The Stiff Upper Lip (22 page)

“Keep it, Cage,” said Valérie.

“Keep what?”

“There's a check in that envelope, isn't there? Keep it. We earned it.”

I noticed the
we
.

I looked at the envelope, then at the publisher, but he only had eyes for the product of his masculinity. The Embassy man had crossed his legs and was making a show of examining his fingernails.

“Come on, Cage,” said Valérie, taking the envelope from my hand. “We've got things to do.”

She stuck the envelope in my pocket, took my arm, and we left them. I don't think they noticed.

We walked toward where I'd left the Giulia a few short centuries ago. The streetlights were already on. The windshield of the Giulia was plastered over with parking tickets, and it was only an act of God that they hadn't towed it away.

“You set it all up, didn't you?” I said. “Including the meeting upstairs?”

“I thought you'd been gone long enough,” was all she answered.

I started to ask her how she'd found me, but I knew what her response would be: secrets of the profession.

“Well,” I said, “it looks like I'm in your hands. What happens now?”

“Have you forgotten? That day on the road? You called it a beautiful idea.”

“No, I haven't forgotten. But there were two beautiful ideas.”

“But only one of them mattered,” she said.

I remembered all right. I kissed her for openers, next to the Giulia. I could feel the grin spreading again inside me, and it met no obstacles.

Only then it did.

I was feeling around in my pockets.

“Shit,” I said. “The car keys. I must have left them upstairs.”

I turned to go back, but she held on to me.

“Wait a minute, Cage,” she said.

The dimples had creased at the corners of her mouth. She opened her fist and dangled them at me.

“It's cold,” she said. “Let's get going.”

I took the keys from her, and we went.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1978 by J. Leon Israel

Cover design by Mimi Bark

ISBN: 978-1-4532-9394-2

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