The Take(58)

“Salut.” Simon stepped inside, pausing to allow his eyes to adjust to the low light. It was a small room, choked with cigarette smoke, tables to one side, video poker games on the wall, and a foosball table in the corner. At 10:30, the place was half full but lively, a few couples dancing to Italian disco music. He walked to the bar and propped his elbows on the counter, aware that all eyes were on him. He might look like one of them, but he was an outsider, and outsiders were not to be trusted.

He ordered a beer and remained standing, facing straight ahead. The bartender set the glass on the counter. “Visiting?”

“Quick trip.”

“Know anyone in town?”

“I’ve been away for a while.”

The bartender’s eyes gave him the once-over. He saw the tattoo and the penny dropped. “This one’s on the house.”

Simon raised his glass.

The bartender left and Simon gave a look over his shoulder. The place was filling up, mostly men in their thirties and forties and their dates. The women ranged from brassy blondes showing too much flesh to dark-haired matrons who looked like they’d come straight from Mass. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the bartender speaking to an older man at the end of the counter. The man’s eyes turned to Simon. He smiled faintly and made his way over. “Mind?” he asked, pointing at an empty stool.

“All yours.”

“Luca Falconi,” he said.

“Simon Ledoux.” If he was visiting the old gang, he might as well use his old name.

Falconi offered a meaty hand. He was pushing sixty, wavy hair dyed black as oil, an extra thirty pounds hanging from his gut. “Laurent told me you’d been away. Where were you, on vacation?”

“Down south.”

“Les Baums?”

Simon nodded and sipped his beer. “It was a while ago. I’ve been out of the country a few years.”

“What brings you here?”

“Looking for a friend.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“His name is Tino Coluzzi. We go way back.”

“Coluzzi, eh?” Falconi made a show of searching for the name, eyes moving here and there, mouth twisted in puzzlement. To Simon’s eye, it was a poor performance. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“He’s a little taller than me. Better looking. I heard he liked this place.”

“Really? Where’d you hear that?”

“Nowhere special. In fact, we did some work together back in the day.”

“Can’t help you. Not a name to me.”

“Too bad. I wanted to give him a message. You see, he has something I’m looking for. He might have found it by accident, but he needs to give it back. Otherwise, he could get into a lot of trouble. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.”

“Sounds serious.”

“It is what it is.”

Falconi considered this, his eyes never leaving Simon’s. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Ledoux. Simon Ledoux.”

“Well, Mr. Ledoux, like I said, I can’t help you.”

“Tell him there’s still time. No hard feelings. Just in case you remember.”

Falconi raised his glass. “Stay out of trouble.”

“I’ll try.” Simon went back to minding his own business. Falconi disappeared into the back office. Simon had a good idea what he was up to. It looked like Nikki Perez was right about this being Coluzzi’s hangout.





Chapter 30



Tino Coluzzi was asleep when the phone rang. He sat up and checked the number before answering.

“Yeah, Luca,” he said. “What is it?”

“Something’s up. A guy’s in here asking about you.”

“A cop?”

“It’s not about Sunday. All the boys are keeping their mouths shut.”

“Then why are you bothering me?”

“The guy’s one of us.”

“La Brise?”

“Yeah.”

Coluzzi rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep. “Recognize him?”

“Never seen him before, but he says he knows you.”

“Who is he, then?”

“Ledoux.”

The name rocked him like a swift kick in the nuts. “Say again.”

“Ledoux. Says he’d heard you liked to hang out here. And he wanted to give you a message.”

“What’s that?”

“He thinks that you might have something he wants. Something you found by accident but that you need to give back. You know what he’s talking about?”

Coluzzi was fully awake now and on edge. Still, he needed time to put everything together. He rose and stalked through the small, low-ceilinged house, throwing open the doors to the terrace and stepping outside.

He called the place Le Coual, and it was situated far off the beaten path on a promontory overlooking the sea twenty kilometers outside Marseille. He’d built the place himself over the course of two summers not long after he’d gotten out of prison. He’d learned at a young age that he needed a place to lay up from time to time. A place where no one could find him, friend or foe. The line between the two could be razor thin, and subject to change without notice.