Page 166 of Miss Wolcott’s Ghost

“Armand! Look who I found trying to run away,” the gunman shouted. “Again.” Then the warm snarl, almost intimate, in his ear. “Call him. Do it, little man.”

He hesitated for a moment. But that was all he could manage. The gun pushed deeper. The arm around his throat tightened.

“Help me, patron.” He was choking, barely able to get the words out.

“Yes, help him, patron.”

In his headphones, Comeau heard Inspector Beauvoir. “For God’s sake, Armand, don’t!”

The fast-food restaurant looked like a tableau. Everyone frozen in place. Watching. Beauvoir was by the door, gripping the gang leader. His own gun to the man’s temple.

“Drop it!” Inspector Beauvoir yelled across the room. “I’ll shoot him. I swear I will.”

“Do it!” shouted the man in Beauvoir’s grip. “Go on. Shoot. Kill me.” There was hysteria in his voice.

Dear God, thought Agent Comeau. They want to die. Oh, shit. Help me.

“Again.” The words were hissed into his ear. “Say it again. Louder.”

This time there was no hesitation.

“Help me, patron.”

“Yes, help him, patron.”

Then movement from behind the counter. Thank you, God.

The warmth of the plane and the soft hum of the engines had rocked Armand into a state between waking and sleeping.

And then, unbidden, the memory arose. The proximity to Gaston Comeau had breached his defenses.

“Armand! Look who I found trying to run away.” Pause. “Again.”

From behind the counter, Armand looked over, and even though he knew perfectly well what he would see, still his heart sank.

The shooting had stopped, but there was a slight reverberation as the sound died away. Cordite hung in the startled air.

“Help me, patron.”

Agent Comeau was being used as a shield, held tight against the gang member. An arm around his throat, a gun pressed to his temple.

Eyes wide. Overflowing with terror.

“Yes, help him, patron.”

His agent. His responsibility. His mistake.

“For God’s sake, Armand, don’t do it.”

It all happened so quickly, and at the same time in slow motion. It was strange what you take in during moments like that, when life hung in the balance. He could smell the burning burgers and hear the pop as the fries in the hot oil sizzled.

Someone should turn off the elements, he’d thought.

Then Jean-Guy’s voice, shouting for the gunman to drop his weapon or he’d shoot the leader. The madman in his grip.

Armand doubted Beauvoir would actually do it. It would be considered murder. But still, part of him was relieved.

Whatever happened now, these maniacs would be stopped.