The Take(102)

“It’s been almost twenty years,” said Nikki dismissively, surveying the room all the same. “No way it’s still—”

“Well?”

She’d spotted the window and the lightning-bolt-shaped crack. It wasn’t easy. The glass was so thick with grime no sunlight had penetrated it for…“It’s there.”

“Then we’re safe to assume not much else has changed.”

Mazot had stopped talking and was giving her the evil eye. She gave him a weak smile and mouthed, “Coffee? Please.” He considered this, then approached, grabbing the phone out of her hands.

“Hello, Dumont? Frank Mazot. Your girl’s gotten herself into a heap of trouble. I’m looking out for her the best I can, but there’s only so much I can do.”

Nikki couldn’t hear what Simon was saying. Mazot’s features grew darker. His eyes studied Nikki more closely. He nodded, then shook his head, then laughed, then looked back at Nikki, as if he knew something really bad that she didn’t. Finally, he said, “Will do. Thanks.” He handed the phone back to Nikki. “Coffee, right?”

“No sugar.” Nikki put the phone to her ear as Mazot headed to the break room. “What was that about?”

“Tell you later. Is he gone?”

“Getting me coffee.”

“Okay, then. There’s another way out of the squad room. There’s a door at the opposite corner from the cracked window. It looks like a closet. It’s not. It connects to a back stairway that was used by workers to deliver coal way back when.”

“What if it’s locked?”

“There’s no lock on the door. Just give it a good pull.”

Nikki looked over her shoulder at the door. Two desks were placed in front of it, but there was plenty of room to scoot through. One of the desks was manned, the other empty.

“I’ll be waiting by the exit,” said Simon. “What do you think?”

Frank Mazot returned and set her coffee on the table. He smiled to show they were still buddies, then sat down. Duvivier and his two colleagues were still at the main door, looking none too pleased she was using the phone.

“I think I don’t have much of a choice.”

As she was speaking, Frank Mazot’s cellphone rang. The detective answered, his eyes immediately turning to Nikki. “Put down the phone,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“Put…it…down.”

“I’m still talking to Dumont.”

“No, you’re not,” said Mazot. “Now, do as I say, Nikki.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t be talking to Marc Dumont,” continued Mazot. “Because I am.”

Nikki glanced over her shoulder. A clutch of detectives were blocking the door Simon had mentioned. She looked back to the main entrance. Duvivier and his crew had his eyes on her, but there were only three of them. Once past them, it was a straight shot into the hall, then down the stairs.

“Keep the engine running,” she said to Simon. “I’m coming out the front. Screw it.”

She dropped the phone, picked up Mazot’s coffee off the desk, and flung it at his chest.

“What the—?” Mazot cried out in pain and alarm, recoiling from her, wiping the hot liquid from his shirt.

The other cops in the room were either busy on their own calls or hadn’t put together what exactly was going on. Only Martin Duvivier took action, moving quickly and decisively in her direction.

Nikki took off toward the door, making straight for the gray-haired man, dropping her shoulder and striking him squarely in the chest. Duvivier flailed at her with open arms as he fell backward onto his rear. His two colleagues were too stunned to do anything.

Nikki jumped over him, then bolted into the hall, running to her left toward the stairs. A glance over her shoulder confirmed that Mazot was in pursuit. She bounded down the stairs two at a time as Mazot hollered for her to stop. “Dammit, Nikki, are you out of your mind?,” his raspy voice echoing in the stairwell.

The ground floor was an oasis of calm. Nikki landed on the polished stone floor, her feet slipping from under her. She threw out her hand and wrenched her wrist to keep from falling. Suddenly Mazot was on her, hands taking her by the shoulders. She knocked them off, bristling with violence.

“Give me ten seconds,” she said. “Please.”

Mazot lifted his hands to grab her, then dropped them. He glanced over his shoulder toward the stairwell. No one was following. He looked back at her. She said nothing. “Okay,” he said. “But only ten. Go.”

“I owe you.”

Nikki ran through the grand doors and down the broad stairs to the street. The afternoon sun was punishing and she threw a hand to her eyes, shielding them, looking everywhere for Simon.

Across the street stood the Cathédrale la Major. Its bells began to toll the four o’clock hour. The pavement was crowded with tourists and cops, cars whipping past in both directions. She hurried to the curb. She looked left and spotted a flash of red. An arm was thrust out of the driver’s window and held high. Simon’s head appeared. He waved, shouting something she couldn’t quite hear.

Nikki ran to the car. The passenger door was open. Simon accelerated as she hit the seat. She pulled the door closed and spun to look out the rear window.