Page 176 of Where the Snakes Sleep

All three men look toward Henri. Henri looks at them. Nobody seems thrilled.

Henri’s nostrils flare. “What? It was obvious there could be police.”

“There is a difference between possible police and police already en route.”

“You knew the risks.”

“We knew the job.”

“The job is not finished.”

“The files you wanted are gone, and this has become far more complicated than the job you hired us for.”

Henri glares. “The originals still remain.”

“Which are now worthless if copies already exist.”

“They are not worthless.” Henri takes a step toward them.

The men all palm their weapons.

Henri stops, and I watch the old bastard realize, in real time, that all of the muscle he brought into this house belongs only to itself.

There is something almost poetic about it.

Alberte spent decades believing Henri had infinite power because people bent around him. Turns out some people bend because the paycheck clears, and when the check stops being worth dying for, they straighten right back up.

Henri turns toward Camille again. “You will treat me.”

Camille wipes another line of blood away from his eye. “No.”

“You will.”

“No.”

Henri’s tone sharpens. “I know where your mother is.”

My heart drops straight through my stomach as Camille freezes, breathing heavily.

Henri sees the reaction, and a weak smile moves across his face, his old confidence beginning to return.

One final card tucked up his sleeve.

“What?” Camille whispers, voice trembling.

Henri’s voice softens. “I know where Nadia is.”

Camille’s good eye goes glassy.

A mother who disappeared when he was eight.

A father who died two years later without ever learning what happened to his wife.

All those newspaper clippings.

Records.

Photographs.