Роберт Паркер - The Bridge

“Madame Leroux?” I said.

“You must have read that somewhere,” she said with a smile.

“Hard to miss,” I said.

She smiled, nodding slightly.

“Futures told,” I said. “Legendary afterlife adventures revealed.”

“Not all are so lucky,” she said. “I’m afraid.”

“Hocus-pocus,” I said.

“Ah,” she said. “A naysayer?”

“Just my perspective,” I said.

“Oui,” she said. “Something everyone is entitled to.”

Wallis came back from the bar with the brandy.

“On the house,” he said.

She tossed one side of her long hair behind her shoulder.

“Merci,” she said to Wallis, but remained looking directly at me.

Wallis looked back and forth between us, and like the amenable barkeep he was, he excused himself.

“I’m going to just finish up with a few things,” Wallis said.

He rapped his knuckles on the table.

“Enjoy,” he said.

She watched Wallis as he walked off into the back room, then looked at me.

“I needed to speak to you, Deputy.”

“Everett,” I said.

“ Oui , Everett.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” I said.

“I needed to be sure,” she said.

“About what?”

“About... something I saw.”

“And now you’re sure?”

“Oui.”

“What?”

“It’s rather private.”

I looked to the back room. Wallis was nowhere in sight.

“Just you, me, and the narrow space between us.”

“You are in danger,” she said.

I smiled. I don’t think she was accepting or appreciative of my smile, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the whiskey I drank while playing cards with Virgil and Allie. Maybe it was her strange beauty. Regardless, the thought of her telling me I was in danger made me smile.

“Well, no offense,” I said. “But in my line of work, danger is always present.”

“No offense taken,” she said. “I understand your skepticism, but in my line of work danger never lies.”

I smiled.

“What kind of danger are we talking about here?”

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“You’re not sure?”

She shook her head.

“Not completely, and what I see, what I know, can only provide you awareness, I’m afraid... Fait accompli.”

“So, what did you see? What do you know?”

“No need to be patronizing,” she said.

“I’m not. I’m listening.”

She looked around the room for a moment.

“Can we walk?”

“Don’t you want to finish that brandy?”

“Not much of a drinker, I’m afraid,” she said. “Perhaps you could walk me.”

“Sure,” I said.

“ Merci, ” she said.

I let Wallis know we were leaving. He stepped out from the back room, drying his big hands with a small towel.

“Good night,” he said.

“Au revoir,” Madame Leroux said, and I escorted her out of the Boston House saloon.

The rain seemed to be coming down harder now. They weren’t big drops, but the rain was massive and solid, like it was falling from thick, dense clouds.

We walked for a ways under the awnings of the boardwalk before she spoke.

“When I saw you, I saw something,” she said. “Something not good.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“Normally, I keep others’ événements , um... visions of misfortune to myself,” she said. “I remove myself. It is a code of ethics in my line of business.”

“But you feel an ethical need to share something not good with me?”

“Oui,” she said. “You see, you being an officer of the law as you are, I felt it was my obligation, my responsabilité, to share this information with you.”

“By all means,” I said. “Go right ahead.”

“I saw men,” she said. “Young men, running.”

I laughed.

She stopped.

I stopped and looked back to her.

“You must believe me,” she said.

“Men?” I said. “Running?”

She nodded and we continued walking.

“What men?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “They were scared... I saw them again, tonight. That’s why I needed to see you. They’ve returned.”

“Where did you see these men?”

“I do not know exactly who they were or where they are,” she said. “That is why I needed to see you. To see if I might have something clearer, stronger.”

I began to feel unusually comfortable with this odd woman I’d just met and this strange unfolding she was sharing with me. Not for a minute did I take to heart her nonsensical bullshit or her vocation, for that matter, but I obliged.

“What makes you think I’m in danger?”

“I understand your doubt,” she said, picking up on my skepticism. “But I know what I see, what I feel.”

She pulled her shawl up to cover her head and we walked past a storefront without an overhang. We felt the steady rain until we were back under an awning over the boardwalk.

“How did you know where to find me?” I said.

“Hocus-pocus, Everett.”

“Because you’ve seen these men and how they felt to you,” I said. “You feel I’m in danger?”

“Yes,” she said.

She lowered her shawl.

“What do your friends call you?” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “You have none?”

“Oh,” she said, “on the contrary, I most certainly do.”

She tapped her temple and said, “I have plenty of friends with me, at all times.”

“What do they call you?” I said. “What is your given name?”

“Séraphine,” she said. “My name is Séraphine.”

We stayed under the awnings as we walked and were exposed to the rain only when there was a break overhead between structures. We turned and walked past a few boardinghouses.

Beneath a canvas cover on the opposite side of the street, three skinny young fellas sat under a lamp, playing cards on a whiskey barrel. They watched us as we passed.

We walked on for a ways, then Séraphine stopped.

“There it is,” she said.

I stopped and turned back to her.

“What?”

She was looking down like she was looking for something on the ground. She turned and looked back to the men playing cards.

“Something has happened,” she said.

I looked back to the men. They weren’t looking in our direction. They were doing just what they were doing, playing cards. One of them laughed. I looked back to her. She looked at me with a troubled look on her face.

“What?” I said.

She looked downward again.

“You okay?”

She shook her head.

“What is it?” I said.

“It’s not good,” she said.

“Your friends talking to you?”

“No,” she said. “Your friends.”

We were standing partially in the rain. I took her by her arm and led her under an overhang of the last structure by the pole lamp at the end of the street.

“My friends?”

“Yes,” she said. “Your guides.”

She sat on a bench in front of the building.

“What about them?”

“Codder,” she said.

“Codder?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Do you know of something or someone named Codder or perhaps Cotter?”

“No.”

She shook her head violently, as if she were trying to get the vision to formulate clearly.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I wish I could tell you what to look out for, but I don’t know. Not now, anyway, but you must believe me.”

“Well,” I said. “It’s kind of like Mother Nature. Not much can be done about the forces of nature.”

“I’m trying to help you,” she said.

“You’ve readily allowed there are men running, scared. Something or someone named Codder or Cotter, but it doesn’t mean anything to me.”