Douglas Kennedy - Woman in the Fifth

‘I honestly didn’t think—’

‘Racist asshole, thinks we’re a couple of sand niggers, wanting to jump him for his cheap watch.’

‘I meant no disrespect. I—’

‘Yes, you did,’ the first said, then spat on me. Simultaneously the other guy shoved me hard, knocking me off my feet.

‘You do that again to us,’ he said, ‘we cut you the next times.’

But as soon as I had picked myself up and wiped that man’s spittle from my jacket and headed off down the street, I still found myself turning around every two minutes.

I’m sure they’re there. I’m sure they’re watching me at all times.

When I left the commissariat , I decided to do what I always do whenever life overwhelms me: I hid in a movie. (Come to think of it, I hide in a movie even if I am finding things moderately cope-able.) There was a Clint Eastwood festival at the Action Ecoles — so I caught The Beguiled (Wounded Civil War veteran ends up in a house of spinster women, starts sleeping his way through them, and pays a horrible price for his sexual profligacy … I must have been insane to have chosen this movie — especially as I had seen it twenty years earlier and therefore vaguely remembered what I was letting myself in for.)

Afterward, it was time for work. Now I turned around every minute, reducing this to thirty seconds as I approached the alleyway and the steel door, behind which …

I spun around. No one there. I walked back to the intersection of the alley and the street. I looked both ways. No one there. I walked back down the alley, turning one last time. No one there. I opened the door and locked it behind me. I went up to my office, knowing that tonight I wouldn’t get a single word written … that I would be watching the monitor nonstop, just in case anyone suspicious poked their head into the alleyway, looking around.

My eyes hardly left the monitor for the entire six hours of my shift. Somewhere toward the end of the night, the thought struck me, You’re a little unhinged by all this. To which the only reply could be, Being under suspicion for murder does strange things to one’s psyche.

When I left my work at six, however, I did discover someone waiting at the end of the alley for me. It was Sezer’s stooge, Mr Tough Guy. He blocked my path as I approached him.

‘Monsieur Sezer wants to see you,’ he said.

‘At this hour?’ I said, trying to appear cool — even though I was suddenly anything but cool.

‘He is awake.’

‘I need to sleep.’

‘You sleep afterwards.’

‘I’d like to stop by the boulangerie and pick up—’

He had me by the arm.

‘You come now,’ he said.

So back we went to my building and up the stairs to Sezer Confection. Himself was seated behind his desk, sipping a demitasse of coffee.

‘You keep early hours,’ I said.

‘I don’t need much sleep,’ he said. ‘Unlike you.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘You come home every morning at six ten, six fifteen the latest, after stopping at the patisserie for two pains au chocolat . You sleep until two p.m. You pick up your wages at the Internet cafe on rue des Petites Ecuries. You generally eat at a cafe near the canal Saint-Martin or the Gare de l’Est. You spend most of your days at the movies — though every few days, you pay a visit to someone on the rue Linne in the Fifth. A woman, I presume?’

‘You’ve had someone following me?’ I asked, my voice just a little shrill.

‘We simply like to monitor our employees’ movements …’

‘ Our employees. Am I working for you?’

‘Put it this way: we are all working for the same organization.’

‘And what organization might that be?’

‘You surely don’t expect me to tell you that.’

‘Well, how about telling me why you told the cops that I killed Omar?’

‘I never said such a thing. I simply informed them, under interrogation, that you’d had an ongoing dispute with Monsieur Omar about the condition of the toilet.’

‘ Under interrogation? You make it sound like they were beating you with a rubber hose.’

‘Like most people, I am not at ease when in conversation with the police.’

‘You tried to set me up … tried to finger me as the killer as a way of deflecting attention from—’

He raised an index finger and said, ‘I would stop right there if I was you, monsieur . I dislike accusations.’

‘Even though you think nothing of making false accusations against other people.’

‘The police have nothing whatsoever on you—’

‘Except a motive — courtesy of you — and my fingerprints all over the toilet brush.’

‘Fear not. The evidence is weak.’

‘I’m their prime fucking suspect.’

‘There will be no problem — this I can assure you — as long as you do what you are told.’

‘By which you mean … ?’

‘You tell the police nothing about your work, no matter how hard they press you—’

‘I wouldn’t dream of—’

He raised his finger again to silence me. Why was everybody doing this?

‘And you also don’t do anything idiotic like try to run away.’

‘The cops have taken my passport.’

‘That has never stopped anybody from fleeing. False passports can be bought in this quartier for two hundred euros maximum.’

‘I’m going nowhere.’

‘I’m pleased to hear that. Because it would be very problematic for you if you did try to vanish. Not that we would allow you to vanish … unless, of course, you made us make you vanish.’

A small tight smile from Monsieur Sezer. I could feel the sweat cascading down my neck.

‘Do you understand what I am telling you, Monsieur Ricks?’ he asked.

I nodded.

‘Very good. Then if you understand that, you must also understand that your movements are known to us at all times. Continue with your life as it is — your bookshops, your movies, your cafes, your woman in the Fifth, your work at night — and, I assure you, there will be no problem. Try to make a run for it — head to some railway station or attempt to purchase false documents — and the response will be fast and brutal. Are we clear about that?’ I nodded again. He said, ‘I need to hear you say, “I understand.”’

‘I understand.’

‘Very good. I also want you to assure me that, if the police approach you again, you will inform me immediately about their line of questioning.’

‘You have my assurance,’ I said, sounding like a complete flunky. Though I wanted to add, If you’re so worried about me going to the cops, why the hell did you finger me as the prime suspect? But I knew the answer to that question: By putting me under suspicion, he could appease the police and also keep me in his control.

‘Then we are in complete understanding?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Excellent. One last thing: regarding that idiot you fucked — Yanna. I’m afraid that her husband has been informed of her infidelity with you. He has also been informed that you visited a walk-in medical clinic a few days ago and were diagnosed with a sexually transmitted disease—’

‘You asshole,’ I heard myself say.

‘Intemperate remarks like that cannot but upset me. And I do not like to be upset. Yes, Yanna’s husband will kill you … but only if we tell him to. He’s like Omar — stupid, bestial. But he also knows his place in the pecking order of things. So, once again, fear not: he won’t hurt you, unless ordered to.’

‘I don’t want trouble,’ I heard myself say.

‘Then you won’t have any … unless you make trouble. Good morning, Monsieur Ricks.’