Page 67 of The Cruiser
Did we both make a mistake? I roll onto my back and calm myself with the deep yoga breaths Flynn taught me. I can’t answer any questions right now. I’m drained and in need of good sleep, but wired and restless. I need to clear my head. Morgan drove me past the Monaco casino after our lunch at the Yacht Club and mentioned it’s open until four a.m. every day. Google Maps says it's twenty-five minutes away on foot. There, back and a bit of gawking in between should set me straight.
I pull on my hoodie and tights, lace up my sneakers, and head out.
Despite how late it is, I feel safe. Monaco is free from most inner-city plagues, and the flat and winding walk along the waterfront is peaceful with no one around. On Plage du Larvotto, Monaco's only beach, the outdoor restaurants are shuttered and still. At the ultra-chic Metropole Shopping Mall, workers scrub down the immaculate tile stairways leading to some of the city’s most exclusive shops. Everything gleams in Monaco, but nothing shines brighter than the Casino, a Belle Epoque architectural masterpiece that oddly, Morgan told me, doesn’t allow locals to gamble inside. At this time of night, the budget tourists are long gone, but big money never sleeps. Luxury cars of the high-end clients line the primo parking spots out front.
I wander inside the elegant building but only get as far as the atrium before an attendant approaches me. I laugh at how apologetic he is. First time in my life I’m called on a dress code.
But it’s okay.
The extravagant locale demands a better wardrobe. I’ll ask Morgan if we can come here for drinks or dinner. I do a quick lap of the atrium and wave goodbye. After all the fresh air, I’m settled and ready for bed. About to bound down the front stairs, I notice two men sitting near the bottom of the steps. One hangs his head and if he’s not crying, he’s close to it. The other…
Oh my god. It’s Renan.
And the one crying is that strange man from Genoa.
I freeze. Shitty shit! Neither has seen me, but the only way out is past them and down the stairs. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up, slowly and carefully, so as not to draw attention to myself, and tuck my hair inside. Push comes to shove, if they see me, I’ll bolt. I can outrun them.
In the still air of two a.m., their conversation drifts toward me.
“I can only hold off Nikolay for so long. How much do you owe?” Renan demands.
“A million.”
“That’s pretty fucking serious.”
“Thanks for the update.”
“How many fingers are broken?” Renan asks. Curt and emotionless, the uncaring in his voice chills me. I glance over surreptitiously. The man from Genoa holds one hand in the other, fingers hanging at strange angles.
“Two,” he says.
Renan gets to his feet and stares out into the night. With thick, folded arms and a black scowl, he was born to play the role of a heavy. “I’m not feeling confident with you. Time’s running out and you have a lot more bones they can break.”
“I’m trying, okay?” the other man bleats. “I’m trying! That stupid woman in Cannes didn’t follow the simplest orders. I said make it public and she chose a coat room. I can’t film through walls.”
“You’ve always been a schemer, trying to get by with the least amount of effort,” Renan coldly complains. “Why don’t you rig his place? They’re bound to end up there and you have a key, right? Or use your connections at the Bay. They’ll never suspect anything.”
The way he casually talks about espionage doesn’t surprise me. But the mention of my hotel puts me on high alert.
“I’ve got something in the works,” the other man insists. “It’s already playing out like I thought it would. He’s so fucking predictable. Just … cut me some slack. I’ll figure it out.” He glances up and back at Renan, and I quickly turn my head to avoid being caught in his gaze. “Can you run me to the hospital? I can’t drive like this.”
Renan helps him to his feet with a dramatic sigh. As they stagger down to a black Mercedes E series, I make my move, speed walking away into the shadows.
Something about their conversation doesn’t sit right with me.
Nor does seeing them together.
It feels like too much of a coincidence.
I run the entire way back to the hotel, unable to escape the feeling I’m being followed.
