Evette slid the plate full of crumbs over to the edge of the coffee table. She looked up, and noticed that the Monsieur was waiting for her patiently. He smiled at her, one of those smiles that you only see once or twice within your life, the type of smile that brought joy to even the saddest of hearts. He sat the newspaper down and lit his pipe.
“So, how was the Rodanthe job?” The Monsieur asked politely.
“It was, rather interesting to say the least.” Evette said, grabbing her cup of tea and taking a small sip.
“I spoke with Mr. Rodanthe last night, he was very pleased with your work. However, he did have one small complaint.” The Monsieur said, with a hint of disappointment in his voice.
“And?” Evette asked calmly.
“He said that he wished you had stayed longer, some sort of business you two had together.” The Monsieur said, sounding a bit curious.
“Right, business. I wanted to stay longer, truly. It was just, the job was done and I knew sooner or later you would need me back home. So I chose the lesser of two evils.” Evette said, pushing her hair to her side.
“Well, should you find yourself back in Los Angeles, do talk to him. Now, onto the other business. If you’ll pardon me, I will grab the documents that were sent to me.” The Monsieur said coarsely, his throat clearly dry.
Evette sat on the Victorianesque loveseat with her legs crossed. While the Monsieur was gone, she checked her phone in some strange hope that Christian would have sent a message. To her dismay, there was nothing. Moderately disappointed, she did what she did best; light a cigarette. She grabbed the crystal ashtray and slid it closer to her. She didn’t want to get any ash on the Monsieur’s lavish furniture. When she heard the scuffling of the old man’s feet, she slid her phone back into her purse and smiled.
“I think you’ll enjoy this job.” The Monsieur said, handing her a black folder.
“It’s heavy enough.” Evette said, flicking some ash into the tray.
“Well, it’s more than one person.” The Monsieur said, picking up his pipe and placing it back in his mouth.
“I was told this was a small job.” Evette said, slightly annoyed.
“Oh don’t worry, it is. It’s just, more than one person.” The Monsieur said in a cynical tone.
“But that’s not really small, is it?” Evette asked.
“Just open the folder, and see for yourself.” The Monsieur said, blowing out some smoke.
Evette opened the folder, and just as the Monsieur had said, it was more than one person; four, to be exact. Evette took in a deep breath, and sat down her cigarette. Carefully, she combed through all the papers. She smiled when she saw that they were all within the same vicinity. She continued to skim through the papers, until she saw that one of them was a fourteen year old boy.
“Monsieur, a child?” Evette asked, slightly shocked.
“Unfortunately, yes. The people you are looking at are all with the Prime Minister of Italy. They are staying at the L'Etoile d'Or.” Monsieur said, taking a sip of his tea.
“The Gold Star, one of the most luxurious hotels in all of France, but why am I assassinating them, the papers don’t really tell much.” Evette said, sitting the open folder on the table.
“I have a client in Italy that needs it done. Claims that the new Prime Minister’s policies caused his family to become poor, and his wife sold herself to make ends meet. You can understand why he wants these people assassinated.” The Monsieur said, looking over at a portrait.
“But why not get rid of the Prime Minister himself?” Evette asked curiously.
“My client wishes to send the Prime Minister a message. You will rid him of his family, but leave him to suffer as my client suffered. I hope you do accept.” The Monsieur said, placing both his hands on his lap.
“Contact your client and tell him that I will begin working on this job as soon as the money starts being transferred into my account.” Evette said, shutting the folder.
“Very well. He will be overjoyed.” The Monsieur said, smiling at Evette, “Au revoir.”
“Au revoir.” Evette said, smashing the cigarette into the crystal ashtray.
Evette sat in the back of the Royce, this time heading home. She reviewed the documents once more, still trying to wrap her around on this poor child’s life. This child, whose only crime was being the child of a scandalous politician, now had to die. But perhaps, Evette thought, that was crime enough to receive the death sentence. The others, Evette knew, she would have no problem disposing of, but this child.
Evette watched as the Parisian landscape vanished back into the forest that surrounded the N104, and a wave of depression set over her. She loved Paris, and to her, Paris loved her. It wasn’t leaving the city however that depressed her, rather the thought that many people come to Paris to fall in love. After all, that was why Paris was called the City of Lights and Love, and that was what made Evette upset.
Evette looked back on her life within that ride home. She thought of all the relations she had had with various men. She didn’t consider herself a harlot, because she saved herself for only a select few men. But she came to the conclusion that she had never had a relationship that had lasted longer than two weeks. Evette sighed and leaned back and stared at the ceiling for a time. Evette looked out the window, knowing that she needed to find something long term if she was to keep the Dupont family alive and well.
To pass the time on the long ride home, Evette grabbed the bottle of champagne that sat in the silver ice bucket. She poured herself a small bit of it and tipped it back. It went down smoothly, and felt like happiness. Evette would never call herself an alcoholic, but in her line of work, it was hard to stay sober. Soon after her third glass, she saw the tip of the northern tower come into view; she was home. The Royce slowed down as they passed through bronze gates of Château Dupont. Evette smiled as the château came more into view. The Royce drove around the fountain and finally stopped.
“Merci, monsieur.” Evette said, handing the driver three one hundred Euro bills.
“Ah! Merci, madame. Merci.” The driver said, overjoyed.
Evette walked across the gravel drive and up the steps leading into her home. She checked her watch, it was currently four. When she walked into the foyer of the château, she was overwhelmed by the smell of her mother’s cooking, it was duck with cranberry sauce. She sat her purse down on the chair closest to the door, and walked into the kitchen.
“Smells delicious, mama.” Evette said, hugging her mother.
“Merci, Evette. How was your meeting?” Adele asked, not taking her concentration off of her cooking.
“Good. It’s going to be a hard one, but not as demanding as the L.A. job.” Evette said, sticking her finger in the sauce to taste it.
“You had a caller today.” Adele said, smacking Evette’s hand.
“Who?” Evette asked curiously.
“Some man named Christian.” Adele said, in an almost uncaring tone.
“So, he has called.” Evette said, leaving the kitchen.