Paris Love Match - By Nigel Blackwell Page 0,27
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.”
Chapter 13
Rain forced Piers and Sidney to shelter under the awning of a small shop, but it washed the trash from the gutters, and to Piers’ relief, many of the pedestrians from the streets. He adjusted his jeans. They were still damp from the shower. He pulled out the paper with Auguste’s address. “How far is it to his place?”
Sidney shook her head. “We need to get clean clothes first, or has your nose stopped working?”
Piers shoulders sagged. “I know, but we’re under a little pressure here. Can’t clothes wait?”
Sidney glowered at him and sighed. “Damn you.” She kicked at the ground. “All right. It’s about a mile. But afterward, it’s clothes.”
“Okay. Excellent. We can walk.”
“Haven’t you noticed the wet stuff coming down?”
“I’m still wet from the shower. Besides, I am not taking another taxi.”
Sidney adjusted her collar and prepared to step out into the rain.
“Oh, wait,” said Piers, “the police might be there.”
She gave him a glum look.
He thought the situation over for a moment. “Still, the police are everywhere.”
“Right. So, we’re going?”
“We could. But is this the best time? Won’t there be lots of people about?”
“So, you don’t want to go?”
“Well, there’s the police, and the people, and they’re probably guarding his house and—”
“Do you want to bloody go or not?”
Piers stood with his mouth half open and his brow furrowed, staring at her. “Errrr.”
She threw her hands up. “All right, we won’t go.”
He shook his head. “No, no. I think we should go. I don’t want to, but we have to.”
“Really? Because I don’t want to rush you into anything.”
“No, no, definitely, let’s go.”
Sidney readjusted her collar and they walked down a road lined with cafés. Striped awnings kept the patrons dry as they enjoyed their coffee and croissants. Piers watched as she passed nonchalantly through the tables and chairs, sweeping an umbrella from a man’s chair before stepping back out onto the sidewalk.
Piers caught up with her as she popped the umbrella open. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Keeping dry.”
“That was somebody’s umbrella.”
“Someone’s” she said, stressing the one. “Somebody means some dead body, and I’m pretty sure dead bodies don’t use umbrellas.”
Piers scowled. “Even if they did, you’d nick it off them.”
“I’ll give it back,” she said, shaking her head with her wide eyes staring at him.
“You don’t think the guy might want it, like, now, when the rain’s coming down? Or that he might call the police?”
“Oh, stop it.” She moved to one side of the umbrella. “Share?”
Piers huffed “no,” and carried on in the rain. After a moment, he slicked his wet hair back, muttered to himself, and moved under the umbrella.
She smiled at him. “Doesn’t that feel better?”
“It was—”
She held her finger over his mouth. “Da da da. No more complaining. I need to look after you. Especially