Louis Shalako
The
phone was ringing and Hubert sat up in bed with a lurch and a flutter in his
heart, but the thing had frankly scared the hell out of him. He’d been having
one of those dreams, the one where you’re a rat caught in some kind of a maze,
and you can never get out of there—
Emanuelle
was in the bathroom, predictably enough, what with having a fetus pressing down
on her bladder all the time, and he snatched it up before the ringing drove him
to say a bad word or two…which he tried not to do too much around the house.
“Yes.”
“Can
you be ready in half an hour?”
The
voice was baffling in its familiarity.
“Argh.
Who in the hell is this?”
“Alphonse—”
Of course.
“Merde. Ah—yes. I
suppose so.” Fuck. “Can’t you pick up Martin first? For crying out loud.”
“No.
He’s on the way to our first stop. I will be calling him next. I will be doing
that right now.”
The
phone went dead, and that was that. That was Alphonse.
“For
fuck’s sakes…” Thankfully, a faint tinkling sound on the other side of the wall
ended, there was a pause, and then the toilet flushed.
With
a start of recognition, he threw back the covers and headed for the bathroom
door before she decided to run the bath or something like that. This would not
only be extremely time-consuming but also fairly irritating. This was no way to
think of the love of one’s life or the imminent mother of his son or daughter,
whichever that might turn out to be.
No
matter how irritating that might be.
And
love conquers all.
***
At
this hour of the day, what with picking up Martin and then the busy morning
traffic, the typical furniture and appliance store still wouldn’t be open for
some time. Alphonse had figured that much out all on his own, and so they were
on the way to meet their hospital informant, for whom they didn’t even have a
name yet. How in the hell he had managed it, was a good question, probably his
buddy Paul in the Situation Room. Someone would have taken the call, most
likely coming from a booth like the last call. They would have gotten right to
Alphonse at home, who was known, like Gilles, to be an early riser.
They’d
have the source on one line, and Alphonse on the other to set that up,
otherwise it was just another small mystery.
That’s
why they kept him around, as everyone said—the sort of man it didn’t pay to underestimate.
Just
a time, and a place, and a promise not to be late.
 |
| "So, how do you know all of this stuff...???" |
It
was a public park, just down the street from the hospital doors, and it seemed
the person would be on their way to work. Or, possibly leaving a night shift or
maybe just sneaking out for an early coffee break.
With
tall, stately trees lining the boulevard, and a bit of urban forest for a good
chunk of the block, it would seem that the park was popular with hospital
employees. Three nurses walked along, heading into work, side by side, beside
the car. Alphonse was slowing to turn in. He waited for them to get across the
entrance, the turn signal indicator insistent in its clicking.
“I
knew this was a good idea.” Alphonse studied the trim calves, slender ankles
and svelte bodies with some care.
“Huh.”
Hubert was still sort of spent from the night before, as even for a woman at
seven-plus months preggers, Emanuelle had been sort of starved for attention
lately…these guys had no real need to know that part. “Argh.”
“I
agree with him—” Garnier, in a kind
of diplomatic ambiguity.
He
and Alphonse exchanged a quick grin, as the older man pulled in off the street
and began looking for a parking spot.
This
seemed to be something of an auxiliary to any official parking lot. Such a big
edifice had to have at least some dedicated parking. It would also never be
enough, and the number of vehicles on the roads went up by leaps and bounds
with every passing year. In such an ancient city, you simply couldn’t build
roads and streets big enough, or fast enough, and that went for parking places
as well.
The
parking slots were angled, rather than at ninety degrees, straight in and
straight out. The place was mostly full. Alphonse found a spot, where they
could watch the action through the trees. There were the front doors, which
they couldn’t actually see from this angle, and there were the side doors.
There were people coming and going, with a few people just standing around,
smokers mostly. There must be doors on the back of the building and on the
other side. Ambulances. Vehicle access for deliveries. There was a fair bit of
foot traffic. People all over the place. There would be hundreds of employees,
patients, visitors, and casual foot traffic on both sides of the street, buses
pumping out their diesel stench. All kinds of extraneous action. The classic
meet, in other words. Act natural, and blend in with the crowd.
“Make
sure we all got our hats on, and roll down the windows.” Alphonse was firm on
that one. “Let’s make it fairly obvious, at least for our new friend.”
Upon
Alphonse’s arrival that morning, he’d parked across the street from Hubert’s
place. For that reason, the left rear passenger door had been left unlocked.
Hubert had climbed in and slid across. It was something of a surprise, when a
figure coming up from behind appeared at the window, the door opened and the
person dropped into the seat beside Detective Hubert.
 |
| Garnier: this guy seems pretty bold. |
“Hi,
guys.”
“Yes?”
“Okay.
So, how much is in this for me.”
“Well,
this has to be our guy.” Garnier had spun around on one hip to keep an eye on
him, for he seemed pretty damned bold. “What exactly are we talking about,
anyways?”
“Information,
upon request.”
“Fifty
francs.”
The
fellow snorted.
“A
hundred francs. And it had better check out—”
“I
want five hundred. And we all know what I’m talking about. Frozen dead people,
that’s what I’m talking about.”
“Do
you have a name?”
“Nope.”
“Okay,
Monsieur Nope, ah, one hundred francs. Half up front and the other half when it
checks out. Take it or leave it.”
The
man’s hand reached for the door handle, as Alphonse sort of engaged Hubert’s
eyes in the mirror.
“We
can do this the hard way, if you want.” Hubert was thinking this guy was
familiar, in some way, a weasel, an archetype—a weekend football player maybe.
The
guy sort of froze—then half turned back.
“And
what in the hell is that supposed to mean?” It was pure bullshit, but
threatening enough to someone who might be dependent on their present
employment.
“I’ll
make it a hundred up front. Another fifty if it checks out—and it had better
check out. Capiche, mon ami?”
“A
hundred, eh?”
“Yes,
and we might even forget about withholding evidence of a crime, and interfering
with police in the course of an investigation…uttering a false report…”
Hell,
even Alphonse winced at that one.
Ouch.
As
for the source, he took it all in stride.
 |
| Alphonse. |
“Yeah,
yeah, all right. Fuck it, if you can’t take a joke. A hundred up front.”
Settling into the seat again, he held out a hand as Hubert reached for his
wallet. “Ah, and a hundred when it checks out.”
In
the mirror, Alphonse gave a barely perceptible nod.
“All
right. A hundred it is, then, and another hundred when it checks out.”
“Let
us hope this is worth it.” Garnier.
“So,
what’s your name, anyways. What do you do here. Do you even work here at all.
How do you even know this information…”
There
was always a long list, but first one had to get them hooked.
First,
let him take the money, second, we ask him about Abu Samaha—just another worker
in a menial job, just another guy in coveralls, just one more building cleaner.
END
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Chapter Thirteen.
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