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41
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Mort refused to touch the contaminated car any further. He went back to his constant use of taxis and regretted ever even thinking that he should use a rental car. He certainly would never do it again... Unless he felt like it.
He got out of the taxi and paid the driver, all the while feeling somewhat fulfilled by the old motion that he was so used to.
He walked up to the entrance of a tall, well-preserved building. A grim-faced concierge sat in her cubby-hole. She eyed Mort suspiciously as he entered the lobby. "Monsieur?" The concierge spoke.
"Bonjour, Madame. Le Fondation Kessler, s'il vous plait." Mort said.
"Derniere etage," The woman instructed.
Mort nodded and made his way up the stairs. He pressed the door-bell and was buzzed in. He opened the door and stepped in to see a big-bosomed, middle-aged woman with scraped-back hair. If he didn't know any better, Mort would've thought her to be a man.
She looked up from her paperwork, sensing his presence, and eyed him suspiciously as well.
What's wrong with these French women? Have they never seen a man before in their lives? Mort thought.
He approached the secretary and spoke. "Good afternoon. I'm Mort Corso. I have an appointment with Baroness Kessler."
After consulting her appointments book and watch, the secretary slowly rose. "This way," She said, her voice filled with French accent. She walked ahead of Mort down a paneled corridor and stopped outside a heavy wooden door. She turned to Mort. "You have thirty minutes."
Then she knocked on the door and opened it.