To start at the beginning of the story go here.
I fluttered of my eyelids to the appearance of the tenement’s water-spotted ceiling. Cheryl stood not far from the bed I lay in, smiling from the doorway. Without getting any closer, she laid a gentle, warm hand on my face and said, “It’s OK. It’s almost over.”
The figure that I thought was a dead woman elongated and her hair lightened until I realized it was Sophie who stood there, smiling at my return to consciousness. I blinked myself awake before I realized where I was, then shot out of bed.
“How long have I been out?”
“Since I brought you home.” I hadn’t been conscious enough at Simon’s to see the expensive European car pull out from the curve to follow Alon’s taxi, but I know now it was there.
I got on the apartment’s landline and dialed Lanzo’s mobile, but it went to an anonymized voicemail, so I hung up. If his phone wasn’t connecting, there was one place he’d be.
“We need to get Nika and Lanzo out.” I explained as I slowly moved my damaged form into new clothes. “Mitnick was asking about Lanzo.”
Sophie stared holes in me as she considered what I said. Then the ceiling got its own meditation. When whatever cosmic entities she consulted there signaled her back, she nodded to me and set about getting ready.
I eventually got into the trench coat, the blood on the lapels dried to brown dots. By the time I was ready, Sophie was by the exit, dressed in Sézane jeans and second-hand cardigan, ready to go. I gave her the broken revolver, which she stuffed into the pocket of her over-sized bomber jacket. It didn’t look like rain, but I brought the umbrella.
We took the elevator down and I pushed us through the small crowd of bored tenets that had come to roost on the block’s stoop like so many night birds. None of them glanced at us. Sirens followed us out into the night.
We caught a taxi. Sophie intimidated the driver into no chatter with her sunglasses at night, I missed Alon and his nose pushing out from his coat. Or maybe I missed Simon, knowing going to see him ever again would only endanger him. My punch-drunk brain was running out of room and pushed the two Frenchmen into the same corner. That was OK – I’m sure they’d get along.
We asked to be dropped far from the river and spent a lot of time making sure we weren’t followed, doubling back and taking unnecessary turns. For all the good it did us.
When we got to the edge of the gorge, looking over the bollards at the deep descent to the hutch, I felt a lot of ghosts gathering. As we descended, Cheryl and Sergio and Mikhail floated all around.
The hutch’s door squealed as I opened it, causing all three of the Idiots to stand quickly. I’m glad none of them had a gun – whatever amphetamines they had been ingesting to stay on the clock hadn’t been doing their nerves any favors. I pushed into the room.
As confused as I felt, Max asked, “Where is Sartre?”
The question only registered as I reached the rear door of the hutch. I pulled on it, but it wouldn’t budge. “He’s blocked it from the other side,” Max answered. “I guess they are having private time.”
I banged on the door. There were noises on the other side and the door cracked open. Through the opening, Lanzo’s hostile eye stared out. After adjusting to the hutch’s yellow light, recognition came into it and relief beamed in the darkness. Lanzo opened the door wider and we stepped through.
When Max tried to follow, Lanzo stopped him with the door. There was a hushed exchanged in their shared language that ended with a half-hearted attempt by Max to force his way in. Lanzo held the door, though, saying something final and sharp before pulling it shut. With some admiration for the vexing it must be causing the Idiots, I watched Lanzo prop a pipe against the doorknob.
Nika was on the bed, eyes wide. Sophie strode to her with the most radiant smile, arms spread wide as if she were about to give a favorite niece the best of hugs. Seeing this, Nika’s slipped off the bed to greet the other woman. They had an exchange in bullet-fast French.
This lasted until I caught Sophie say, “Your father is coming.” Nika’s expression fell at these words and she shook her head, trying to deny the future. Sophie nodded and guided both of them to sitting. Once done, she gestured me and Lanzo closer.
I stepped forward and added, “Mitnick doesn’t know where you are, but he’s searching for you and Lanzo.” I short-handed the rest with, “You need to go.”
Fear swirled on Nika’s face; the fear of her father, of whatever returning home entailed, the fear of striking out into the unknown, what might become of Lanzo if they were caught. All of it was there as plain on her face as water doing down a drain.
Sophie knew the fear of that struggle better than anyone else. She grasped Nika’s hands in her own and held them gently. Nika said nothing. Lanzo opened his mouth, but I placed a hand on his shoulder. When he glanced at me, I silently shook my head.
If nothing else the Marine Corps is very good at teaching you how to wait around while other people make decisions. I breathed slow and calm and kept my eyes on Lanzo so he wouldn’t try to push anything.
To my surprise it was Sophie who launched things, standing up from the bed. With a woman’s practicality she said, “If you wish to go, we must go now.”
Nika stared up at Sophie as if she could divine something from her stature. After a moment, though, she took Sophie’s hand. Sophie pulled her up as she stood from the bed. “Let us go.”
To read the previous chapter, go here.
To read the author’s published work, go here.
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