The Stiff Upper Lip by Peter Israel

Author:Peter Israel
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781453293942
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road

10

Normally you can make Paris-Brussels in three hours by the Autoroute du Nord and not even work up a sweat. But we were on the road twice that long the next day. For one thing, we stayed off the Autoroute du Nord, and for a long stretch after Reims and up through the Ardennes we weren’t on any autoroute at all. Then too, we weren’t going to Brussels.

Not even to Belgium, except to pass through.

That was only something she’d said for Bobby H.’s benefit.

She’d said a lot of things for Bobby H.’s benefit. She’d put on quite a show. By the time she was done, the coffee had been brewed, the sky was growing light, and some of the other members of the Hash Collective had come stumbling out of the next room, looking for empty cups. She had Bobby H.’s five thousand francs in her purse, and there was a VW Beetle parked out in front of the house. The Beetle was for us. It had seen better days, but it had German plates and rental papers made out to yours truly. Bobby H. had worked it out with a garage in Montrouge, and Billy Wheels had gone to pick it up for us.

She kissed Bobby goodbye. A tender clinch, even touching. Then we drove off, under a swollen gray sky that didn’t look like it would brighten much, and Valérie said to me:

“Any time you want now, Cage.”

“Any time I want what?”

“Out,” she said, “Any time you want, you can stop the car and get out.”

I glanced at her. She had the wig back on, and the frumpy coat, and she didn’t look like she’d last till the first toll booth.

“What makes you think I want out?” I said.

“I could read it in your face. The minute I walked in last night. The way you stared at me.”

“Stared at you?”

“That’s right.”

“But that was only my natural loving expression, baby.”

She didn’t answer. Her mouth went tight and her eyes fixed on the windshield.

I shook my head.

“No way,” I said. “It’s too much fun. It’s not every day I get to spend the night tied to a chair and have my face scrambled. Hell, now I’ve got half of Paris looking for me. I’m having a ball. What’s more, it’s all for free.”

“You blame it on me too, don’t you?”

“In a way,” I said. “The way I figure it, you got me in, now you’re going to get me out. The only way out is Roscoe, and that’s where we’re going now, isn’t that right? Unless, that is, you want to tell me where to find him myself. In which case, you could be the one to get out.”

You never know. Maybe I laid it on a little thick. Maybe she was already strung out from having crossed half the map of Europe since I’d seen her last. In other words, maybe the tears staining her cheeks were genuine enough.

At least they were quieter than the last time.

Around about then I spotted a filling station.

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