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“Ten minutes.”
I hang up the phone before I curse him out.
It's unlike my brothers to keep me in the dark like this. I know the only reason they did was because they had to choose a more expedient route, but I don’t like not knowing when the playing field changes.
Philippe clears his throat. "Sir, I know Claude. He wouldn't touch her. He would know better."
Maybe so but I don't like the idea. I am still here only because I’m waiting for one of our private jets to return, or I’d already be in Corsica.
When I don't respond, Philippe looks out a window. “There’s talk about us publicly today. Did you hear it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you hear Montague’s recent declaration? Party line? Fabien and Thayer said they’re not afraid of him, but…”
“We’re not afraid of anybody,” I correct, but it’s only so he doesn’t hear the real concern in my voice. “When did he speak?”
“Last night,” he explains. “It was on the news. I saw a clip online.”
“Pull it up.”
François Montague looms on the screen, larger than life.
Red-hot hatred pulses through my veins. I turn away, grip the steering wheel, and focus in front of me when something scratches at my memory.
I know that location…
“Where is he?”
“I’m not sure.”
It’s familiar….
“Louvre and Tuileries?”
The Louvre and Tuileries district of Paris brushes the Seine in the south, with the neighborhoods known as Bourse and Grands Boulevards to the north. Ah. He’s in front of the green trees that border the Tuileries Garden.
My home’s only a few blocks away.
Even in my peripheral vision I can see his jowls sag as he talks. I despise the pompous bastard. He’s arrogant and incompetent, but what I despise most of all is how he pretends to care about the citizens when all he cares about is his own pocket.
At least I don’t pretend to be anyone but who I am.
He continues in his despicable, oily voice. “As the citizens of Paris have shown great concern regarding the infiltration of organized crime into our historic and precious city, the focus of my campaign for reelection focuses primarily on bringing them down. My promise to you, the people of Paris, is to take them into custody and eradicate their influence and presence. We will bring safety and honesty back to our historic landmark of a city.”
“Oh for the love of God,” I say with disdain. “Of all the fucking platforms to run on. What a fucking asshole.”
Philippe snorts. “The irony of it is that the political parties are more corrupt than you are.”
“You’ve got that fucking right.”
The camera pans to the left as I cruise to a stop at a traffic light. The sun has begun its descent, the sky darkening.
I blink and stare at the man on the screen. He’s personally familiar to me. Have I met him before? Why can’t I place him? I know in my gut I haven’t just seen him on the screen but in person. Where? Why does my skin crawl? Something about him makes me check my gun to make sure it’s loaded.
Other people check to see if they shut off the stove or locked the door.
I check to make sure I have enough ammo.
