A Citizen of Nowhere by Seth Lynch

Author:Seth Lynch [Lynch, Seth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Public, Manuscript Template
ISBN: 1979001650
Amazon: B076FC49VV
Publisher: Fahrenheit Press
Published: 2017-10-20T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

There are better ways to kill time than hanging about in a café, but they require a willing accomplice. At six-thirty I leave the cafe and walk back to Legrand's apartment. The streets are strewn with broken glass and rubbish. Some of this has been blown from overflowing bins, most has been dumped directly onto the street. There are a few patches of vomit and the occasional one of blood. Saturday morning in Montparnasse – slightly nicer than Sunday morning in Montparnasse.

The front door of the apartment block is still open. I climb the stairs to number six and knock on Legrand's door. No reply. My yawns are coming thick and fast. Three or four hours kip in a chair isn't enough for me anymore - I need a bed and at least eight hours straight. I knock louder. She calls out: 'I'm coming; give it a rest will you?' The door opens.

'Good-morning, mademoiselle. Salazar's the name; we met at the offices of the Lacman Brothers.'

Her face shows tiredness, surprise, and a touch of fear. She's done well to produce a combination like that at this hour.

'May I come in, mademoiselle?'

Without thinking she opens the door a little wider and I step through. She follows me to the living room, where, without invitation, I take up my seat in the dusty old chair - my chair.

'What do you want, monsieur Salazar?'

'Well, you're such a doll, I thought I'd pop over and invite you out to dinner.'

'At six-thirty in the morning!'

'It is early, isn't it? Too early for playing games. I want to know who you called and why.'

She ceases her pacing of the room to look at me. Our eyes lock for an instant before she turns away. She takes a step back and picks up a packet of cigarettes from the table. After lighting one she turns around to face me again.

'What are you talking about? I'm going to call the police.'

I doubt she will – unless she's had a telephone installed while she slept.

'Would you mind if I wait for them here? It's a bit chilly out this morning.'

I take one of my own cigarettes and light it. She moves towards the bedroom, stops, then takes a few steps towards the front door, and stops again. I feel guilty seeing her scared like this. I shan't leave though - her fear doesn't stem from my presence in the room; it comes from having been caught. She is an accessory to an attempted murder, and my murder at that.

Giving up trying to leave, she thumps down her cigarette in the ashtray before fumbling around for another. Her hand is shaking too much to light it. My body twitches but I resist the urge to stand up and light it for her.

'Someone beat me over the head and dumped me into the river to drown,' I say. 'I have a witness who names you as the instigator. The police could go through all the telephone records at the local exchange and find out who you called that day.

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