Jack carried his small bag easily in one hand. He spotted Steel the moment he walked through the glass doors into the airport. The big man was waiting for him near the end of a huge line of people. Steel thrust his arm in the air and urged Jack over with angry hand signals.
“What took you so long?” Steel hissed his question through clenched teeth.
“I missed the train.”
“I told you to take a cab.”
“The train was cheaper.”
“Then give me back my money.” Steel jabbed his hand forward.
Jack reached into the front pocket of his jeans, pulled out the crumpled twenty dollar note and slapped it into Steel’s palm.
“I gave you the goddamned money for a cab so you’d be on time. Now we’re late. Come on.” He strode the ten paces to join the end of the enormous queue.
Steel was the picture of impatience; jittering from foot to foot, aggressive hand movements and enough grunts and sighs to capture the interest of those around him. Jack, on the other hand, was a seasoned queuer. He hated to think how many hours he’d spent lining up for food, showers—hell, even to use the toilet. This was nothing compared to what he’d endured for years. At least these people smelt decent. Jack smiled. If deprivation had taught him one thing, it was to appreciate small pleasures.
They checked in their luggage and passed through the security point. Jack thought he’d be frisked from head to foot. Expected it, actually. But it didn’t happen, and before he knew it they’d progressed out the other side.
They rode the elevator down to an area that looked like a long shopping mall. Jack glanced over the fancy stuff as he followed behind Steel. Alcohol, chocolate, perfume, electronic equipment. The variety was overwhelming and the prices were obscene.
Jack came to a window and stopped dead still. The floor to ceiling window completely framed a huge plane. He felt like an ant looking up at a dirty, great boot that was about to crush him. Steel was suddenly at his side. “What’s up?”
“There’s no way I’m getting in that thing.”
Steel turned to the window. “The plane?”
“Yes, the plane! Look at how big it is. How the hell does it get off the ground?”
“They just do. Come on, we have an hour before we board so let’s grab a beer and watch them take off.” He nudged Jack’s shoulder.
Jack tried but failed to keep his eyes on both the plane and Steel. In the end he gave up on the plane for fear of losing Steel in the crowd. It wasn’t long before Steel had them set up on a couple of bar stools with a cold beer in hand.
Suddenly Jack heard a deep rumble. At first he didn’t comprehend the sound, but when he saw the projectile rocketing along the runway he realised quick smart. His heart just about jumped to his throat at the sight and he deadset strangled the glass in his hands as he watched the plane’s nose then the rest of its body leave the ground. The plane continued upwards, and shielding his eyes from the sun, he watched until it vanished into obscurity.
The room he sat in now, with its vaulted ceilings and high glass walls, was probably the most spacious he’d ever been in. But, after seeing the impossible, the room began shrinking. The noises became muffled and everything, even his beer, began to sway. He wiped a cold sweat from his forehead and blinked back the dizziness.
“Are you all right?”
Jack eyed Steel, fighting fuzzy vision, but couldn’t find his words.
“Jack. What’s up, buddy?”
“Plane. Up there.” The quiver in his voice was embarrassing.
“Yes, planes go up. Are you okay?” Steel held up the beer as if it were some kind of medicine.
Jack clutched the glass in both hands and swallowed half the amber liquid in one gulp.
“Come on, Jack, you look about as comfortable as a virgin on a first date. What’s going on?”
Jack swallowed. Hard. And the weird fog that had gripped his brain a second ago began to fade. As quickly as it came, it dissipated. “I think I’m scared of flying.”
“And you’re telling me that now!”
“I’m scared of heights. I must be scared of flying, too.” He gulped another mouthful of beer. “I can’t get on that plane.”
“So you’ve never been on a plane before?”
“No. Candice and I had a holiday to Hawaii booked once, before I knew about the height issue, that was. But then she got sick and…well, you know the rest. I haven’t even been outside Brisbane.”
“Right.” Steel swigged his beer. “Hey, I’ve got sleeping tablets in my pack. Take a couple of those and you’ll be sleeping like a man who’s been shagging all night long.”
Jack nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”
Steel produced a blister pack of tablets and flipped two white pills into Jack’s palm. Jack threw them into his mouth, followed by the rest of his beer.
“Don’t think you should take ’em with grog.” Steel’s advice was about two seconds too late.
“Now you tell me. Maybe it’ll work better.” Jack sucked in a deep breath, eager for the pills to take effect.
Twenty minutes later a throaty woman’s voice made a garbled announcement over the echoing PA system.
“That’s us.” Steel stood up.
When Jack slipped off the stool, his legs were bands of rubber.
“Jesus, mate, what’re you doing now?” Steel commented on Jack’s swagger.
“Those tablets must be working.”
“No kidding. I told you not to take them with beer.”
“Yeah, after I already did it.”
“Get your shit together or they won’t let you on the plane.”
Jack blinked his eyes to focus. “Okay. I’m working on it.” His legs were aliens, moving of their own accord in giant, gangly strides. And his mouth was pasty. His lips smacked together as if coated in molasses.
Despite the constant badgering in his ear by Steel, or maybe because of it, Jack managed to board the plane without incident. He fell into his seat and reached for the safety brochure the air hostess told him was in the seat pocket. Unable to hold it up to read, he rested it on his lap, but the more he tried to focus, the more the words blended together.
“Buckle up,” Steel said. “Ain’t no way I’m doing it for you.”
Jack fumbled with the buckle, tugged it tight across his pelvis. Then he closed his eyes as he waited for the safety briefing.
* * *
“Hey, wake up.”
Jack forced his eyes open.
“Come on, sleeping beauty. We’re here.”
Jack’s tongue was a slab of beef jerky that he rolled around his mouth. “Where?”
“Singapore.”
“What?” He rubbed his eyes. “How?”
“Plane, it goes up. Remember?”
“What?” Jack didn’t understand. There was no way he’d slept for seven hours. “What about dinner? I’m starving.”
“I ate it. Now get up. Time to get off.”
“Get off what?”
“The plane, shit-for-brains. We’re here.”
Jack was swept up with the passengers, but didn’t share their eagerness to disembark. He still couldn’t comprehend that he’d just lost all those hours. And a couple of meals, too. He’d been dreaming about airline food ever since Steel bought his ticket five days ago.
Once again Jack followed Steel’s lead as they progressed through the plane and into the airport.
The place was as busy as the prison mess hall at dinnertime. People were everywhere. And the variety of nationalities was extraordinary. Some Jack could recognise, but others…he had no idea.
Steel was walking at a cracking pace and Jack wondered where he was going. If he recalled correctly, the Singapore stopover was a little over two hours, so they were stuck here in this airport.
They passed food store after food store and the wonderful smells made his stomach growl even more fiercely. “Hey, Steel, I hope you plan on stopping for food pretty darn soon.”
“Nope.”
“Oh come on, man. I’m starving.”
“Not my problem.” Steel moved on ahead.
Jack planted his feet and made a show of throwing his carry bag to the floor. It worked. When Steel turned, his eye roll was enough to convince Jack he’d won that round.
“All right. What do you want to eat?”
Jack scanned the area, feeling overwhelmed with the variety. “I’m not sure what half of these places sell.”
Steel rolled his eyes again. “Come on, I’ll pick for you.” Five minutes later Steel chose a Mexican café with brightly coloured decorations and sombreros hanging off the walls.
Jack reached for a menu.
“Happy now?”
“Yep.” Jack smiled at Steel, but the big man didn’t share his joy.
He ran his finger down the meal options. “What do I order?”
“Anything.” Steel signalled for a waitress.
Jack studied the list of foods and didn’t recognise any of them, so he went with the most expensive. $1.99. “What’s a chicken quesa—”
“You’re having a taco.”
“No I’m not. I don’t know what that is.”
“Afternoon gentlemen, what can I get you?” The waitress’s voice was so sweet, like that of an angel.
“I’ll have a Corona.”
“How about you pick for me?” Jack said to Steel. “Nothing with chili.”
The waitress laughed. “This is Mexican food. Just about everything has chili in it.”
Steel snatched the menu off Jack and based on the speed he did it, he knew he was angry. “One chicken taco.”
“It’s not enough, Steel. I’m hungry.”
“And a chili beef taco. That’s it.”
“That’ll be $6.90.”
“I’d like a Coke, too, please.” Jack smiled at the waitress.
“Okay that’ll make it $7.90.”
Steel leant back on his chair, removed his wallet from his front pocket and fished out ten dollars.
“Thanks, I’ll be back soon.”
“Thank you.” Jack’s stomach rumbled. He was beyond ready to eat. This had better be good. Mind you, everything had tasted good since he left prison behind.
“You know.” Steel waggled a finger at Jack. “You’re lucky Tiffany is in France.”
Jack blinked at him. “Why?”
“Because most countries don’t issue visas to convicted felons. Especially not armed robbers.”
Jack wanted to say that he wasn’t an armed robber—the guns weren’t real. He wanted to say that he’d done his time, paid for the crime and now he was a free man. But it was pointless. He deserved the labels of convicted felon and armed robber. But both classifications cut very deep. He would never be able to put the past behind him. What he could do though, was get closure on the missing money. Maybe then he could move on to the rest of his life. Maybe.
“It’s good that you served your full term, too.” Steel grinned.
“Really.” It was Jack’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Yep, because there’s no way you could leave the country if you were still on parole.”
“Well shit, I must be a lucky guy then.” Jack said it sarcastically.
The waitress who delivered the food was a pretty little thing and Jack’s heart fluttered when she smiled at him. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had shown him even a smidgeon of interest. He had to admit, he looked like a bit of a mean bugger with his really short hair. Maybe he should let it grow again.
Jack finished the food quickly, not because it was that great, especially with the darn chili in it, but because he was hungry, and no sooner had he finished than they were re-boarding the plane. He wasn’t anywhere near as terrified as he had been on the first flight.
The flight from Singapore to Paris was a further fourteen hours and Jack remained wide awake this time so he didn’t miss the food service. He wasn’t disappointed either and even though he was full from the Mexican food, he still forced everything down.
Once they landed and disembarked, Steel had them rushing through the bustling airport. He was a man on a mission.
Waiting at the taxi rank was freezing and Jack was forced to endure that and another twenty minutes of Steel’s restless temperament. Finally they were allocated a cab and Jack wasn’t surprised when he was relegated to the back seat.
“Où puis-je vous prendre messieurs?”
“Parlez-vous anglais?” Jack was amazed Steel could speak French.
“Oui, a little.” The driver held his fingers an inch apart.
“Thank goodness. Can you take us to Avenue Montaigne? S’il vous plaît.”
Jack nearly blurted out that he’d learnt French while in prison. He wasn’t fluent by any means, it was just one of the study options he chose to fill in the empty hours. But he caught himself just in time. He certainly didn’t want the driver aware that he was carrying a convicted felon.
“Ahh,” said the driver. “Are you here to review our magnifiques maisons de mode?”
“Umm, I’m sorry but—”
“He’s asking if we’re visiting the fashion houses,” Jack said.
Steel tried to look at Jack over his shoulder and Jack preempted his question. “I’ve had some time for personal development over the last couple of years.” Jack actually smiled at his impromptu solution to the problem.
Soon Jack got caught up in the crazy, busy Paris whirlwind: traffic, people, high life, low life. Snow. For the first time in his life he was watching snow fall from the sky. He looked for the button that wound down his window, found it and pressed.
“What are you doing, numb-nuts?”
Jack was getting sick of Steel’s name-calling. “What? I want to feel the snow.”
“Bloody hell. You’ll be feeling plenty of it soon enough. Wind up that window before we all freeze to death.”
Jack huffed. “No need to exaggerate.”
“D’où venez-vous, messieurs?”
“Australia, Australie,” Jack answered the driver. He liked that he knew something Steel didn’t.
Jack studied the driver. His accent reminded him of that reporter covering the funeral he’d seen on television. It suddenly dawned on him that he was about to meet the woman who had been at the centre of his nightmares for years. But this was also his first trip abroad, and as it was impossible to predict how the next couple of hours would play out, he figured he might as well make the most of it.
Jack pointed at various buildings and monuments as they went and asked the driver about them, mainly to save the poor man from Steel’s silent treatment. As much as he wanted to keep speaking in French, he decided against it. Jack could feel Steel’s impatience even from the back seat. If he didn’t chill out soon, Steel might well pop a haemorrhoid with all that anger stewing up his insides.
“Is this the direction to the Eiffel Tower?”
The driver chuckled. “No, Tour Eiffel est many blocks that way. I could take you there if you like—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Steel interrupted.
The driver didn’t miss a beat. “We pass many other magnifique buildings. Shall I point them out?”
“Oui, merci monsieur.” Jack hadn’t had this much fun in a very long time. Soon he and the driver settled into tourist-and-tour-guide mode. Meanwhile, Steel maintained his don’t-talk-to-me stance. Not that Jack cared. Steel was the one missing out. Maybe he’d been to Paris before. Jack hadn’t thought to ask him that. Maybe later.
After about twenty or so minutes, Pierre pointed out his window. “This area is known as Triangle D’or. It’s a triangle between the Champs Élysées, the Seine and Avenue Montaigne. This is where you’ll find all the high fashion boutiques. Louis Vuitton. Christian Dior. Chanel. Fendi. Only the riches et célèbres can afford to shop here.”
Rich and famous, hey? Jack wondered if she shopped here. With the amount of money she’d just inherited from her husband, she probably shopped along here every day.
“Marlene Dietrich once resided on Avenue Montaigne. Number 12. Do you remember her?”
“Not really.”
“She was très célèbre, ahh how do you say, famous actress. She starred in The Blue Angel and Shanghai Express.”
The houses—if they were still called houses in this area—were enormous and looked more like museums. The people who owned these homes had to be multi-millionaires. Jack tried to imagine what he’d do if he had a million dollars, but he couldn’t even comprehend the suggestion. For nearly a whole year Jack had studied architecture in jail. He couldn’t get enough text books to satisfy his curiosity. He’d even started to imagine himself as an architect. But then he realised that nobody would want an armed robber designing houses for them.
“So we are approaching Avenue Montaigne now. Where should I go?”
“We want the home of Tiffany Delacroix.” Those were the first words Steel had spoken in about twenty minutes.
“Oui, why didn’t you mention? She’s so lovely.”
The noise that came from Steel’s throat had Jack wondering if he was choking. Thankfully, neither Jack nor Steel had a chance to tell Pierre why Tiffany was worlds apart from lovely, because he pulled to the curb, right alongside the grand entrance of Chanel.
“Are you here to meet her?” Pierre looked at Jack through the rear-vision mirror. Clearly he’d given up on Steel.
“Oui, we are.”
“But she’s not home. Didn’t you hear? It’s so sad. Her husband died. The poor lady has been so pained. She has umm…quitté Paris for a holiday.”
Steel slammed his fist into his palm. “Goddamn it.”
Pierre blinked at him.
“Do you know her?” Jack asked the question.
“Mais bien sûr, everybody knows her. She’s in all the papers. She loves the attention.”
“Merci Pierre, do you know where she went?”
“It’s ski season. She went to her chalet in Chamonix.”
Steel slumped back into the seat. “Shit.” That was all he said.
“What do we do now?” Jack asked.
“We’ve come this far. I guess we go to Chamonix, wherever that is.”
“Chamonix est près de Genève.”
“He says it’s near Geneva,” Jack translated for Steel.
“It’s a charming little ski town in the shadow of Mont Blanc. Most picturesque ski resort in the world. It’s on the border of Switzerland, France and Italy.”
“Merci Pierre,” Jack said. “What’s the best way to get there?”
“I can take you.” Pierre beamed.
Steel glared at the driver. “What’re our other options?”
“Fly to Geneva. Then a bus or taxi to Chamonix. Mais le train serait moins cher.”
“Pierre says the train is cheaper,” Jack said.
“Which one is quicker?” asked Steel.
“Technically the plane,” Pierre said. He held up his finger. “However…at this time of night, the train will arrive first.”
“Okay, the train it is then.”
“I think the night train to Saint-Gervais-Les-Bains leaves about ten o’clock. You can sleep all night and wake up in one of the most magnifique ski villages in the world.”
“Perfect. Merci. To the train station, Pierre.” Jack spoke on behalf of both of them. He was looking forward to a scenic train trip.