Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

street.” She pointed. “I passed it on
    the way.”
    Twenty minutes later, with their food in front of them, they both ate like
    starving teenagers for several minutes before Angel said, “If Daddy was here, he‟d
    make us finish the job at hand first. He always tells me to put hunger and other
    bodily needs out of my mind until it‟s convenient.”
    Mattie bit into a thick beef sandwich and spoke with her mouth full. “He‟s
    twice our size. He can go longer without any grub. Eat up.”
    Having taken the edge off his hunger, Angel played with the fries on his plate,
    dipping one into the ketchup but not eating it. “What are we going to do, Mattie?
    How are we going to find him?”
    “I did a reccy of the houses. They all have fire escapes at the back. Our
    problem is finding out which one Mr. Saunders is in.”
    “How do we know he‟s in any of them?”
    “We don‟t. We‟re going to have to stake them out and keep in touch by mobile,
    me in the car and you on foot, so you‟ll have to be really careful you don‟t get seen.
    Can you run fast if you get into trouble?”
    “Yeah, no problem.” Angel yawned.
    Mattie finished the last bite of her sandwich and drained her Coke. “Have you
    finished? There‟s a cheap hotel over on avenue Ste-Marie. We‟ll get some sleep or
    neither of us will be able to help him. Do you have a gun?”
    “No. Daddy never lets me touch them except under his supervision. I brought
    one of his retractable scalpels.”
    “Come on. Let‟s go.”
    The hotel was very cheap and rather grubby, but Angel didn‟t care. Neither of
    them had brought anything with them except the clothes on their backs, and they

    140
    Fyn Alexander

    remained dressed and lay down on top of the two double beds. “Can I come over
    there with you?” Angel asked after a minute.
    “Yeah, come on,” Mattie invited. Angel crossed the foot of space between the
    beds. She stretched out her arm, and he laid his head on her shoulder and let her
    hug him like Daddy did.
    “Are you scared?” she asked.
    “Not for myself. For Daddy. I‟m scared he‟s dead,” he whispered.

    Angel and the Assassin: Be Brave

    141

    Chapter Sixteen

    It had rained overnight, and the morning air was damp. Even with his leather
    jacket zipped up, Angel shivered standing out on rue Chappelle for so long. Using a
    parked car for cover, he remained across the road and several doors along from the
    house, watching while appearing not to. He fiddled with his cell phone as if
    checking messages. Mattie was at the house on rue Marceau, and since she had the
    car, she was going back and forth between that and the third house. They texted
    every thirty minutes or so to stay in touch.
    The smell of coffee from a small café at the end of the street had been driving
    him crazy for the last twenty minutes, and he decided to grab a takeout. He hadn‟t
    eaten anything yet, and coffee would warm him up. With a last look at the house, he
    went quickly along the street and into the café. Using careful French, he ordered a
    coffee, paid, and turned to leave.
    Shit, shit, shit! What the hell is he doing here ? The man from Herstmonceux
    Castle walked in, Harry Denbigh, the dude Daddy had thrown over the wall.
    Panic gripping his belly, Angel turned quickly, looking for the washroom.
    TOILETTES was handwritten on a sign over a narrow passage at the back. He
    darted toward the passage and along it into a sour-smelling washroom with a
    couple of urinals attached to the wall and two cubicles with no doors. The lack of
    windows made the room a trap if Denbigh recognized him. The man had to be
    involved in Daddy‟s disappearance. It was too much of a coincidence for him to just
    be there. Angel stepped into a cubicle to wait, nearly pissing himself when Denbigh
    walked in, opening his fly. With his back to Denbigh, Angel thought he had better
    pee or lose it, and he took the opportunity to relieve himself.
    Denbigh stood at a wall-mounted urinal, concentrating on his cock. Listening
    carefully, Angel heard the stream of urine hissing into the urinal, then ceasing. He
    gave Denbigh a second to zip himself up. There was no sound of the man washing
    his hands. Daddy would smack the asshole just for being dirty. Angel looked over
    his shoulder to see Denbigh leave, washed his hands quickly, and followed,
    watching from the darkened passage as Denbigh ordered a drink and then walked
    out into the street. The man‟s leather jacket looked