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Jacques was at least fifty but could have been over sixty. The dark hair, still almost black in places, was stylishly cut and made him look younger, but his pointed beard was pure silver. His pale blue eyes still had that joyful, youthful sparkle but the smile lines must have taken decades to form. He was wearing a chocolate brown, pin-striped suit that would have cost hundreds at some Seattle vintage store, but might well have just been something he’d kept since his twenties.
He lounged in a scarlet, wingback armchair as if it was a throne. He had a tumbler of brandy in one hand, a lit cigar in the other and he gave off the air of a man for whom everything is right in the world. The woman who’d led us in perched herself on his knee, crossed her legs and regarded us with suspicion and just a little protective jealousy.
“Cal,” said Jacques warmly. His accent was smooth as caramel and impossible to place, as if all the rough edges had been melted away by hard bargaining and hard liquor in a hundred different ports around the world. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” He turned to look at me and gave a roguish grin. “I see you finally found someone to warm your bed.”
I swallowed and flushed.
“It’s not like that,” said Cal.
“Oh really?” asked Jacques. I felt his gaze sweep down my body. But it didn’t feel cold and ugly, like when the men at the mansion did it. It felt flirty and flattering and there was something about Jacques, despite him being more than twice my age. I felt myself flush again. I saw Cal’s whole body stiffen in response and the woman on Jacques’ knee narrowed her eyes at me: if she was a cat, her ears would have gone back. I quickly looked at the floor.
“She needs help,” said Cal. “She needs to get into Canada. And she needs a Canadian identity. I figure you can do that.”
Jacques considered. “As it happens, I do know someone who’s good with passports. She’s retired, but she owes me a favor.” He stroked his beard and looked at me. “I can get you to the border and make sure you get through. I even have an apartment you can use, while you get settled. Call it twenty thousand, all in.”
Cal brought out the lockbox. “We have almost nineteen.”
Jacques gave him a reproachful look. “Then you can almost have a passport.”
“C’mon, Jacques, you know I’m good for the rest.” He glanced at me. “She needs this.” His voice was tight with emotion in a way I couldn’t have imagined when I first met him.
Jacques’ heard it, too. His salt and pepper brows came together in a frown and he sat back in his chair, suddenly serious. “You better tell me exactly what we’re dealing with, here.”
And so I told him. I told him about the club and the mansion, about Ralavich and the attorney general and the senators. His face grew darker and darker, his mouth going tight. When I’d finished, he downed the bourbon and slammed the glass down on a side table. “Bastards,” he spat. The woman on his knee had changed her expression too: she’d softened, watching me with almost motherly concern. I decided I liked these two.
“You can have your new identity,” he told me. “And I’ll drive you up to Vancouver myself. Be back here at noon in three days’ time. Sweetpea, take the lady upstairs and get some photos, will you? I need to talk to Cal.”
The woman nodded and rose. She slipped a protective arm around me and led me upstairs, Rufus following behind us.
32
Cal
JACQUES ROSE and poured himself another bourbon, then looked questioningly at a second glass. I shook my head.
He sipped. “Senators. The goddamn attorney general.” He shook his head. “I’m too old for this crap.” He spread his arms wide. “I should have handed this all off to my son, by now.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Well, then what would I do?” He sighed. “Cal, on account of you being one of the last few honest men in the world, I’m going to make you an offer. But you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone. I don’t want people to think I’m going soft.”
“What’s the offer?” I asked, suspicious.
“Since I’m getting one person into Canada,” said Jacques. “I think I might just be able to stretch to two sets of papers, for the same price.”
I looked him right in the eye. “Told you, it’s not like that. I’m just...looking after her.”
“You’re a hell of a marksman, Cal, but you’re a terrible liar.” He sat back in his chair. “Don’t forget, I know you. I remember when you first showed up here, wanting me to haul that damn stove down the river. You weren’t much of a talker then, but I’ve watched you get worse each year. Last time I saw you, you barely said two words. Then today, you show up with her and suddenly you’re talking again. You got fire in your belly. You look at her and I see your face light up.” He leaned forward. “A man’s not meant to be alone, Cal. Go with her.”
