“What is thisplace?” she said.
John, though,stepped through the small, rusted gate circling the makeshift porch and headedfor the door with the missing glass section. “Try to look less like a cop,” hecalled. “And if anyone tries to make a move on you in there, shoot them.”
Adele staredafter him, but then fell into step, the unease in her gut only rising. The tallagent pushed open the door. No bell announced his presence. As Adele followedafter him, she was assailed by the smell of smoke. She forced herself tobreathe through her mouth in slow, puffing breaths.
On their left, alow bar was occupied by a few patrons nursing drinks. They drank straight outof their respective bottles. John nodded toward a large, rotund woman behindthe counter. She wore a white apron streaked with yellow and red. The womanglanced back at John and didn’t return his greeting. Her eyes flitted to Adele,and her impassive expression remained as emphatic as a slab of granite. Hereyes tracked them across the room as John and Adele moved through the café.
On the otherside of the room, small, circular tables occupied a space in front of neonvending machines and fridges lined with soda bottles. The bottles themselveswere half empty, as if people had drunk them before putting them back in thefridges.
“Can I help you?”the large woman behind the counter called out. She had addressed the question toAdele. Adele shrugged and gave a small nod toward John.
John lookedover. “Where’s Francis?”
The woman’sexpression softened a bit. Instead of distrustful, now she looked curious. Shewaved a hand toward the stairs in the back of the café and then returned herattention to a customer who was banging his glass against the marble counter.Besides the smoke, the cafe smelled like a locker room and talcum powder. A fewof the men sitting around tables made eyes at her. Most had strange tattoos upand down their arms; some had even tattooed their knuckles, their fingers, andtheir faces. One man had tattoos like tears down the sides of his eyes.
“Like I said,”John said, “if any of them try anything, shoot them.” He spoke loud enough sothe patrons heard, and most turned back to their drinks.
“What is thisplace?” Adele repeated, keeping her voice low.
John said, “Ahangout. For the sorts of people we put behind bars.” He added this last partin a quiet voice. “They’ve seen me here before, but they don’t know where Iwork. Probably best they don’t find out either,” he added, still quiet.
He winked, as ifto offset the words themselves, but Adele only felt more at unease. She kepther jacket buttoned in the front, the length covering her weapon and her badge.Her Interpol temporary credentials were still in her suit pocket.
“Should’ve toldme before we got here,” Adele growled, eyes still fixed on the staircase.
John reached thetop of the stairs and looked at her. “Just don’t let them see the cuffs, right?”Then, he turned and took the steps. She noted he didn’t reach out to touch therailing. The metal bar looked greasy. She kept her own hands at her sides asshe too descended. The smell from downstairs, if at all possible, was lessoffensive than upstairs.
A pool tableoccupied a back wall with no windows. A couple of arcade slot machines and apoker table were populated by a group of men and a couple women. No one paidattention as they entered the basement save two men in black suits.
The men bothstepped forward from where they’d been stationed against a square pillar,frowning at the newcomers. Their suits bulged near their waistbands, suggestingthey carried weapons which Adele guessed were probably illegal. Both men heldout halting hands. “Names?” they asked.
John eyed themboth. “I’m here to see Francis.”
The larger ofthe two suits grunted, adjusting his jacket. He turned his head and shouted, “Francis!Visitors.”
There was apause, then a groaning sound from behind a black curtain in the back of theroom. The curtain cordoned off part of the basement behind both the billiardsand the poker table. The groaning sound became a resigned sigh, and a frailhand poked through the curtains, brushing aside the fabric.
A man emerged,wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. He had sallow cheeks and a skeletal face. Helooked like he might have had Korean and French heritage, but when heapproached, he spoke seamless French. “What is it?” he asked, looking around.Then his eyes flicked from the guards to John. His expression became ratherfixed.
“How’s it going,Francis?” said John with a wink. “Tried calling.” The sallow-faced man namedFrancis stared. A pink tongue darted out to wet his lips.
He sniffed acouple of times and wiped his hand across the back of his nose. “What are youdoing here?” he said, quickly.
Adele glancedbetween the man and John, trying to get a read on the situation. The guardswere also doing a quick survey, and they didn’t look particularly pleased. “Doyou know this twerp?” asked the muscular guard, jabbing a thumb at John.
“That’s right,do you know me?” John said, putting a weight of significance behind the words. “Because,if you don’t, I can introduce myself. I can tell everyone where I’m from, whatI need, how we know each other…” He trailed off, allowing the words to linger.
With eachsubsequent phrase, the man named Francis seemed to pale even more. He adjustedhis hood, tugging at the drawstrings and twisting them. At last, he let themgo, allowing them to unwind with a twirl. “I know him,” Francis said jerkily. “He’sa guest.”
Francis beckonedat John with a jerking motion and the guards stepped aside. Adele watched asFrancis slipped a finger into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a crisp role ofhundred-euro bills. He peeled off a few of the bills and tucked them into thejacket pockets of both the guards. “No need to tell upstairs, hey?” Francismurmured beneath his breath.
The guardslooked away now, their eyes fixed on the staircase as if John and Adele weren’teven there.
John strolledpast, giving each man a wink, and he allowed Francis to guide the two of them tothe back of the room, past the poker table and the billiards room. They reachedthe black
