Death on the Rive Nord

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Karim Saoula wasn’t much given to jumping at shadows. In fact he rarely jumped at anything once he’d had a few drinks. After his brief meeting with the cop known as Caspar, and the exchange of folded notes, he’d decided to ignore Caspar’s warning and stay where he was. What the hell did a washed-out flic know, anyway? He’d had a lousy day and needed to get loaded. Not too much, just a little to take the edge off things. One of his best girls — the best girl, in fact — had gone down with something nasty, and a good deal on some hash had fallen through when a rich kid from the other side of the city had developed cold feet at the last minute. As if that wasn’t enough, he was feeling like death after a plateful of bad shellfish.

Now, helped by a couple of drinks and some money from Caspar, he was feeling mellow and at peace with the world. He was even considering sending his best girl a nice bunch of flowers. That would soon have her back on her feet… or better still, on her back. He giggled at the thought and finished his drink before waving goodnight to the barman and walking out into the cold night air.

All in all, a good ending to a bad day.

He was nearing the corner of the street where he had a tiny third-floor apartment, and carefully stepping around a pile of dog turds in the middle of the pavement, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and felt a hand reach out and grab his shoulder. The drink had wrapped his reactions in treacle. Before he could attempt to fight back or flee, he was being dragged into a doorway and slammed back against the brickwork.

As he lost consciousness, a black car purred to a stop at the kerb and he was bundled inside.

‘ Wake up!’ Saoula dimly heard the shouted command, accompanied by a stinging slap to the side of his head. He came round slowly, aware of a musty, mildewed smell and remembering his hurried meeting with the undercover cop, Caspar, followed by his drinking away the money he’d paid him and staggering up the street much later. The rest was a blur, although he vaguely remembered the dog turd on the ground for some reason. Now he had a bitch of a headache and wanted to be sick.

A rush of icy cold water snapped him into full consciousness. He sat up choking, his nose filled and his throat going into spasm against the sudden inrush of fluid. Whoever had thrown it had waited for him to open his mouth before hurling it into his face for maximum effect.

He shook away water droplets, catching a glimpse of a yellowed ceiling light and a wall covered with peeling, bubbled paper showing birds against a cane background. An old restaurant, maybe. Deserted, and therefore a waste of time shouting. Nobody would answer.

A powerful hand grasped his face, and Saoula winced as he felt his jaw constricted and one of his molars became dislodged. He’d been meaning to have the tooth, which was rotten, pulled out, but had lacked the funds.

He spat it out and received another slap, this time accompanied by a tirade of abuse about soiled clothing. He opened his eyes wider.

Three men were in the small room with him, which he guessed was somewhere he was unlikely to ever see from the outside. The man immediately in front of him, who’d probably thrown the water and slapped him, he recognised immediately by his enormous height: Youcef Farek. Overweight and dumb-looking, like a giant soft toy, he was ten years older than his brother Samir and too stupid to bother pleading with. Youcef was a gofer for their half-brother, Lakhdar, at the food distribution warehouse he owned out near Bagnolet. Youcef was the bastard product, it was rumoured, of two dumb cousins with no sense of taste and too much time on their hands. Not that knowing this was going to help him right now.

The other two men were soldiers, styled after the American Mafia, and little more than hired muscle. Whatever they were told, they would do. Without question or feeling.

‘What do you want of me?’ Saoula asked, his voice breaking. ‘I have no money, no valuables…’ He wondered what was going on. The Fareks were not normally involved in this kind of rough stuff, not like their brother Samir, the gangster from over the water. They kept a low profile and stayed out of the limelight, Lakhdar being the prime mover, although he rarely moved outside of the office where he did his business.

The response was another slap from Youcef. It felt like he’d been hit by a truck. His head rocked back, the bones in his neck cracking with the whiplash effect. He groaned and slumped forward, hoping to avoid a repetition. It didn’t work; a giant hand grasped him by the hair and jerked him upright.

‘What did the cop want?’ mouthed Youcef, swamping him with a rank smell of spicy food and filthy teeth. He shook his hand and twisted a large signet ring on his middle finger. ‘Why were you meeting with a cop, anyway?’ He shook him by the hair as a terrier shakes a rat, and Saoula felt another tooth coming loose.

‘Cop? What cop? I never talked to a cop!’

The slap this time was harder, knocking him out of the chair. He hit the floor on his side and rolled, trying to escape what was surely going to follow. It wasn’t enough. He fetched up against a wall and felt a foot like a battering ram slam into him, squishing his ribs as if they were made of sausage meat. The crack of bones travelled around the room and Saoula felt an unbelievable agony slice through his gut and set fire to every nerve in his body. He tried to scream but couldn’t, and a bright light flared in his eyes. He slumped back, a small part of his mind wondering vaguely what would happen to his best girl now he wasn’t going to get back with a nice bunch of flowers.

‘Hey, Youcef. Careful, man.’ The voice of one of the men penetrated the waves of pain. ‘Lakhdar said to wait until he gets here, remember?’

‘I don’t give a piss- fuck what Lakhdar says!’ Youcef hurled back, spittle spraying from his mouth. ‘Don’t tell me what Lakhdar says! This piece of donkey shit tried to betray our brother to the cops!’ To reinforce his strength of feeling, he kicked Saoula again. Then again.

The other men looked nervously at each other, but didn’t dare try to stop him.

Down on the floor, Saoula felt something cold touch his very core as a sliver of broken ribcage pierced his heart. Then the light in his eyes went dim and faded to black, and he ceased worrying about his best girl for ever.