Private Paris (Private 10)

“The concierge,” Louis told me.

Our attention shot back to the television screen, where the feed had cut from Laurent to Barbès. Tear gas was being fired at the rioters.

The Dog made a weird noise. I turned to see the hacker crouched and moving backward, and the old concierge shaking from head to toe.

Whitey was behind her. He had a gun to her head.

Chapter 64

“WEAPONS ON THE ground and back away, or she dies, and the retard’s next,” Whitey said, leering at us with yellow teeth.

Louis grimaced but unholstered his pistol and set it down. I did the same.

Whitey pushed the old woman inside, and his buddy, the Nose, appeared, also armed. He followed Whitey, shutting the door.

Still pressing his gun to the concierge’s head, Whitey said, “Where’s the lighter? Start talking or she dies.”

“You’re out of luck,” Louis said. “Government took it along with everything else when they raided our offices last night. It’s true—you can check.”

“Is that what you’ve been after all this time?” I asked. “A lighter?”

Whitey ignored me, but he was looking conflicted.

His partner said, “What do we do, Le Blanc? Call—”

“Shut up,” Whitey said, and I thought for a moment that he was going to cut his losses and bolt.

But then the Dog said, “I’m not retarded.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Whitey said, and then did a double take at the hacker.

He threw the old woman aside. In two bounds, he was in front of the Dog, who shrank in terror. Whitey snatched the iPad from him, held it up so his partner could see the memory stick jutting out the bottom, and said in triumph, “Bonus coming! We got it!”

The Nose grinned, then sobered and said, “They get in?”

Whitey slid his finger across the screen, studied it, and said, “Negative. We’re good.”

He pulled the memory stick and stuck it in his pocket. He tucked the iPad under one arm and said, “Just in case.”

“Whatever’s on that stick, you’ve got what you were after,” I said. “Let Kim Kopchinski go.”

The Nose snorted, “That’s not exactly up to us.”

“Zip ’em up, and we’re gone,” Whitey said.

They used zip ties to bind our ankles and wrists behind our backs. They shoved rags in our mouths and forced the four of us onto the floor.

“The shit you’ve caused us, we should shoot the both of you,” Whitey said, waving his pistol at me and Louis. “But we’re not sore winners.”

Then he kicked me hard, in the stomach. And the Nose did the same to Louis, low in the back. It took several painful minutes after they’d left for the two of us to recover enough to try to free ourselves.

The Dog was way ahead of us. He’d gotten to his feet somehow, hopped into his kitchen, and soon returned holding a pair of scissors behind him. Several contortions and a careful snip later, Louis’s hands were free. Louis took the scissors and cut off Maria’s bindings first and made sure she was okay before removing the Dog’s restraints and then mine.

I was feeling exhausted and low. We’d lost the memory stick, and whatever leverage we might have had to get Kim Kopchinski back. What was I going to say to Sherman? What could I say?

The hacker, meanwhile, went over to the concierge, and said something to her in Portuguese. She nodded, rubbed her wrists.

The Dog looked at us and said, “I am not retarded.”