Bleeding. Got to stop the bleeding. It won’t matter if they heard you if you bleed to death first. I swept the glass from in front of the door and closed it quietly. I was in a small hallway next to the kitchen. I went to the sink to tend my bleeding hand.
I’d watched Courtney slam the alley entrance of the maison a few minutes earlier, wearing the white dress and with cotton sack in hand, and I didn’t know for sure if the house was empty. I did know however that the last place I’d seen my spare identification was when I’d changed shirts in the big main room of this house. I’d thought I had put my super-secret-under-shirt travel pocket in the sack with my sweatshirt, but when I looked later that evening it wasn’t there. With the police in possession of my wallet and computer I had no way to get more identification, and I didn’t really want to ask them to give my stuff back.
I ran cold water over the wound, which was excruciating, and picked some small shards of glass from it. I was cut across the thumb from about the middle of my palm to my watch. I’d wrapped my sweatshirt around my hand before poking it through the small glass pane nearest the lock, but unfortunately the glass was old and it broke into several large pieces, one of which cut through the shirt and sliced my hand. I undid the lock and let myself in, but I was bleeding badly.
I tore the shirt into a bandage by pulling with my good hand and standing on it with one foot. It was sufficient to stop the bleeding but my hand still throbbed beneath the dressing. I went back to the door and wiped the blood and glass from the floor. Picking the remaining shards from the broken pane made the door look not quite so violated, so I nervously tossed the shredded shirt into the rubbish bin and headed into the main room.
I’d debated just asking Courtney to give my pocket back, but I when I found her place the police car and Officer Blotch changed my mind. I waited quietly in a small cafe across the street from the end of the alley, and after about thirty minutes Blotch left. Courtney watched her leave through the kitchen window, and she appeared at the back door immediately afterward. I was wondering where she was going when, after a fruitless search of the library, sitting room and the huge golden dining room, I decided absent-mindedly to look upstairs.
At the top of the stair, which wrapped itself around one corner of the ballroom, there was along six foot wide hallway with a remarkable hand-woven carpet extending down the center. It was blood red with ornate middle eastern- looking weavings. There were several doors, some of which were closed and a few which were standing open. The hall was lit by two chandeliers which hung dimly from the 14 foot ceiling. I stepped lightly past the two closed doors and peeked through the hinge-crack into the second room.
It was a computer! I was so excited I’m sure I said “Yes!” out loud. It looked old, but it was running that corny “flying windows” screen saver so I knew it had to be at least a 286, and getting around in windows is a snap, even a français. I jumped into the seat and started pointing, clicking and typing. It was excellent. Whoever used this rig had a dial-up account with some local provider, and it was loaded with several programs I’d seen before. Most importantly it logged itself in. No passwords or anything, it was completely unprotected.
That was good. I found a chat program, piped in a fake IP, logged in as “j’ennui” and started cruising rooms. Finally I found a likely room and joined. It was called “ooM- n0 chaT” and sure enough, there was the person I wanted to see. He jumped on me right away.
l0_zro—- Whoz on my channel pozing az a frend?
j’ennui—- It’s me, Z.
The server panel lit up as he ran down the IP address on the machine. There was some lag time, but he was back quickly.
l0_zro—- u r n Paris. whoz Andrew?
That kid is dammed good. The IP I’d listed is in Singapore, but he found me anyway- in less than 10 seconds.
j’ennui—- Dunno. Got a minute?
l0_zro—- U no the deel. Give…
I sighed. He’s so melodramatic.
j’ennui—- rainy daze and sundaze
l0_zro—- always suck
The kids in the cult have always been clique-ish, but Zero’s simply paranoid. The pass-phrase always struck me as clandestine and kitschy, but he was right…
j’ennui—- c?
l0_zro—- K. U no I gotta check.
j’ennui—- y? U hot again?
l0_zro—- fuk dat
l0_zro—- what about n0teK?
j’ennui—- no worries. dun deal
l0_zro—- the man still waiting.
j’ennui—- I know. Need a favor.
l0_zro—- Trouble?
I thought for a minute. I didn’t want him to get too worked up, but I couldn’t think of any other way to put it.
j’ennui—- Need credit and id
There was a long lag. Or he didn’t know what to say. At the very least I think he had his face in his hands. He came back with an attitude.
l0_zro—- ur supposed to be in the air… the man don’t wait.
j’ennui—- work with me
l0_zro—- u cant do this 2 me
j’ennui—- im stuck
l0_zro—- don’t fuk w me
j’ennui—- c’mon, z
There was no reply.
j’ennui—- who gotcha into ticketmaster?
l0_zro—- not
j’ennui—- who gotcha the nexus key?
l0_zro—- ur zoomin me
j’ennui—- who gotcha the form sequence?
There was another lag before he came back.
l0_zro—- they still think I rote it
j’ennui—- z, I need help
l0_zro—- the man don’t wait
I hesitated. I hate playing tough with people. And it wasn’t really like Z to be pushing me. He pretty much dislikes everybody, and he almost never likes his clients. But I only work for money, and Z works for principles. I much prefer to be reliable and easy…. And sometimes you gotta do whatcha gotta do.
j’ennui—- the man will wait. I have the numbers.
j’ennui—- I can forget them. Or you can help.
l0_zro—- can’t help ur 2 hot
j’ennui—- how do u know?
l0_zro—- watchin the nexus. don’t read french tho. they want u
j’ennui—- I know. No biggie.
l0_zro—- u have the numbers?
j’ennui—- yes.
l0_zro—- gotta getum
j’ennui—- I know. can’t leave
l0_zro—- da man is there
j’ennui—- he saw me last night
l0_zro—- hold on
I sat back for a minute and let myself relax. Not much, just enough to once over the room. It was beautifully paneled, dark and wet – a cherryish brown, but not too red, and tastefully decorated, not like the ballroom. This was someone else’s work.
As I scanned the bookshelves I saw an incredible selection of literature. The titles spanned hundreds of subjects from hardbound Niven to a handwritten copy of a work by Bacon which I’d never seen. I’d never heard of many of the titles even though the author’s names were familiar. I was perusing a book of notes written in german when I remembered the Zero.
l0_zro—- u there?
l0_zro—- u there?
l0_zro—- u there?
l0_zro—- HEY!
l0_zro—- Fuk u I no ur there
j’ennui—- Sorry
l0_zro—- they meet you
j’ennui—- no. Help me
l0_zro—- You gotta go, they bring YOUR id
j’ennui—- say what?
This was most uncool. My ID meant somebody on the inside was involved. Somebody here was riding a fence and I knew it wasn’t me. If the man has somebody on the inside of the Paris PD it meant they were not only cops but crooked cops. And where there’s one there’s always more.
l0_zro—- they will clear you.
j’ennui—- sounds like magic beans, Z
l0_zro—- str8 up
j’ennui—- Why do they want to help me?
l0_zro—- he sez your rig is 2 tite 2 crack
j’ennui—- hehehe
l0_zro—- they have a guy inside
j’ennui—- duh, Z
l0_zro—- str8 up
j’ennui—- I dunno
I didn’t want to blow this deal, but it was way to good to be true. I usually stay away from traitorous types. They are by definition untrustworthy. I waited long enough to quick mental check of Spillane’s how to meet dangerous strangers.
I couldn’t pass a chance to get my rig back.
j’ennui—- I get my rig AND my id or no deal
l0_zro—- don’t push ur luck
j’ennui—- I can wipe the card right here
The server window blinked and flashed it’s new member message.
[SERVER] noTek~noone@user-168.121.66.666.dialup.mindspring.com has joined this channel…
I knew I had about ten seconds before “No Tech” could find the IP address to finger me. Time to shuffle now.
j’ennui—- i’m elvis. manyana 2100 20:goto10 ooM, z
I hit the crtl+alt+delete combo and the screen flashed off momentarily before the speakers popped and the system began to re-boot. The only thing No- Tech would be able to track was the Singapore account, which I’d snagged from a cellular modem in Vegas. I didn’t know whose it was, but it wasn’t traceable to me. I leaned back in the soft leather chair and started thinking of which log files I had to delete to cover my trail. How No-Tech found us bothered me but I didn’t get a chance to put it together just then.
“So, what does twenty-go-to-ten mean?”
The voice from behind me scared me so badly I jumped from the chair and fell backward onto the computer, which beeped indignantly.
She walked over to the over-stuffed chair and removed the matches from the ashtray which stood next to it. Then she lifted a match and spoke as she puffed it to life.
“I thought that was your sweatshirt….” She shook the match out and tossed it into the ashtray. “And when I saw the door I thought it might be your handiwork.” Then she plopped down in the chair and exhaled a long smokey breath that billowed out and swirled to a haze in the still air.
“Did you know the police are looking for you?” she asked. I let out a short laugh and a smirk, but didn’t say anything. She continued, “I came in the front. I might have missed the pantry door if you hadn’t left a bloody sweatshirt in his trash.”
“Uh, whose trash, Courtney?” I asked. She was taking this really well, I thought.
“I’ll ask the questions,” she said, “So what did you do this time?”
“I told you I’m allergic to guys with badges.”
“You saw the cops were here? She wasn’t a guy.” She smiled, “Besides, we’re not talking about a blind date, this is the Paris Police Department. They have a real thing about winning.” She flicked the ash from her cigarette. “Especially toward americans. I think it has something to do with those Pink Panther movies.”
I didn’t want to get my hopes up but that sounded like a joke. Joking is good. She didn’t seem like the type to joke and kill. Instead she got up and closed the door.
“We need to talk,”she said. “Andrew said you are an old friend of Valaire’s. But you don’t act like any of them.” We locked into a stare.
There was an ineffable quality to her eyes, which gave me the feeling I was speaking with someone far smarter than I’d thought of her before. She’d seemed to be a hanger-on, one of those who tastes of the high-life by attaching herself to others and riding along. She wasn’t the trampy sort, rather the independent that will tell you something when she’s damned well ready, and doesn’t really care much about what anyone else thinks. She managed to keep her independence just far enough from the surface that men would find her venerable and women would see her as a tramp, which she played as an advantage.
“What’s your deal?” she asked. “You don’t even know do you?”
“Know what?”
“Why you’re here.”
“I know why I’m here, but why do you think I’m here?”
“I think you’re here because it’s the only place you can be.” she said.
“What? I’ve got business here… ”
“Obviously.”
“What’s your point?”
“Well, it proves you’re where you should be all the time…”
I started singing, “And when you’re not you’re with, some un…”
“Stop. Do you know what they’re saying about you? Do you know about the Travelers?”
“The who?” I wanted to know what she knew so I tried playing dumb again.
“I thought so… wow, what a trip.”
“You lost me.”
“Andrew said you are very important to Valaire.”
“What? Andrew? What does your boyfriend know of me?”
“At the risk of sounding cliché,” the door said, “I probably know a great deal more about you than you know about yourself.” It swung open and he walked from the hallway into the room, looking quite different from the way I remembered him in the disco. And he seemed to be somewhat glad to see me.
There was almost a professional demeanor about him. He was freshly shaved and decked out in a grey suit which gave him a dignified appearance. There was no trace of the drool tattoo. He was like someone else, except for the tranquil tone he took.
“It does seem I’ve heard it before,” I said.
“What doesn’t? Wait,” he held up his hand, “don’t answer that. I think I know.” He removed his coat and tossed it across the back of the chair, and he dropped on top of it, an action which seemed to clash with his new look. “You are quite the character, what did they call you…
“Trouble,” said Courtney.
“Thank you, dear,” he said. He looked back toward me and continued. “Perhaps your dinner last night shed some light on some things.”
“I didn’t see you,” I said.
“Ah, but I saw you.” He sat up and leaned with his elbows on his knees. “As did most everyone else,” he whispered with a straight smile. “I assume your visit means Marleui missed her mark.”
“Marleui?” I asked.
“She was here today,” said Courtney. She was sitting on the sill of the window she had just pushed open. “How did you get into the American?”
“Here?” Andrew interrupted. “The relentless Marleui has followed your trail here?”
Courtney laughed. “Hardly,” she said, “she was here first.”
“Really?” asked Andrew.
“I sort of ran into her in Orly today,” I piped in. I had relaxed a bit in the big desk chair, which conveniently blocked the computer screen.
The both looked at me with surprise. Andrew spoke first.
“Yet you are still here.” He paused, then he stood up facing the door. “Tell me, why didn’t you leave?” He turned back toward me. “You could have simply left Paris.”
“I want my stuff back,” I said, “But I thought I….” I paused because I wasn’t sure if she had told him about my first visit. She didn’t look distressed, so I continued, “I thought I’d left my spare ID here – um, by accident of course.”
“Not here,” said Courtney, “But I do have something for you.” She reached into her blouse pocket and produced a business card. “Marleui asked me to call her if I saw you. Perhaps she’d rather hear from you, especially now that you have a meeting tomorrow.”
Andrew took the card and handed it to me without looking at it. “How much did they tell you last night?” he asked.
“Not much,” I said, “they’re vampires, I’m a super-gypsy – you know, small talk.”
“Perhaps you’ll allow me to help you,” Andrew said as he paused, straightening his tie before the full-length mirror on the back of the door. “You are free for dinner I presume?”
“No, I was planning to eat in Los Angeles.” I dredged up my best puppy-dog small and said, “but it looks like I’ll be a tad late.”
“Very good.” He looked around the door at Courtney. “Chérie, réservations pour deux aux Deux Magots.”
“Immédiament, Monsieur. ” she said. She stood up and swept out of the room, her skirt blowing in the breeze which was pushing it’s way in from the hallway.
I said, “I should tell you I’m a vegetarian, but even if I wasn’t, two maggots doesn’t sound all that appetizing.”
“No it does not,” he replied. “Perhaps you will find something else.” He stood beside the door, bowing slightly, and motioned toward the door. “Après vous?”
Next Week: Perhaps a soirèe at An American Bar would be nice…
This page looks best through Netscape‘s browser. Others may not support all of this pages features.
Copyright © 1997 JPArmstrong