Valentine in Paris Read online

another bar. They waited, and after a couple of minutes the men came back out.

  “We need one of them to talk to. We can’t take both, too difficult. We have to lose one.” Nick whispered.

  Alex nodded in agreement. “Okay, well the chances are they’re looking for you, not me. That was your plan wasn’t it? Sit in bars until the men who killed Gallais found you?”

  “Something like that,” Nick murmured not taking his eyes off the men ahead of them. He fingered the knuckleduster in his pocket.

  “Well, now’s your chance,” Alex said as the men entered another bar, “I’ll pick one of them up in the bar, separate them. When the other one comes out, grab him quietly. There’s an alley there,” she pointed, “he'll pass it to get to the next bar. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” Alex stepped forward but Nick stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “What if they’re looking for you as well?”

  “Then I guess all three of us will be coming out quite quickly.” She beamed.

  Nick watched her disappear into the bar. He didn’t like her taking a chance like this, and he hoped there wasn’t another way out of the place. He walked by, slowly peering through the window. He could see the men at the bar and Alex. She had positioned herself between them, had her hand resting on the shoulder of one of the men engaging him in flirtatious conversation, her back blocking the other guy. He took the cue. The two men exchanged a few words and with a grin over Alex’s head, one of them started towards the exit.

  Nick quickly moved to the shadow of the alley. He looked up it and for once blessed the heavy rain. The passage was narrow and dark. No one was around in such filthy weather and it would muffle the sounds of what he hoped would be a short struggle.

  Ducking just inside the shadows of the alley’s entrance Nick waited, as the man came out in to the drizzle and started off at a brisk walk towards the next blur of light on the street. Nick gripped his knife and poised on the balls of his feet. The man had his head down and was in a hurry to escape the rain. He never saw Nick. One moment he was walking up the street, the next his air supply had been cut off by a vice like arm around his neck and the point of a knife was already drawing a thin, but painful stream of blood close to his jugular. He knew better than to resist.

  Nick dragged him to the shadows, then deeper down the alley.

  “Who are you?” Nick asked in French.

  “Screw you.” Spat the man. Nick tightened his grip and the man began to choke. Nick released the pressure slightly.

  “Wrong answer.” Nick flicked the point of the knife to just under the man's eye and the man squirmed. “The next wrong answer means you lose an eye, then the other, then an ear. Do I need to go on?” The man shook his head as best he could and Nick felt the fight go out of the man's body.

  “Who are you?”

  “French Interior Ministry. We’re looking for you, if you are Nick Valentine, which I am guessing you are?”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know why. They have put teams out to search for you. We had a briefing that you were here, that you were engaged in espionage against France and that we were to find you and bring you in.”

  “You’re with the Interior Ministry?”

  “Yes.”

  Nick’s mind raced. If these men were on official business then that meant the renegade plotters either had more clout than he thought, or had managed to engineer the search through misinformation.”

  “Do you know Gallais?”

  “Who?”

  Nick tightened his grip.

  “No, I don’t know a Gallais, I swear.” The man said hoarsely.

  A slight figure appeared at the end of the alley way and began to cautiously edge down it. Nick gave a low whistle and Alex joined him.

  “Search him, where’s the other one?”

  “I asked him to buy me a drink then said I was going to the bathroom. We’ve got a few minutes.” Alex replied as she rifled the man’s pockets. She removed a revolver, and a wallet. She opened it and peered at the contents in the gloom and gave a curse.

  “Ministry of the Interior?” Nick asked.

  Alex nodded.

  “Okay. We’d better get out of here, but we can’t have this guy raising the alarm.”

  “No problem,” Alex replied, bringing the butt of the revolver down on the man’s head. With a grunt he sank to being added weight in Nick’s arms.

  “He’s going to have one hell of a headache.” Nick commented as he rolled the body to the ground.

  “Occupational hazard. What now?”

  “Well, now we know that the French are officially looking for me, it’s going to make our task a little harder. I can’t risk moving about in the open. The question is, how much clout do De Traulle and Lausat have? Do the Interior Ministry know about the plot or have they been sold a line to do the hard work and bring me in? This guy didn’t know the name Gallais, but then he’s just a foot soldier.”

  “So we pay du Traulle or Lausat a visit?”

  “I think they may be expecting that. I’d like to find out a bit more first.”

  “And how do we do that?” Alex asked, struggling to keep the exasperation out of her tone.

  “I’ve only got one contact in Paris, but if anyone can help, she will. I’ll explain on the way, come on.” Grabbing Alex’s hand he pulled her up the passage way, away from the street and into the winding streets of Montmartre.

  As they neared the top of one of Montmartre's steeply shelving passages Alex stopped for a second.

  “Let me get this straight. We’re going to see some old lady who used to run revue bars here during the war, because you think she can help us?”

  “She’s not any old lady. In her youth she became notorious, not just as one of Paris’ foremost performers, but as a detective and adventurer. She was ahead of her time, that’s for sure. Anyway, the point is, she is very well connected. She knows most of what’s going on in France, nearly everything happening in Paris, and definitely everything going on in Montmartre.

  “Why would she help us?” Alex demanded, “I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it either, but we’re not exactly spoilt for choice, but she’ll help us. We have history.”

  They rounded a corner and found a thick set, oak door in a dark house that soared above them into the night. “Here we are.” Nick lifted the wrought iron knocker and gave a complex series of knocks. Alex looked at him puzzled.

  “Old code,” Nick explained. After what seemed an age they heard bolts being drawn and the door cracked open to allow a narrow spill of light.

  “Pigalle?” Nick whispered.

  “Nick?” The voice sounded old.

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m with a friend.”

  “Come in.” The door opened wider and Nick and Alex stepped through. From somewhere above them a gramophone crackled mournful, classical music. The stone flagged hall was quite bare apart from a huge chandelier, but somehow it was the slight old lady before them who dominated the space, despite her diminutive size. Her hair was pure white, but her green eyes dance in a face that was now elegant but had once been beautiful. She embraced Nick as the door shut behind them. Alex held out a hand, but the old woman ignored it and kissed her on both cheeks.

  “Come, come, upstairs. I don’t use the downstairs anymore.” With surprising speed she ascended the stairs, Nick and Alex trailing behind. They entered a drawing room and Alex let out a gasp.

  The gramophone crackled in a corner, but what had made Alex gasp was the room It was like stepping back to a bygone age, heavy red velvet drapes, dark wood, gilt edged furniture and walls covered in art and sepia photographs of a beautiful woman in exotic locations throughout the world.

  Alex peeled away from Nick’s side and studied the walls, “Is that a…?”

  “Yes, I knew Toulouse quite well. Ah happier days. Then they all were before the war.” She sat down and pointed to a small bar, “Please help yourselves to a drink, then tell me what br
ings you here. I had hoped not to see you again Nick, but only because I know Paris was not a happy place for you.”

  Nick poured some brandies from the bar and handed them around Alex was moving slowly around the walls transfixed by the photographs and art.

  “And it’s not a happy place now I regret to say. I’m here on a job.”

  The old lady nodded and watched Alex, “She’s very pretty.” She observed. Alex blushed and moved to a chair opposite the old lady.

  “I was sent here to meet a man we think is dead. Whoever came in his place tried to kill me and now the authorities are looking for me.” Nick said. “I came here because I thought you might be able to help.”

  The old woman smiled, “Ah Nick, you never change. Yes, I can help. You are after Du Traulle and Lausat no?”

  “How do you know that?” Alex asked incredulously.

  Pigalle spread her hands, “I don’t know everything. I didn’t know about you my dear, for example. I do however know about Du Traulle and Lausat. Lausat frequents a club I know, and when he’s drunk, which is often, he is boastful. So yes, I have heard about this plan of theirs.”

  “So why would you help us when you are French yourself?” Alex asked, her eyes taking on a harder light.

  The old woman studied her for a moment and sighed, “Did you not lose anyone in the war my dear?”

  Alex looked down, “Yes.” She mumbled.

  “Who?”

  Alex dabbed at her eyes, “My father, both my brothers…” her voice cracked and trailed away.

  “I’m so very sorry. We all lost something in that horror. Me included. Men like Lausat and Du