Private Paris (Private 10)

My breath had come back, and already my senses were searching for a possible counterattack. I found it in attitude. Relaxing my face and softening my eyes, I acted as if I somehow had the upper hand in this negotiation.

“Vous comprenez?” the pale guy demanded.

I bobbed my head. The one with the gun reached over and yanked the gag from my mouth.

“Where is she?”

“Don’t know,” I croaked.

He raised the hammer.

“No, really,” I said. “Last time I saw her, she was running from your terrible shooting skills.”

“Fuck you.”

“If I’d been behind the gun, she would have hit the ground, not some waiter,” I said. “What do I call you, anyway? Since the first time I saw you, I kept thinking of you as ‘Pale Guy.’ So what name do you want? Pale Guy or Whitey?”

Pale Guy stiffened. But the one with the gun snorted, and under his breath he murmured something I barely caught before Whitey said in a reasonable voice, “My name is of no consequence to you, Monsieur Morgan. However, the things I can do, my expertise, in fact, is of total consequence to you.”

He slapped the hammer into his gloved palm. “Do you enjoy walking?”

“One of my favorite pastimes, but as I said, Whitey, I don’t know where Kim Kopchinski is. In case you hadn’t noticed, she’s been trying to avoid me as much as get the fuck away from you. Other than that, go ahead and turn my legs into oatmeal. It’s not going to change my tune. What did she do to you, by the way, that’s got you shooting up Paris?”

Whitey said to the one with the gun, “I believe him.”

“Yeah?”

“Oui,” he said, and then lowered the hammer and came closer to me. “Did you hear? I believe you, Monsieur Morgan.”

“Great. Just a little misunderstanding.”

“Exactly,” Whitey said, again in that reasonable tone. “Tell me. In the time when you were with Kim, was she still smoking and using that lighter she has on a chain around her neck?”

What did that have to do with the price of a croissant?

“She smoked like a chimney,” I said. “The pack of Gauloises was never far from her hand, and she still had the lighter.”

Before Whitey could respond to that, someone began banging loudly on the outer door to the suite.

Chapter 39

“JACK!” I HEARD Louis yell. “Jack, open up!”

Big Nose pivoted and moved out fast. Before following him into the outer room, however, Whitey threw his hammer from close range, hitting me hard and high on the flank of my left leg.

The effect was electric and painful, but I gritted my teeth and rolled off the bed and to my feet, barely able to feel my left butt cheek and thigh. No more than ten seconds had elapsed since Whitey and Big Nose had left the bedroom, but already the suite’s living area was empty. The doors to the balcony were open. Even in the dim light I could tell that it, too, was empty.

What the hell had they done? Jumped seventy feet to the sidewalk?

I limped fast to the door, where Louis was still pounding. Turning my back to the latch arm, I hooked the zip tie on it and pressed down.

Louis almost knocked me over, shoving his way inward.

“Justine was right!” he cried, pulling me back to my feet. “Who did this?”

“Our friend Whitey, and his pal, a guy with a big nose and dark hair,” I said. “You spooked them.”

“Where’d they go?” Louis asked, and I felt a blade slip between my wrists and sever the tie.