First Blood Page 4

  On the street, things were heating up between Leroy and the rest of the gang. Swearing at him, the boys moved around the car.

  Eva noticed, not without some anxiety, that one of the teenagers was wearing a mask and waving a baseball bat in a large arc.

  He bashed in the back window.

  7

  Erwan Leroy had not seen it coming. The glass gave way behind him with a loud crunching sound. The teenager hoisted the bat again and struck the window a second time. Glass fragments showered the back seat.

  “Dirty pig!” one of the boys shouted as he kicked the door, making it buckle.

  “You’re fucked, asshole,” another said. “Just wait and see how fucked you are.”

  Six boys were attacking the car now. Leroy had no choice. Breathing heavily and his heart racing, he put the car in reverse.

  As the vehicle moved out of its spot, the boy with the baseball bat started swinging at a window on the passenger side of the car. The glass shattered. The boy, who was wearing a black mask and wool gloves, tried to get inside the car.

  “What do you want, asshole?” he cried out as he tried to grab the detective. “Dirty shit pig.”

  Leroy pressed on the accelerator, ejecting the teenager. He saw him roll onto the sidewalk among his friends. He was holding his head.

  Shit, I hope you didn’t get hurt, asshole. You damned kids are just the type to file a complaint for police brutality.

  It had all spiraled out of control. He knew it was his fault. He had not been prepared for this. There wasn’t supposed to be a single slip. If one of these kids got hurt, there would be riots for days. And nobody knew that he and Eva were here. If something happened to them.

  He hit the brakes, shifted into neutral and, shaking, grabbed the radio. He got on the local channel to call for help. He had no choice. He would take full responsibility.

  “Eleven-ninety-nine. Officers need help. Two officers attacked in Les Ruisseaux. I repeat. Two officers attacked in Les Ruisseaux. Need backup now.”

  “Ten-four. Sending backup.”

  Leaving the radio in his lap, he revved the engine and rushed the kids, who spread out to avoid getting hit. But they ran after the car, with stones in their hands.

  “Asshole.”

  “Bastard.”

  “You’re fucked.”

  One of the projectiles ricocheted off the car.

  The frozen air wafted into the car, but Leroy was covered in sweat. He felt like he was suffocating.

  Eva was still out there. Alone. Exposed.

  He had to save her. Fast.

  An alley running alongside the buildings led to the parking lot. He spotted her and hit the gas.

  8

  “I told you to stop.”

  Eva had her back to the building. She was pointing her gun straight at them, but it did not discourage the hoods one bit. The four boys approached, hitting the cars as they went by to intimidate her. One of them had a long metal bar. It made a high-pitched screeching noise as he dragged it over the concrete.

  “Police,” she repeated. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “No shit,” the leader said. “If all cop chicks are as hot as you, I’m going to join the police. I’ll fuck ’em all up the ass, just the way you like it.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Leroy’s car turn, skid, and go down the alley. The lights were coming toward her.

  He’s driving too fast.

  “Erwan!” she cried out.

  It was too late. Leroy hit the brakes. The tires glided over the icy pavement. He lost control.

  She stepped aside as the Renault slid past her.

  Leroy turned the steering wheel, trying to go with the skid.

  The car bumped the edge of the sidewalk, hitting something. There was the sound of ripping metal. The car slid for about a yard and collided with something else—most likely a concrete flower planter. Then it stopped.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he shouted, the panic clear in his voice.

  Eva ran to the car, while Leroy tried to start the engine.

  The pack of hoods followed her.

  “Wait, you bitch.”

  “Assholes.”

  She slammed the door.

  “Now.”

  “I’m trying.”

  Leroy was turning the key and stepping on the gas, but the engine was just sputtering.

  “No way!” Eva cried out. “Don’t tell me we’re stuck here.”

  “I just need to...”

  A chunk of concrete hit the car, cracking the windshield.

  A second projectile followed, going through the broken passenger window. It brushed past Eva’s face.

  “Shit,” she said.

  Suddenly, her thoughts became clear, as they always did when her adrenaline was pumping.

  She opened the door and got out of the car.

  “You coming back for my dick?” the leader snickered.

  She jumped on him.

  The boy was not expecting that. He did not move, and his mouth hung open as he watched the inspector’s head come down on him like a big white exclamation point in the night. Eva’s forehead crashed into his nose, which broke with a sharp cracking sound. He fell back as the blood spurted out of his nose.

  He rolled on the ground, screaming in pain.

  Cries of anger rose up. The others ran toward the car. Two rushed at her directly.

  Eva swerved to the side, evading the first, who slipped on the ice and went sprawling on the ground without touching her.

  She also dodged the metal bar the second swung at her.

  She stepped back. The boy with the bloody nose stood up. He bolted at her again. The triangular tip of her boot hit him between the legs, stopping him short. He crumpled, holding his testicles.

  “Fucking whore,” he yelled.

  The boy holding the metal bar was trembling now. He was clearly not used to this kind of resistance and was trying to understand what was going on. She was a woman. Just a woman. And yet...

  She had already grabbed the bar with her left hand, keeping him from using it. Her right fist came up from below, meeting his chin on the way up. The impact lifted the boy off the ground and sent him flying. He fell on top his buddy.

  “Now that’s enough,” she ordered.

  In vain. The rest of the pack had formed a circle around her.

  There was fury in their eyes.

  Eva gripped the iron bar. Things were not getting better. She felt perfectly capable of confronting these thugs one by one, but if they all threw themselves at her together, she would not stand a chance.

  She looked for better footing on the slippery pavement.

  The four boys tightened the circle.

  She heard Leroy’s door open.

  Then she heard, “There’s a fire in the building.”

  Her brain did not register the meaning immediately. A fire? But the teenagers had all looked up. They looked surprised. Then there was pure panic.

  “It’s true. Shit. It’s burning.”

  “That’s Constantin’s digs.”

  “They got him, the bastards. They screwed Constantin.”

  Eva turned around, still holding the iron bar. The night had grown darker. A thick cloud of black smoke was billowing from the very top floor, where Ismael Constantin had his apartments. She could also make out the bright dancing flames that were devouring the walls and the furniture. Perhaps at this very moment, it was swallowing up any people who were caught inside.

  “Just what we needed,” she said.

  Then one of the windows in the apartment shattered. A column of flames shot out with a long silky cry of heat and destruction.

  A series of explosions followed. Windows shattered, one after the other. In the space of minutes, the fire stretched its greedy red tentacles through the rest of the building. The sight was hypnotic.

  Eva snapped back to reality. They had to move. Fast.

  “The fire department.”

&nb
sp; Leroy nodded. He was already calling it in.

  Eva turned back to the building and saw doors opening along the exterior corridors. People were fleeing their apartments, climbing over all the junk, and rushing toward the stairways. Screams filled the parking lot, as flames overtook the apartments one by one, like some hungry, living entity.

  “Constantin got screwed for sure,” one teen called out, wide-eyed. “Sammy, what do we do?”

  “We can’t do nothing, asshole,” the leader answered. “You already got told.”

  The young man looked at the flames consuming the building and then at the two cops, clearly not knowing what to do. He was shaken and nearly in tears.

  “Asshole cop pigs.”

  He threw the concrete he was holding, but there was no conviction. Eva ducked to dodge it.

  “You did this, didn’t you?”

  Eva shook her head. “Of course not.”

  “Yes, you did. You came to kill Constantin, you bastards. Just like he said you would.”

  Now that was new.

  “What? Who said that?”

  The boy stepped back, his eyes darting right and left.

  “What did you just say?” Eva repeated, stepping forward.

  The teenager continued backing up.

  “Bastards. You’ll burn in hell for this.”

  The boy seemed overwhelmed with fear. And he was not alone. His buddies had dropped their weapons. They were running toward the fence, clearly wanting to flee.

  “Wait,” Eva called out.

  It was too late. They had already scattered, zigzagging between the parked cars and meeting again at the fence to scramble through the opening. That proved at least one thing. These kids did not live here. They would not have fled if they had families in Constantin’s building.

  Eva turned to look at the blaze again. She was fascinated by the power of the flames.

  Constantin’s building, she thought again. What could have happened up there?

  “The firefighters are on the way,” Leroy said, getting out of the car.

  He was still holding his police radio. Like Eva, he could not take his eyes off the flames. He had been right. Something had been planned for this night. Perhaps it was a meeting with another boss. Maybe it had gone bad.

  But if that was the case, how were they going to find the culprits? They had to be in the stream of people who were shoving and pushing their way down the stairs and spilling into the parking lot. But who? Eva saw mostly children and women, some of them crying and others praying. A man in his forties came out holding two babies, one in each arm.

  She heard Constantin’s name spoken in hushed tones by the displaced people all around her.

  Constantin, the big boss, the one who always dodged the bullet, the one the police thought they could never nail.

  “Do you see him? Do you see Constantin anywhere?” she asked Leroy.

  He shook his head.

  “No. He is not there. At least not now. Not everyone is out.”

  Eva walked toward the entrance. The top of the building was an inferno under a thick black cloud of smoke, like sooty wings opening over the world. It was too late to save anything. Going into such a blaze unprotected would be totally crazy.

  Another window exploded, shooting shards of glass into the parking lot. The evacuees darted out of the way, screaming.

  The flames rose higher into the night.

  Ismael Constantin never came down.

  9

  Neuilly-sur-Seine

  Jonathan had gone upstairs to bed. He did not know how to react, and she was not helping him. Madeleine did not have the energy to play the part.

  She was vulnerable, and she was afraid.

  The more she dwelled on it, the more afraid she was. It was eating away at her. She had the taste of blood in her mouth.

  When she closed her eyes, Madeleine saw her younger, more innocent self at college. She saw herself making those choices again. She remembered the consequences of everything she had done. And the fear intensified.

  There was only way to overcome this fear.

  She had to face it.

  She had to make some decisions.

  She brushed her wounds with her fingers. At least they were not bleeding anymore. They were the same wounds that she had had many years earlier. So many years. Horrible gashes in her cheeks, puffy, exposing muscle and bone. The pain that never left her.

  Yes, she had to confront her fear.

  Rip off the old skin one more time. She had no choice.

  She had to act quickly, before he found her again.

  She perked her ears, making sure Jonathan had not come down again. The house was quiet. She imagined her husband lying in bed, questioning what had happened and why. He would pretend to be sleep. That was Jonathan’s way.

  She could not go on like this.

  What she was going to do broke her heart, but she did not see any other solution.

  She was going to take control of her life, as she always had.

  Madeleine Reich stood up, woozy from all the liquor she had consumed. The bottle of Glenfiddish was now empty.

  Her office was on the other side of the house. Her husband was never allowed to enter it. She called it her sanctuary with a perverse sense of irony. Nobody would ever guess how appropriate that name was.

  She opened the door and entered. Off-white walls. Diplomas--the real ones and the fake ones. Shelves of old leather-bound books lined the walls. She had purchased a few on each trip she took. Some of them were worth as much as the house.

  Her desk was at the back of the room. It was massive and shiny. An ivory-colored computer sat in the middle.

  Madeleine brushed it as she passed. She wondered if she should make out her will. Until now, she had avoided doing this. She thought that if she put the possibility of her demise down in ink, it would come prematurely. Stupidities.

  Yet isn’t that what the sign means?

  It was a mark of evil.

  The superstitious would call it a “mysterious sign.” Announcing death.

  Madeleine Reich opened the cupboard that held her safe. She had had it installed specifically for this kind of situation. The safe had a sophisticated palm-recognition lock.

  She placed her hand on the detector. A brief melody announced that the lock had been deactivated.

  She pulled out her nine-millimeter handgun and slipped in a cartridge.

  Rip off the old skin.

  Open your eyes. Open them for real.

  See beyond the veil again.

  There was a bottle in the minibar under her desk. She poured herself a large glass and drank it in small sips. As she felt the warmth of the alcohol spread through her, she also felt the air begin to vibrate. It was just an impression at first. Then it got stronger. The glass crumpled, as if it were made of thin paper. She set it down.

  “I was blind before, and now I see,” she murmured, “Oh, Lord.”

  Increasingly powerful waves of energy distorted the air all around her. She was no longer used to this. She felt the world begin to pitch. Nothing seemed real.

  The flesh of the world.

  Madeleine squinted and saw it appear. Everywhere. An intangible veil was spreading over the desk, the chair, and every other piece of furniture in her office. It was unfolding in waves over the floor. She looked at her hand and saw the translucent web on her skin. It was a shroud, invisible and yet very present, wrapping itself around her body. Every death she had caused was clinging to her pores, hanging on in secret, trying to pull her to the other side.

  Before he found her again.

  She got started, ripping off the strips of the veil that were wrapped around her. A pending death. She returned to the living room. It was written, from the beginning. As she approached the marble staircase, she slipped off her shoes. The floor was cold, hard, reassuring.

  A death for a death. Sacrifice is the only currency accepted by the gods.

  She climbed the stairs, in no hurry.


  She opened the door of their bedroom. As she expected, Jonathan was lying in bed, his back to her. She saw a bottle of sleeping pills on the night table and knew he had tired of asking himself the unanswerable questions. She could tell from his breathing that he was already asleep—the light sleep of cowards.

  She could not hold it against him. How was a man supposed to react when he discovered that the wife he loved, the woman he married had never been what she had told him she was? Jonathan did not know. He had decided to flee. He undoubtedly thought that things would be better tomorrow.

  Better—that she did not know. But yes, tomorrow would be another day. She no longer had a choice.

  In a smooth, silent motion, Madeleine pointed the gun at her husband’s neck and then watched him for a long time.

  Jonathan breathed slowly in his medicated sleep.

  The shot was deafening. Jonathan’s skull exploded. His brains spread across the bed in a splash of gray and red.

  Madeleine, her arm thrown back by the recoil, watched the scarlet pulsations spilling out of her husband’s head, inundating the sheets.

  In other circumstances, she would have had an extreme distaste for all the disorder. All that blood and all that it implied, now.

  The humiliating wounds had returned.

  The daily rituals had been broken.

  There was no turning back.

  “It was the only solution, Jonathan,” she said.

  She straightened up and headed toward the large walk-in closet. Its walls were lined with hundreds of outfits on hangers. She climbed on a footstool and grabbed a suitcase. She did not have much time.

  She would cry later.

  10

  Les Ruisseaux housing project

  The firefighters got the blaze under control finally, after spraying thousands of gallons of water on the building for three and a half hours. The parking was bustling. Crowded. Full of confusion. There was general shock. People were wrapped in blankets to ward off the chill of the night. Teens were talking loudly, gesticulating. They were on edge, getting carried away. Some mothers were crying. The top floors of the building looked as though they had been devastated.

  Officers from the homicide and the drug squads were circulating through the crowd, asking questions. They were trying to determine who had made it into the parking lot and who was still missing. The tenants answered their questions with one-syllable words and insults. The officers did not insist and moved along.