Paris Love Match

Chapter 28





Piers left Bernard’s at three-thirty in the morning. The place was jumping. During the course of his hours at the bar, he’d been propositioned by both sexes and in three different languages. As the night had worn on he started to take it as a sport.

Terry’s All Time was to the west, but he knew Brunwald would track his phone, so he headed east before calling the dictator. The phone was answered on the first ring. Kuznik’s voice rasped slowly from the speaker. “What?”

“I want to talk to Brunwald.”

“Whatever you’ve got to say to him, you can say to me.”

“I’m not going to talk to the monkey when I want to talk to the organ grinder.”

“Don’t piss with me. My knife is one door away from your bitch.”

Piers swallowed. “Put him on, or I hang up.”

“You better have good news or I’m going to open that door and mix things up with your bitch.”

“Put him on.”

There was a silence long enough to make Piers check his phone to see the call was still connected. Finally Brunwald spoke. He was as smooth and polished as ever. “I hear you have something for me.”

“As long as you have something for me.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

“I want to talk to her.”

Brunwald hummed. “After you tell me what you’ve found.”

“Diamonds.”

“Excellent. And where did you found the diamonds.”

“Abandoned at a building site.”

Brunwald hummed. “My men must be loosing their touch. How much do these diamonds weigh?”

Piers sweated. He wasn’t good at guessing weight. “Ten pounds, or thereabouts. They’re sealed in a thick plastic pouch.”

“And where are you now?”

“Put Sidney on.”

Brunwald sighed. There was a long silence finally broken by Sidney’s voice. “Piers?”

“You okay?”

There was a long pause. “Kind of.”

“You’re going to be all right.”

“I’m really sorry, I really am. Don’t do anything stupid. Go to—”

The phone was wrenched away from her, but Piers heard the word “police” before Brunwald came back on.

“Very sweet, but we need to get down to business. Where are you?”

“You know Petit Quai?”

“No.”

“Then get a map and meet me there at 9am.”

“No. We meet now.”

“I need to sleep. Be there at nine. Bring Sidney and have your phone with you.”

“One hint of a problem—”

“Just be there.” Piers hung up. He was sure they had been tracking his calls, and hoped they had got a good fix on his direction. He turned around and sprinted for Terry’s All Time.

Twenty minutes later, sweaty and panting, he arrived at the sad sight of Terry’s twenty-four hour restaurant. The windows were thick with grime and the door had come from a different building and been fitted badly. There was no sign of a blue Citroën parked on the street. Perhaps they had gotten something different. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought of someone being deprived of the car, but it was a necessary evil. Perhaps he could make it up to the owners afterward.

Inside, the café was as dark as its windows. At the rear of the room, swing doors led into a kitchen where he could see steam rising from pots on a cooker.

To Piers’ surprise, the café was full. Men talked in muted voices in groups huddled around small tables. Some were dressed in dirty jeans, some were dressed in suits, but none of them looked like hygiene was a top priority in their daily routine. The voices stopped when the badly-fitted door slammed behind him. He gave an uncertain smile to the faces that turned to look over the stranger in their midst, and headed for the counter at the rear of the room. The men drifted back to their conversations, their voices lower and heads closer.

“Over here,” called Large.

Piers turned to see the pair seated behind a pillar, invisible from the door.

He sat down. “Do you have the stuff?”

Little screwed up his face and hissed Piers quiet. “What you trying to do? Make us look like criminals?”

Large nodded. “Need to order first.”

The swing doors crashed and an obese man in a not-recently-washed T-shirt walked out. He pounded straight to their table, pointed at Piers, and looked at Large. “You know?”

Large nodded. “He’s a friend.”

The obese man slapped Piers on the back. “That good.”

Piers coughed as he tried to regain his breath.

The man grunted. “This no charity. You eat?”

Piers nodded and looked vainly for the menu.

The man slapped Piers on the back. “I bring food. You eat. You pay, yes?”

Piers nodded. “Of course.”

“Good.” The man addressed the restaurant. “It is not always that customers pay so easy.” With that he stamped back through the double doors and Piers heard pots and pans clanking.

“Let me guess: Terry?”

“No. Yakof Something-or-other. He’s Russian. Everyone calls him Terry, but Terry was the previous owner. He just hasn’t got round to changing the sign over the door.”

Little raised his eyebrows. “He’s had a busy eighteen years.”

“Charming guy.”

Large shrugged. “Family came here before the wall came down. He refuses to learn the language, but he cooks a good breakfast.”

“Do you have the car?”

Large nodded toward Little. “His car. Parked out back. Blue Citroën. Old, beat-up. I filled it with gas, in case you have to run far.”

“Your car?” Piers said to Little.

Little grunted. “And don’t you forget it. I want it back without a scratch.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You better, Romeo. It’s paid for and I’m not buying another one.”

“What about the other stuff?”

Large leaned forward. “Scuba gear’s in the back. It’s on loan from a friend. Don’t know what you have in mind, but the tank’s full.”

The swing doors crashed and Yakof Something-or-other thumped down a plate and mug of tea in front of Piers. “You English, yes?”

Piers nodded.

The man gestured to the plate. “I make English breakfast. You eat.”

With that, the man started working his way around the other tables, arguing with his customers and demanding payment for meals. How much the meals cost and how many bills were paid seemed to be something of a sport between the man and his patrons.

Piers ate his breakfast. Bacon, eggs, sausages, and toast, all washed down with hot, sweet tea. It was comforting after the stress of the previous twenty-four hours. The grease settled his stomach.

“You do have a plan, don’t you?” Large said.

“Get Brunwald to hand over Sidney before he gets the money.”

Large frowned. “You’ll be expendable once he has the diamonds.”

“I know. I’m going to be on a bridge. When he spots me, I expect he’ll have his men block off the bridge. Once he’s let Sidney go—”

“You’re going to jump in the Seine,” said Large.

“It’s the only way.”

“The Seine stinks,” Little said.

Piers shrugged. “Nothing much I can do about that.”

“The smell isn’t the only thing,” Large said. “The currents can be wicked.”

“I’m going to float downstream. Pont Saint-Michel has a good ladder out of the water.”

“Wait a minute,” Little said. “You’re going to be dressed in scuba gear and hoping that Brunwald doesn’t notice? You’re nuts.”

Piers flapped his coat. “I’ll cover it with this.”

“And the flippers?”

Piers shrugged.

“You’ve got guts, kid.” Large said.

“Let’s just hope we don’t have to wash them off the sidewalk,” muttered Little.

Large glowered at him before turning back to Piers “What can we do?”

Piers gave a flat smile. “Call the police.”

“That’s all?”

Piers raised his eyebrows. “Well …”