Page 28 of The Fourth Option
“Camus,” he said.
“What was that?”
“Albert Camus.”
“Who’s he?” Staub asked.
“A philosopher.”
“Of course he was.”
“The Myth of Sisyphus.”
“I don’t want syphilis.”
“Not syphilis, Sisyphus. The absurdity of pushing a boulder up a hill only for it to roll back down.”
“I’m thinking maybe that helmet didn’t work so well after all.”
“Maybe not. Just feels like that’s what we are doing here. ‘Destroying the village to save it.’?”
“You’re an odd bird, Chris.”
“I know.”
Staub paused and evaluated his friend.
“And another thing,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“You’re welcome.”
“Shit. Guess I’m going to owe you favors forever.”
“Not forever, just for a very long time.”
CHAPTER NINE
New Orleans
Present Day
“BEAUTIFUL HOME,” WALKERremarked, unsure of exactly what to say to the wife of his dead friend.
“Thank you,” Leigh Ann replied, brushing a piece of lint from her scrubs. “The first-floor rooms are original lathe and plaster. I remodeled upstairs and moved some walls around, so those are drywall.”
Where uncovered by Persian carpet, dark mahogany floors gleamed. Leather sofas absorbed the last of the late-afternoon sun, shining like polished armor. Though the home’s bones whispered of age, its decor was sleek, restrained, contemporary.
Walker tilted his head to take in the high ceilings.
“That has to do with the heat,” she said, leaning down to stroke Paladin’s thick coat. “Most of these old turn-of-the-century places have tall ceilings to let it rise.” She looked up at him, hand still resting on the dog’s back. “Take a seat, won’t you? Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water’s fine. A bowl for Paladin in the kitchen would be good too, if you don’t mind.”
Walker circled a low-backed leather swivel chair and settled into it slowly.
“Of course not. Be right back.” Leigh Ann disappeared through the kitchen doorway.
