"There," Kaz said, nodding. Vincent was standing across the street with Bessette and one other uniformed soldier, probably his official bodyguard. I guessed the dark suits were SOL. Vincent pointed to us and waved. Two Gardes Mobiles officers walked past the cafe, eyeing us, a visual, and not too subtle, warning to not try anything funny.
Bessette and his guy stood across the street for a minute after Vincent left. Then they crossed, waiting another minute on the sidewalk. The cops came back, greeted Bessette, and then he walked over to our table. He sat and took out a package of Galuoises. Before he could light up one of those foul-smelling French cigarettes, I reached for a pack of Luckies. The two dark suits jumped up, pistols at the ready. I smiled and slowly pulled out the Lucky Strikes.
"American cigarette?"
Bessette took the whole pack, and motioned for his men to sit down.
"Merci," he said, lighting a Lucky and savoring it. "Very good."
"You speak some English, Captain Bessette?" I asked.
"Some, not very good. Parlez franfais?"
"Je parle francais," answered Kaz.
"Tres bien," said Bessette. "If we need French, him," he said, pointing roughly at Kaz with his cigarette. "Now, you, American, say what you want."
"To do business, what else?" Bessette glanced at Kaz for confirmation. He rattled off some French, ending with a shrug of the shoulders. What else, indeed?
"Business! But we are allies, not businessmen!" Bessette grinned, showing off nicotine-stained teeth. His fingers were yellow where he held the cigarette. "Or are you from Chicago? Gangsters! Al Capone!" He thought this was hilarious and roared with laughter. A bottle of red wine and glasses appeared at the table. No one spoke as the waiter poured. He scurried away and Bessette took a long swallow.
"Business," he said, staring me in the eye. "What business?"
"I have something you want, and you have two things I want."
"That," he said, shaking his head, "is bad business. Two for one? No."
"The one thing I have is worth nothing to me and a great deal to you."
"And the two things I have?"
"One is worth much less, and the other, nothing."
He refilled his wine glass and took another drink.
"Say what it is you want, and what you have to give."
"The first thing I want is Villard's prisoners from Le Carrefour, delivered to the Hotel St. George, at noon tomorrow." I nodded to Kaz to translate, to make sure Bessette understood.
"That is a police matter," he said, once Kaz was done. He waved his hand. "That has nothing to do with me."
"Yes, but the notebook, that does have something to do with you."
Kaz started to translate but Bessette cut him off.
"You have the notebook? Here?" His eyes flew to the dark suits.
Now it was my turn to laugh. "That would not be good business," I said, and took a drink myself, smiling at Bessette like he was an old pal. He glowered at me, then nodded.
"Very bad business it would be, yes. Notebook for rebels. Good business."
"Half of the pages for the rebels." Kaz translated.
"What will the other pages cost?" Bessette demanded. His English got better as the negotiations went on.
"All I want for the other half," I said, leaning in close to whisper, "is a rug.".
Chapter Thirty-six
I looked in the mirror and adjusted my service cap. My bandages had come off yesterday, but I still didn't relish the brim sitting on that bump, so I had to adjust it to just the right angle. Clean khaki shirt, freshly shaved, lieutenant's bars gleaming, I looked like a real staff flunky. I hooked my web belt on and checked my holster, knife, and spare ammo. Everything in place. Kaz and I were back at the St. George, but stuck in a tent with Harry outside on the grounds. Still, we had access to real bathrooms and the restaurant, the latter due to Kaz's constant praising of the chef and his dishes, and his free way with francs.
I walked to the lobby and found Diana and Yvette. Diana was wearing a long summer dress, and a light coat with long sleeves. She looked fashionable, and if you didn't know her clothes were chosen to hide her bruises, you'd think she looked fine. She said she was healing, but she didn't want to talk about it. She had her arm in Yvette's, who was helping her down the lobby steps. But her hand dug into Yvette's forearm, and I knew every step she took was filled with pain and required courage.
"What's the big surprise you've summoned us for, Billy?" Diana asked. She smiled, but it was a distant smile. All lips and no eyes. A re-creation of an emotion from memory.
"Come outside, find a nice spot in the shade, and wait," I said. I wanted to take her by the hand, but I was nervous. It was like that between me and Diana now. We hadn't had much time together the past few days, and when we did, Yvette was always there, fussing with Diana's hair or chatting with her in French. Diana seemed calm when Yvette was by her side. But if we were alone, or if I tried to hold her hand, she became jittery. And I did, too. She wasn't the same, not the same Diana I'd known back in England, not even the same Diana I had glimpsed in that dusty prison courtyard the first day in Algiers. And me? Yeah, I wasn't the same guy either. Things had happened. Nothing as bad as what had happened to Diana, but I had to live with that, too. I felt lousy, like a low-life bum who cared more about his two-bit problems than the people who depended on him. People he loved. Every time I thought about Villard and what he had done, his hands on her, beating her, caressing her, drugging her, raping her, owning her in that room, on that filthy mattress, I'd feel red rage rising up inside me until I wanted to scream. I knew if I had any chance to make things right with Diana, that image had to disappear. Whatever it took.
I found Diana and Yvette a bench in a part of the gardens that hadn't been taken over by tents and traders yet. When Diana sat down she let out a sigh, as if the short walk downstairs and outside had exhausted her.
"You okay?" I asked, bending down to talk to her. My hand rested on the back of the bench, close to her shoulder. She nodded, offering me a bit of a smile. Not much, but real, her eyes locking on mine. This we could manage. Not an actual conversation, just a quick exchange now and then that caught us both by surprise, our old selves taking over, reminding us of how things had once been.
"Diana," I said, "I have to leave right now with Kaz and Harry. I'll be back later. I just wanted you to see this, and, and to know, that… uh, well, you'll see."
"What are you trying to tell me? See what? What's happening, Billy?"
"I've got something to do. It needs doing, and should have been done… I don't know, I can't explain it. I just wanted you to know-"
"Know what, Billy?"
"That I kept my promise."
With that I got up and headed for the drive. The main drive leading into the hotel ended in a circular loop that was already lined with parked vehicles but was still wide enough for a large truck to pass. Kaz and Harry were at the entrance to the hotel to escort the truck in. It was noon, and I could hear church bells ringing the hour in the French district. The sun was shining, reflected in the calm sea. In a minute, they drove in, Harry at the wheel of the jeep, leading an old open truck whose canvas sides flapped in the breeze. The decrepit vehicle looked out of place among the freshly painted olive drab army vehicles parked along the drive, but it was a beautiful sight.
The truck was crammed with young kids, rail-thin and dirty, like scarecrows, their clothes in rags, hanging off them. They were cheering like crazy, hugging each other and crying. When the truck braked to a stop, the driver yelled "Sortez," but no one needed to tell them to get out. They jumped down, whooped and hollered, and I saw Diana run to them, a huge smile on her face, more joy than I had seen in her since I got her away from Villard. She jumped up and down like a schoolgirl, going to each and embracing every one of them in turn, all memory of bruises and pain gone.