Paris Love Match

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.”

“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.”

“Good. Can I take the jacket—”

“No!”

He felt her lift her clothes from his hands, one by one, then she pulled the jacket from his head. She looked fabulous. Her long curls coiled over her shoulders with devil-may-care abandon. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips bright pink from the heat of the shower.

Her smile hit him full on. It broadened slowly, growing in intensity, spreading outward, lifting the corners of her mouth, pronouncing her dimples, framing the glint in her sparkling eyes. She patted him on the arm. “Thanks.”

He gulped before speaking. “Nits nar nat problem.”

“Huh?”

He gulped again. “Nits not a problem.”

She frowned. “Right.”

He stood awkward for a few moments.

“Well?” she said.

“Well what?”

“A shower. Are you going to have a shower?”

“Yes, right.” He turned to the shower. “Are you going to—”

“Look away? Ewww, yes. Of course.” She turned around to face the same corner as he had. “I’ve got my eyes closed.”

He removed his coat, decided not to ask her to place it over her head as she had done to him, and hung it on a peg on the wall. Then he took his shirt and jeans off and self-consciously folded his boxer shorts inside them. There was nowhere to put them.

“Would you hold my clothes?”

She nodded and held out her arms.

He flipped the lever that started the water. It was lukewarm. The soap was in a push button dispenser and he quickly covered himself in lather. He shivered. “Takes a while to warm up, doesn’t it.”

“You only get one shower for your euros.”

“Oh, thanks. Vital tip that.”

“You were the one that jumped in.”

He tried to keep his back to her. “This is getting bloody cold.”

“Hey, you have a scar.”

“I thought you had your eyes closed!”

“I can’t stand here all this time with my eyes closed. It’s not normal. How did you get your scar?”

“Fell out of a tree and tore up my shoulder when I was young.”

“No, not the one on your shoulder. The one on your bu—”

He crunched up, covering himself. “Do you mind?”

“I was only trying to make conversation.”

The water was freezing now. The overhead fan was still blasting away. He could feel his skin prickling with the cold. He swept a blob of shampoo through his hair and rinsed it away immediately, thrashing his hands to clear the soap off his body. He snapped the tap to off and ran his hands over his body to wipe off the water. “God, I’m cold.”

“Turn on the dryer,” she said.

He pressed the button and nothing. He pressed again. Then he thumped and banged it. Nothing happened. He was shivering uncontrollably. “Oh, god. One shower, one run of the dryer.” He ran his hands over his body, trying to ward off the cold and flicking more water onto the sopping wet floor.

She leaned over to the sink and pulled a handful of paper towels from a dispenser. “Here.”

“Are you closing your eyes at all?”

“Will you stop being a wimp?”

She juggled the towels in her hand and backward-passed them to him. At the same moment his clothes fell out of her other hand.

He dived to grab them from the wet floor. She did the same. Their heads cracked, his eye socket against the back of her skull. A storm of twinkling lights erupted in his vision and darkness threatened to overcome him. He slid down and sat on the floor. “Oh, god, why’d you do that?”

She picked up his clothes from the wet floor. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

He grunted and held his head in his hands.

“Wow. You’ve got abs,” she said.

He sighed. “Everyone’s got abs.”

“Yeah, but not ones you can see.”

He drew his knees up to his chest. “That’s because I’ve got no clothes on.”

“I meant—”

There was an insistent knocking at the door followed by Little’s high-pitched squeak. “You two are wasting time.”

Piers rolled his head forward. “Oh, shit.” The twinkling lights swam around in circles.

“Go away,” said Sidney, “we’re busy.”

“So I can hear. You two lovebirds might be having fun, but you’re wasting time. Get out here.”

“Oh, god. Give me my clothes,” said Piers. He heard a burst of schoolgirl sniggers from outside.

Sidney turned away and held out his clothes. He wiped himself down with the paper towels and wrestled on his clothes. They were wet, he was wet, and they refused to fit, but eventually he was clothed.

He looked in the mirror and flattened his hair. There was swelling around his eyebrow, he could feel and see it.

“What are you going to tell them?” said Sidney.

“Why me?”

“Oh come on, you’re the best at talking to them. You know you are.”

He looked at her and sighed.

She gave a bright smile and waved a scrap of paper. “I’ve got his address,” she whispered.

Piers read it. “You know where this is?”

She nodded as she straightened his jacket. He stuffed the paper in his pocket and pressed the lever that opened the door.

Little and Large were stood outside. The small guy had a smug grin and he sniggered at the sight of them. “Finished, are we?”

“At least they’ve had a shower.” Large said, nudging Little.

Little screwed up his face. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you know, they’re clean.”

“You trying to say I’m not clean? I’m clean. I had a shower this morning.”

“Yeah, this morning, but not every morning.”

“Well, that’s just not … oh, never mind.” The small guy scowled and turned back to Piers. “The boss wants his stuff back.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Exactly what stuff are we talking about?”

“Don’t get all intellectual with me. I don’t go for that sort of thing.”

Large grinned.

Piers said nothing and stared at Little.

The small guy shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Well.”

“Well what?” Piers said. “If we don’t know what the stuff is, how can we give it back?”

“The boss thinks you were in on this. So you must know where it is.”

Piers sighed. “Is this stuff a painting?”

Little squared himself up. “Course it’s the bloody painting.”

“And does this painting have anything to do with the shooting at Gare de l’Est?”

“Oh, whoa! We weren’t there. We didn’t have anything to do with that. Nothing. Understand?”

“So the painting doesn’t have anything to do with that shooting?”

“Well, I didn’t say that. Just that we didn’t have anything to do with what happened up there. Whatever it was. Which we really don’t know about because we weren’t there.”

Large leaned down close to Little’s ear. “They get the idea.”

Piers couldn’t help himself. “Are you two trained killers?”

Little took a half step backward and puffed up his chest. “What kind of question is that? Do you really think I’m going to answer that? Would a trained killer really tell you?”

Large bumped Little on the shoulder. “I haven’t been trained.”

“What? A giant like you? You don’t need training.”

“So, you’re not killers?” Piers said.

“Wait up, lover boy. Let’s just say you don’t want to risk anything breakable in my hands, if you know what I mean.”

Piers blew out a long breath. “Oh yeah, I know what you mean.”

Little gave a smug grin. “I’ll bet you do. So let’s have some results before we have to do something very nasty with you, lover boy.”