The Prone Gunman by Jean-Patrick Manchette Read Free Book Online Page A

want to knock me off or what?”
    â€œExcuse me,” whispered Terrier.
    â€œYou’re excused.” Félix gave Terrier’s arm a pat. “It’s an embarrassing situation for you. Well, actually, no. Anyway, screw it!” He turned his back to Terrier. “So you don’t want my coffee? Would you care for a liqueur? You don’t want to play Mastermind with me? Maybe Saturday?”
    â€œMaybe,” murmured Terrier.
    He turned around and quickly reached the door, grabbing his leather coat on his way down the hall. He got in the DS, drove off rapidly, and returned to his hotel. It was midnight.
    â€œSomeone brought a package for you,” said the clerk in the burgundy jacket as he handed Terrier his key.
    â€œGive it to me.”
    â€œThe chambermaid took it up.”
    â€œWell, fine,” said Terrier.
    â€œIt was awfully heavy,” the clerk ventured as Terrier was getting into the narrow elevator.
    After unlocking the door to his room, Terrier slowly opened it with his foot, turned on the lights, and suspiciously examined the room and the enormous package tied up with ribbons. After a moment, he went inside and locked the door. He glanced inside the armoire and the bathroom. Then he circled the package and scrutinized it from all sides. He dug in his suitcase and pulled out an Opinel knife. Squatting before the package, he made little pokes with the blade into the wrapping paper and bumped something hard everywhere. He cut the ribbons and then, still using the blade of the Opinel knife, slit the paper and began to tear pieces off. Metal and plastic corners appeared along with transparent glass surfaces, behind which indistinct forms could be made out. Terrier finished tearing off the paper.
    Inside the package was a sealed aquarium, full of water. In the aquarium floated the tomcat Sudan, gutted, his eyes ripped out and his intestines undulating slowly in water dark with blood.

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.
    â€œWell,” said the clerk, “the person didn’t give a name, actually.”
    â€œDescribe the person.”
    â€œWell, I don’t know, the person concerned said that it had to be a surprise, actually, and not to, in fact. . . . ”
    â€œFor Christ’s sake!” exclaimed Terrier with impatience.
    â€œExcuse me, monsieur,” said the clerk, who seemed shocked and worried. “Is something the matter?”
    â€œEverything’s fine. Describe this person for me.”
    â€œIt 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.”
    â€œI wonder what it would be like if you did!”
    â€œBeg your