"All right, now that's just rude," said Javert as the Presence made itself felt again. "We're having lunch for fuck's sake."
"But we're already done."
"So? He doesn't know that! We could very well be having desert at this very moment. In fact, I think I'll order some right now, just to make a point."
"Well, really, there's no good reason in putting it off. He's still going to be out there when we come out."
"True enough." Javert scanned the landscape outside their window. "There he is, by the way," said he and giggled.
"Where?" asked Valjean and almost got an eye poked out by a long, dark finger.
"Right there, by the Imbiss. The sunofabitch is eating ice cream."
"Shall we go out to meet him now?"
"Might as well," shrugged Javert. "Incidentally, how far do you think that Imbiss is from our booth?"
"Fourty meters, fourty-five maybe."
"And yet here we are, enjoying his buzz in our skulls."
"Yes, that is strange. I usually can't sense anyone beyond thirty meters or so."
"Thirty-six," corrected Javert. "We calculated, remember?"
"We could've been off by a bit."
"We could have," agreed Javert, pushing open the door to the patio. "But I really rather doubt it. Well, at least he's not being intentionally rude – there's no way in hell he's actually feeling us at this distance. I suppose he thinks he's being very furtive and inconspicuous, the silly sod."
"He noticed us! Look, he's waving," said Valjean. And indeed, the young man was giving the pair a genial-looking salute with the hand that wasn't holding a poisonously red popsicle.
Javert scowled. "Are you quite sure he's out to kill you, bhaiya? Seems to me he might be out for something else entirely."
"What do you mean?"
"Check out how he's going at that icey," smirked Javert. "He's not so much eating it as giving it a blowjob."
"Oh, for God's sakes," sighed Valjean and quickened his pace.
"Hey, don't get mad, you big nonsense, it was just a joke!"
"Howdy!" said the young man in English before biting his now quite soft and dripping popsicle in half with even white teeth. "Wha'?" he asked, seeing Valjean's frown.
"How can you eat that horrid rubbish? Do you even know what they use for food coloring in those things?" said Valjean in a concerned, almost paternal tone.
The young man laughed. "I'll live."
Javert barked out a laugh. "Well! Quite the little optimist, aren't you?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"I can think of some reasons," said Javert, leaning onto the table with both elbows. The table, which was clearly not constructed with such stress in mind, tipped at an alarming angle. "For starters, you've really pissed off my friend."
"Pissed him off?" The young man laughed again. "Yeah right! Scared shitless, you mean."
"I wouldn't say 'scared.' You made him concerned, let's put it that way."
"Hey, where are y'all guys from? I thought you were supposed to be French, but he sounds Irish and you're what, Indian?"
"At the moment, yes."
"That's cool. Do you speak Indian?"
Javert tsked regretfully.
"I'm afraid I don't. I do, however, speak Hindi, Bengali, Marati and Tamil, so it's not entirely hopeless."
"Oh, sorry. My brother's dating an Indian chick; you kinda sound like her, except not as weepy."
"That's good to know."
"That's funny, though, they told me y'all were French."
"Who told you that?" Cursory interest.
"It don't matter who, I just heard y'all were, that's all."
"I see." Javert stood up. "Well, we should probably set a time and a place, no? I mean, you can't be thinking of extending a Challenge here on the spot, right?"
"Naw. There's a clearing about two miles north of the station. It's pretty secluded, and there aren't any cops or houses or anything around for like a mile. Middle of the night, no one will know a thing. Three a.m. okay?"
"Fine by me."
"What about him?"
Javert turned his head.
"Well, 'him', say something."
" Three o'clock is fine."
"Perfect!" smiled Javert. "You've got a whole evening to set your affairs in order."
"Hah hah, you're funny. I can take him in like, five seconds."
"What makes you think that?"
The young man rubbed his neck in thought. "Well, he ran away, didn't he? He wouldn't have done it if he could take me."
"You've got to admit, he's being pretty logical, in his own stupid way."
"I'm still not fighting him."
"Frankly, I wasn't going to fight him either, but now I'm concerned. These mysterious "who"s that told him we are supposed to be French concern me a lot. My last French identity met its untimely end in Auschwitz."
"It could've been another Immortal. Maybe even his teacher."
"Let's hope so," mumbled Javert and turned the ignition key.