OUTPLAYED

Alex woke me. A warm sunbeam slanted through the half-open blinds onto my face. As she tried to slip away, I caught her by the hips and pulled her down onto my bench.

“I brought you coffee and a croissant. They had no fruit,” she said, her morning voice cracking slightly as I pressed gentle kisses along her neck.

“I’m happy with anything I get from you,” I sighed into her ear.

She disentangled herself from my arms and returned to her own seat. She was sipping peach-flavoured iced tea from a can.

“No hot tea for you, baby?” I asked, concerned.

“No, the Gauls rarely serve hot tea. This is nice too, though – it jolts your brain awake!” she said, smiling.

“I had a very nice dream about you, Officer,” I threw in casually.

“I don’t think I want to hear it, Smith,” Alex replied, rolling her eyes.

“I dreamed I was the pillow between your legs – the one you were humping fiercely,” I revealed, ignoring her protest.

“You’re sick, Smith,” she giggled, covering her face with her hands to hide her smile.

I reached for her hand and brought it to my lips, kissing it softly. She looked at me, still laughing; her eyes sparkled beautifully as her gaze settled on mine. I licked the skin lightly with the tip of my tongue, then gave a gentle bite. She let out a small gasp but didn’t pull away.

“We need to think about how to get you off the train unnoticed,” she said thoughtfully.

“Don’t worry about that, Alex. No one will notice me. But everyone will notice you, so act like you’re alone and no one’s waiting for you,” I released her hand and took a sip of the bitter train coffee.

We arrived at Tolosa station on time. The platform was almost deserted except for station staff and two police officers standing at the entrance to the waiting hall.

I told Alex to go ahead and not wait for me. I reminded her she had my number and my Tolosa address in case she needed me. She nodded, then surprised me with a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving the compartment.

I joined the line of passengers disembarking. Through the moving crowd I saw Alex enter the main building without being stopped. A few men, however, were asked to open their bags. I was one of them.

When I finally emerged from the station, Alex was nowhere in sight. She had followed my advice and taken a taxi straight to her accommodation.

I didn’t linger either. I hailed a cab to my hotel.

My client could have made more effort with the accommodation. The guesthouse was barely deserving of the name — more like a converted residential block than an inn. Everyone had to pass through a makeshift reception area in the entrance hall to reach their rooms.

I checked in under a false name, took my keys, and went upstairs.

My room was at the far-left end of the long corridor, well away from the stairs — inconvenient if I ever needed to make a quick exit.

The first thing that hit me when I opened the door was the dingy red carpet, mottled with brown stains. The musty smell rose from it and clung to the furniture and curtains — or perhaps it came from the walls themselves.

Thankfully, the bed sheets were clean and fresh. I could throw myself onto the bed without feeling like I was lying on a filthy bus seat.

I had a meeting later that day with my client’s representative. I had plenty of time, so I showered and went out to eat. There was no kitchen in the guesthouse; guests had to find food elsewhere.

I found a small Latin restaurant nearby. Latin tavern-keepers were friendlier than Gauls, and you didn’t need to book a table. I returned an hour before the agreed meeting time since it was supposed to take place at the hotel.

I didn’t get to digest my meal in peace.

Soon after I got back to my room, shouting and heavy stomping echoed down the corridor.

Gauls were quick-tempered; arguments flared up out of nothing, especially in places like this. At first, I paid it no mind. Only when the noise grew louder and closer did I start to worry.

I opened the door a crack and peered out. Two men — one white, one black — were kicking in neighbouring doors. I recognised one of them instantly. They were looking for me.

I withdrew and tried to close the door silently, but the black guy spotted the movement and alerted his partner.

Locking it wouldn’t achieve much, but I thought it might buy me enough time to escape through the window. I was wrong.

The two bastards burst in just as I was climbing out. They dragged me back inside, shoved me into a chair, and the white one ordered the other to tie me up.

“Hey, Alban, buddy! Long time no see! How’s it hanging? Who’s Uncle Tom here?” I asked in my cheeriest voice.

“Shut up, Smith! You know what we’re here for!” Alban barked — the Arnavut I had known from my early days in Gaul.

“Well, given your taste in skinny men like me and the rope you brought, I’m almost afraid to guess!” I shot back.

“Listen, you faggot!” Alban grabbed my shirt collar and yanked, the fabric biting into my skin. “Tell us where the necklace is and I promise it’ll hurt less!”

“Oh wow — in any other situation I’d be tempted, but I’ll have to decline. You see, I had a deal with your boss. I hand the necklace to him and no one else, in exchange for money. If I give it to you, I’m afraid I won’t get paid for all the trouble it took to steal it and bring it here.”

Meanwhile the black henchman was tearing the room apart: yanking drawers from the chest, ripping clothes from hangers, dumping my suitcase onto the floor, stripping the bed, and tossing the mattress aside.

“It’s not here, Alban,” he reported in a thick accent.

“Where is the necklace, Smith?” Alban shook me by the lapels, his foul breath in my face.

“Like Black Pete said – it’s not here, Alban,” I whispered, staring him down defiantly.

“You’ll regret this, son of a bitch!”

Alban clenched his fist, ready to smash my face in, when the negro hissed something and pointed out the window.

“Shit! They’ve called the cops, Alban!”

“I’m not done with you, Smith!” the Arnavut snarled. He released me and stormed out, his partner close behind.

“Hey guys! What about me?” I shouted as the door slammed shut.

My arms were tied behind my back, wrists roped tightly over the chair seat. I twisted and pulled, but the knots held.

If I could break the chair beneath me, I might free myself.