The Quirk (33 page)

Rod hesitated another instant, looking into eyes that were cold but not shifty. He nodded and pulled out the keys and handed them over.

François accepted them with a faint smile. “You’re not the easiest guy I’ve ever dealt with, but at least you’ll listen to reason. Good. Go on back to the Cannebière a little before 9 o’clock. There’s a big cafe right on the corner with a glassed-in terrace like the Flore. You can watch for me in there, but come right out the minute I show. Don’t get cozy over a cup of coffee. I like to keep moving. Right?”

Rod was prepared to shake hands, but François was up and gone without further ado. He turned to Patrice. “The plot thickens. Amazingly enough, I’m beginning to trust the guy. You were right I hope it works this time.”

“I think it will. I’m impressed by him. It seems quite complicated, but he acts as if he knows what he’s doing.”

They had finished their wine by 8:30 and decided to go to the corner cafe and coffee right away in case François turned up earlier than expected. They found the place an excellent observation post Big glass windows offered a clear view of all the activity around the old port. They ordered coffee and paid for it as soon as it was served so that they’d be ready to take off at a moment’s notice. Rod observed the flow of traffic. It moved in waves as it was released by the lights up and down the broad avenue. François might approach from any one of various directions, but Rod assumed he’d pull up just across the sidewalk in front of them, pointing toward Paris. He picked out the door they’d use to get to him. They finished their coffee and kept glancing at their watches. For once, they had nothing to say to each other. The clock behind the bar inside was a few minutes slow by their time. When it said 8:55, Rod shifted in his chair to ease his nerves.

“I deserve something out of this,” he said in a hushed tone. “If we decide to do it again, I certainly won’t come with him. Let him sweat it out on his own.”

“He’ll be here any–”

“There.” They were on their feet and moving toward the door. They crossed the sidewalk and, without thinking, Rod jumped into the front seat and Patrice into the back. They slammed the doors, and the car pulled away.

“Well, what about it?” Rod asked. “Did it work?”

“Of course. I told you it would.”

“You mean you’ll have the $2,000 for me in Paris?”

“That’s the agreement.”

Rod swung around to Patrice. Their eyes gleamed at each other in the light of the traffic. They reached for each other’s hands and squeezed. “OK, monkey?” Rod asked with quiet triumph.

“
Tres
OK,
mon ami.
Don’t you want to be back here?”

Rod gave his hand another squeeze and released it. “It’s better for you to have it all to yourself. You can stretch out and get some sleep. You have to work tomorrow. We can trade when we get close to Paris maybe.” Facing front, he saw that they had turned off the Cannebière and weren’t going in the direction they had come from that afternoon which he had assumed was the main route from Aix to Paris. “What’re we doing now?”

“Just checking to see if we’re being followed. It happened once before. I’ll drive around the center of town for a few minutes.”

“Who would want to follow you?”

“I don’t know. I’ll see in a minute. I know how to shake them.” He turned onto another street and accelerated.

“Why go through all this? Why not just clear out?”

“And take the chance that somebody’ll pick a nice secluded spot along the way to have a little chat? No thanks.”

“Did you collect what you said–your package?” Patrice asked from the backseat.

“That’s what I came for.”

“Where is it?”

“Here. Where you couldn’t find it without pulling a few things apart.”

“I think I’m beginning to know what this is about.” Patrice spoke with unexpected authority.

“How do you mean?” Rod demanded, swinging back to him.

François turned another corner. “This is no time to go into that. It looks as if some people might be asking you questions if I don’t play this right. You don’t know anything. Keep it that way. Here we go.”

“There’s somebody after us?” Rod looked out the rear window and saw a confusion of dimmed headlights.

“Don’t either of you look back, especially the kid back there. Just act as if we’re out for a Sunday drive.” He made a right turn and let the car coast slowly toward a red light that Rod saw controlled traffic crossing the Cannebière. The light changed as they reached the avenue, and François crossed slowly and made an immediate left turn. After a few moments he muttered, “All right, buster. Let’s see how smart you are.” He accelerated and took another fast left turn. Rod’s heart began to beat rapidly. He glanced back at Patrice who was staring straight ahead. François swung out to pass a loitering driver and got back into line within inches of hitting an oncoming car. Lights flashed at them. They were across the Cannebière again and racing. Tires squealed as he took two right turns in quick succession and got the rocking car under control and sped toward a green light. It turned red as they passed it, and the arrested traffic to the right and left surged forward. François clapped a hand on the horn and shot across the avenue for the third time, pursued by a cacophony of horns challenging his. Cars jolted to a halt and leaped forward again. They were safely on the other side. Rod saw François ease himself back in his seat and realized that his own fists were clenched in a spasm of fear and that his nails were digging into his palms. He unfolded his fingers with a great effort, as if they were locked into position, and he took a deep breath.

“That should take care of that,” François said with cool satisfaction.

“I must say, you know how to drive this thing,” Rod said, his voice sounding unsteady. “That was pretty hair-raising.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes–fast but not fast enough to attract attention–through a part of town that combined new blocks and old crooked rows of houses. Traffic was light. They passed cars. A few cars passed them.

“I’ll hit the road that runs along the main port in a minute,” François said as if instructing himself. “I’ll circle around and pick up the road to Aix, and we’ll be on our way.”

They drove on a few more blocks. François kept lifting his head slightly to check the rearview mirror. He slowed down. He sped up. He made a quick turn and turned again and followed a straight downhill street. “Oh, shit,” he said.

“What’s the matter?”

“The fuckers. They’re on us again. Maybe there’re two of them. They must’ve guessed where I was heading.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, it’s all a big dream. I don’t like being out here where it’s so deserted. I’m going to make a run for it.” He pulled the gun out from somewhere in his clothes and placed it between his legs and accelerated. The car lunged forward and careened out onto a wide road. Pure luck ordained that there nothing in their way. “Sorry. I didn’t see that.” The motor roared as François opened it up to its limits.

Rod felt his feet pushing down through the floorboards, his body stiffening, bracing itself. Hands dropped onto his shoulders from behind and held him firmly. He couldn’t tear his eyes off the road. They were racing through a sort of no-man’s land of open storage yards and warehouses. A wire fence ran along the far side, and beyond the warehouses he saw cranes and masts silhouetted against the sky.

“This is dumb,” François said above the roar of the motor.

“They still there?” Rod asked through clenched teeth.

“Gaining a bit. I can’t go faster.”

“I hope not.”

A big truck came around a curve ahead of them, approaching rapidly. They were about to pass each other when François swung the wheel and braked violently. The truck loomed hugely at Rod’s side as he was thrown about in his seat. The air was filled with sounds of disaster, the squeal of tires, the crash of hardware, and they skidded sickeningly across the road. For an instant Rod thought the car had been wrecked, but then it shuddered through gates and picked up speed again.

“Sorry if I scared you,” François said. “That might create a diversion back there.”

Patrice’s hands were no longer on Rod’s shoulders. “You all right, baby?” he asked as soon as he could speak.

“Very well, thank you. I’ve always wanted to be killed in a car crash.” The voice was jaunty. Rod still couldn’t force himself to turn and look at him. They were going fast again across a wasteland toward a group of sheds and warehouses.

“Shit. I didn’t think they’d dare come in here,” François said. “Maybe they’re police.” He accelerated up to full speed again. As they approached the buildings, Rod saw that the area looked like some sort of military installation. Army vehicles were parked near one of the neatly painted buildings. When they reached the first building, François braked violently once more and swung in behind it and pulled the car around in a wrenching U-turn. A man in uniform came running toward them shouting.

“So long, mister,” François said. “We can’t wait.”

They shot out from behind the building and headed back toward the gate and the main road they had so startlingly left. Headlights flashed on in front of them. François flicked his on full and hunched down in his seat and set the car on a collision course. He dropped a hand from the wheel and picked his gun. Headlights rushed at each other, devouring the road between them. All of Rod’s muscles were gathering into an enormous bone-crushing knot. A shout was rising in his throat. His whole body became a scream of protest. It had never been subjected to such torture. He hoped he’d be able to move when it came time to grab the wheel. There were only seconds left. He made a lunge for it just as the other car gave way, and they hurtled past each other with a blast of air that rattled the windows. He heard a small crack somewhere like metal snapping.

“Don’t fool around while I’m driving.” François tapped his hands away with his gun. “You’re apt to get hurt. That was a lousy shot.”

“Shot?”

“Yeah. They nicked the car somewhere.”

“If there’s shooting,” Patrice interjected briskly, “I think we must have a plan. How big is your parcel?”

About the size of two books.”

“I see. Because it
is
two books? I think we should be back in the center of town. There are plenty of people still out.”

“That’s where I’m going if I can get there. The sons of bitches have turned around already.”

“They’re not interested in you. They’re interested in the package. That’s true, isn’t it?”

“As far as I know. Hold on.” He sped through the gates and roared out onto the main road just in front of another truck. Brakes screeched, headlights flashed, but they were off in the direction of town.

“You can’t go on driving like this forever,” Patrice pointed out calmly. “You’ve been lucky, but soon you’ll kill us all.”

“I’ll try to shake them once more. If it doesn’t work, we’ll see.”

“Not if we’re dead. They’re very good at this. Even in the center of town, people will be going home soon. We can stop somewhere safe where there are lights and people–a gas station for instance–but they wouldn’t let us leave. Is that right? You want to keep moving. Pretend to shake them, but drive more carefully.”

“And then what?”

“Then we’ll give them what they want,” Patrice said with decision. He couldn’t permit this to go on any longer. When the truck had loomed over them, he had seen Rod dead in his mind’s eye and had wanted to die with him. He had never felt his responsibility to Rod so intensely and had to get him out of this. “It’s very simple,” Patrice went on. “I’d like to be near the train station. Lead them there. When you’re sure they’re watching, I’ll jump out with a package and they will follow me.”

This severed Rod’s hypnotic preoccupation with the road, and he swung around to the backseat. “Are you out of your mind? Those people were shooting at us. What if they start shooting at you?”

“At the station? I don’t think they will.”

“Anyway, it’s out of the question. Forget it.”

“Don’t worry,
mon ami.
I’m very quick and–”

“Why don’t you call me
chéri?
You always do.”

“But he–I thought–” His smile was radiant even in the dark. “Thank you,
chéri.
That’s very wonderful. Now you must let me do what I say. I think there’s a late-night train to Paris. I know there’s one early in the morning. I’ll be there as soon as you are.”

“OK, then I’ll come with you.”

“No,
chéri.
You must stay with François to see that all goes well in Paris. Besides, alone I will think only for myself and will be very clever. If we’re together, we’ll think more for each other than of the others. That might be dangerous.”

“I don’t care what you say. If you get out of the car, so will I.”

“And you, François. What do you think? Will you do what I say?”

“It’s not a dumb idea. What’ll you have in your package?”

“It will be some clothes carefully folded so that they will look all right at a distance. It’s important for everything to look convincing so that they think they know what we’re doing.” He didn’t think there was any great risk in what he was proposing but wouldn’t have cared if there were. If he could perform one unequivocally unselfish act for Rod, his life would be complete. “If they’re still with us at the station, I’ll jump out. Not right in front of the station. So many people stopping and getting out might confuse them. You know that street that leads up to it with the cheap shops? It’s always crowded. That’s a good place.”