by Mj Roë
“I don’t know. Oh là! Someone just left the building. It may have been Charlie.”
“Did it look like him?”
“Same size.”
“Then I’d better have a look.”
He was already putting on his jacket.
“Be careful, Lobo.” Elise watched as he opened the door and moved quietly and stealthily through the courtyard. The Portuguese pet name she had given him suited him well. He was an old man now, but he reminded her of her late husband in so many ways. The way he didn’t make a sound when he moved. They both had learned that during the war.
He was too late to save the blow from coming, but he saw it happen in the shadows of the dampened, dark street. The only sound interrupting the calm was the incessant shrieking of the car’s siren.
A large, bulky man had hit Charles-Christian on the head with a heavy object, felling him immediately.
For a Corsican, he should have been taught to watch out for himself better, Diamanté thought. Without making a sound, he crept up behind the person tampering with the car, simultaneously kicking the back of the man’s knees to bring him down to the ground and taking the man’s tool away from him.
“Salaud! Get the hell out of here! Or I kill you.” He slammed the tool into the thief’s head. He couldn’t make out a face in the dark.
Reeling from the blow, the perpetrator tried to get up, then staggered down the street after his accomplice. The car alarm suddenly quit blaring.
Meanwhile, unaware of Diamanté’s presence and unable to see anything through the blur of blood pouring down his forehead and into his eyes, Charles-Christian braced himself against a wall, pulled himself to his feet, staggered, then turned and ran back into the apartment building.
Diamanté silently followed him through the heavy door, crossed the secluded courtyard, and reentered Elise’s apartment.
“It was him. He was hit on the head, but he will be all right,” he told her. “He can still move.”
Elise was alarmed. “But who?”
“I think just car thieves. Look at this.” He showed her the bloody tool. It was an ordinary set of pliers. “But it could be something else. We should keep our watch at the window for a bit longer, just in case they come back.”
The old couple watched in the darkness, like worried, protective parents waiting on the end of a child’s first date.
Bloodied and holding his head, C-C entered his apartment.
“What happened?” Anna raised her hand to her mouth in horror as she saw the blood spurting from the cut above his eye.
“It’s only a minor cut. Not serious. The head just bleeds a lot. We have to get out of here. Get your coat.” C-C turned off the CD and grabbed his medical bag, which was sitting by the door. Then he did an odd thing. He opened the tin box that his mother had left him, took out Anna’s letters, stuffed them in the bag, and handed the box to Anna. “Keep this for me. We may not be seeing each other for a while.” He turned off the lights in the apartment and peered cautiously through the window as he held a towel to his bleeding head.
“But what is going on? I want to know, C-C.” Anna was terrified. “Charles-Christian Gérard, what are you mixed up in?”
He turned around to her. “It is not illegal, if that’s what you are thinking. I was involved with something having to do with my profession…that I can’t talk about. Maybe someday I will be able to tell you. In any case, here’s the plan. We will use the back exit to the street, then find a hotel where we can call a taxi. If we’re not followed, we’ll take you to rue Beaujon. If we are, we’ll go to the hospital. You can take a taxi from there.”
“But who would be following us?”
“That’s just it…I don’t know exactly.”
It wasn’t long before Elise and Diamanté, watching from the concierge’s apartment window, saw C-C, holding a towel to his head, guide a young woman through the lower courtyard. The two exited via the heavy back door that Elise always used as her entrance to the building.
“I’d better follow them,” Diamanté said.
Elise nodded in approval. “Is there anything I should do?”
“No. Try to go back to sleep,” he said, tenderly placing his hand on her shoulder. Then he added as he put on his black beret, “Jacques should have trained his son better.”
The street was deserted as C-C led Anna toward a small hotel on rue Saint-Jacques. They caught a rare taxi sitting idle outside the hotel; once inside, they were able to speak.
“Will you do something for me…tomorrow?” C-C asked her.
Anna nodded.
“I don’t want Elise to worry. Go back to the apartment building and see her. Tell her I have left for Africa again. Give this to her.” He handed Anna a wad of hundred-franc notes. “It will cover my rent for a while.”
Anna watched the blur of the buildings racing by through the taxi’s window. Her head was spinning. This all seemed surreal. She looked at C-C. His skin was pale, his eyes slightly glazed.
“But where will you go?”
He sat in silence. He was cold, light-headed. His pulse rate was too fast. His hands and feet were clammy. He was diagnosing his own initial symptoms of shock. The towel was soaked with blood. He knew he needed to get to the hospital.
They arrived at rue Beaujon. C-C pulled Anna close, assuring her as he kissed her hand, “This is not adieu. We are destined to see each other again. I will get word to you.”
“Take care of yourself, C-C,” Anna said as she got out and stood by the taxi. She held her hand to the taxi window. From the inside, C-C pressed his hand to the glass against hers. The taxi pulled away, and he was gone. Tears streamed down Anna’s face as she stood alone in the deserted street.
CHAPTER 38
“Où allez-vous, Monsieur? À quelle direction?” The taxi driver hesitated before entering the mostly deserted place Charles de Gaulle.
In the rear seat, C-C checked his watch. It was just two o’clock in the morning. The first train of the day, he knew, wouldn’t depart for Nice until almost eight o’clock. He checked to make sure no one was following them from behind. How many times had he done that tonight, every night? Would he even know if there was anyone there? And what could he do about it, anyway? Run away, like he was doing now? He needed to think clearly. He had to stop by the hospital and get the duffel bag he had kept there in case of just such a situation. He would leave instructions for his patients, too. He knew that he couldn’t depart abruptly like he had on August 31. He was severely reprimanded for that when he returned. He had to give the hospital a good reason this time. Maybe he could take the vacation he didn’t have in August? But he needed to be careful. What if they were waiting for him there?
Who are “they,” anyway?
C-C had grown weary of the endless looking over his shoulder. Then there was the thought of Anna. He could still smell the lingering scent of her.
Maybe I shouldn’t leave, he thought.
He looked out the window at the street behind them. The thought of losing Anna again mortified him. He opened his cell phone in his confusion, and closed it again.
What would be the use of talking to her now? What could I tell her?
His head throbbed. A warm trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. He felt weak.
Better get this looked at.
The taxi had not moved.
“Beh…alors…mais regardez!” The driver pointed to the ticking meter. “Enfin.” The man threw up his arms in aggravation. “Où allezvous, Monsieur?”
“La Pitié-Salpêtrière.”
CHAPTER 39
Charles-Christian arrived at La Pitié-Salpêtrière distressed and in pain. He went first to the trauma center, where he found someone to stitch and bandage the wound over his temple, and then he showered and changed into a clean shirt and trousers. He grabbed the already-packed duffel bag from his locker and, noting Anna’s book sitting on the top shelf, stuffed it into a side pocket. Next, he went to find the new Chef d’
Urgences. She had recently replaced the former chief who had reprimanded him. He got along well with her.
“It is time for a vacation,” he told her.
To his surprise, the woman agreed with him.
“So I’ve noticed, Dr. Gérard,” she said scrutinizing his bandaged head with her close-set, beady eyes. “You have looked stressed and drawn lately. Take some time for yourself. Enjoy the holiday…away from Paris, if you can.”
Away from Paris, if you can, he repeated to himself an hour later as he stood in line at the guichet of the Gare de Lyon in the twelfth arrondissement. He bought a ticket for the 7:54 TGV to Nice. Over a thousand kilometers away from Paris. The trains à grande vitesse traveled at speeds up to three hundred kilometers per hour. He looked at his watch. The trip would take over three hours. At least he would get some much-needed sleep. Then he would rent a car and drive the twenty kilometers to Castagniers. He pondered what it would be like to be face-to-face with his father again. He had called Jacques from the hospital phone to tell him to expect him this evening. He bought a Monday morning newspaper and settled himself into a corner seating area in the ornate passenger terminal. He took off his heavy winter coat, put it, his duffel bag, and his medical kit on the seat beside him, and then lit a cigarette and looked around casually.
The first travelers of the day were lined up to purchase cafés au lait, croissants, and tartines from a vendor’s cart. The station smelled of cigarette smoke, fresh strong coffee, and diesel fuel, all of which were overpowered at times by pungent human smells courtesy of the assortment of derelicts who had made the station their bedroom overnight. Out near the platforms, the orange-colored TGVs awaited their departures for southern France, the Alps, Switzerland, Italy, and Greece.
Charles-Christian opened the newspaper and buried his head in it. It would provide camouflage, if needed, and diversion for the next hour or so until the train’s loading time was announced.
A man sat down in the seat next to him. He placed a small, tattered valise on the floor between his feet. Charles-Christian continued reading his paper and ignored him. In the background, loudspeakers announced the times of the first departures of the day in French, English, German, and Italian.
“You should watch yourself, mon ami. You should have seen the man before he hit you.” The voice was low and raspy, the accent familiar.
Charles-Christian lowered his newspaper slightly and peered over the top. The man was in his midseventies. He was wearing a black beret. His wolf-like eyes were not looking at Charles-Christian, but studying the surroundings as if searching for prey. Charles-Christian’s eyes narrowed.
“What? What are you doing here?” he said in a low voice.
“Don’t look at me. I made your father a promise. You are going to Nice, aren’t you?”
Charles-Christian nodded.
“I am also. I’ll find you once we board.” Diamanté Loupré-Tigre stood and picked up his valise. As if they had not spoken at all, he wandered off noiselessly.
CHAPTER 40
Exhausted and head pounding from the wound, Charles-Christian boarded the Nice-bound train. He found a seat and didn’t even bother to look around the sparsely occupied car. No one sat in the seat next to him.
Further down the platform, Diamanté waited, as always on the alert for signs of anyone following him. When he had reassured himself that it was safe to board, he chose the car behind the one Charles-Christian had just entered.
At the back of the train, a man waited, watching. When he was sure that Diamanté had not seen him, he boarded the train and took a seat in the very last car.
At just before eight o’clock, the cars lurched and the train began to slowly move out of the station. Charles-Christian relaxed a bit and looked out the window at the dark Paris streets. It was drizzling again, and there would be a possibility of light snow during the day. The temperature had fallen overnight. Au revoir, Paris. Au revoir, Anna. The gentle, quiet movement of the car rocked him almost immediately to sleep.
When he awoke, it was light outside, a dark gray light. The train was moving fast through the lifeless winter countryside. Rain streaked across the windowpanes. He pulled himself up in his seat and looked around him. The car was still mostly empty. There was, however, an occupant in the seat beside him. Diamanté was looking at him.
“You really should be more alert, mon ami. I could have easily robbed you while you slept.”
Charles-Christian rubbed his eyes like a small child.
“Do you want something to eat?” Diamanté handed him a bag of pastries. Charles-Christian chose a croissant au chocolat and bit into it. He still said nothing.
“I had a call from your father. He told me that you were arriving in Castagniers today. I guessed you would be taking the first train this morning to Nice. It wasn’t hard to find you in the gare.”
“Did my father ask you to tail me?”
“I made a promise to your father…after the events of August 31…that if they let you go, I would protect you. We Corsicans always keep our promises.”
“Protect me from what? Whom?”
“Have you noticed anyone following you?”
“No, but I have sensed it. There have been some…” Charles-Christian hesitated, “incidents.”
“Like the time your car was forced off the road?”
“How did you know about that?”
“I saw it happen. It was an unmarked car. Hard to determine who was behind the wheel.”
“So you have been following me too?”
“Jacques and I have a pact. He agreed to take over the running of my restaurant. I agreed to protect you. When we Corsicans are needed somewhere, we are there. Elise, my brother’s widow, has been harboring me in her apartment. I think she enjoys the company. I try to remember to bring her flowers every week.”
Charles-Christian had noticed flowers in the concierge’s window of late. It had also occurred to him that Elise had seemed happier, more animated, especially recently.
“You did me a great favor when you approached her about the empty apartment in her building, you know,” Diamanté went on, chuckling quietly. “It made it a lot easier to keep track of you.”
“She emerges from her ground-floor lair every time I leave or enter the building,” Charles-Christian said. Diamanté gave him an indifferent look. “She’s very vigilant. There’s no way to escape without her noticing. Why didn’t you just tell me you were in Paris?”
“There was no need to worry you. In a while, if I thought you had proven that you could take care of yourself…”
“But you don’t think I can take care of myself.”
Diamanté shrugged his shoulders. “You confirmed that last night, mon ami.”
“So you have been following me…everywhere? Did you follow me to Rouen yesterday? If you did, I never saw you.”
“I was quite a ways behind. Pretty lady you had with you.”
Charles-Christian was suddenly reminded of the relationship between Anna and this man. He studied him closely. If he was her grandfather, the resemblance between the two was hard to see.
“Did you know I talked to my father from Rouen then?”
“He told me this morning. I think he is glad you are going to see him. It’s hard for fathers sometimes to admit they were wrong. He wants to have his son back. I don’t know what happened between you. He never said. We Corsicans don’t believe in speaking of personal matters. I don’t ask now.”
Charles-Christian was silent for a few moments. Something was bothering him. “What did you mean when you said I should have seen the man before he hit me?”
“Just that. You are a Corsican. Your father should have trained you to be more alert. I told him that on the phone this morning. I heard the car siren last night. Elise saw you leave the building. By the time I got outside, you were on the ground, dead out. I chased the two away. You never saw me in the darkness.”
“I guess I owe you that. It didn’t even occur to me that
there would be two of them. I was pretty stupid thinking I could take on even one mec by myself, hein?”
“Agreed.”
“Do you think they were thieves? I guessed they were tampering with my car.”
“I don’t know exactly. I grabbed the tool the mec was using and hit him hard with it.” Diamanté chuckled again. “He retreated, le lâche. The other one did, too. Just before you came to and ran back into the building.”
“I got clobbered pretty good. They put several stitches in my head at the hospital.” Charles-Christian rubbed his bandage.
“I hope the mec I hit had to have three times as many.” For the first time, Diamanté almost smiled at him. His voice softened. “I checked your car. It’s all right. Whatever they intended to do to it, they didn’t succeed. Doesn’t mean they won’t try again, mind you. You should get rid of it when you get back to Paris.”
A vendor came through the car selling espressos. Diamanté bought one. He took a sip of the strong, black coffee and grimaced. “It was a setup, you know,” he said. “Narbon and I went our separate ways. I took the train to Paris. I haven’t seen him since. Nor has Jacques. At first I intended to go back to my restaurant, but Jacques was very concerned about you.” He took another sip of the coffee. “When we ran, we didn’t look back. There weren’t many people on the pier. I saw only a young woman. We watched for any news about the incident for days. Nothing. All that was broadcast were the scenes of the accident and the funeral in London.”
“Why do you think it was a setup?”
“I don’t know. I got this call to activate the old escape line. It was similar to calls I receive from time to time. One doesn’t question, but one has to be careful. Sometimes…in my line of work… one can be…well…I let down my guard. Merde.” He spat.
“Do you have any idea now who it was?”
“Non. Pas du tout.” Diamanté shook his head and kept his eyes diverted from Charles-Christian’s as he glanced around the car. The train slowed for a moment, then crossed a bridge and speeded up again. “I hope it wasn’t too difficult for you,” he said.