by R E Swirsky
***
Nathaniel pulled the rental into the Total service station in Mantes-la-Ville, with still a good forty-five minutes back to the hotel in Paris. The fuel tank was still over half full, but here was as good a place as any for what he needed to do. He pulled out two ten-euro notes and handed them over to Johnny.
Johnny’s reaction to the strange-looking notes in his hands didn’t sway him from his skepticism of Nathaniel’s story of how he ended up on the other side of the Atlantic. His mouth dropped open, and he eyed the notes as if they were play money from some childhood board game.
“Seriously? What the fuck am I supposed to do with these?”
“It’s about two euros to the dollar, now don’t get ripped off. Grab something to eat—you look like hell.” He was tiring of Johnny’s verbal diarrhea and they’d only driven twenty minutes. “And stop with the nasty mouth.”
Johnny feigned annoyance at being bossed around by Nathaniel but his reluctance to leave the vehicle was clear as he tipped his head up towards the store and studied the posters and advertising across the front window far too long before opening the door. “It’s all in French.”
“What’d you expect?”
“I don’t speak French,” he replied and remained staring at the store front. He looked lost.
“You know what a bloody sandwich looks like, don’t you? Or a bottle of pop or juice?”
Johnny scowled at him, opened the car door, and stepped outside. He paused and then tucked his head back inside. “You want anything?”
Nathaniel waved him off. “I’ve got a few calls to make. Take your time inside.”
Once Johnny was inside the store, Nathaniel stepped out, wandered over to the small grassed area away from the road, and settled himself onto one of the faded picnic benches after making sure the wooden bench seat was free of bird droppings. He dialled the number and waited. The call went to voicemail.
“Kaito, it’s me again. I’ve found Johnny, er…uh, Taka. Call me if you want him back. You know the number.”
Now it was time to wait. Even though Kaito had not responded to any of his earlier phone messages, he was certain Kaito was picking them up. Nathaniel knew Kaito would respond if the message had something to do with news about his son. If there was a way to use Johnny to intervene and put an end to whatever was going on between Kaito and Metcalf, he would have no qualms about using Johnny. It meant playing Kaito close while keeping Johnny securely tucked in his back pocket. Holding onto a trump card as long as possible was a practice politics had taught him well over the past two decades.
