Quick (45 page)

He understands what that means for her to say. He turns and looks at the four duffel bags from the casino. ‘What about them?’

She shakes her head. ‘I don’t want any part of that money, never did —’

‘Billy! Billy Hotchkiss! Can you hear me?’ The Frenchman’s voice is louder, closer.

The Australian hears it and whispers: ‘How many Billy’s does he think are in here?’

Franka smiles, then glances down at the water again. ‘I know this is an important decision so I don’t want to rush you.’ She fastens her blue eyes on him. ‘But you need to make a choice before he finds a way in here.’

The Australian takes this in with a nod. ‘Yeah, it’s important.’ He thinks about the word for a moment, then speaks, almost to himself: ‘After all is said and done, love is the only important thing.’

She didn’t quite hear him. ‘What’s that?’

‘Just something a friend once told me ...’ He trails off.

She makes the snaky hand movement. ‘So, are we going to “skedaddle” or what?’

She smiles—then so does he.

~ * ~

‘There!’ Claude points at an oval escape hatch in the floor of the plane’s fuselage. He grabs the recessed latch and unlocks it –

Creeaak.
The plane tilts towards the water.

‘Oh
merde!’
Claude wrenches off the hatch then grabs the opening, does his best to steady the plane. The female track worker rushes forward and helps him.

It’s doesn’t work.

Creeaak.
The aircraft tips over and smashes into the ocean ten metres below.

‘No!’ Claude watches it float, tail up, as water churns and swirls into the fuselage. Then it sinks. Fast. The Frenchman pulls off his shirt, kicks off his shoes and moves to the gash in the safety fence, prepares to dive in —

The track worker puts a hand on his bicep. ‘It’s dangerous.’

He looks at it, then her face. She is striking. ‘I know.’

‘Then why are you doing it?’

‘Because he’d do the same for me. If I don’t come back, tell them Claude Michelle went looking for Billy Hotchkiss.’

‘Okay. Be careful, Claude. My name is Bridgette.’

He smiles. ‘Of course it is.’ He turns and expertly dives into the harbour, disappears beneath the swirling waterline.

~ * ~

EPILOGUE

Claude Michelle leans back in his chair and stares out the panoramic window at the sun-drenched forest that borders the Interpol headquarters in Lyon.

Six months after the ‘Grand Prix Bombing’, as it is now called, a term first coined by James Allen on his website, the Frenchman still finds it miraculous that there were no fatalities when the Monaco Grand Casino was destroyed. In fact, the only casualties that day were the Three Champions—and Claude’s partner Billy Hotchkiss.

There’s no way around it: the Frenchman still feels melancholy about Billy’s passing. It’s funny, he didn’t know the Australian that long, or that well, but he genuinely misses the guy. Yes, there’s no doubt he could be cheeky and headstrong but he was a good man, no two ways about it.

Claude glances at the framed black-and-white photograph of himself and Bridgette the third sitting on his new Harley. Looking at her shining face always makes him feel better when this sadness creeps up. He remembers the one piece of advice the Aussie volunteered that really stuck with him:
keep it in your pants.
As simple and obvious an idea as it was, it has so far improved the quality of the Frenchman’s new relationship no end. And that isn’t the only part of Claude’s life Billy influenced positively. After the ‘Grand Prix Bombing’ case was closed successfully, the Frenchman had been awarded Marcellus’s old job as division head.

Claude turns from the window and addresses the mound of paperwork on his desk. The first thing he picks up is the final report from the Monaco Police Department regarding the events of that Grand Prix race day. He studies the cover, doesn’t want to read it but knows he must. He flicks through the pages and is instantly reminded that they never found Billy’s body, or that of the Swiss driver Franka Edlebrock, but they did find the money, which seemed to be the Monaco Police Department’s primary concern. Once they had retrieved those duffel bags the search ended quite abruptly.

The Frenchman studies a picture of Billy in the file. ‘I’m sorry.’ And he is. He’s sorry he couldn’t do more to help him at the end. He wishes he could tell the guy that himself. Claude never apologised but, well, after the Australian repeatedly called him on it, he has started to do it recently. Not a lot, he’s not going crazy or anything, but a little now and then.

The Frenchman can feel the melancholy creep up on him again so he puts the report to one side, turns to the stack of mail on his desk and flips through it, hopes it will take his mind off the case.

One item of mail grabs his attention.

It’s a postcard.

On one side is a picture of a lounging black panther. On the other is a handwritten note:

Be a man. Strong like bull. Not a soft-cock.

Then, below it:

After all is said and done, love is the only important thing.

Stunned, Claude blinks, re-reads the card, then reads it again. He checks the postmark. It’s only a week old. He leans back, looks out the window—and grins for the first time in a long while. ‘Cool beans.’ He’s almost certain he used it correctly.

~ * ~

It’s hot. Damn hot,
Africa
hot, which isn’t a surprise considering it’s the Sudan.

The sun beats down on Billy Hotchkiss as he swings a hammer and drives a large nail into a long piece of wood. Beside him a number of young African men do the same. He wipes sweat from his brow and admires the house frame they’re constructing.

He knew it was a risk to send the postcard but he wanted Claude to know he was alive and well, didn’t want him feeling sad unnecessarily. He was concerned the old Gaul might have taken his passing badly.

The Australian swings the hammer again and drives another nail into the wood. It’s interesting, he doesn’t miss being a cop, and, more surprisingly, doesn’t miss the adrenaline rush. He wonders if it’s because he had more than enough of that in Monaco and it lost its appeal. Or maybe it’s because he was able to fill the void it left with something else.

Something better.

He looks across at Franka who hammers a piece of wood nearby. This
jolie laide
woman is not just unconventionally beautiful but has an unconventionally beautiful soul as well. She turns to him and they share a smile. He walks over and gently lays a hand against her expectant belly. He can’t think of another person with whom he’d want to share this
jolie laide
life.