Blitzed(111)

“And I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing it," Jordan said, kissing my fingertips while she wormed her body around under the covers. After nearly a month in Baja California, I had come to enjoy the warm days and relatively pleasant nights. While it wasn’t snowing in Paris when we landed, there was some crusted snow in the lee of the surrounding buildings and streets. The barge as well was not the best-insulated location we had, but it would serve for a few days. “Come to bed with me?” Jordan asked.

"Mmmm, mon ami, if I did that, I wouldn’t want to do much sleeping. And as enjoyable as that sounds, you need to rest,” I replied, kissing her cheek. It was true, and something that had unsettled me at first, but was now something I enjoyed. Being with Jordan, I was able to tap into the depths of my soul that I had never found before, to find a passion that nobody else had ever brought out in me.

Jordan smiled sleepily and nodded, closing her eyes and pulling the blanket up to cover her ear as she rolled to her side. Within less than two minutes, she was asleep, snoring lightly with her beautiful hair streaming out of the blanket. I watched her for another minute and then left, going back to the main living area of the barge.

Finding the living area empty, I stuck my head out of the hatch, looking for my brother. Francois had grabbed a folding chair from inside and set it up on the deck, sitting and watching the Paris skyline. In the lights of the surrounding buildings, his breath rose from his lips in a sparkling white smoke. "You seemed quiet this evening," I said. “You wanting privacy?"

He looked up from his chair, and I noticed he had a glass of wine in his hand. While neither of us were adverse to taking in wine, we almost never did on jobs, and I hadn't had any in at least four months. "Hmm? No, just thinking. It’s been a long time since we were last on the barge."

"Over a year," I said in reminiscence. It’d been winter the year before, as the two of us celebrated the New Year's holidays with our mothers. Paris has the best fireworks display in Europe for the New Year, outside of some parts of Italy that I didn't want to go to. The New Year is supposed to be cold, in my opinion. "I know we told Jordan that we come to Paris often, but not nearly as much as we used to."

"Not since Papa died," Francois replied. "I miss it, honestly. I've had some good times here in Paris. Someday, I'd like to really live here again."

I sighed, knowing what he was saying. "You know that’s difficult for me, Francois. While staying here for a while is nice, I can’t abandon my duties to the rest of the family in the homeland."

"We're Romani, Felix. Why can our people not move on to France? It's not like we're not Gypsies anyway. It's in our blood, remember?"

I sighed again. It was an argument we'd had for a long time, and one that I doubted would be settled anytime soon. "Some of the Romani have given up the old ways. Their connection to Albania, Greece and Macedonia is nearly as strong as that to their Romani heritage. And those that do hold to the old ways, many of them are too fixed to adapt to a country like France.”

“Well, it’s not like they’re living a great life in Ioannina or Vlore. So many of them are barely above being classified as working-poor that one bad economic wind and they're back to running scams on tourists to make ends meet,” Francois returned.

"Better than they had before," I replied. "I want much the same as you. The homeland is beautiful, but there is much to be desired about living here. The Rhone house or even this barge would be much better for a woman like Jordan anyway."

Francois laughed loudly, then looked over. "Do you not think a woman of her talents would enjoy herself in the rock scene of the Balkans?"

I conceded the point. Industrial, grungy metal music had stayed popular in our homeland long after it’d faded from prominence in other areas of the world. Maybe it was the leftovers of the Soviet influence on Eastern Europe. The clunky, imposing architecture and style just called out to metal-heads, especially as they decayed and took on a truly ominous, Gothic aura. "True. I guess I hadn't thought about that. But the scene here in Paris is much larger. Are we really debating the employment possibilities for Jordan right now?"

Francois laughed again. "I think Jordan shouldn't need to work for the rest of her life. But let's stick to the matter at hand, our next living arrangements. This isn’t a situation we've been in since our childhood, Felix."

I nodded. Since our father had died, Francois and I preferred to live in separate houses, usually only coming together to plan and train for heists. We’d meet up for holidays of course, but at least eight months out of the year I would be living in a different area than my brother. "I know. Would you prefer the Winnebago or the house in Durres? Or can we try and cohabitate for a while?"

"Dammit Felix, I'm being serious!" Francois hissed. "Do you really want to have Jordan living like Papa did? Splitting his time between houses?"

"He didn't always do that. Our mothers have been able to live together for years, you know that. But I am serious. If you honestly want to continue for the two of us to live apart, then I would have it be that we are at least within driving distance of each other. The only way I can see that happening is for one of us to live in the Winnebago. This barge is nice, but I can’t imagine us staying here like this forever. The same with the house in Rhone, it’s too small."