To start at the beginning go here.
Her smile held an edge, that suggested she had enjoyed bludgeoning the two Russians more than she had anything else so far in the night. The transformation made me think about how difficult it must be for her to be inside, searching for information from men she’d rather feed into a meat grinder. At least, I thought, I had given her the chance to do throttle a few of them.
I nodded, but didn’t move, still caught on the easy way she had blended into the scene, flirted with the men. Beyond the petty jealousy that I felt, I considered the self-control she must have to exert to fraternize with them, the revulsion she must keep under control. I wasn’t sure how she did it and, even having witnessed it, I doubted it was a good idea. My head still feeling like it might fall off my shoulders, not yet able to stand straight with the impact of my injuries, I gestured towards the dress, transformed from track and field to nightlife. “How do you manage it?”
Somehow Sophie knew I wasn’t talking about getting home, instead smoothing her dress out again, thrusting her chin out proudly, looking every bit like the statue of Minerva from the front lawn. She replied as if she were starring in a play. “It is to find the girl.”
Uncertain why I did it, whereas just a short time before I would have been afraid of what I would unleash, I told Sophie, “Mitnick has a girl sequestered up on the second floor. The one I mentioned to the Russians.” I gasped the last word as something in my abdomen tried to poke out. Pushing on it with my hand I continued, “Short dark hair, pale, skinny. I think it might be the one the Corsican was talking about.”
Only a silhouette in the dark now, I could feel Sophie processing the information. In the night I saw again the spray of blood across the white of a Venetian day again, imaging her cream dress stained red. So I added, “We don’t know what’s going on, so just ask about her. Don’t do anything,” words failed me and my breathing was labored. All I could conclude with was, “Strong.”
Sophie nodded, then only said, “Now go.” With that she spun on a heel and headed back to the house. I noticed her pause on the way to pick up an abandoned pair of shoes.
Partly to keep from following her trail and partly as an acquiescence to my bruises, I went back to the house at a more elliptical angle. I wasn’t too worried about being spotted, seeing as to any outsider I would appear as the victim in this case. Concern about the two downed men maybe having seen Sophie tried to emerge from the palette of my injuries. I decided they’d rather say I’d escaped on my own than admit to having been beaten by a woman. Or more likely, invent a story about a squad of my comrades having shown up to save my day.
I avoided the searing white of the house’s external flood lights and managed to wander successfully towards where many of the cars were parked. Men and a few women, dressed in the dark garb of professional help, stood in small circles, sharing occupational rumors and smoking cigarettes. This made them easy to avoid, but still left me unsure as to what to do until I spotted a familiar green cab. Alon was sitting in the front seat, his large red nose almost sticking out beyond the brim of the cap he was wearing. He was swaddled in his brown jacket, writing on something he held against the steering wheel, scribbling out poetry or playing sudoku or whatever it is that French taxi drivers do to pass the time.
Knocking on the window he was briefly annoyed at the interruption, prepared to send away whoever had flown to his window with a disdainful gaze sharpened like a stick poking out from behind his nose. But his eyes traveled up and grew wider as they did. I don’t know if he noticed my state or recognized me, so I gave him , “Bonjour” in the hopes he wouldn’t roll up the window.
Before he could ask anything I pushed a high denomination Euro to him and said, “Open the trunk.” I think I even managed it in French. He stared at me with confusion and apprehension, but after a moment took the currency and reached down to pull whatever lever opened the boot.
I fell into it and pulled it closed behind me, grateful just to be lying down.
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To read the previous chapter, go here.
See the author’s published work here.
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