To start at the beginning of the story go here.

We exited at an open square that was beginning to become familiar, near the Saint Isidore bridge, where commuters were walking over from the banlieues under the watchful gaze of more gendarmerie. Most were dressed for work. Others were the poorer type of tourist, walking over into Old Town from the low-end hostels. We moved against that current until we broke away from the bridge traffic to head along the river, following the pedestrian path next to the road. Realizing where we were, I started scanning for the path down the embankment, trying to place anything that might be a landmark that would help me find my way here again.

The path was difficult to spot from atop the gorge, the embankment monolith in the bright sun. I only saw it only after Lanzo stepped over the chain between bollards that separated the drop from the road. I scanned the area for any witnesses, but we had gotten a good away from the crowds. We climbed down, zig-zagging back and forth along the switchbacks, down towards the river.

The rusty door of the hutch at the bottom of the embankment was exactly the same as before. As we got closer, I could hear voices from within. I couldn’t distinguish which language, though, so I stopped Lanzo to go in first. I was surprised that he was able to get more irritated at this than he already was, but I ignored it.

Peeking in, I saw only the Idiots. The three of them were in nearly the same places as before, the only difference being that now they were sitting up instead of passed out. Max took a cigarette out of his mouth to wiped his face with the balaclava, all of them laughing, tinged with hysteria.

I pushed into the room with enough force that the rusty hinges on the door let out a squeal that got everyone’s attention. I was about to say some roustabout bullshit from a drill sergeant memory, but all three of the Idiots stood up with a surprising speed, blinking into the sudden brightness. Recognizing me, Max actually smiled past the hand he held in front of his eyes, which made me instantly suspicious.

This only increased when he moved forward to shake my hand. I took it, but mostly to get a feel for him. Even with the light coming through the open door, Max had a slight glow to him, with a friendlier grin on his face than any I had seen to date. He spoke rapidly, too fast for me to understand, and gestured with his other hand in exaggerated twerks that translated out to the rest of his body. I realized he probably hadn’t slept since the last time we had spoke. None of them had.

I wasn’t an amphetamine counselor, so I didn’t see a point in drawing attention to this. Instead I examined the room. It was cleaner than before, the trash having been thrown out, but it was much the same with each of the Idiots own nest of dirty sleeping bags and cushions nestled into the corners. I could only hope they had found a new place to take Nika.

I took my hand back from Max’s speed-induced grip. “Things are moving fast.”

Max grinned even wider, “Paux, we are already ready.” I found this artificial confidence from his upper high only stoked the anger that had been smoldering since I had nearly smacked the cigarette out of Lanzo’s mouth.

Swerving my head like an unhappy bull, I made a show of taking in the room. “It doesn’t look that way to me. Are we taking the princess someplace else?”

Grinning impossibly broader, Max said, “Oui, oui,” and planted his cigarette back in his face while gesturing for me to follow. He didn’t lead me out of the hutch, though, but instead towards the interior door that the Algerian had been leaning against. Max threw it open like he was showing off the bridal suite and strode into the darkness beyond.

I stepped into a passage that had probably been carved by the Idiots’ ancestors, rough-hewn walls rising up into an arched corridor from a dirt floor. This man-made cavern was lit by a series of light bulbs strung together by wires, from one corner to another, four in total, making a square of fairy lights that seemed to float in the air like something from a carnival. 

Underneath these lights, sitting in the square formed by the lights, was a clean, over-sized mattress piled with pillows and comforters. When I saw it there was a part of me that was surprised it wasn’t covered in stuffed animals.

I wasn’t sure how they rigged up the electricity or how the Idiots were capable of putting something like this together without fucking it up. But the bedroom was clean and dry, the lights wired into some patch job that had been routed down here from God knows where.

And there was no clerk to check in with, no one to demand a passport, no lobby witnesses to ask about who had seen what. Nika could be moved down here and kept away from the world and no one might know it. It was perfect. If she had Lanzo with her, she might not even get bored.

I turned from the mattress to see the Idiots standing behind me, grinning. In the face of their gloating, I hated to made admit they had done a good job. But I did, causing them to grin even wider.

“I’m going to meet with Mitnick tomorrow, so I’ll have a chance to get a message to Nika then.” The Idiots nodded, the speed turning their heads into emphatic axes. The Corsican hid his face from his friends, reminded that they were betraying him even as he was anxious to see Nika. When no one drew the obvious conclusion, I stated, “We need to give her a time and a place to meet us.”

There was a long moment when no one said anything until, God bless him, Fatty asked, “The Factory?” This was immediately cast down on, for good and obvious reasons, but it did open up the flood gates and the Idiots began to toss out ideas. Trying to coordinate this bombastic flow of amphetamine-enhanced brainstorming made me feel a bit like a grade school teacher wrangling a creative outburst from an excited class.

Eventually, a quiet and dark abandoned warehouse was decided on. A cousin of the Factory, it wasn’t far from the club, but wasn’t a place that was routinely inhabited by Mitnick (or Sartre’s) men. The Algerian also pointed out there was a large sign (‘Distributeur International’) above one of the main doors, making a good landmark.

“OK,” that sounded like a good place that I could wait for her without drawing too much attention. I thought about how long it might take Nika to get out of the house. Would she try to arrange some shopping trip and get away from her handlers? Or would she try to slip out in the middle of the night? Hell, for all I knew she would seduce and betray one of Mitnick’s guards. Maybe that’s what had happened to Sergei. I decided there was no way to know so I said, “We tell her to meet there tomorrow night.” It might not be enough time to allow her to get away, but it was a chance we’d have to take.

I turned to Lanzo. “The letter needs to come from you. She won’t come out unless it’s you asking. You know what you need to say?” I wasn’t sure I knew what needed to be said, so I wasn’t hopeful. Not surprisingly, Lanzo himself looked doubtful, chewing on his bottom lip as he considered it.

“OK, come on then.” I took him by the shoulder and steered him out of the hutch, leaving the Idiots with assurances that we’d be back.

To read the next chapter, go here.

To read the previous chapter, go here.

To read a polished and published prequel to this story go here.

Related Posts

• 

  The Locker

• 

  Sleeping on Sticks and Tasting Gall

• 

  The American: Trouble with Escape (pt. 11)