To start at the beginning of the story, go here.Â
Atwell wanted to be dropped off at a hospital, but the best I was willing to do was let him out a block away. I kept the car and told him if he reported it stolen I’d be back for him. He protested, but he glanced over my shoulder at Sophie. Whatever he saw there shut his mouth. We never ran into trouble with the police, even later when we crossed the border.
We didn’t try that straight away. We hid out at the apartment for a few days, waiting for the heat to die down. I kept an eye on the building while Sophie spent hours with Nika and the girl, whose name was Daria. Each of them had been in their own long dark and I let them share that with each other.
Mitnick’s briefcase was full of cash and papers, plenty to last Nika till her father’s fortune found her. Her passport was in it too, as well as one with Mitnick’s picture but a different name. I pocketed it. If I grew out a beard I could pass for the man in the photo.
After the second day, I left the tenement by the back alley and cruised around to see if I’d pick up a tail. I didn’t. I thought about getting in touch with Rotella, but decided against it. He’d have his hands full protecting the other women and untangling the international incident of Mitnick’s house. Having me show up would only complicate things.
On the third day, Sophie and I left Nika and Daria with most of the money and the keys to the apartment. The lease was good for a couple of months and they could hide there until they felt ready to face the world. “It will be their cocoon,” Sophie said.
I did check the dead drop one more time. I was surprised to find a piece of paper under the payphone. It read, “Montalbano Municipal Cemetery. Cheryl Blackburn Teig, 02/01/1983 – 07/12/2012.”
At least now I knew where we were headed next.
Atwell’s car stayed safe in street parking for a few days, so we took it when we left. It was early on the fourth day. I knew I probably shouldn’t, but I stopped by Simon’s on the way out. I wasn’t sure what the future held and starting off with eggs galette felt like the best preparation for that.
The tall doors of Simon’s restaurant were open. The inside was as well-lit and warm as any good memory. Simon, without his customers yet, turned his belly and bald head to me and Sophie, twirling his dishtowel.
He walked over to us, briskly even though there was a hitch in his step. He looked me up and down, inspecting my face with its strata of bruises, almost approvingly, as if I had earned them in a fight over his or Sophie’s honor. I basked in the small, happy joy of knowing he was alive and tending to his cafe.
He led us to the table in the back and I sat with my back against the wall. Keeping an eye on the front door, I noticed a young head filled with black hair pop out of the kitchen, spot us, and then disappear back into it again.
I looked up at Simon and asked, “Was that who I think it was?”
Without taking his eyes off the completely unnecessary order pad Simon responded, “He showed up a time ago. He had nowhere else to go.”
I nodded, thinking that Nika was only a few blocks away. Maybe they’d find each other. Or maybe they wouldn’t. It was hard to say which would be better for them.
To read the previous chapter, go here.
Photo courtesy of Hert Niks.
To read the author’s published work, go here.
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