“You’re not the chief of security,” said Marie dismissively.
“I’m his superior too,” said the graaf, a trifle plaintively. Marie made a noise that suggested that, even if true, the fact had no bearing on the argument. The lift was silent for a moment. Odette was profoundly relieved when the doors opened on the lobby. They all stepped out, and van Suchtlen turned to Marie.
Before he could speak, she said loudly, “Fine. Go, then. Strive not to get killed. You’ve no idea how much it would inconvenience me!” She patted Odette absently on the shoulder — apparently Odette’s death would not be an inconvenience worth mentioning — and moved back into the lift. Pawn Clovis joined her, looking slightly intimidated. The door shut on them.
6
It dawned on the group that all the occupants of the lobby — receptionists, civilian guests, bellmen, concierge — were staring at them. The four of them proceeded through, ignoring the wary looks of absolutely everyone.
“Ah, good, the car’s already here,” said Mrs. Woodhouse briskly.
They all regarded the car thoughtfully. It was not what any of them had expected. Not only was it minuscule, with only two doors, but it appeared to be quite unwell. The black paint was badly scuffed, and one of the doors was white with a cartoon rabbit wearing sunglasses and smoking a cigarette drawn on it in marker. The front bumper seemed to have been tied on with twine, and there were the peeling remnants of old bumper stickers on the back. The uniformed driver who got out looked as if he had been cut-and-pasted into the wrong vehicle.
“I don’t mean to sound like a diva here, Ingrid,” said the Rook finally, “but this is a very small car.” Odette thought it was rather charitable of her to comment only on its size rather than its general insalubriousness. “And I know I was distracted on the way here, but I’m fairly certain this is not the car I arrived in.”
“That’s right, Rook Thomas.”
“So... were we robbed?”
“No, but the deaths at the site have already caught the attention of the press. They’re hanging around outside, so we’ll have to go in the back. I thought a stretch limousine might draw some attention.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” said Thomas grudgingly. “Good thinking.” She sighed and looked at the diminutive and disreputable vehicle. “Where did we even get this car? Whose is it?”
“Pawn Thistlethwaite’s. He said we could borrow it.”
“Pawn Thistlethwaite came in this?” asked the Rook. “That can’t be right, I know what his salary is. Make a note, Ingrid, we should have him screened for drugs.”
“It’s his son’s car,” said the EA. “I gather his is at the mechanic’s.”
“Oh, all right, then.” The driver opened the passenger door and triggered the little lever that was supposed to hinge the seat forward. The seat did not slide up automatically, and he had to struggle a little with it. The resulting aperture to the backseat was not encouraging, and the four of them looked at one another. The Rook sighed heavily. “I’m the shortest, so I suppose I had better go in the middle.” She glanced down at her dress and bit her lip. “Ingrid, can you help me here?” The executive assistant stepped forward and gripped the points on Thomas’s dress’s shoulders to help her get into the car without crumpling the couture.
It took the Rook some undignified wriggling and a strategic shimmy, which elicited an appreciative whistle from a passing pedestrian (who promptly and mysteriously tripped over nothing at all), but she managed to slide awkwardly to the center of the backseat. “Well, come on!”
“Graaf van Suchtlen, you’re the tallest, so you can take the front passenger seat,” said Mrs. Woodhouse. The graaf offered his hand to help the older lady in, while Odette hurried around to the other side. As the driver opened the door for her and attempted to move the driver’s seat forward, Odette noticed a young man across the street. He was looking on with amusement as the people in expensive clothes squeezed themselves into the dilapidated little car. He was a young man, about her age, and the sight of him made her breath catch in her chest.
Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not him. And yet she could not drag her eyes away from the boy. Maybe it was something about the way he stood, so casual and at ease. He was not worried about the supernatural. He was not worried about the intricacies of diplomacy and negotiations. He was not worried about anything but the pleasure of an evening in the city. And he was not her boy.
It will never be him, she told herself mercilessly. No boy will ever be Pim. Pim is gone. Forever.
“Miss?” the driver asked hesitantly.
And besides, that guy doesn’t look anything like him. So just stop being silly.
With an effort, she tore her eyes away from the boy and everything he was and wasn’t. She eased herself into the backseat, which seemed to be completely full of Rook, executive assistant, and other detritus.
The driver shut the door firmly, and Odette was crushed against the Rook. She felt her hip bones accordioning together. Matters were made worse when Graaf van Suchtlen began moving his seat back.
“Ernst, if you keep doing that, I will call off the whole merger,” said the Rook tightly. Her feet were up on the hump of the transmission, and Mrs. Woodhouse’s knees were already crushed against the back of the seat.
“Maybe we could make some legroom by moving some of the rubbish from the foot wells,” suggested Mrs. Woodhouse. With difficulty, she retrieved a discarded fast-food bag from the floor. Cold, dead french fries showered from a tear in it onto the Rook and Odette.
“So, here’s the plan,” said the Rook conversationally. “After we’ve attended the site, we’ll track down and kill Pawn Thistlethwaite’s son for being a complete slob, and then we’ll head back to the party. Pawn Wheatley, let’s go.” The driver pulled away into London traffic, the car’s engine making a protesting noise that sounded like a walrus asked to do improvisational theater. “Ladies, do put on your seat belts.”
“I can’t find the seat belt,” said Mrs. Woodhouse.
“Me neither,” ventured Odette.
“Try not to crash, then, Wheatley,” the Rook said to the driver.
“Especially since I have just found the marijuana of Pawn Thistlethwaite’s son in the glove compartment,” remarked the graaf.
“I would have thought —” Odette began, then stopped herself.
“Go ahead,” said the Rook cheerfully. “My elbow is lodged in your rib cage, so there’s no point in being shy.”
“I just thought that the police wouldn’t be a problem for the Checquy,” said Odette.
“The difficulty with being a secret organization is that no one has ever heard of us,” said the Rook. “The cops would have to go pretty far up the ladder before it all got sorted out, and in the meantime, we’d be held up. And people remember that sort of thing. Questions would be asked. If we weren’t on official business, we’d get the tickets and have to lump them, I’m afraid. Just because we’re in the Checquy doesn’t mean we’re outside the law.”
Their destination was not very far, and the traffic obliged them by clipping along at a reasonable pace. Eventually, they turned into a narrow lane lined with restaurants.