I had been waiting on the sidewalk for about half an hour when I heard a car horn sound briefly. I turned my head, and saw Anatole behind the wheel of a car that had its hazard lights on, paused next to the parked lane—which now began to cause some honking from vehicles behind.
I pushed myself away from the sun-baked bricks of the front of the café, and went rapidly to the passenger side door of Anatole’s vehicle.
Climbing in, I closed door, and then, as we pulled away, I hesitantly looked over at Anatole. And gasped. He was sporting a pronounced black eye.
Hearing my gasp, he turned briefly and glanced at me. His face was still grim, but I thought I saw, just at the corner of his mouth, a slight upward turn—like the beginnings of a sardonic smile.
“So. You like my new look?” he said,
