Mountains of Dawn

Charles Aldrin sipped his Pernod in a cafe on the Croisette. He waited, his face hidden by the brim of his straw hat and dark glasses, for his contact.

"Charles Aldrin?" A young man wearing sports goggles stood beside him.

"Yes."

"Come with me," the young man said. He turned and left the cafe, walked to the parking lot, and entered a Lamborghini. Charles joined him.

"Did you get rid of the car?" The young man asked. His tone dripped arrogance, his attitude superiority.

"Yes. Everything's in order."

"No loose ends?" The man glanced at Charles, then back to the road. He drove with a casual disregard for other traffic.

"Absolutely none." Charles swallowed his lie. "Where were you yesterday? I waited. It isn't too smart for me to hang around here, you know." Charles glowered. His fingers brushed at his new moustache; it itched.

"There was no news of Tanya's death in the newspapers yesterday."

"Things move slow on this side of the Atlantic; you know that. The work is done. Pay me my other half." Charles drew a deep breath and turned in his seat to face the driver. "I said pay me, and pay me now. I took a lot of chances with this one, did a lot to cover my tracks, but the police might not believe me. I suspect they'll come after me as the killer soon enough." He leaned closer to the driver. "The money. Now."

The man reached beneath his seat and drew out a briefcase, then handed it to Charles. "Here's your money," he said, his voice dripping contempt. He dropped it onto Charles' lap as if it were dirty.

Charles quickly opened the case and examined the contents. "Now take me to the airport," he said, snapping the case shut.

"I assume the assignment was carried out as agreed, in all aspects? I don't tolerate sloppy work." The man said, his gaze on the road ahead.

"You mean, like a stick of Telgex, stuck close to a car?"

The man turned to Charles, his eyes blazing fury. "That… That is none of your business. Close your fucking mouth."

* * *

At the Charles De Gaulle Airport, Tanya ate as if it were her first meal in weeks. She glanced up occasionally and watched the waiters coming and going, taking orders, bringing dishes and collecting money, then dipped her head for another mouthful of food. The airport was a busy place. The noise level in the restaurant was high, people talking, plates and flatware clanking, laughter, mild grumbles from the long line waiting to be seated. Tanya sighed and began to eat her second mousse au chocolate.