by Barry Eisler
He was trying to make her smile with that, but she didn’t. “What about the others?” she said. “Do you think I manipulated them?”
He considered for a minute. “I think ‘manipulate’ in this context isn’t a helpful word. Sure, you were hoping for an outcome, but you didn’t do anything nefarious to achieve it, did you? I mean, if I say to you, ‘Labee, would you be kind enough to please pass me the sugar,’ instead of ‘Hey, Labee, pass the fucking sugar,’ am I manipulating you? Or am I just being sensible about trying to get you to agree with what I want?”
She went back to looking through the curtains. “I take . . . a lot of risks in what I do,” she said, and he had the feeling she was talking about more than just the risks she took as a cop. “Protecting people who can’t protect themselves. It’s . . . a big deal for me.”
“I know. It’s one of the things I . . . respect about you so much.”
Good lord. He was so jetlagged that his mouth had almost said that I love about you without any prior meaningful input from his brain.
But if she noticed, she didn’t say anything, and after a moment, she went on. “What I told you about in Thailand. My sister. It’s all tied up with that. But knowing the cause doesn’t really do much to change the . . . the obsession.”
He watched her for a long moment, but she kept staring resolutely through the curtains. Then he said quietly, “Darlin’, I think you underestimate yourself.”
She looked at him, and he saw she was crying. Lord, the amount of pain this woman carried around inside her.
But it wasn’t like before, where she would turn away or wipe her eyes as surreptitiously as she could. And he realized that was something. That she was letting him see her like this.
“Have you ever thought that maybe this is just the way you are?” he said. “Not all of it, not the obsessiveness, maybe. But losing Nason . . . I don’t think that took you in some direction that was the opposite of the one you would have been going in anyway.”
Her face contorted for an instant at the mention of her sister. He supposed at the invocation of her memory, and maybe because she was unaccustomed to hearing anyone ever say her name.
“What I mean,” he went on, “is that I think . . . losing Nason probably just intensified what was already there. And what was there was a fierce, enduring instinct to protect people weaker than you are. And that’s a lot of people, because you are almighty strong.”
His voice cracked before he could finish, and he was embarrassed and almost made a joke about how he must be more tired than he’d realized. But then he thought fuck it, she wasn’t afraid to cry in front of him, why should he be afraid to cry in front of her?
She let the curtain close and walked over to the chair. She knelt and touched his cheek. He covered her hand with his, and she didn’t pull back.
“I like when you do that,” he said. “It always feels like a big gesture, coming from you.”
“It is.”
“You mind if I do the same?”
She looked at him for a long moment. Then she said, very quietly, “You can if you want.”
He did. Just with the back of his fingertips, as softly as he could.
She looked in his eyes, not trying to hide the tears in hers. “I’m sorry I’m so fucked up,” she said.
“I’m not,” he said. “And I don’t think you’re fucked up at all. I wish there were more people like you. And besides, I told you to never apologize for that.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know why you’re so nice to me.”
Come on, you told John to tell Delilah how he feels. Are you too chickenshit to do the same?
But no. Maybe he was rationalizing, but this was different. Opening up too much with Labee . . . it would just make her feel pressured.
“Hey,” he said. “Are you really still wired?”
She nodded.
“Okay,” he went on. “I think I could sleep for a while. Probably not long, due to the overall jetlag, but if I don’t wake up of my own accord, then you do it for me anytime you feel yourself starting to nod off.”
She nodded again.
He smiled. “But first, you have to do me a favor.”
“Sure.”
“You have to tuck me in.”
“Tuck you in?”
“Well, lie down next to me for a minute. And touch my cheek the way you do. I won’t pretend, I would really like that.”
She shook her head. “You’re a strange man, Carl.”
“I suppose. I won’t deny that despite my reputation in certain quarters as a hardened mercenary who lives for nothing other than to get paid and laid, I actually have a tender side.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.”
“Well, I’d be grateful if you could indulge it, even if just for a minute.”
She looked at him for a long moment. And then she nodded.
He got on his side under the comforter, staying close to the edge so she could have as much space as possible. She sat in the middle, looking uncomfortable.
“I’m concerned you might not be able to reach my cheek from there,” he said.
She laughed awkwardly but didn’t move.
“Let’s try this,” he said. “Why don’t you just lie down facing me, on top of the comforter. And I’ll look in your eyes and try to think of something funny to say to make you laugh.”
She smiled. And then stretched out on her side, facing him, albeit from a pretty good ways off. But he didn’t care. It was wonderful to just lie on the same bed with her.
“How bad is it?” he said. “I mean on a one-to-ten scale.”
“You mean with one bad, and ten really bad?”
He laughed. “Sure, like that.”
“Maybe . . . a two. Or a three.”
“Well, shit, that’s not bad at all. I was afraid you were going to say an eight, or maybe even a nine. I mean, a ten would have killed me, I know you’d never say that even if it were true, but still, a two or three? You just made my night.”
She laughed. God, he loved the sound of her laughing.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Tonight I already feel like a winner. So you don’t even have to touch my cheek, if you don’t want to.”
She didn’t say anything. She just looked at him. And then she reached out and cupped his face.
Her fingers were so warm and felt so nice. “That’s not taking it up past a five or so, is it?” he said.
She shook her head.
“Okay, good. Let me know if it gets bad. If it does, you can always stop.”
She took a deep breath, then blew it out. And surprised him by pulling herself closer, and leaning in, and kissing him, very softly. And then she pulled back, but not that far, and their faces were still only a few inches apart.
“Wow,” he said.
Her eyes filled up. “I’m scared.”
He wanted to hold her so much it made him almost dizzy, but he knew he had to be careful. “Don’t be,” he said. “We don’t have to do anything at all, and I’m sorry if I’ve already made us do too much.”
“You know, I had boyfriends in college.”
“Okay. Well, I’m happy for them, whoever they were.”
“What I mean is, I learned to, you know, do some of the things they wanted. Not everything. Some things I can’t . . . ever do. But I never liked it. I only liked it the way you and I did it at that Rayong beach hotel. And I don’t think . . . I don’t know if I ever will like it. If I can. The way normal people do it. Kissing. And, you know. Things like that.”
“Now, you listen to me. First of all, there is no normal. Anyone trying to sell you on normal is also trying to sell you on abnormal, and that’s a load of shit. Just a bunch of boring people trying to make exceptional people as boring as they are.”
She laughed a little, but she was still crying.
“Maybe there’s typical,” he went on. “I mean, how could there not be? So okay, fine, you’re not typical. But did you not g
et the memo? You’ve been through things that would have shattered almost anyone. How could you have endured what you did, and come out typical?”
“Rain said . . . you’ve been through a lot, too.”
“He did? What, was he telling you not to monkey with my delicate feelings or something?”
She nodded.
He chuckled. “He’s a good friend, I’ll tell you that. A little taciturn at times, but his heart’s in the right place, even though he has a hard time understanding that.”
“Is that why you are the way you are with me?”
“I don’t know. How am I with you?”
“I don’t know . . . kind? Understanding? And . . . patient.”
“Oh, well, that’s just me being me.”
She laughed.
“But honestly,” he said, “I haven’t really been through that much. John’s just being protective. I got held and tortured once by some pretty nasty folks, including a guy I called Uncle Fester and who I’ll admit I still have the odd nightmare about because he was fixing to castrate me when, thank God, old John saved the day.”
“That’s horrible,” she said. “Is that what you were talking about when I first called you? The jam with those maximally unpleasant people?”
“Yeah, that was the one, and it was a pretty bad time. But I stopped John from killing Fester and had the satisfaction myself, which definitely saved me a whole lot of therapy afterward. Did killing Sorm and those men in Thailand help you?”
She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “For a while.”
“I’m sorry, Labee. I don’t have to tell you, it’s just a whole different ballgame when you’re a kid. Which is part of the reason I’m happy to be helping you with the Child’s Play thing. And why it didn’t take any masterful manipulation on your part. Okay?”
She nodded.
“And now that you’ve kissed me,” he said, “would you mind if I kissed you back? I mean, it probably won’t be as good as the last one, because this is a fancy Paris hotel and that was a Walmart parking lot, but if we go into it with realistic expectations, I think it could be all right.”
She laughed, and again he loved the sound of it.
He leaned in and kissed her. Just softly, with his lips barely parted, but he let it linger, and so did she. And then she surprised him by opening her mouth a little. And he was afraid she was just doing it for him, and he almost said something, but maybe she wasn’t, maybe it was really okay, and if so, he didn’t want to spoil the moment. And then he realized he was overthinking, and then he stopped thinking entirely, because her tongue had touched his lips and his head swam and he opened his mouth and let his tongue touch hers, and then she pulled back as though she’d received a shock or something and looked at him, her eyes wide.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Did I . . . was that too much?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He was afraid to ask. Afraid of the answer. But he said, “Was it . . . okay?”
She nodded.
“Do you want to . . . try a little more?”
She nodded again. And then she leaned closer and, even though she was trembling, she really kissed him.
They wound up doing a lot more than a little. At some point, he realized no one was keeping watch. What the hell, he thought distantly. He’d never really thought they’d need to bother with all the security tonight. And he doubted John and Delilah were steadfastly manning the guard posts themselves.
chapter
forty-one
HORTON
Horton strolled along Rue Descartes. The evening was cool and dry, and the sidewalks were lively, crowded with diners at an eclectic scattering of restaurants—Chinese, Italian, and Vietnamese; coffee and ice cream and pastry places. He’d always liked Paris, but every time he’d been here on official business, he’d stayed on the other side of the river, near the Arc de Triomphe. His then-wife, who had accompanied him on some of those trips, had enjoyed shopping on the Champs-Élysées, and some of the restaurants they’d been taken to, Michelin-starred and apparently celebrated, were certainly delicious. But there was an earthiness he liked on this side of the river—the winding cobblestone streets; the soft lighting, which sometimes bordered on dim; the overall smaller scale of things. It was as though on those previous visits, he’d been presented with a carefully curated selection of Paris, and not the city itself. He supposed he should have realized at the time, but he’d had his preconceptions, and his hosts had been happy to fulfill them. Well, now he knew better. And if they all survived this thing, he’d be sure to come back and see the city with new eyes.
“There he is,” he heard Larison say. They were all wearing the commo gear he’d picked up from his contact at GIGN—earpieces and lapel mics. They were also each equipped with a prepaid burner, but that was only for backup. No body armor, unfortunately, but when it came to a friend disappearing inventory from an armory or an evidence room, you couldn’t really expect more than catch-as-catch-can.
“Just him?” Horton said.
“He’s not walking side by side with anyone,” Larison said. “Beyond that, I couldn’t say.”
“Horton, why don’t you start heading toward him,” Rain said. “No hurry, give us time to observe first.”
“I’ll take it nice and slow,” Horton said.
“Dox,” Rain said. “Time for a drive-by.”
Livia had hotwired and stolen them one of those motorcycles with two front wheels—a skill Horton wouldn’t ordinarily have associated with a cop. Dox was wearing a full-face helmet, and Ben would have no way of recognizing him.
“Already on my way,” Dox said. “On my three-wheeled motorcycle. I’m telling you, this thing is an abomination before God.”
Livia said, “Crime of opportunity. Dark cul-de-sac, no cameras.”
“It doesn’t matter if they’re abominable,” Rain said. “What matters is that they’re all over Paris. We want you to blend.”
“Shit, if you wanted me to blend you should have just got me a damned beret. Or a Gauloises cigarette. The only thing that makes the shame tolerable is that no one can recognize me.”
“Hmm,” Rain said. “It’s almost like that’s the point.”
Dox laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Okay, I’m riding past Treven now. Don’t see any suspicious-looking types so far. Larison, can you see me?”
“Yeah, the dork on the three-wheeled motorcycle.”
“The ignominy!” Dox said. “How’d I wind up on this monstrosity? Larison, you should have ridden the damn thing, and I should be up there in that hotel room.”
“I would have,” Larison said. “But I have too much dignity.”
“Enough,” Rain said. “Circle the Pantheon. If it’s all clear, we’ll move Horton in.”
Two minutes later, Dox said, “I haven’t seen anything out of order. If he brought company, they’re hanging way back.”
“Okay, then,” Rain said. “Horton, go say hello.”
Three minutes later, Horton turned onto the Place du Panthéon. He was surprised that his heart was pounding so hard. He trusted Ben. He did. But was he being objective? Could Daniel have been right?
Ben saw him immediately and nodded.
Horton walked over and held out his hand. “Good to see you, son. I’m glad you called.”
They shook. Horton started to feel a little calmer.
Ben said, “Just you?”
“Yes, it seemed like it would be more comfortable this way.” That was vague enough to encompass a variety of meanings, none of which it would have been productive to acknowledge explicitly.
Ben nodded. “I assume we’re going somewhere else.”
“There’s a little place I had in mind. Just a short walk.”
Again, there was nothing to be gained by acknowledging what the procedures were really about.
They set off. Three minutes later, Delilah said, “I’ve got you.” In his peripheral vision, Horton saw her sitting at one of the tab
les in front of L’Écurie, her blonde hair held back under a thick headband, a pair of stylish reading glasses perched on her nose while she played with a mobile phone.
“Livia,” Rain said, “you might want to ease back for now. In case he looks up.”
“Already done,” Livia said.
“Livia,” Dox said, “how are you doing over there?”
It was obvious the big sniper had some kind of crush on the quiet cop. It didn’t seem to interfere with their focus, so Horton considered it none of his business. Likewise for Rain and Delilah.
“All good,” Livia said. “The apartment behind me is still dark. If a light comes on, I’ll climb down. But for now, this position is perfect. It’s dark up here, but I can see the bar entrance clearly.”
Horton and Ben turned the corner. Ben said, “You mind if we stop here for a second? I didn’t see anyone tailing me before we met, but let’s just see.”
“I was going to suggest the same thing myself,” Horton said. Then, for Larison’s benefit, he added, “Glad you’re being surveillance conscious.”
“Or just pretending to be,” Larison said.
They waited three minutes. No one came around the corner behind them. Horton said, “I’m good if you are.”
Ben nodded. “Yeah.”
“The place a few doors down. How about if we get a beer?”
A minute later, they were heading inside. Rain said, “Okay, we’re going to cut the chatter to a minimum. If we see anything, we’ll holler. And if you need anything, you do the same.”
“This ought to work, am I right?” Horton said to Ben, for the benefit of the others.
“Seems fine,” Ben said.
In fact, Horton thought it was more than fine. Piano Vache felt both unpretentious and like an institution—the walls covered with overlapping posters advertising music and jazz acts, some of them dating back to the fifties, the support columns in the two interconnected rooms covered with chalk drawings, the lighting soft and the acoustics crisp. The decorations were eclectic—an old radio here; a guitar hung from the ceiling there; an antique piano with a stuffed cow’s head over it, from which Horton supposed the bar took its name. The place was on the ground floor, but it had a subterranean feel, like something hidden or secret or frequented only by initiates. Rain had been right—given the early hour, it was only about half-full, mostly with hipster and student types. There was a pleasant buzz of conversation mingled with French pop from a stereo—the kind of background chatter that would allow two people to talk privately and not have to shout. They had no trouble finding an open table all the way in back that gave them both a view of the entrance.