Paris is a Bitch

always look at me.” She said it without self-pleasure, just as a simple statement of fact.
    “But how did he look at you? Did it feel sexual? Appreciative? Or like something else?”
    “Why are you pushing this?”
    “Why are you resisting?”
    “Because I think you’re trying to make a point. Trying to show me how my being in the life is putting you on edge, keeping you off-balance, something like that.”
    I tamped down my irritation. “Delilah. You know me. Have I ever played games with this shit? Tried to make a point by pretending there was a problem when I didn’t really think there was one?”
    There was a pause. She said, “No.”
    “That’s right, no. So let me tell you what I think just happened. Ferret Boy scoped the restaurant from the outside ten minutes ago and saw the back of your blonde head. He reported back to whoever that you were in here. Whoever, who’s more senior and seasoned than Ferret Boy, asked him how he’d determined that. When Ferret Boy admitted he’d only seen you from behind, Whoever told him to get his ass inside the restaurant on some pretext and get a positive ID of your face. Which he just did.”
    “How do you know he wasn’t scoping for you?”
    “You know the answer to that. With where I’m sitting, he could see my face from outside the restaurant. Besides, my enemies aren’t from that part of the world. Yours are.”
    “Isn’t that profiling?”
    “It is if you’re doing it right.”
    “Or it could be about someone else in the restaurant. Or it could be just a coincidence.”
    She was smarter than that and her resistance was really beginning to agitate me. “Look, maybe I’m wrong, I’ve been wrong plenty of times before. But only on the side of caution. You really want to bet your life on ‘maybe it’s a coincidence’? You want to bet your life to prove a point in a stupid argument with me?”
    She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded, her expression suddenly sober. “What are you thinking? A hit?”
    I was glad to see she was finally taking this seriously. “Maybe, but I’d guess no. If it were a hit, they could have waited to make the positive ID outside. If it wasn’t you, they just walk away. Hell, they wouldn’t even need to wait outside. The hitter could just walk into the restaurant in light disguise, march up to the table, get the ID, bam, two shots in the head, then back outside beating feet before witnesses even have a chance to process what just happened.”
    “You know why I’m so attached to you?”
    “No.”
    “Because most people wouldn’t consider something like that fit dinner conversation.”
    I smiled tightly, liking that even though she was taking the situation seriously now, she was still cool under pressure. “But if it’s something other than a hit, and they need to set up carefully, they’d want to know it was you before committing. The only thing is, that guy didn’t feel like a pro to me. And anyone who really knows you wouldn’t send an amateur to do the job.”
    “Well, it could be someone who doesn’t really know me.”
    “Why would anyone who doesn’t really know you want to kill you?”
    She smiled, a little sadly. “Remember the kind of work I do. The target wouldn’t have to know of my professional affiliations to develop a grudge. What he thought was personal would be enough.”
    That was a good point. I said, “Well, whatever it is or isn’t, I’d rather not find out. But there’s no rear entrance to this restaurant. They take deliveries straight through the front door.”
    She didn’t have to ask. She knew I never went into a room I didn’t know every way out of.
    “How do you want to handle it?” she said.
    I considered. “Ask the waitress if you can bum a cigarette. Woman-to-woman, she’ll be more likely to want to help out.”
    “You’re going to have a smoke?”
    “Just outside the door. Like any well-mannered Parisian.” Paris had gone no-smoking, thank God, forcing smokers to head outdoors to indulge.
    “I don’t like it. You don’t know what’s out there.”
    “That’s why I want to have a look. They’re not after me, remember? Anyway, if I see something I really don’t like, I’ll head back in and we’ll reconsider.”
    Delilah told the waitress that
Zut!
, she really needed a smoke but had forgotten her cigarettes; could she hit the waitress up and thank her in the tip? The waitress smiled understandingly and produced a Gauloise Blonde. Delilah