Page 77 of The Nameless Ones

Louis was forced to admit that Mr Rafi had a point. Perhaps he was growing negligent in his old age. On the other hand, he was in the process of killing his way across Europe, so it was not so much a question of not drawing attention as the level of attention one might inevitably draw.

‘Maybe you’re just good at finding people,’ said Louis. ‘Like certain dogs.’

Mr Rafi added a great deal of sugar to his espresso and knocked it back in a single gulp before it had a chance to grow even slightly cool.

‘You appear intent on causing offense, Mr Louis,’ he said.

‘Well, I wouldn’t like to think the effort was being wasted. And it’s just Louis. Adding “Mister” makes me sound like a gentleman tailor.’

‘Just Louis, then,’ said Mr Rafi. ‘Well, Just Louis, it seems we have interests in common.’

‘I sure hope not,’ said Louis.

‘The Vuksans.’

‘Oh,’ said Louis, with relief. ‘I thought it might have been something important, or really anything at all. Unfortunately, I don’t know who, or what, the Vuksans are. You may have mistaken me for someone else.’

‘Are you worried about a wire? You shouldn’t be. You can search me if you wish, but it might prove awkward in such a public place.’

‘I’ll pass on touching you, but thanks for the offer.’

‘I’m hurt,’ said Mr Rafi. ‘I understood that you enjoyed touching men.’

‘I do, but I’m very particular, and I don’t like getting my hands oily.’

But Louis was unhappy at what he was hearing. Mr Rafi was disturbingly familiar with his background, and there were only two ways he could have become so: by paying people a lot of money or by hurting them.

‘We know you’re looking for the Vuksans,’ Mr Rafi resumed. ‘We know that the Vuksans killed your friends in Amsterdam, and you’ve killed two of their people in turn. We also have reason to be interested in the Vuksans.’

‘And why is that?’

‘We entrusted them with cargo. That cargo was lost. Someone has to pay.’

‘This cargo wouldn’t have been lost somewhere around the Gare de Lyon, would it?’ said Louis.

‘Somewhere around there, yes.’

‘That’s a shame. You know, we really don’t have anything in common. This conversation is coming to a welcome end.’

Louis signaled for the check.

‘The lawyer, Frend, has gone to ground,’ said Mr Rafi. ‘And please don’t tell me you have no idea who he is. That would be wearisome.’

Louis gave it three seconds, because comedy was all about timing.

‘I have no idea who he is,’ he said, and was pleased to see that Mr Rafi’s smile was by now under severe strain, like a rope bridge about to collapse.

‘We’re anxious to speak with the Vuksans,’ said Mr Rafi.

‘And I still don’t know who they are,’ said Louis. ‘But even if some misfortune were to befall these Vuksans – because who can say? – why should it matter if you have a hand in it or not? It’s all the will of God, and the end result is the same.’

The waiter brought the check. Louis reached for his wallet, but Mr Rafi beat him to it by placing ten euros and change on the plate.

‘For all of us,’ he told the waiter, before returning his attention to Louis. ‘And this is why it matters.’ In his hand, Mr Rafi held a small roll of bills.

‘Compensation,’ said Louis.

‘If you kill them, we get nothing.’