She didn’t want me to suffer then. She wouldn’t want me to suffer now.
As fingers of icy wind whipped in from the river, Gage took a series of chest-expanding breaths. He recalled Monika’s kindness and spirit. He replayed her words again and again.
Gage vowed, right then, that he would buck up for the remainder of the time that he was on this job.
He owed it to Monika. He owed it to Claudia.
And he owed it to himself.
This was a critical moment in his journey—a cleansing. He’d need the renewed focus, because he had no idea of the corruption he was on the verge of discovering.
Today.
It was this very corruption that would make his job far more challenging.
And, in the coming days, it would result in the death of a number of people.
* * *
L’Imaginarium was in the oldest section of the city, open to foot traffic only. The restaurant was near the rare bookstore Monika’s now dead cousin once owned. It was her cousin’s loose lips that started the entire affair with the diaries. But Gage had set his mind to be unaffected by such memories, so he strode past the building that once housed the bookstore, not even turning his head to see what was located there now. He knocked on the door of the restaurant and was quickly admitted by a male server. Inside, Gage’s nose was assaulted by delightful aromas. He was ravenous.
After leading Gage through a narrow hallway, the server turned him over to a hostess. She welcomed him by his first name and the Maître D' arrived from the right, carrying a gray patterned sport coat, trading it for Gage’s heavy coat and hooded sweatshirt. Despite the restaurant’s being closed, they obviously still had standards.
The two restaurant employees led Gage to a table at the rear of the restaurant, next to a large paned window overlooking what appeared to be a private garden. Marcel was there and gestured for Gage to sit across from him.
The design of the restaurant was rather modern, with jet-black walls adorned with tall modern paintings. The floor was concrete, stained a very shiny red. The tables were covered in white linen and topped by centerpieces designed to mimic deer antlers. Each of the chairs was covered in black leather with no armrests. Other than the staff, Gage and Marcel did indeed have the entire restaurant to themselves.
“I’m happy to share a meal with you,” Marcel said, adjusting his silverware. He smoothed his shiny silk tie and eyed Gage fiercely. “Before the meal proceeds, I want you to understand that I am paying. We’ll have no argument about this. If you resist, I’ll have my men take you out back into the alley and beat you mercilessly.”
Amused, Gage showed his palms in assent. Though he knew Marcel was a criminal, there was something incredibly decent about the man that Gage had first detected years ago, and once again today. While Gage was certain Marcel controlled all manner of unseemly activities, he struggled to imagine the Frenchman ever making anyone suffer unnecessarily—and especially no one who happened to be innocent. He simply wasn’t that type of man.
His hands clasped in front of him, Marcel smiled knowingly. “You’re sitting there thinking, ‘Mon Dieu…I’m sharing a table with a career criminal.’”
“Depending on which lens of the law one looks through, I, too, am a career criminal.”
“Touché.” Marcel gestured to the menu. “Would you like to order your own food, or would you allow me to order our food family style? Guillaume makes many generous allowances for me. I personally recommend we get several plates and share.”
“Please,” Gage replied.
“You’re hungry?”
“Starving. I took your advice and didn’t eat anything.”
With just a slight wave of his hand, Marcel set the staff into motion. A bright-faced server appeared, listening to Marcel’s rapid French. She nodded and asked Gage a question, which sounded to Gage like a query regarding his beverage.
“Water is fine,” he replied.
“No wine?” Marcel asked.
“You go ahead.”
Marcel ordered mineral water for the table. “I don’t like drinking in the middle of the day unless I have no work to do.” He gestured to the kitchen. “Since we’re both hungry, I’ve requested they bring us an appetizer course right away.”
Following several minutes of small talk between Gage and his old friend, the server arrived with two large platters. She explained what was on each as Marcel translated.
The first platter was heaping with steaming crayfish. “The crayfish have been prepared in a gravy of green apple and curry.”
The second platter was mounded with rare beef. “This is Carpaccio de boeuf,” Marcel explained. He asked the server a brief question and nodded. “It’s prepared with hazelnut and parsnip puree.” He opened the accompanying basket. “Guillaume recommends you pair the Carpaccio with these fresh vegetable chips.”
Finally, the server opened the folds of a basket, revealing fresh baked sliced bread, still steaming from the oven. The aromas were magical. She asked if they required anything else. Marcel thanked her and off she went.
“Please, eat with gusto, Gage Hartline. No manners are needed. I encourage you to hurry because, if you do not, I may eat all of this myself.”
While Gage didn’t typically dine in gourmet style, he found the food to be transcendent. The crayfish were his favorite. While a bit of work was required to liberate all the meat from each crustacean, he was rewarded with bursts of flavor unlike any he’d enjoyed in quite some time.
The conversation was equally enjoyable. Gage and Marcel spoke of private things that only two men who shared the kinship of toppling a man like Nicky Arnaud would be compelled to disclose. Gage told Marcel all about the business in Spain with Los Leones. Marcel was familiar with the story and a number of the organizations involved,
