“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me. Don’t try to change me, Jay.”
People bumped us as they jostled past.
Several teenagers with body piercing and dyed hair bumped into us and laughed. A small crowd was staring and pointing at an almost life-size yellow biplane attached to the side of the Grand Marnier building advertising a Breiding watch show. Roasting chestnuts smelled burnt.
“I’ve not touched anyone since Benton died,” I said. “That’s where you are in my food chain, Jay.”
“I wasn’t trying to be cruel : . .”
“I’ll fly home in the morning.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I have a mission, remember?” I said.
Anger slipped out of hiding, and when Talley tried to hold my hand again, I slipped my fingers away from him.
“Or should I say I’ll sneak home in the morning,” I said. “With a briefcase of illegal evidence that’s also, by the way, a biological hazard. I’ll follow my orders, trooper that I am, and get DNA from the swabs if possible. Compare it to the unidentified body’s DNA. Eventually determine that he and the killer are brothers. Meanwhile, maybe the cops will luck out and find a werewolf wandering the streets and he’ll tell you guys everything about the Chandonne cartel. And maybe only two or three other women will be savaged before all this happens.”
“Please don’t be so bitter,” Jay said.
“Bitter? I shouldn’t be bitter?”
We turned off the Boulevard des Italiens onto the Rue Favard.
“I shouldn’t be bitter when I was sent here to solve problems-when I’ve been a pawn in some scheme I knew nothing about?”
“I’m sorry you look at it that way,” he said.
“We’re bad for each other,” I said.
Café Runtz was small and quiet, with green checked cloths and green glassware. Red lamps glowed and the chandelier was red. Odette was making a drink at the bar when we walked in. Her way of greeting Talley was to throw her hands up in despair and chastise him.
“She’s accusing me of staying away two months and then not calling before I come in,” he translated for me.
He leaned over the bar and kissed her on both cheeks to make amends. Regardless of how crowded the café was, she managed to fit us into a choice corner table because Talley had that effect on people. He was used to getting what he wanted. He picked out a Santenay red burgundy since he remembered I’d told him how much I liked burgundies, although I didn’t recall when I’d said that or if I really had. By now I wasn’t sure what he already knew and what he’d gotten directly from me.
“Let’s see,” he said, scanning the menu. “I highly recommend the Alsacienne specialities. But to start? The salade de gruyére-shaved gruyere that looks like pasta on lettuce and tomato. It’s filling, though.”
“Maybe that’s all I’ll get, then,” I said, with no appetite.
He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small cigar and clipper.
“Helps me cut buck on cigarettes,” he explained. “Would you like one?”
“Everybody in France smokes too much. It’s time I quit again,” I said.
“They’re very good.” He snipped off the tip. “Dipped in sugar. This one’s vanilla, but I also have cinnamon and sambuca.” He fired a match. “But I like the vanilla the best.” He puffed. “You really should taste this.”
He offered it to me.
“No, thank you,” I said.
“I order them from a wholesaler in Miami,” he went on, flourishing his cigar and throwing his head back to blow out smoke. “Cojimars. Not to be confused with Cohibas, which are wonderful, but illegal if they’re Cuban versus those made in the Dominican Republic. Illegal in the U.S., at any rate. And I know that because I’m ATF. Yes, ma’am, I know my alcohol, tobacco and firearms.”
He had already finished his first glass of wine.
“The three R’s. Running, Running and Running. Ever heard that? They teach it in the school of hard knocks”
He refilled’his glass and topped off mine.
“If I came back to the States, would you see me again? For the sake of argument, what would happen if I transferred . . . let’s say, back to Washington?”