The Agency

12 -Consequences

"I apologize, Richard. That was uncalled for, we're all friends here just trying to correctly assemble the puzzle together, right?" Nathan ignited another cigarette.

"What happened to Monique?" Richard persisted, the realization that he had been duped and set up, washing over him.

"Monique is busy elsewhere, my son. Nothing to do with us here."

"We asked about the money." Suit one spoke deferentially, aware that he too could be escorted from the interview if his tone warranted.

"How many times must I say it; I don't have any of your money." Richard held up his glass and watched as the returned Murray got an okay before bringing the bottle.

"I can accept that, Richard, but then I have to ask you where the money is if you don't have it?"

"Whatever I collected went into the Agency accounts. What happened after that is beyond me. Maybe you're building your own secret retirement fund, Nathan, and you're setting me up as your scapegoat."

Nathan slumped back in his chair and idly examined the remains of another cigarette before crushing it out in the newly overflowing ashtray. Suit one stood and walked out to the balcony and leaned on the rail. Murray moved to the door and stood guard with his arms folded. Richard watched the scene with a growing uneasiness.

They didn't believe him because they already knew the answers they pretended to want. Monique had been broken he was positive, which left him one of two options. Tell the truth or somehow escape their clutches. The truth was the less pleasant option from a pride and health standpoint.

Escaping was even more improbable against the likes of Murray. It would have to be a spontaneous decision. Nathan said he was going to the bathroom and he hauled himself out of his chair and ambled across the room and down the hall.

Murray stood stone-like watching Richard. Suite one wandered back in from the balcony and gave Richard a dirty look then as he crossed in front of him Richard leapt up and grabbed him in a headlock.

"Please, Murray, don't force me to do something I don't really want to do. Get my jacket and that small bag by the table and open the door. Please, Murray. You know I will."

"This is a bad decision, sir," Murray said, doing as he was told.

"Stop him!" Suit one choked.

"You keep your mouth shut or I'll forget my reservations and snap your neck like a dry twig." He force-marched his hostage across to the door and then backed out into the hall. They all heard the toilet flush and Murray took his eyes off Richard to glance down to the bathroom.

Richard thrust Suit one back into the room, knocking both he and Murray over, then yanked the door shut and beat a hasty retreat down the hotel stairs.

A taxi was idling at the curb in front of the hotel and Richard jumped into the back and ordered the driver to move. The cab sped away as Murray arrived on the street with a puffing Nathan close behind. Richard watched the arm waving and the frustration, through the rear window, then turned and slumped, exhausted.

"Where to, ami?"

"Just drive. Take the first turn up into the hills and just drive."

******

The taxi pulled into the parking lot of a motel restaurant that squatted back from the road under the cover of a cluster of large trees. The sign was designed in the style of a French theatre poster and a series of stones lining the walk to the office door had been painted in complimentary colours; altogether too noticeable for Richard.

He paid and got out, waiting until the cab left and then he walked all the way back down to the highway and stuck out his thumb. A trucker with a load of vegetables piled loosely under a flapping tarpaulin was more than happy for the company and his route took them along the coast and then inland to the Moyen Corniche, the middle road that ran across the mountain face.

Traversing the route left him white knuckled as drivers passed one another with only the thickness of the vehicles paint between them. Richard left him in a tiny village on the mountainside and found a room in a quaint pension managed by a man that resembled a garden gnome.

The structure leaned comfortably into the hillside, suggesting a casual greeting to any who cared to stay. There was a large double bed, piled with quilts and stuffed pillows and a well kept, dark stained dresser with a pitcher and washbowl standing at one end.

The springs gave a surprised shriek as Richard sat on the bed and when he took off his shoes, the woven rug felt rough under his socks. A small window gave onto a view of the sea but the trees prevented any view of the details around the area.

He rinsed his hands and face and walked around the room as he dried. He would need clothes and transportation. The grainy mirror threw back the reflection of the fugitive Richard had become. He studied the tired eyes and the unwelcome appearance of creases and graying temples and leaned on the sink feeling alone and adrift.

Washed and feeling a little more human, he picked up his shoe and tore the insole out revealing the pair of credit cards in a cover name. It was a legend Richard had adopted for emergencies and kept secret from everyone. From the slit in the inside of his belt he removed a driving license and a copy of a birth certificate in his legend's name.

The credit cards worked on an account set up a long time ago, which was upgraded in the ensuing years to its present status of adequate emergency funds . . . just adequate. The manager happily gave him a list of stores in the nearest town, that of Eze, and suggested that his own vehicle might be available for a reasonable rate. Richard thanked him and said he'd think that over having done the terrifying drive once and left for a long walk to the town.

At a small café populated by elderly women with lap dogs, tourists from the many buses parked around the square, and a few weary looking businessmen, Richard ate a welcome lunch and sated his thirst with a bottle of the local wine.

The view from the dining room was straight up at the impressive chalet that towered high above on the face of the mountain; visitors labored up the steep steps, cameras flashing like fireworks from various overlooks and stairwells.

The clothes he'd purchased on arrival were casual and comfortable, replacing the semi business attire he fed into a large dumpster. Now he needed a plan and he needed to find Monique. Assuming she was still mobile and active, she would be making her own plans for the money . . . their money.

Meanwhile, he had to get some cash of his own and not from his emergency account . . . not yet.