By Sébastien Japrisot
«Je ne suis pas seul. Il est avec moi. Lui est américain, moi français. Nous parlons l. a. même langue : celle des rats.Nous sommes enfermés dans un labyrinthe. Sans eau, sans montre, sans lumière, sans rien d'autre que notre volonté de forcer un coffre-fort avec nos mains nues.Pas pour y prendre de l'argent : pour en mettre.De toute manière, si le coffre s'ouvre, nous nous entre-tuerons...»
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Additional resources for Adieu l'Ami
There was a beep alerting Wallace to an incoming e-mail. He clicked the mouse, eyes narrowing as he read. "Mayor Perez called a news conference for noon today. " I looked at Jack, who was staring at the screen, thinking. The fire was just starting to burn, and I felt it, too. "I want you both there," Wallace said. "And I don't care The Guilty 45 what you do or how you do it, get something different to run with tomorrow. " "Angle is my middle name," Jack said. "Yesterday you told me it was Glenfiddich," replied Wallace.
Jack is giving me dirty looks. " "You know, I think they might green-light the ever-elusive five-star circus. " "The news ran video of Costas Paradis getting off his 52 Jason Pinter private jet this morning. " I said nothing. Didn't have to. "Give Jack my best. " "Will do," I said. " I hung up. Jack was holding back a thin smile. " He allowed a small chuckle. "Like two sweet jaybirds, you two," he said. " I eyed Jack's hand, barren of any rings or jewelry other than a swank Omega wristwatch. I knew he'd worn a ring, years ago.
I don't want to stoop to their level. " I nodded. Had no intention of doing it any other way. Since I returned to the Gazette full time, I'd worked my ass off in an effort to prove I could hack it at that level. My first goround had been sidetracked by a slight case of murder. I'd spent the better part of a year trying to live down my own story, and now it was time to return to what I did best. To what I was born to do. Find the stories nobody else could. I looked back at the crime scene. Saw where the body had fallen.