They’d respect him.
Twenty feet away, Sacha swung his arms out like a diver… then stopped abruptly and turned back, his eyes dancing.
‘Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s make another bet.’
Antoine’s hand tightened on the gun.
He couldn’t understand any of this. Why wasn’t he afraid? Didn’t he care that he was about to die? It made no sense.
Antoine didn’t like things that didn’t make sense.
‘What? Now?’ Anger made his voice high-pitched. He forced it down a register. ‘You’re about to smash your face into the ground and you want to renegotiate?’
‘Yeah,’ the boy said with cool determination. ‘Right now.’
Muttering a litany of colourful swear words, Antoine lowered the gun and switched on the torch he held in his left hand.
Its bright, white light revealed the warehouse roof, littered with dirt and rubble. In the distance he could just make out the hulking shapes of other warehouses, along with the parked lorries and rubbish bins that marked this unlovely suburb of Paris.
During the day the area would be crawling with workers, but not at this hour. They were alone save for the rats crawling in from the harbour and the pigeons cooing their complaints from the rafters beneath their feet.
‘What do you want to bet now, when you’re about to die?’ Antoine growled.
Reaching into his pocket, Sacha pulled out his phone. ‘First, I need you to hold this. My mum just bought it for me and she’ll kill me if I break it.’
Antoine waved the gun. ‘I don’t give a shit about your…’
‘Tsk.’ Sacha tapped his index finger against his lips. ‘Language. I’m not done yet. As part of the bet, you take the phone. Then I’ll jump, since you really, really want me to. But I won’t die. Instead, I’ll get up and go home. When I do, you’ll give me my phone back, forgive all my debts and give me 500 euros for my trouble.’ He rocked back onto his heels, eyes daring Antoine to refuse. ‘Have we got a deal?’
Antoine barked a laugh, although he wasn’t finding any of this funny. The gun twitched in his hand.
‘You really think you’re ever using a phone again? Can dead fingers dial?’
Looking increasingly bored, Sacha dusted his hands against the legs of his faded jeans. ‘Do you take the bet or not?’
Antoine stopped laughing.
He knew from long experience that Sacha would bet on anything. He didn’t care if he lost – that’s why he was here now. Sacha had cost him money, a lot of money, messing around with the kinds of guys who don’t like being messed with.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him but if Sacha hated life so much, Antoine would do him the favour of helping him part with it. He’d outlived his usefulness anyway.
Maybe that would appease the men who were after him now because of Sacha’s little stunts.
‘Sure.’ Antoine shrugged. ‘I’ve got nothing to lose making a bet with a dead boy. It’s a deal. I’ll meet you downstairs with your phone and the money. All you have to do is jump and then get up from your grave and take them from me.’
‘Great.’ Sacha looked pleased. ‘I’ll do that.’
He held out the phone. For a second, Antoine hesitated, sensing a trick. The boy could grab his arm; throw him over the edge.
But he’d known Sacha for more than a year. He’d never seemed the type. He was actually a good kid. He just didn’t care who he pissed off.
Shoving the torch into his pocket, Antoine picked his way across the roof to where Sacha stood waiting.
‘Come on, come on,’ he said, waving the phone. ‘I don’t have all night.’
Reaching out gingerly, Antoine plucked the device from his hand and scuttled back out of reach.
Sacha shot him a look that said he knew Antoine was more scared than him.
Antoine’s face darkened.
‘Enough talking.’ He took a step back and raised the gun. ‘Now, smart-ass. Jump.’
‘OK.’ Sacha said.
Then he jumped.
He jumped with no hesitation, no trace of fear. He didn’t scream. In fact, he made no sound at all; the leap was chillingly silent. The last thing Antoine saw was the top of his head, a mop of sandy brown hair blown by the wind as he fell.
Stunned, Antoine reeled backwards. ‘Merde. He did it.’
As he stared at the empty space where Sacha had just been standing, some part of him felt a twinge of regret. He was brave, that kid.
Stupid. But brave.
Whirling, he ran across the rubble-strewn roof to the staircase, hurtling down the wide, cement steps, half-laughing in nervous shock.
He’d offered Sacha a range of options. Payment plans. Deals. He could apologise to the guy whose sports car he’d stolen and wrecked. Make it up to him. Do some work for him.
But he said he wanted to die. In the end, Antoine had agreed mostly to see what he’d do when it came right down to it. The whole time he thought the kid was gaming him. Playing him. That in the end he’d admit it was another big joke.