PAWNSHOP II

                                    

                                          
═ ☆. A QUICK GLANCE UP THE street showed no sign of a tall man in a hat and trenchcoat. The playback had been walking quickly, but now you had lost sight of it entirely.
"It must have gotten lost somewhere," Abbacchio murmured. "I'll rewind the playback."
There was the sound of a tape being rewound. You expected the playback to appear somewhere near you, but Moody Blues appeared on the other side of the crosswalk. Abbacchio deliberately slowed it down so the group could see his path. The man had crossed the street briskly without checking for cars. Then, a beat before he reached the other curb, he vanished.
Narancia blinked. "You guys saw that, right? Where did it go?"
Abbaccho's jaw tightened. He rewound the playback again. It wasn't your eyes playing tricks. The man never reached the other curb before he disappeared.
"Is your playback acting up or something?"
"Moody Blues never acts up," Abbacchio said. He stared at the spot on the curb as if that would be enough to make his playback appear.
You couldn't wrap your head around it. If Moody Blues only replayed events that had already happened, did that mean the man really had just vanished into thin air?
"Is it possible that Moody Blues ended up somewhere else during this part of the playback?" you asked Abbacchio. "You can sense your Stand without seeing it, right? Maybe it just skipped ahead."
Abbacchio allowed the playback to continue, starting from where the man disappeared from the sidewalk. You could see Abbacchio turning his head slightly, his body tense.
"It's faint, but I can feel it," he muttered, more to himself than to you or Narancia. His head jerked up. "Moody Blues is this way."
Abbacchio walked quickly down the sidewalk. He paused briefly at an intersection before turning left and then crossing the street. You stopped in front of a restaurant with an obscure French name and a royal blue awning. In the window, you could see Moody Blues taking a seat and going through the motions of looking at a menu.
"Do you have a reservation?" the hostess asked when the group entered.
"Uh, no, we don't," said Narancia.
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait for a table, then. Wait times are approximately twenty to thirty minutes at the moment."
There was no way you were waiting that long. You opened your mouth to protest before Abbacchio beat you to it.
"Could I trouble you terribly for that table by the window?" Abbacchio's voice sounded so different you had to look to make sure it was actually him. You and Narancia traded glances.
"As I said before, signore, you'll have to—"
"My uncle will be meeting here with us in a few minutes. He already made a reservation. I'm sure he wouldn't mind us sitting down first."
Abbacchio sounded a ... better when he spoke like this. Not arrogant so much as suave. It was like a whole different Abbacchio. He took off his glasses, offering a small half-smile to the hostess. You couldn't pinpoint why this sudden change was so appealing before you realized it reminded you of the self-assured way Giorno usually talked.
"Does he actually have an uncle?" Narancia whispered to you.
"Beats me," you whispered back.
"You should've just said so, signore." The hostess smiled back. "What is your uncle's name?"
Abbbacchio was standing close enough to the hostess' stand that his eyes flicking down to the reservation book didn't look strange at all.
"Ugo Caprese."