Chourmo (29 page)

I had the impression I was channel hopping between other people's lives. Catching soap operas in the middle. Gélou and Gino. Guitou and Naïma. Serge and Redouane. Cûc and Fabre. Pavie and Saadna. I always came in at the end. When the killing started. And the dying. Always too late for life. For happiness.

That must have been how I'd gotten old. By hesitating too much, not grabbing happiness when it was staring me in the face. I'd never been good at doing that. Or at making decisions. Or taking responsibility. Or doing anything that might commit me to a future. I was always too afraid of losing. And so I always lost.

I'd seen Magali again, in Caen. In a small hotel. Three days before leaving for Djibouti. We'd made love. Slowly, taking our time. All night long. In the morning, before getting in the shower, she'd asked me, “What do you want me to be? A teacher or a model?” I'd shrugged, without answering. She'd come out, dressed, ready to leave.

“Have you thought about it?” she'd said.

“Be whatever you want,” I'd replied. “I like you just the way you are.”

“That's clever,” she retorted, giving me a quick kiss on the lips. I'd embraced her, feeling desire for her again. “I'm going to be late for my classes.”

“See you tonight.”

The door had closed. She hadn't come back. I'd never seen her again, never been able to tell her that what I wanted her to be, more than anything, was my wife. Faced with a basic question, with a choice, I'd sidestepped the issue. And I hadn't learned my lesson. I didn't know what would have become of Magali and me. But I was sure that Fonfon would have been proud to know the two of us were happy. He wouldn't have been alone now. Neither would I.

I switched off the radio when Carlos Gardel launched into
Volver
. Tango, nostalgia—it was better to stop. That kind of thing could drive me crazy, and I needed a clear head. To confront Narni. There were still a few things about him I couldn't figure out. Why had he showed up yesterday, when he could have stayed in the shadows and kept searching for Naïma? Maybe he'd thought it was easier to trap me once he'd sent Gélou back to Gap? It didn't really matter anymore, I told myself. I didn't know what he was thinking, and I didn't care.

I took the coast highway. Past the harbors. Just for the pleasure of seeing the waterfront from above. Going from one harbor basin to the next. Treating myself to a view of the moored ferries all lit up. My dreams were still there. Intact. In those boats ready to cast off. Going somewhere far away. Maybe that was what I should do. Tonight or tomorrow. Leave, at last. Drop everything. Follow in Ugo's footsteps. Africa, Asia, South America. All the way to Puerto Escondido. He still had a house there. A little fisherman's house. Like mine in Les Goudes. With a boat too. He'd told Lole about it, when he came back to avenge Manu. Lole and I had often talked about it. About going there. To that other house in the middle of nowhere.

Once again, it was too late. Would killing Narni help me straighten out my life? But settling accounts wouldn't make up for all my failures. And how could I be so sure I'd kill him? Because I had nothing to lose. But he had nothing to lose now either.

And there were two of them.

I entered the Vieux-Port tunnel, and came out beneath the Saint-Nicolas fort. In front of the old careening basin. I drove along Quai de Rive-Neuve. Marseilles was bustling at this hour. It was the time when people were thinking about what kind of food to eat tonight. West Indian. Brazilian. African. Arab. Greek. Armenian. Vietnamese. Italian. Provençal. There was a bit of everything in the Marseilles melting pot. Something for every taste.

On Rue Francis-Davso, I double parked next to my own car. I transferred Redouane's gun and a few cassettes to the Saab. Then I set off again, along Rue Molière, by the side of the Opéra, Rue Saint-Saëns, left onto Rue Glandeves. Back to the harbor. Close to the Hotel Alizé. There was a space free. It was ideal. Between the pedestrian passageway and the sidewalk. It must be an expensive space. That's why nobody had taken it. But I'd only be five minutes, no more.

I went into a phone booth, almost in front of the hotel, and called Narni. That was when I saw the Safrane, double parked in front of the New York. With Balducci at the wheel, I guessed, seeing the smoke drifting out through the window. My lucky day, I said to myself. Better to know they were here than imagine they were outside my house, waiting for me.

Narni answered immediately.

“Montale,” I said. “We haven't been introduced yet. But we could do that now. How about it?”

“Where's Gélou?” He had a fine, deep, warm voice, which surprised me.

“Too late to worry about her health now, old buddy. I don't think you'll be seeing her again.”

“Does she know?”

“She knows. Everyone knows. Even the cops know. We don't have much time left to settle things between ourselves.”

“Where are you?”

“At my house,” I lied. “I can be there in forty-five minutes. At the New York, that OK with you?”

“Fine. I'll be there.”

“Alone,” I said, for my own amusement.

“Alone.”

I hung up, and waited.

It took him less than ten minutes to come down and get into the Safrane. I went back to the Saab. Here we go, I said to myself.

I had my plan. I just had to hope it was the right one.

Because of the congestion, which I'd banked on, I spotted the Safrane on Quai de Rive-Neuve. They'd decided to go via the Corniche. If that was that they wanted, it was fine by me. Let's go.

I drove a long way behind them. I was planning to catch up with them up by the David statue, at Rond-Point de la Plage. Which I did. As they drove toward the Pointe Rouge, I came up slowly behind them and flashed my lights at them. Then, without stopping, I went around the statue and turned onto Avenue du Prado. They couldn't do a U-turn until they got to Avenue de Bonnevoie. That would get them riled up. But it gave me time to reach the bottom of the Prado without any risk. I would wait for them there, on the shoulder of the Prado-Michelet traffic circle. Then the chase would start.

I took the pistol and the bullets out of the plastic bag. I loaded it, cocked it, and placed it on the seat. The butt toward me. Then I put on a ZZ Top cassette. I needed them. The only rock band I liked. The only genuine one. I saw the Safrane. The first notes of
Thunderbird
. I started the car. They must be wondering what I was playing at. It amused me to know they weren't in control of the situation. If they were nervous, it was to my advantage. My whole plan depended on their making a mistake. A mistake I hoped would be fatal.

Green light. Yellow light. Red light. I zoomed along Boulevard Michelet without having to stop once. Then Carrefour de Mazragues, at top speed. After Le Redon and Luminy, the road started. The D559. The road to Cassis via the Ginette pass. A favorite with Marseilles cyclists. A road I knew by heart. From there, many paths led to the
calanques
.

The D559 was a narrow, dangerous road with lots of bends.

ZZ Top started
Long Distance Boogie
. Billy Gibbons was great! I hit the coast at 68 mph, the Safrane hard on my heels. The Saab seemed to me a little sluggish, but it responded well. I doubted that Gélou had ever put it through its paces like this.

After the first big bend, the Safrane pulled out. They were already trying to overtake me. They were in a hurry. The front of the car drew level with my rear window and Narni's arm came out. He was holding a gun. I changed down to fourth. I was doing close to 65, and I took the second bend with great difficulty. So did they.

I regained ground.

Now that I was here, I was starting to have my doubts. Balducci seemed like a crack driver. Not much chance you'll be eating Honorine's
poutargue
now, I told myself. Shit! I was hungry. You idiot! You should have eaten first before you launched into this. This was just like you. Plunging in, without even taking time to breathe. You didn't have to deal with Narni immediately. He'd have waited for you. Or he'd have come to get you.

Of course he'd have come.

A nice plate of spaghetti
matriciana
wouldn't have gone amiss. A little red wine with it. Maybe a red Tempier. From Bandol. Maybe you could find it in the other world. What are you talking about, bozo? After death, there's nothing.

That's right, after death, there's nothing anymore. Just darkness. And you don't even know it's dark. Because you're dead.

The Safrane was still behind me, still hard on my heels. But that was all it could do. For the moment. After the bend, they'd try to overtake again.

Well, there's only one solution, Montale, you've got to pull this off, OK? Then you'll be able to gorge yourself on anything you like. Hey, it's been a long time since I last ate bean soup. Yes, with thick slices of toast drizzled with olive oil. That'd be good. I accelerated a little more. Or a stew. That'd be good too. You should have told Honorine. So she could marinate the meat. Would the Tempier go well with that? Of course it'd go well. I could taste it . . .

A car was coming down in the other direction. It flashed its lights. The driver, seeing us climbing toward him at that speed, was in a panic. When he came level, he honked like a maniac. He must have been really scared.

I shook my head, to chase away the cooking smells. My stomach was going to join in, I could feel it. There'll be time to see about that, later, eh, Montale? Don't get excited. Calm down.

Calm down.

Doing 62, on the fucking Ginette pass, that was easier said than done!

We were rising above the bay of Marseilles. It was one of the most beautiful views over the city. It was even better a little higher, just before the descent to Cassis. But we weren't here for the sightseeing.

I went back into fifth. To gather my strength. I slowed down to 55. The Safrane was immediately on my heels again. The bastard was going to pull out.

A hundred yards, just another hundred yards. I changed down to third. The car seemed to leap. I went back up to 62, just after the fourth bend. In front of me, a straight line. Nine hundred yards, a thousand yards, no more than that, and the road would turn right. Not left, as it had up till now.

I accelerated, the Safrane still on my heels.

68.

It pulled out. I turned the volume up to maximum. The wailing of the electric guitars in my ears.

The Safrane came level with me.

I accelerated.

74.

The Safrane also accelerated.

I saw Narni's gun against my window.

“Now!” I screamed.

Now!

Now!

I braked. Hard.

68. 62. 55.

I thought I heard a shot. The Safrane overtook me and went straight into the concrete guardrail and overturned and took off into the air, all four wheels facing the sky.

Five hundred yards below were the rocks, and the sea. Nobody had ever made that leap and come out alive.

Nasty dogs and funky kings
, ZZ Top were screaming.

My foot was shaking on the pedal. I slowed some more, and stopped as calmly as I could, close to the guardrail. The shaking had spread all over my body. I was thirsty, dammit. I could feel tears streaming down my face. Tears of fright. Tears of joy.

I started laughing. A loud, nervous laugh.

The lights of a car appeared behind me. Instinctively, I switched on the hazard warning lights. The car overtook me. A Renault 21. It slowed down and parked fifty yards farther on. Two guys got out. Big strapping guys in leather jackets and jeans. They started walking toward me.

Shit.

Too late to realize how stupid I'd been.

I put my hand on the butt of the pistol. I was still shaking. I'd never be capable of lifting the gun. Let alone aiming at them. As for firing . . .

They were here.

One of the guys tapped at my window. I lowered it slowly. And saw his face.

Ribero. One of Loubet's inspectors.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“That was some dive they took, huh? You OK?”

“Shit! You scared me.”

They laughed. I recognized the other one. Vernet.

I got out of the car and took a few steps toward the spot where Narni and Balducci had taken the plunge. I was unsteady on my feet.

“Don't fall,” Ribero said.

Vernet came up beside me and looked down.

“It ain't gonna be easy getting a closer look at that. Can't be much left, though.”

The assholes were laughing.

“How long have you been following me?” I asked, getting out a cigarette.

Ribero gave me a light. I was shaking too much to be able to light it myself.

“Since this afternoon. We were waiting for you when you left the restaurant. Loubet had called us.”

When he'd gone to take a leak. The bastard!

“He likes you,” Vernet said. “But when it comes to trusting you . . . ”

“Wait,” I said. “Did you follow me everywhere?”

“The ferry. The meeting with your cousin. The Buddha. And now here . . . We even had two guys staking out your house. Just in case.”

I sat down on part of the guardrail that had escaped the carnage.

“Hey! Be careful! Don't fall now!” Ribero laughed again.

I didn't have any intention of jumping. No way. I was thinking about Narni. Guitou's father. Narni had killed his own son. But he didn't know it, didn't know Guitou was his kid. Gélou had never told him. Or anyone. Except me. Earlier.

It had happened one night in Cannes. There'd been a movie premiere, followed by a lavish meal. To her—the girl who'd grown up on the alleys of the Panier—it was magical. Robert De Niro was sitting on her right. Narni on her left. She couldn't remember who else was there. More stars. And there she was, in the middle. Narni placed his hand on hers and asked her if she was happy. His knee was against hers. She could feel his warmth. A warmth that penetrated her body.