Paris Love Match

by Nigel Blackwell

  Piers looked at April. She had her hands on her lap and her head down. She was biting her lip. He patted her shoulder. “We’ll be all right.”

  She took deep breaths. “But he won’t, will he? It’s not like you can do anything for him, can you? You’re just going to walk away and live your lives.”

  Piers sighed. “I know we can’t help him. But now we’re in danger because of him.”

  She scoffed.

  “The people who were chasing Auguste think we have something he took.”

  She gave a derisive snort and raised her eyes to him. “And what am I supposed to do? Maybe you work for them. Maybe you killed him?”

  “We didn’t kill him.”

  “So you had someone do your dirty work.”

  “No, we were just bystanders to whatever happened and now we’re being threatened with our lives.”

  She snorted. “That was the police back there. Why didn’t you tell them?”

  Piers sighed. It was a good question.

  She gestured behind them with her hands. “Really. Go and tell them.”

  He took a deep breath. “We can’t. We think they shot at us as well.”

  “The police?” asked the driver, looking at them through the rearview mirror.

  Sidney slapped the driver on the shoulder. “Watch the road.”

  April had her head down and looked at Piers from the top of her eyes. “You can’t trust them? The police?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. It was hard to tell. There was a lot of gunfire.”

  The driver’s face appeared in the rearview mirror. “The shooting on the radio. You were there?”

  “Do you mind?” Piers said, “Just drive.”

  “But they’ve been talking about it on the radio. Bunch of people been shot at Gare de l’Est, and Notre Dame. Criminals, they said. They said some survived.”

  April’s head shot up. “Who?”

  “Who what?”

  “Survived, for god’s sake.”

  The driver shrugged. “I don’t know. Some of them. That’s all they said.”

  April grabbed the driver’s shoulder. “We need to go there. Now.”

  Piers eased April back into her seat. “We saw him. We were in the same taxi.”

  “I don’t care. Some of them survived. He said so. He said it’s been on the radio.”

  Piers shook his head.

  She stared at him, long and hard. “You’re sure.”

  He nodded.

  “Are we still going to the airport?” the driver said.

  Sidney slapped him, harder this time. “Just shut up and drive.”

  April sank into the corner of the rear seat and began sobbing. Sidney tapped Piers on the shoulder and mouthed, “I should have sat in the back.” Piers couldn’t help but agree. The last thing he wanted was to deal with another crying woman. They emerged from the confines of Paris’ buildings and crossed the Seine. “Where are we?”

  Sidney glanced along the river. “Austerlitz.”

  “Which is?”

  “A bridge.”

  “Where?”

  Sidney pointed. “Notre Dame’s over there.”

  “Okay. We’ll get out here.”

  “Here?” said the driver.

  Piers glowered. “What is this, twenty questions? Yes. Here. Stop here.”

  “Okay. Only you said the airport.”

  “Well, we’ve changed our minds.”

  “You said I’d get a tip.”

  “Whatever.”

  The taxi drew to a halt beside a line of cafés. Sidney eased April out of the taxi while Piers handed over the fare and promised tip.

  Sidney wrapped her arm around April. “We should go somewhere quiet.”

  Piers looked at the pair. “Let’s sit down for a minute, have a drink.”

  “We stink,” said Sidney. “Big time.”

  “We’ll sit outside. No one will notice.”

  Piers found a free table in a quiet corner. They seated the silent April and angled themselves to have a view of the street. April kept her head down.

  A waiter arrived, his nose screwed up to hold his breath. Sidney ordered three large brandies.

  Piers ducked his head down to get into April’s line of sight. “We need to know what Auguste was involved in.”

  She shook her head. “He was a good man.”

  “I’m sure he was, but we need to know. Our lives are in danger.”

  She sat silent, and the waiter returned with the drinks. Piers could smell the brandy over their own stench. He handed over a twenty. “Keep the change.” It seemed only fair given their condition.

  Sidney persuaded April to take a drink. She took a couple of sips then downed the glass in one.

  Piers gave the alcohol a moment. “April, we really need to know about Auguste.”

  She gave the barest of nods. “He liked to joke about things. That’s how we met, how we got to know each other. You know, Auguste and April, we’ve heard all the jokes.”

  Sidney placed her hand on April’s shoulder, and April placed her hand on top. “I knew what he did from the moment we started going out. I knew it was dangerous. And … and not always right. But he wasn’t bad. Not really. He didn’t use guns.” She drew herself up. “I don’t know about the shooting. He wouldn’t,” she shook her head, “he didn’t. No. Not Auguste.”

  Sidney squeezed her hand. “But what was he doing?”

  April put her hands together in her lap. She gave Sidney a sideways look, then looked down at her hands. “You have to understand. Auguste worked for the same man for ten years. We struggled to pay the rent some months. It wasn’t easy. His mother, my father, they were old; they needed looking after. And his boss was so rich. Money for anything. And always Auguste helped, never complained. When Auguste’s mother passed away, we talked about doing something different, but how could we? We didn’t have the money. Then when my father passed away … then we knew we had to do it. To do something. A new life. A fresh start.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “This was going to be it.”

  “So you were running away?” Piers said.

  April rolled her eyes. “We knew we couldn’t stay in Paris. We’d lived our whole lives here, and all we owned was an old car that he worked on every weekend just to keep going.”

  She looked up at Piers and he nodded sagely, hoping she would get to the point soon. “And?”

  “And we had to do something. He wanted to do something. He was good at things. Good at listening, good at figuring things out.”

  “What did he figure out?”

  She bit her lip. “There was a painting. Valuable. He figured out about the painting.”

  “What painting?”

  She rubbed her hands together. “I don’t know. He planned things round his place, never at mine. He said the less I knew the better. But it … it was hot, and worth lots. Plenty for us to start a new life with.”

  “That was his plan. To steal the painting?”

  She looked at Piers like he was an idiot, which be began to feel he was.

  “Who was he stealing the painting from? Pierre Morel?”

  She looked down and rubbed her hands together. “No. Morel was his boss. These were bad people. He said it would be best if I didn’t know them.”

  “We need to know.”

  She shook her head then looked up at him. “I don’t know.”

  “This isn’t a game April. Who was he stealing it from?”

  “I don’t know! I told you, I don’t know.”

  Sidney glowered at Piers. “She said she doesn’t know.”

  “But if we’re going to find this thing—”

  “She’s had a shock.”

  “I understand that, but we don’t have long before those goons come after us again.”

  Sidney wrapped her arm around April’s shoulder and stared hard at Piers. “You can still give her time.”

  Piers made a show of closing his mouth.

  After a long silence, A
pril stood up. “I have to go.”

  Piers looked up at her. “Where to?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry about Auguste. I really am. And about … just then.”

  Sidney stood and hugged the woman. “We’re sorry. Really.”

  “You have somewhere to go?” Piers said.

  She nodded. “Away from Paris. I have friends.” She looked hard at each of them. “If you have any sense, you’ll get out of Paris, too. These people are ruthless. Auguste said so. Trained killers. Some sort of army, special forces, people.”

  Piers nodded grimly.

  Sidney rummaged in her pockets and handed a bundle of bills to April. “Auguste’s.”

  She pushed them into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her nose. She didn’t look at either of them. “They’re bad people. Auguste wasn’t a bad person. Not really. But they are. He said so. If you’re innocent, go to the police. Quickly.”

  Without making eye contact, she pushed her way through the tables and chairs to the street, and disappeared in the crowds.

  Chapter 12

  Piers led the way out of the café and scanned the road for Little and Large. “At least we shook them off.”

  Sidney sniffed her hands for the umpteenth time. “I have got to wash.”

  Piers agreed. He stank. They wouldn’t give anyone the slip smelling as they did.

  Sidney led them through intersections and office buildings until they reached the Seine.

  “Are we going to jump in?” he said.

  Sidney looked at him as if he had grown antlers. “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Okaaay, sorry.”

  “There’s a shower station along here somewhere.”

  “Really?”

  “No, I just made it up, for fun. What do you think?”

  Piers looked at the dirty patches on the knees of his jeans. “You realize our clothes will still smell.”

  Sidney rolled her eyes. “I can’t fix all your problems at once. Clothes will have to be next.”

  She turned left and threaded her way down a footpath to the road that ran alongside the river. A few minutes later they saw a squat, circular metallic building by the side of the road.

  “Why do they have these things here?” said Piers.

  “Why not?”

  “But who walks around and suddenly decides they need a shower?”

  “We need one.”

  “Okay, but we’re an exception. How many people escape via a trash chute?”

  “I’ve done it before.”

  Piers laughed. “Bad date?”

  “From hell.”

  His laughter stopped and he followed her, not quite able to work out if she was serious.

  They arrived at the shower station. “It takes four euros,” she said, her hand held out.

  Piers sighed, rummaged in his pocket, and found four coins. She shoved them into a small slot and a metallic door slid back, revealing a tiny bathroom.

  She stepped in. “I won’t be long.”

  He grunted. The door clunked, a brake being released to allow the door to close. She forced a brief smile. The door started moving.

  “It’s four euros each,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes.

  The door was halfway closed. He tapped his pockets, but nothing rattled. With a cry he threw himself into the gap. The door thumped against his chest, pinning his arms by his sides.

  “What are you doing?” she said, trying to push him back out.

  He shoved inward harder. “Stop it, stop it.”

  “I need a shower,” she said.

  “I need one, too.”

  “You can’t be in here while I’m having a shower.”

  “I don’t have any more coins.”

  “So? Get some more.”

  “No! We need to keep a low profile, not advertise ourselves to every shopkeeper in Paris.”

  “And this is keeping a low profile?” she said.

  The metallic door hissed and released the pressure for a moment, hoping to relieve the obstruction. He rotated his body and slipped into the cubicle as the door thumped closed behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  She punched him in the chest. “Now what, Einstein?”

  He looked at the small space. The shower, sink, and toilet were made of a single continuous piece of plastic. The whole room could be washed down. There was a sign on the wall with instructions and a single mirror. He turned around. “I’ll just look away.”

  She punched him in the back. “You better had.”

  He looked at her in the mirror.

  “And not that way. Face the corner, away from the mirror.”

  He turned again. He could still see the mirror from the corner of his eye. She noticed him looking and slapped him over the head.

  “Owww, sorry. I was just—”

  “Just nothing.”

  She pulled off her jacket and threw it over his head. “You can hold my clothes.”

  He left the jacket on his head, and held his hands out. She piled her clothes into his arms. “Don’t drop them.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  “You better bloody not. And no moving that jacket either.”

  He hummed his agreement.

  The shower started and a fan above his head roared into life. The humidity rose and he was hot under her jacket. He flapped the edges to cool himself.

  “You better not be thinking of shaking that jacket off.”

  “I’m hot.”

  “You’re the one who pushed his way in here. Besides, you’re going to have a shower in a minute, so stop complaining.”

  He heard water splashing and forced himself to think of anything but foaming lather draped over her smooth, wet skin. It didn’t work.

  “So, what are you doing in Paris?” she said.

  “I had to update some software in a crane, but now I can’t do it until Saturday. I thought I was going to be able to do some sightseeing.”

  “That sightseeing better not include me. You keep that jacket where it is.”

  “I am. I mean, I didn’t, or wasn’t, I—never mind. What about you?”

  “What about me, what?”

  “What are you doing in Paris?”

  “Long story. Where I lived things were getting worse. Then this guy got all mad with me.”

  “Imagine that.”

  Her voice raised an octave. “I know. Like, what’s all that about? I’m the most easy person to get along with ever, right?”

  His jaw froze up with his mouth half open. His mind raced through answers.

  “Right?” she said, stretching out the word.

  He nodded, trying not to make the jacket fall from his head. “Right, right. I mean, how could that happen?”

  “Yeah, serves him right. Then, afterward, I find out he’s married. His wife just about killed him.”

  Piers hummed his dubious agreement. “Yeah, certainly. Yeah. Serves him right. What was he thinking?”

  “What about you? What about your mummy problem?”

  Piers screwed up his face. “What mummy problem!”

  “Your mum. The woman on the phone. Sounds like she could be trouble.”

  “I don’t have a mummy problem, and she’s not trouble.”

  “Well, sounded like it. She didn’t want to take no for an answer.”

  “She was worried.”

  “We were busy.”

  “I was hardly going to tell her I was too busy with a girl to talk to her, was I?”

  “Could have.”

  “No, I couldn’t.” He put on a falsetto accent, “Hi mum, it’s me, your son. I met this girl in a taxi while this guy died at our feet, and now a bunch of people are going to kill us if we don’t find their painting. Have a nice day.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be stupid about it. Surely, you can tell her you’re talking to a girl without going all weird on her.”

  “I don’t know.”
<
br />   “What do you mean you don’t know? You have had a girlfriend before, haven’t you?”

  “W—”

  “Oh, don’t answer that. I’m done with sob stories for a while.”

  He huffed. “Yeah. This day hasn’t exactly been much fun for some people.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I meant for Auguste. He got shot, remember?”

  She clicked her tongue. “Yeah. Okay. Right … April, too.”

  “Yeah. I wish she had told us more, like where he lived.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No? You know?”

  “It was on that paper.”

  “What paper?”

  “In his wallet.”

  “I went through his wallet. It was just credit card receipts.”

  “There was a piece of paper, too.”

  “You’ve been keeping stuff from me?”

  “No! We’ve been busy, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “For Christ’s sake, you have to tell me everything if we’re going to sort this out.”

  “I have to tell you everything.”

  “Yes.”

  “Right.”

  There was a long pause.

  Piers sighed. “So, where’s the piece of paper from his wallet?”

  “In one of my pockets. You want to see it?”

  “I’m stuck in a shower cubicle, holding your clothes with a jacket on my head.”

  “So, you want to check it later?”

  He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Yes.”

  “Okay, whatever you say.”

  He took another breath. And another. And another. “How much longer?”

  “I’ve got to get clean.”

  He heard her hair slapping against her skin and swallowed. Foaming lather worked its way back into his imagination.

  A couple of minutes later the shower stopped. “Don’t take that jacket off.”

  “I won’t,” he said, slowly, hoping he masked his regret.

  A hairdryer ran, blasting air through the cubicle. It was incredibly powerful for a hairdryer.

  “Are there towels?” he said.

  “No, you just dry yourself with this big blower thing.”

  He closed his eyes, hoping to block out the image of warm air blowing over her body. It didn’t help.

  After a few moments the dryer stopped. She rummaged in the pockets of her jacket without taking it off Piers’ head, and pulled something out. He heard hair being combed until she said, “That’ll have to do.”