9

Terrier remained motionless for an instant, then he went and got the HK4’s box from his suitcase; he opened the box on the bed. The various parts of the weapon were still there. The man again mounted the barrel chambered for .380 and put the automatic in his jacket pocket. Then he telephoned the desk and questioned the man in the burgundy jacket.

“Well,” said the clerk, “the person didn’t give a name, actually.”

“Describe the person.”

“Well, I don’t know, the person concerned said that it had to be a surprise, actually, and not to, in fact. . . . ”

“For Christ’s sake!” exclaimed Terrier with impatience.

“Excuse me, monsieur,” said the clerk, who seemed shocked and worried. “Is something the matter?”

“Everything’s fine. Describe this person for me.”

“It was a woman,” said the clerk. “I don’t know what to say. Short black hair in a helmet cut, a very popular style these days, with bangs, you know? Blue eyes, a fine long nose, a slightly drooping mouth, like Jeanne Moreau’s, the actress, you know? And what else? Medium height, perhaps one meter sixty-three. A nylon navy-blue raincoat buttoned up to the neck and blue leather boots. She had a rain hat in her hand that matched her raincoat and . . . oh, she wore long, blue leather gloves. She was smoking a cork-tip cigarette. She gave me twenty francs in two ten-franc coins. That’s all I remember. Oh, yes. If you don’t mind my saying so, monsieur, she had dry skin. Pink cheeks, you see? As if her skin had peeled after a sunburn or she had bad circulation. Not that she had acne rosacea, because she was a woman in her thirties, but still. . . . Some Englishwomen and Scandinavians have this sort of coloring. I’m afraid I don’t remember much else, actually. I’m not very observant, and I didn’t pay close attention.”

“I wonder what it would be like if you did!”

“Beg your pardon?” said the clerk.

“Nothing. She came and went by car?”

“I suppose so. I don’t know.”

“What’s your name?”

“Philippe, monsieur.”

“Well, Philippe,” said Terrier, “let me know right away if this woman shows up again. There’s a tip in it for you—in any case. And thanks.”

“My pleasure, monsieur.”

“Good night,” said Terrier.

He hung up softly, shaking his head and smiling. Then his smile vanished. He returned to the opened package and completely freed the aquarium of its wrapping. As he did so, a card appeared bearing a hand-stenciled message in capital letters: “WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF LUIGI ROSSI.” Terrier carefully examined the card, then the wrapping paper and the ribbons, even holding them up to the light of the bedside lamp. After tearing the card into tiny pieces, he put everything in the wastebasket.

The man turned out the lights in the room and positioned himself near the window, observing the humid night and the yellowish glow that the ground-floor lights, reduced at the moment, cast on the front steps, the gravel paths, and a few dark, gleaming, motionless automobiles.

After putting the aquarium in the bottom of the armoire, closing the shutters, and drawing the curtains, Terrier slept, with the HK4 under the pillow, until close to eight in the morning.

As he drove away from the hotel, he discreetly observed his surroundings and the rearview mirror. Sometimes he drove very fast and sometimes times very slow. It seemed that he wasn’t being followed.

At present, the public dump carried a sign that read “No Dumping,” but on the slope was still the same mess of broken bottles, melon rinds, tin cans, rusty springs, dark rags, and dismembered celluloid baby dolls as before. Terrier stopped the DS on the adjacent flat area. When the road was empty, he threw the aquarium down the hill. It bounced once, then broke apart on the second impact and continued to tumble down, the plate glass shattering, with pieces of dead cat flying in every direction as the thing bounced and smashed and scattered its parts around the base of the cone of rubbish until they were just indistinct and motionless pieces of detritus.

Terrier got back behind the wheel of the DS and sat still for a moment, looking frequently in the rearview mirror. A few cars passed quickly on the wet highway. Nothing else happened.

Terrier got back on the road going the other way and returned to the center of Nauzac. From a telephone at the post office he dialed a Paris number.

“Where are you?” asked Stanley.

Terrier did not answer the question. He told Stanley as little as he could: he mentioned the phone calls before his departure from Paris, the ransacked apartment, the name of Luigi Rossi, the death of Alex, the cat.

“That’s disgusting,” said Stanley.

“Do you have any idea of what’s going on?”

“No. You ought to come back, Christian.”

“Try to find out.”

“If you come back,” said Stanley, “you’ll have the protection of the company.”

“Try to find out,” repeated Terrier. “I’ll call back.”

He hung up and returned to his hotel.

There was a message for him: Anne had called, she would call back, no point in calling her because she would be out. Terrier gave a hundred francs to Philippe, the clerk.

“The tip I mentioned,” he said. He looked at his watch. “Are you on duty twenty-four hours a day?”

“From seven in the morning till one in the morning,” said the man in the burgundy jacket.

“You’re going to wear yourself out.”

“It’s only temporary,” said the clerk. “I’m ambitious.”

Terrier nodded and went up to his room. He was sweating. He went into the bathroom and looked at the shower head, then went back into the room and looked at the telephone. Finally, he sat down with a glass full of a little scotch and a lot of tepid ginger ale. He immediately stood back up and went to rest his warm forehead against the icy glass of the window. He looked vaguely at the little park and the lawn. Right then, Anne pulled into the driveway, at the wheel of a Morris. Terrier watched her stop and get out of the little automobile. She came into the hotel. Terrier ripped off his shirt as he ran into the bathroom. He splashed himself with water, sprayed on deodorant, slipped on a clean white shirt. The telephone rang.

“Martin? It’s me.”

“Come right up.”

“I’m calling from home,” said Anne.

“That’s not true,” said Terrier. “You’re in the lobby. Come right up.” With one hand he clumsily shoved his shirttails into his pants.

“Fine.”

A moment later, someone knocked softly on the door.

“I’m not staying,” Anne said right away as she slipped through the half-open door. Terrier locked the door. The young woman pivoted in the middle of the room and seemed to be examining the furniture; her eyes were expressionless. “I’m not staying,” she repeated. “I only wanted to tell you. . . . I want you to stop imagining that. . . . ” She hesitated. “Can I have something to drink?”

Terrier poured her a drink. She gulped down a straight shot, then clicked her tongue as she held out her glass for some ginger ale from the little bottle he was holding. He poured her some. He cast furtive glances at her through half-closed eyes, like a lizard in the sun.

“I came to tell you,” Anne explained. “We’re not kids anymore.” She emptied her glass.

Terrier gave her an ironic smile and poured her a stiff shot of J&B. Anne sighed and sat down on the bed. She took a sip. Terrier sat down next to her, took her by the head, and kissed her. She let him do it. Her mouth was passive, studious, plump, and tasted like scotch.

“Stop,” she whispered after Terrier released her.

“Undress.”

She took off almost all her clothes.

“The panties, too,” said Terrier.

She took off her panties, got into bed, and turned to the wall, her eyes closed. Terrier undressed quickly, almost fell as he removed his socks, and joined her in bed. He didn’t dare touch Anne because his hands were cold. They kept still for a moment. Terrier realized he was losing his erection. He tried to put a hand on the young woman’s hip, but she pushed him away with her elbow and climbed over the man and leaped out of bed. She grabbed her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Terrier got dressed and lit a Gauloise. His cold hands were trembling. Anne reappeared, completely clothed.

“I should go home,” she said. “Anyway, this wasn’t serious.”

Terrier said nothing in response. The muscles around his mouth were taut. Anne picked her glass up from the floor and emptied it, then she rushed from the room. Her cheeks were red.