Folly Du Jour(85)

‘I’m not sure what you expect me to say. How can I respond to these maunderings? Partner? Who is this partner you rave on about?’

‘The head of the assassination bureau. The undertaker of delicate commissions. Murder with a flourish. That partner. Or should I say – boss? Two compatible services under one roof. The White Rabbit, the jazz club, and its escape hole up here into Wonderland – your part of the organization, I would expect – and then there’s the other. The Red Queen, I suppose we could call it. Wasn’t she the one who rushed around calling “Off with his head”? Or didn’t your perusal of the text take you that far? She was quite insane, you know, and incapable of discriminating. Innocent or guilty, it didn’t matter to her. Heads rolling was all she cared about. And so it is with your partner in crime.’

His voice hardened. ‘I’ve seen his handiwork. Somerton’s head was damned near severed. A youth of sixteen had his living lips stitched together. His sister had her neck broken and her mouth stuffed with banknotes because someone thought she’d spoken to me. Three deaths in as many days! You’re sheltering Evil, Alice!’

‘By God! You haven’t had time to put all this together! Who’ve you been talking to?’ She looked wildly around the room.

‘You’ll be safer with me in my handcuffs, so stop looking at the bell. Every street urchin, every tramp under the bridge will know by this evening what you’ve been up to. It’ll make the morning editions. The authorities may turn a blind eye to whoring but they still disapprove of murder. From this moment, you’re a liability. Perhaps if I left you running loose he’d devise in his twisted, sick mind a way of bumping you off in a spectacular and appropriate way. Let me think now! What could it be? Found strangled with a silk stocking in the bed of Commissaire Fourier? I like that! I’m sure I’d be amused by the headline. Kill two nasty birds with one stone. Alice, you’re finished here. Yes, you’re safer with me.’

She was looking at him in horror. Distanced. Shocked. But still calculating. ‘Safer with you? You’re mad!’

‘Possibly. Leaves you with a narrow choice, Alice. You walk out of the front door with a mad puritan and negotiate your future career or stay behind with a mad sadist and die. Which is it to be?’ He looked at his watch. ‘A taxi arrived just a minute ago in front of the jazz club. I expect your sharp ears picked it up?’

She turned her head very slightly to the window. The thick cream and black curtains and closed shutters reduced the traffic noise on the boulevard to a low murmur.

‘It’s sitting there with the engine idling. We can be inside it and away into the night in thirty seconds.’

Alice had never been indecisive. The last decision he’d seen her take had been witnessed by him down the barrel of a gun. A gun trained on him.

‘Top left drawer of the sideboard,’ she said. ‘There’s a Luger in there. 9 mm. It’s loaded. Eight rounds. Safety’s on. You’re going to have to use it.’





Chapter Twenty-Two


‘Your guard dog’s standing right outside, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. He’s as tough as he looks and he understands English. That’s why I lured you down to this end of the room. Laugh a little, Joe. If you go on snarling at me, he’ll come crashing in.’

She gave a peal of laughter that sounded genuine enough but he couldn’t bring himself to join in. ‘You won’t be allowed to leave here alive, you know. I don’t think we ever expected you’d come here . . . just walk in. Flavius will have sent a message by now . . . To the boss. I’ll be expected to entertain you – to keep you on the premises until he gets here. He’ll want to think up something original for you. It’s high time the police had a warning shot across their bows.’

Joe decided to ignore her bluster and concentrate on the present danger. ‘Tell me about him quickly, your Flavius. Is he a one off or is he at the head of a pack?’

He looked again at his watch.

‘He’s from the south. Not bright but quick enough. Vicious. Ex-Foreign Legion. Knife or gun, he doesn’t mind. He’ll have one of each in his hands at the moment. He’s right-handed. He’ll use the knife if he can – we like to avoid noises up here – but if he has to, he’ll shoot you with his pistol. It’s fitted with a silencer. He’s top house dog but there’s a security staff of four more always on the premises. They are wolves. Two North African, two Parisian. Armed. They have discreet house guns for indoor work. Beretta 6.35s. Last year’s model. At the first sign of trouble, two will go out through the back exit and circle round. Two will come straight down the main corridor to back up Flavius.’