The Chameleon Fallacy (Big Bamboo Book 2) (54 page)

“
I told ya to fuckin’ shoot, ya stupid cunt,” he said.

Hard D’s massive fist swept up. Incongruously, she was reminded of sausages. It slammed up under her jaw. She was out before the back of her head hit the wall.

Chapter 18

Crispin was still tipsy when he woke up. It was barely daylight. He hadn’t been able to sleep, despite his luxurious downy king-sized bed, and then when he finally did drift off he had nightmares. He couldn’t remember them, but he kept waking up scared. Asia had been very sympathetic and reassuring when he told her about the man with no lips, but he still had the impression that she didn’t believe him. And why didn’t she want him to say anything to Baby Joe about it? He had no way of knowing that she thought he was just behaving as the doctor in New Orleans had predicted that he would.

He wobbled downstairs and went out onto the terrace. It was chilly but fresh. The
garçon
came over and asked him if he wanted coffee, and he said fuck coffee and ordered champagne, and the waiter gave him his best here-comes-a-ginormous-tip smile and zipped off at warp speed. The light was in the trees by the time Crispin was halfway down the bottle, and the birds were singing and Paris was coming to life, and the city began to take on a new enchantment, and Crispin began to wonder if he wasn’t being silly and if he hadn’t been imagining the whole thing anyway—and what was the guy with no lips doing, following him halfway across Europe just to scare him? How ridiculous was that, anyway? It was probably just one of his fans from Vegas who had recognized him from the old days. Everyone knew how many Yanks there were in Paris these days.

He was onto his second bottle when Asia and Baby Joe came out to join them. Baby Joe had said nothing about Agents Black and White or Monsoon Parker and he wasn’t going to. They were leaving in a couple of days. All he had to do was be ready, just in case. But he could feel the dragon, coiling and uncoiling in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn’t deny the fact that he liked it, and the edge that it gave to the morning and the brittleness that it lent to the light.

Asia ordered
café au lait
and croissants, and Baby Joe ordered black coffee and cognac. The tables around them began to fill up.

“
I had such a good night’s sleep,” Asia said, “I can’t believe it. That bed was
so
comfortable.”

“
Well, I’m glad somebody did.”

“
Eventually, anyway,” Asia said, taking Baby Joe’s hand and smiling at him.

“
Puh-luh-
ease
,” Crispin said, “I’m having breakfast.”

“
No, you’re not. You’re getting shitfaced,” she said.

The coffee smelled strong in the cool morning air. Baby Joe was feeling good. About everything. A phrase that he had heard somewhere came to his mind:
They have not lived who have not almost died. Life has a flavor unknown to the protected.

Fucking A to that
, he thought.

They watched as an enormously fat guy and a scarecrow came out of the hotel and climbed into the cab. Baby Joe grinned as the cab heeled over.
There goes your suspension, pal
, he thought.

A slender young man and a woman with long red hair tied up in a scarf followed them.

“
So, what are we going to do today?” Crispin said. “The tower, the Louvre, Notre Dame?”

“
All of the above, but I’d like to see the balloons too,” Asia said. “I read about it. A celebration of the Montgolfier brothers. There are going to be lots of balloons. It’s going to be beautiful.”

“
Whatever turns you on. As long as there’s plenty of…hey, where are you going?”

Asia was up and running, across the square and over to the pavement. She was waving her arms and shouting. Baby Joe stood up and started to follow her, but she stopped and came back.

“
What’s up?” Baby Joe said.

“
That woman I just saw.”

“
Which woman?”

“
The one getting into the taxi with that fat guy and the others. It was Fanny. Fanny Lemming. The writer. The woman from Moscow who…”

“
Shit,” said Baby Joe.

“
Is something wrong?” Crispin interjected.

Baby Joe remembered his thoughts from Bar Hemingway the night before. Under his breath, he said, “Not anymore.”

***

“
We regret to announce a delay to our departure. Due to a mechanical problem, we kindly ask all passengers to disembark. Please take a seat in the lounge. You will be notified of the new departure time.”

“
Shit a fucken brick. Wouldn’t ya fucken know it?” Wally said to the Chinese gentleman next to him. The Chinaman smiled politely and joined the people shuffling back out of the plane. Wally watched the people settling down in the lounge to wait. He looked at the strained faces, the disappointed kids. One man started to shout at the stewardess at the gate.

“
Fuck this for a game of soldiers,” he said to the Chinaman. The Chinaman smiled politely, and started to sidle away toward the desk so he could ask about changing his seat.

Wally walked down to the end of the corridor and took the elevator down to the concourse where the bars and restaurants were. He sucked back a couple of tubes, keeping a casual eye on the departure board, but it steadfastly continued to display “Delayed.” He ambled over to the Qantas desk. There was a picture of a koala sitting in a eucalyptus, looking pleased with itself, as if it had just pissed on a tourist. Behind it, the sun was setting over the outback. A sudden sadness came over him. He was ready to be home. It was time.

The girl at the desk looked up. She had freckles and her hair was cut in a bob. The corners of her blue eyes crinkled as she smiled at Wally.

“
Strewth,” he said, “I bet you can go the distance, Sheila.”

“
And then some, Blue,” she said, her smile even wider.

Wally studied her face. Innocence and mischief.
Good on ya, girl
, he thought.
Enjoy it while ya can
.

“
How can I help you?” she said.

“
Ah, me bladdy flight to Sydney’s been delayed. Reckon ya can tell me ’ow long?”

The girl looked at him. He was Australia personified. She suddenly felt like crying, without knowing why. Maybe it was time for her to be home too. She did a furtive stage glance to left and right, and beckoned him closer.

“
Listen,” she said, “you have to promise not to tell anyone, or I could get into trouble, but the plane can’t be fixed. They had to send for a new one. It’s on its way, but it will be at least twelve hours.”

“
Shit me bladdy britches,” Wally said.

“
Yeah. I’m really sorry, mate.”

“
Ah, no worries, Sheila. It’s not your fault. But I ain’t ’angin’ round in this shitpile for twelve ’ours, I can tell yer that fer nothin’. Reckon if I was back ’ere ’round midnight, I’d be right?”

“
Yeah, I reckon.”

“
Right then. Time to ’it the fucken tiles. Good on ya.”

“
Good on you too,” the girl said, smiling as Wally headed for the door, the dark spirit of a vanished world, up to no good in the new one.

Wally took a bus into town, and then the metro to the center. He didn’t know much about Paris, but he knew enough to know that the place where the most people got off would be the place where the action was. The doors opened and Wally allowed himself to be flooded out of the carriage by the press of the crowd. As he did so, Asia, Crispin, and Baby Joe, similarly engulfed, were carried from the platform and through the doors into the carriage right next to the one from which he had just alighted.

***

“
You seem to be in a difficult position,” said Hyatt.

There was no
seem
about it. Fanny was standing, balanced precariously on a chair, naked except for her stilettos, with a belt around her neck, which was in turn fastened to the light fixture. He hands were tied behind her using her own brassiere.

“
The bitch put a few slugs into Hard D.”

“
Not enough,” Fanny said.

Low Roll went to slap her, but Hyatt stopped him.

“
So what happened?” he said.

“
She broke into the room while I was in the john and Hard D was in the tub.”

“
I thought it was the other way around,” Fanny said.

“
You gotta lotta lip for someone in your position.”

“
And what position is that?”

“
About to get wasted.”

“
Carry on,” said Hyatt.

“
The bitch starts slinging lead. She plugs Hard D pretty good an’ he goes down. But he ain’t dead, see?”

“
Yes, I can see that.”

In truth, Hard D did look remarkably well for someone who had been shot twice, but Beretta .22s were not designed for big game hunting. The bullets had just hit flab and kind of sizzled around. One glanced off his pelvis and one had dinged a rib, but apart from the fact that it was as sore as hell, Hard D got lucky. There wasn’t even that much blood.

“
It’s all that blubber,” Fanny said. “I should have brought my harpoon. You can’t kill a pig with a peashooter.”

“
Right, that’s it,” Low Roll hissed. “You can kill a cow with a fuckin’ switchblade. Watch.”

“
Wait,” Hyatt said, “I need some info. Then you can do what you want. Cut her down.”

“
Don’t try nuthin’, bitch,” Low Roll said, “’cos you got no idea how bad I wanna cut you up.”

Fanny was pushed into a chair, still with her hands fastened behind her back.

“
So, start talking. Or he starts slicing.”

“
You need me,” she said calmly.

“
Oh, I do? I already have dog meat.”

“
Alphonso Nightingale and Khuy Zalupa.”

Hyatt suddenly looked like he’d stepped on a sea urchin. “Uncle Khuy? What? What about him?” he blurted, his anxious haste not doing his street cred much good.

“
Uncle Khuy isn’t dead, sunshine. He knows it was you that set him up. How do you think he feels about that?”

Hyatt looked at Hard D. “You missed?”

“
There was a big-ass dog got in the way. What can I tell ya? Technically, it don’t count as a miss. Plus there was lots of other shootin’ goin’ on, and the man was down, so who the fuck knew?”

“
Well who else was shooting?”

“
How the fuck should I know?”

“
Well, why didn’t you make sure?”

“
Lissen, kid, we get paid to off people, from mileage. We don’t get paid to get involved in no fuckin’ firefights in no fuckin’ Moscow with parties that we don’t know who they are. Get the picture?”

“
So why didn’t you tell me?”

“
Like I said, the man was on the deck, so’s we figured him to be smoked, which was the object of the exercise. The identity of the smoker ain’t the fucken point.”

“
The fucking point is that the maniac is still alive, and he’s looking for me, which, coincidentally, boys, means he’s also looking for you.”