Private Monaco

Chapter 48

The man calling himself Michel Augarde cleared the market and set off along Avenue du Cap-d’Ail, a claustrophobic street lined with old buildings set close to the single-lane road. I hurried past the last of the bountiful market stalls and trailed him. The passing cars and motorcycles were so close I could have reached out and touched them. Ahead of me, Michel ran on, slowing slightly, legs starting to fail as fatigue hit him. He glanced back and saw me thirty feet behind him.

The sighting spurred him on. When he passed a terrace to his right, he dashed in front of a car, crossed the street and sprinted into an open-air restaurant, darting around tables and chairs shaded by parasols that bore the logo and name of Le Sol. He collided with a waiter who was carrying a tray of drinks, sending the man tumbling in a spray of beverages.

The waiter cried out as the cups and glasses shattered against the stone flags and some of the patrons got to their feet, muttering, but no one tried to stop Michel who ran into the covered part of the restaurant.

My heels reverberated against the cobblestones like bullets, pounding out a rattling beat. I sidestepped waiters, chairs and tables and dashed into the building.

Peripheral vision saved me as Michel swung a punch at me from his hiding place beside the entrance. I dodged the blow and barged into him, driving my shoulder into his gut and forcing him back until he collided with the far wall. I felt the air rush from his lungs, but he desperately tried to compensate by throwing another wild punch. I stepped clear and his fist found nothing but empty space. He lost balance and almost toppled forward. I seized the opportunity to drive a fist into his nose, knocking him back and setting it bleeding.

Dazed and covered in fresh blood, he flailed at me wildly. As I dodged his chaotic punches, I knew I had the advantage.

A heel kick to his shin deadened his left leg and he buckled; an uppercut to his chin caught him hard enough to make his eyes roll back. A couple of jabs followed by a right hook, and he crumpled like a dead weight.

I heard sirens approaching and knew I didn’t have long before the place filled with cops. I needed some time alone with this man before he was taken into custody. There was no telling the true extent of Roman Verde’s influence within the local police department, and no guarantee conventional methods of interrogation would yield any useful information.

I grabbed the man’s arms and dragged him toward the place where I knew I could make him talk.