 |
| One hell of a long day. |
Louis Shalako
Unlocking the door to his own flat was both novel and
as old as time itself, or so it felt.
The housekeeper, whose name he hadn’t been able to
recall, was long since gone, not that one could blame her under the
circumstances of the time. Three stiffs in a deep freeze would have been more
than enough. It might take some time to find another one, not that he was in
any kind of a hurry.
Flipping the switch, it would appear they had
electricity—finally. There was the smell of gas in the air from the pilot light
on the stove, and underlying that, a weekend spent with nothing but candles for
lighting. What the hell, the phone might even work. Things were looking up, and
no more roughing it in the bushes, as people said. Without heat, light, and
power, it was just another bad campsite—admittedly, one with a dozen good
eateries within a six-block radius.
With a bag of groceries under one arm, he bent and
picked up Sylvestre in his wire cat-carrier, and entered the old familiar
space. Not exactly police business, and he had taken a cab over to LeBref’s
place. He could always turn in the receipt and hope for the best.
Once the door was
closed, he opened up the carrier and sat on the spindle chair by the door to
pull the laces and kick off the shoes. The cat, suspicious indeed after recent
events, stayed in the carrier.
“It’s all right,
Sylvestre; we are home at last. And—I have a little treat…”
Setting the bag down on
the kitchen counter, he began pulling stuff out, a baguette, fresh carrots, and
a dozen eggs just for starters. Spaghetti noodles, a tin of sauce. A tin of
sardines, three or four of them in fact…Sylvestre, unaccustomed to being
abandoned, adopted by strangers, lugged around in alien contraptions at a
moment’s notice, had his nose at the hole, but the animal clearly had
reservations. Gilles grinned as the cat sniffed the air, wondering. He pulled
out the last few things, bacon, cognac, cigars, tinned fruit.
“Oh, yes, my fine
furred fellow, you are surely going to love this…”
Gilles opened the
cupboard and found a bowl and wiped out a thin film of dust. Pulling a drawer,
he found a butter knife…using the attached metal key, he found the little metal
tab on the tin. Giving the key a twist, there came a characteristic snap as air
entered the hermetically-sealed canister of paper-thin metal and at that point,
Sylvestre decided this might be his long-lost Maintenon after all. The animal
came out, still a little hesitant, still sniffing the air as if confronted by
some weird air of unreality, but come out to investigate he did. And it was
well—
He pried a couple of
oily, silvery fish out of the tin and poured some of the juice over it.
Gilles set the bowl on
the floor in the usual place. A bowl of water came next. Ears well back, and
with one eye on the oddly-familiar man in this rather strange yet sort of
familiar kitchen, Sylvestre put his face down and had another good sniff.
Quietly, with a minimum of fuss, bother, and above all, noise, Gilles proceeded
to put a few things away, including a couple of bottles of cold beer.
It was only then, that
he remembered to take his hat off, and to hang up his jacket. The socks would
be okay for a while. As for the tie, that could go, and right now, and he
stuffed that into the jacket pocket to be dealt with later.
Tentatively, Sylvestre
tasted it with the tongue and then decided this might be all right after all.
 |
| Sylvestre: not too sure about this guy... |
“Hmn.” And now, what in
the hell am I supposed to eat—
That was one very good
question, but if nothing else he could put the carrots away. He cut a few
slices off the baguette and buttered them up, setting them on a small plate on
the table. He pulled the cork from a bottle of white from the refrigerator.
Poured himself half a glass—there wasn’t much left in there and he might as
well finish it off. Any excuse will do, sometimes.
It would give him time
to think.
Other than that, he was
damned tired after one full day at work, and his thoughts returned to early
retirement.
And just exactly how
boring that might be—
It was also time to
open up a few windows and turn on the fans.
***
It was almost
predictable. Over-stimulated, as his mother might have said once-upon-a-time.
His head was a jumble of thoughts, all competing for attention, all of them
demanding some resolution, right now, and not later when it would be so much more
practical.
Six o’clock in the
fucking morning, unable to sleep, with thoughts of coffee and cigarettes
dancing in his head. That, and the job, or jobs, ahead. It had been too much,
that and a bit of a full bladder more than enough to convince.
Poor old Gilles had
tossed and turned half the night, and not the good half either—fact was, he’d
woken up at two-thirty a.m., and although he’d had the odd little
dream-fragment after that, it was like he’d barely slept at all. It was like
dreaming when you weren’t quite asleep after all—and as soon as you realized
what was going on, you were right back to reality again.
“Argh.”
He couldn’t really
blame the cat either. Sylvestre had come to bed with him under some slight
protest, carried all the way in from the front room. After settling in for a
while, right in between Maintenon’s legs in their irritating and universal
cat-fashion, he’d been gone when Gilles woke up the first time.
There was the question
of what he would be wearing today, and then he needed a shit, a shave and a
shower…after that, a minimal breakfast and at least one coffee. One coffee and
half a dozen cigarettes…
With Sergeant Simard
firmly in their corner, and having granted Pelletier’s request, they had agreed
that the young man and the car would be at his doorstep at seven-thirty on the
dot.
Glancing at the clock,
Gilles figured the bugger would do it, too, and maybe even be a little bit
early. And if that were true, and it probably would be—
He’d better get a move
on, and now here was Sylvestre, no doubt wondering about breakfast himself.
***
For the time being, the
other detectives would be handling things, but then they’d been doing it for
the last two months under Andre Levain and Inspector Delorme, brought in to
replace him when Gilles went missing. While Gilles had the three cases,
Pelletier had none, and that left him free enough for the time being.
What that meant, was
that Maintenon and young Pelletier could simply sit there in the room, read
reports, drink coffee, smoke in Gilles’ case at least, and knocking a few ideas
around.
It was all part of the
training—
Just reading, had
consumed a couple of hours right off, considering Pelletier had to wade through
all of the stuff Gilles had already read; whereas Gilles only had Pelletier’s
stuff to read, and admittedly, to compare with that which had gone before.
At some point, Édouard
had politely inquired, and then headed off for the restroom.
Maintenon picked up the
phone. He’d get an appointment with Roger, and then they’d get right into it again.
END
Previous Episodes.
Louis Shalako has books and stories available from Google play in ebook and audio.
Here is Dead Reckoning, the tenth in the Inspector Gilles Maintenon Mystery Series, available from Amazon.
Thank you for reading.
No comments:
Post a Comment