Ending Aston

Chapter 8

"So...we're looking for a boat?" I ask.

"Anything in relation to Aston."

We scan the beach from one of the entrances to it.

"I hate skirts..." I comment, tugging on the hem of my skirt. "Why'd you make me wear one?"

"Fits in with the rest of them." He slightly gestures to two women walking by, wearing skirts. "Besides," He adds, looking at me. "You look good in one."

"Doesn't mean I like it..." I pause. "Thanks though."

"Why don't we try that restaurant over there?" Erik suggests, pointing to a small restaurant located not far down the beach.

"Alright." I agree.

We walk in and it's very crowded. It's not necessariy a restaurant, but more of a malt shop...with a bar on the other side of it.

"The bar's in the same room...and there's kids in here." I gesture to the small children and teenagers seated at tables beside their mothers or walking out of the malt shop. "Is that even legal?" I look at Erik.

"I seem to have trouble remembering all the different laws in each country I've been to..." Erik looks at me and smirks.

"Yes, well, it's definitely a law in every country you've been to that killing is illegal!" I whisper. "And look what's happened."

"Oh well."

"How many people have you killed?"

"Numerous."

Then I freeze when I see Aston. Well, not Aston exactly, but a picture of him, with Sebastian Shaw and another man I don't recognize.

"Erik..." I point to the picture.

"He's with Shaw."

"Didn't you say him and Aston were associated with one another?"

"Yes. There's a picture exactly like that in a bar I went to in Argentina." Erik says.

"It seems like I'm repeating the steps you took to get to Shaw. First the bank in France, now some restaurant in a different country..."

"He was very much like Shaw, which is why-"

"They were fairly good friends." I interrupt.

"Yes."

"We'll come back later tonight." I say, slightly turning towards the door but still looking at the room. "It'll be less crowded."

"Won't it be more crowded? Considering there's a bar here?"

"There's a much larger bar at the other side of the beach in case you haven't noticed." I point out. "And besides, there's barely any seating, with or without these people in here. So there shouldn't be a lot of people."

"Fine. We'll come back later tonight." He agrees, and we turn and exit the malt shop/bar.

"What time is it right now?" I ask. "Do you know?"

"Noon." He answers. "We have all day."

"What did you do?" I ask, we're seated at a small round table under the shade of an umbrella in front of a small restaurant. "When you went to Villa Gessel in Argentina and found Shaw's picture?"

"Well, there were-"

"Do you speak English?" An Italian woman in her mid-20s with thick, dark, short hair tied in a bun asks with a heavy Italian accent. "I think you do, yes?" She looks back and forth at us with big dark eyes.