed the trap - they’re to blame. There.” But a few minutes later he added: “...But if you put it that way, then I was the one who opened the door. Which is why I’m tellin’ you - lie down, get some rest. I bet you have a bump the size of Venus.”
“But you fell too!”
Vittorio scoffed.
“Right, on top of you no less! Probably crushed something and you just haven't told me yet!”
“Vitto.”
Vitto’s mouth slammed shut. A female voice coming from the radio filled the silence. Vittorio wasn’t really focusing on the words, but there was something about a moon, a river, and some kind of berry.
And once more, some time later, he spoke again with a sigh:
“Look, if you’re not gonna have a laydown for yourself, could you at least do it so that I don’t waste my nerves on ya?”
“And..you?”
“Me? I’ll manage.” Vittorio said, chuckling again.
“No no, that won’t do, mio caro ipocrita. If you don’t sleep, I won’t sleep either.”
“Per favore, gilettino~” Vittorio drawled with the hint of a smirk.
Giuliano grumbled, but then replied, staring at the driver’s reflection until he met his gaze. “Then promise me, at least, that you’ll rest when we arrive.”
Vittorio grimaced. “I don’t like promises, you know that.”
“Prego, Vitto. At least relax for a bit. We’ll have to wait for them anyway. I’ll keep an eye out just in case.”
“Fine, fine, I get it. I’ll get some shuteye on the sub…Now rest.”
“Va bene.” Giuliano responded with a sigh.
The orange-red leather creaked as the gangster laid across the length of the seat. The way Giuliano was lying, even with his head completely flat against the seat, he could still see the side of Vittorio’s face.
“...You won’t get bored, driving alone?”
“Why would I?” Vittorio smirked again. “I’m not alone at all.”
Giuliano smiled, and made himself comfortable, lying on his back, his hands folded over his stomach. He slid his boater forward, somewhat covering his face.
"...Wake me up then, when it’s time, will you?”
“I’ll wake ya, don’t worry. Sogni d’oro, Giulio.”
And once again it was quiet in the Cadillac. About twenty minutes later a rustling came from the backseat, and Vittorio cautiously called out to the swindler, but Giuliano had simply turned in his sleep. He lay on his side, a hand cushioning his stubbled cheek. A smile played on the corners of Vittorio’s mouth.
The road ahead was smooth, and the radio was playing the calm melody of some popular song.