"What's his body temperature now?" Asked Gatille as he went in the door. He had just witnessed Frank's team taking Iris away. His humor was not bettered because of it, either.
"40.3." Merrill replied coldly, busy changing Frank's bandage, stained with blood and sweat.
"Damn him." Gatille cursed. He had brought himself trouble when he partnered with Neil. The guy was a nervous wreck. His old gang leader - who was taken down by Donovan - would have made a wonderful partner in torture. Gatille hated him, but he was still marvelous at it: disguise, bribes, cruelty, plan, everything. He was a twisted genius.
"It had gone up." Merrill added, more to herself than to Gatille.
"I know it's up, Merrill! I am not a fool!" Gatille was greatly annoyed.
"Don't you yell at me, Robert!"
"What?" Gatille grabbed her in disbelief. Merrill raising voice at him? Impossible! "Say that again?"
"Don't you yell at me, and let me go!" Merrill tried to get her wrist out, but Gatille was holding on to it to hard.
"Let you go? Don't you think it's a little too late for that?" Gatille's face twitched. "We are in this together, like it or not. We killed this agent together. We killed Neil together. We abducted the girl together."
"Let me go." Merrill was not a timid woman.
"Sure." Gatille released her. He turned around, "Gen!"
Gen came running. "Yes, Mr. Gatille?"
"Guard her for me. Here, five hundred. Don't let her out of this room and no communication whatsoever, you hear?"
"Yes, sir." Gen took the five hundred dollars, bedazzled.
"Robert, don't you dare to this to me!" Merrill yelled at him as Gatille pushed her into a chair.
"You stay here." Gatille went out.
Merrill heaved an angry sigh. But there was nothing she could do. She walked over to Frank and touched his forehead. Her hand refrained from the heat. She wanted to grab some ice and cold water to reduce the fever. At the door, Gen blocked her.
"I am sorry, Miss Merrill, but you cannot go."
"Try to stop me." Merrill tried to force her way out.
Gen didn't resign. "Miss Merrill, it's of no use for you to try. Stay in your seat please."
"You -" Merrill was getting a little suspicious of him. First of all, his grammar changed. Second of all, he sounded different. There was no tangible difference; he simply sounded different, perhaps much smarter and less respectful.
"Mr. Gatille gave me a job, and I intend to do it." He walked over to a pile of clothes including Frank's bloody shirt and jacket. He flipped them around, looking for something. Not finding it, he muttered, "The smart kid took it with him."
"What are you saying?" Merrill felt that something was horribly wrong.
"You be quiet." He commanded, standing there, pondering something.
Merrill now prayed that Robert would come back soon.
Robert went down into the street. It was quite empty. Walking a hundred yards away from the warehouse, he saw a woman standing there.
She looked like a prostitute, an impressive prostitute. She was obviously not fresh from the pile. Gatille's mind cautioned him: such a woman should know where to go for rich customers. Can it be an agent in disguise?
He walked up to her in slow but big strides.
She looked at him with bright eyes. "Good evening, dear knight. Would you like to be my first customer tonight?"
Gatille narrowed his eyes in wonder. He didn't recognize this person from the team profiles. This woman has much make-up on, but still… she's not one of them. Yet somehow she looked and even sounded a little familiar.
She seemed to have read his mind. "Hey, you look a little familiar. Have we met before? Or were we made soul mates?" She laughed wildly.
Rene was not sure if this man was the game. She doubted if Robert would leave his nest. Yet the scar, the scary look and the air the man emanated somehow pointed himself out as the target.
"Hey, say," She approached him, "Where is your golden roof?"
"You wouldn't want to know." Gatille said.
She laughed again. "I've seen all kinds of places, believe me. Where is it?"
"What if I say it's a laundry place." Gatille teased.
"Laundry place?" Rene repeated, thinking as she frowned, "So this man is not the one we want?"
Gatille was satisfied with her reaction. He had predicted that the prostitute, being materialistic, would act surprised and iffy. "What? You skeptic?"
Rene wanted to say "no" and "yes" at the same time. Before she could answer, Gatille grabbed her by the arm. "It's not a laundry place, but something filthy of the sort."
"Like what?" Rene asked.
"A warehouse."
Rene's heart skipped. He was it!
Jake's voice came over the headphone, "We've got him. Try to find his name." The second part came from Cody, who was sitting by his computer impatiently, eager to find who this guy was.
Rene laughed at Gatille, "How interesting! I wouldn't miss this for anything in the world!"
Gatille's face twitched at the thought of Merrill seeing this woman. "What's your name?" He asked.
"Tess." She answered, stealing the name from Thomas Hardy.
"Tess?" Gatille looked at her more closely. Did she read Hardy? Average prostitute did not read British authors like that, or name herself after a murderess.
"One of the college boys named me that. Said I killed him. (She laughed) You don't like it?" Rene followed up.
"Nothing of the sort. Let's go."
"Wait, mister. You haven't told me your name yet." She pouted.
"My name is Gatille."
"Gatille. Ooh, French, aren't you, mister? I've heard of Bastille before, and your name rhymes with it! Es tu francais?" She tried to make her French accent as bad as possible. Gatille frowned at the pronunciation.
Enemy or not, he will find out.
"40.3." Merrill replied coldly, busy changing Frank's bandage, stained with blood and sweat.
"Damn him." Gatille cursed. He had brought himself trouble when he partnered with Neil. The guy was a nervous wreck. His old gang leader - who was taken down by Donovan - would have made a wonderful partner in torture. Gatille hated him, but he was still marvelous at it: disguise, bribes, cruelty, plan, everything. He was a twisted genius.
"It had gone up." Merrill added, more to herself than to Gatille.
"I know it's up, Merrill! I am not a fool!" Gatille was greatly annoyed.
"Don't you yell at me, Robert!"
"What?" Gatille grabbed her in disbelief. Merrill raising voice at him? Impossible! "Say that again?"
"Don't you yell at me, and let me go!" Merrill tried to get her wrist out, but Gatille was holding on to it to hard.
"Let you go? Don't you think it's a little too late for that?" Gatille's face twitched. "We are in this together, like it or not. We killed this agent together. We killed Neil together. We abducted the girl together."
"Let me go." Merrill was not a timid woman.
"Sure." Gatille released her. He turned around, "Gen!"
Gen came running. "Yes, Mr. Gatille?"
"Guard her for me. Here, five hundred. Don't let her out of this room and no communication whatsoever, you hear?"
"Yes, sir." Gen took the five hundred dollars, bedazzled.
"Robert, don't you dare to this to me!" Merrill yelled at him as Gatille pushed her into a chair.
"You stay here." Gatille went out.
Merrill heaved an angry sigh. But there was nothing she could do. She walked over to Frank and touched his forehead. Her hand refrained from the heat. She wanted to grab some ice and cold water to reduce the fever. At the door, Gen blocked her.
"I am sorry, Miss Merrill, but you cannot go."
"Try to stop me." Merrill tried to force her way out.
Gen didn't resign. "Miss Merrill, it's of no use for you to try. Stay in your seat please."
"You -" Merrill was getting a little suspicious of him. First of all, his grammar changed. Second of all, he sounded different. There was no tangible difference; he simply sounded different, perhaps much smarter and less respectful.
"Mr. Gatille gave me a job, and I intend to do it." He walked over to a pile of clothes including Frank's bloody shirt and jacket. He flipped them around, looking for something. Not finding it, he muttered, "The smart kid took it with him."
"What are you saying?" Merrill felt that something was horribly wrong.
"You be quiet." He commanded, standing there, pondering something.
Merrill now prayed that Robert would come back soon.
Robert went down into the street. It was quite empty. Walking a hundred yards away from the warehouse, he saw a woman standing there.
She looked like a prostitute, an impressive prostitute. She was obviously not fresh from the pile. Gatille's mind cautioned him: such a woman should know where to go for rich customers. Can it be an agent in disguise?
He walked up to her in slow but big strides.
She looked at him with bright eyes. "Good evening, dear knight. Would you like to be my first customer tonight?"
Gatille narrowed his eyes in wonder. He didn't recognize this person from the team profiles. This woman has much make-up on, but still… she's not one of them. Yet somehow she looked and even sounded a little familiar.
She seemed to have read his mind. "Hey, you look a little familiar. Have we met before? Or were we made soul mates?" She laughed wildly.
Rene was not sure if this man was the game. She doubted if Robert would leave his nest. Yet the scar, the scary look and the air the man emanated somehow pointed himself out as the target.
"Hey, say," She approached him, "Where is your golden roof?"
"You wouldn't want to know." Gatille said.
She laughed again. "I've seen all kinds of places, believe me. Where is it?"
"What if I say it's a laundry place." Gatille teased.
"Laundry place?" Rene repeated, thinking as she frowned, "So this man is not the one we want?"
Gatille was satisfied with her reaction. He had predicted that the prostitute, being materialistic, would act surprised and iffy. "What? You skeptic?"
Rene wanted to say "no" and "yes" at the same time. Before she could answer, Gatille grabbed her by the arm. "It's not a laundry place, but something filthy of the sort."
"Like what?" Rene asked.
"A warehouse."
Rene's heart skipped. He was it!
Jake's voice came over the headphone, "We've got him. Try to find his name." The second part came from Cody, who was sitting by his computer impatiently, eager to find who this guy was.
Rene laughed at Gatille, "How interesting! I wouldn't miss this for anything in the world!"
Gatille's face twitched at the thought of Merrill seeing this woman. "What's your name?" He asked.
"Tess." She answered, stealing the name from Thomas Hardy.
"Tess?" Gatille looked at her more closely. Did she read Hardy? Average prostitute did not read British authors like that, or name herself after a murderess.
"One of the college boys named me that. Said I killed him. (She laughed) You don't like it?" Rene followed up.
"Nothing of the sort. Let's go."
"Wait, mister. You haven't told me your name yet." She pouted.
"My name is Gatille."
"Gatille. Ooh, French, aren't you, mister? I've heard of Bastille before, and your name rhymes with it! Es tu francais?" She tried to make her French accent as bad as possible. Gatille frowned at the pronunciation.
Enemy or not, he will find out.