City of Swords by Alex Archer Read Free Book Online Page B

focused his camera on the tourists.
    “So what’s our dog-man look like? A Great Dane? Boxer? A bitzer?”
    “Bitzer?”
    “Ah, that’s right, no dogs. A bitzer…bits of this and bits of that. A mutt.”
    Annja studied the tourists. “No idea. Doug’s note said Gaston would find us. We just have to be visible and wait for him.”
    “Wait. That’s great.” Rembert edged farther in, dribbling water on the stone. Annja followed him, looking down corridors that led to other wings. “So we wait. How long? Let’s give him an hour, tops. Would maybe still give us time to catch that plane, and—”
    “Mrs. Creed?”
    Annja and Rembert whirled around to face a wiry youth standing just past the entrance, squinting against the rain. His oversize pants and jacket made him look small.
    “Miss. Miss Creed.” Annja stepped closer. Rembert began filming. “Are you Gaston?” For some reason she had expected someone older.
    “Gaston? No. Not me.” The rest of his words were in French. “My brother’s name is Gaston.” He twisted the ball of his foot against the stone. “I am to bring you to him.”
    “This isn’t the guy,” Annja whispered to Rembert. “This is his brother.”
    The air hissed out between her cameraman’s teeth. He looked at his watch.
    “We don’t have time for a scavenger hunt. Gaston was supposed to meet us here. That was the message, right, Annja? That was the deal. We—”
    “He doesn’t like to be seen in public, Miss Creed,” the kid interrupted, still speaking French. “He’s only doing this because of the money. You promised money for the interview.”
    Rembert recognized the word for money.
    “We’re paying for an interview, Annja?”
    It happened sometimes. She nodded and said in English, “According to Doug, we’re paying this guy.”
    “This just gets better and better.”
    Annja almost called it quits, between Rembert’s attitude and the fact that Gaston wasn’t here. But her gut told her to pursue it. “Is he close, your brother? Nearby?” She repeated the questions in French.
    The kid nodded. “Under the bridge. Away from the rain and people. He hides there and…you will pay him to talk to you, right? He said he would only talk for money.”
    “He talks, and then I make arrangements to pay him. I didn’t bring the money with me.” Annja had not wanted to set herself up for a mugging. “I’m not carrying cash.” She pulled her pants pockets inside out to show him they were empty. “The money is at the hotel. He talks to me, you come back with me to the hotel and get it. I promise to pay.”
    The nod became vigorous. “All right. That is all right, I guess. You come now, and then you give me money.”
    He turned and tromped out into the rain, Annja and a reluctant Rembert following.
    “Wait!” Annja called. “What’s your name?”
    Without stopping, the boy replied “Jacques” over his shoulder.
    “It’ll be a bitzer, that’s for sure,” Rembert grumbled.
    The bank was slick, but Annja navigated it. Her cameraman was not as sure-footed and slid halfway down on the seat of his pants, cradling his camera to his chest and cursing when he bumped across rocks. The city above was clean, but the riverbank was another matter. Plastic foam cups, crushed cigarette packs and other assorted garbage pooled in low spots. The stink of refuse and sodden earth was strong.
    “Let’s wrap this up,” Annja said, extending a hand to Rembert.
    “I second and third that.” He checked over his camera and wiped at the water again, a futile gesture, as it was raining harder. “Doug’s bad idea is getting worse and worse and worse.”
    “Miss Creed.” Jacques slogged forward, pointing to a recess under the bridge. “My brother waits there.”
    “Now I have a bad feeling about this,” Annja whispered. The whole thing hadn’t felt quite right, not since she’d read the note from Doug about this interview. Actually, not since she’d set foot in Avignon… But she