Chapter 3
DRIVING BACK TOWARD THE center of the city in the funeral
hearse, I pull off the road and park in a Seven Eleven parking lot, dial
Suzanne Bonchance from the cell. Since I’m calling her private mobile number,
she picks up after only a couple of ringy-dingys.
“I’m already working my first lead,” I tell her after she
answers with a simple yet direct, and very French, “Bonchance!”
“It’s not necessary for you to call me every time you make
some progress, Mr. Moonlight.”
“I’m sorry. Thought you might like to know.”
“Agents never . . . and I repeat . . . never like to
be called. We do all the calling. Not the other way around.”
“Don’t you want to know?”
“Know what?”
“About my lead?”
“Okay, what is it?”
“I just happened to run into a very attractive young lady at
the Ba
