Have a ball! Report on the French situation. Expect full details of you-know-what. Joe and the boys.
Carroll, who read over his shoulder, demanded, “What’s that mean?”
Lepski, who knew, put on his serious face.
“Just police business, honey.”
Carroll eyed him suspiciously.
“Tell that to your grandma,” she said. “I know what you-know-what means as well as you do.”
Lepski winked at her and patted her hand.
“Just their little joke.”
As the plane came in to land at Charles de Gaulle, both Carroll and Lepski stared out of the window. The first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower brought a squeal of excitement from Carroll.
“Oh, Tom! Paris!”
Lepski, staring down at the broad panorama of Paris, bathed in sunshine, felt a surge of excitement he had never experienced before.
As the Jumbo circled the airport and made its run-in, Lepski saw, below, a cluster of people, three TV cameras and crew, some ten press photographers, and three smartly dressed women holding big floral bouquets.
“Jesus!” he exclaimed. “Look at that! Ned must have really turned on the heat for us! Look at our welcome!”
“But it can’t be for us!” Carroll said, her eyes sparkling.
“Who else?” Lepski expanded his chest. “I’m telling you, baby, a good cop has good friends. Man! This certainly is the red-carpet treatment.”
The hostess came up to them.
“When we land, Mr Lepski, there will be a hostess to take you to the customs,” she said.
Lepski beamed at her.
“Thanks, and thanks for a great ride.” He turned to Carroll. “See? The big deal!”
As soon as the plane touched down, Lepski, never feeling more important than at this moment, carrying the vanity box and followed by Carroll, was the first passenger to move out on to the platform on the staircase that had been rushed up to the plane’s exit.
He looked down at the pressmen, the photographers, the TV crew and their cameras, and at the three smartly dressed women with the bouquets. He beamed and waved, and Carroll, following his example, feeling like the wife of the President, also waved.
Man! Was this a real, goddamn welcome! Lepski thought. Ned Jason had certainly repaid his debt.
Then he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder. Glancing around, he saw a scruffy looking man with a beard, wearing Levis and a sweat shirt, glaring at him.
“Would you kindly move aside, sir,” the man said with a thick, foreign accent. “You are holding up the members of the Bolshoi ballet.”
Lepski had never heard of the Bolshoi ballet, but Carroll had. She immediately realized the explanation of this welcome and what a horrible gaff they were making. Grabbing hold of Lepski’s arm, she practically threw him down the staircase to the tarmac, and dragged him beyond the TV cameras.
Both of them paused to look back.
The scruffy young people were coming from the Jumbo, waving and laughing as the cameras rolled and the three women advanced with their bouquets.
“Idiot!” Carroll hissed. “You should have known!”
A smiling hostess confronted them.
“Mr and Mrs Lepski?” she asked.
“Yeah... yeah,” Lepski said, deflated.
“Please follow me to the customs. Your baggage will not be delayed.”
Well, at least, Lepski thought, as he carried the vanity box with Carroll at his side, Jason had done his best.
Well ahead of the passengers leaving the Jumbo, the Lepskis were conducted to the passport control. As soon as the officer took their passports, he turned to a hard-faced man in plainclothes, muttered something and the man came forward, offering his hand. He gave a speech in French that went right over Lepski’s head, but he put on what he hoped would register as an intelligent smile, shook hands and passed towards the customs control.
“Your bags are waiting,” the hostess said. “There’s no problem, Mr Lepski.”
Two customs officials beamed at Lepski, then at Carroll.
“Welcome to Paris, sir,” one of them said in English. “Have a good time,” and he waved them through.
Lepski grabbed the two suitcases, leaving Carroll to carry the vanity box.
They moved into the arrival lounge which was crowded.
“What do we do now?” Lepski asked, setting down the suitcases.
“We get a taxi,” Carroll told him. “I’m going to the ladies room. You get a taxi organized.”
“What do you want with the ladies room?” Lepski asked, uneasy to be left on his own.
“Lepski! Get a taxi!” and Carroll walked away.
Lepski blew out his cheeks. He looked around. Where the hell did one get a taxi? Seeing a fat, elderly man waiting, he went up to him.
“Where’s the taxi stand, pal?” he asked.
The fat man stared at him.
“I don’t understand English,” he said in French and walked away.
Lepski made a growling noise, and looked around helplessly. Didn’t any of these finks speak English?
A man in uniform walked near him. Lepski grabbed his arm.
“A taxi, pal. Where the hell do I find a taxi?”
The man jerked his thumb in an easterly direction, and walked away.
Lepski decided it would be safer to stay where he was. Carroll would eventually join him.
Muttering to himself, he waited.
Pierre and Claudette Duvine had been at the arrival centre since 10.30. When Lu Bradey’s call had come through, they had been in bed. They had been experimenting with a new sexual technique which they both had decided was not worth the energy. Pierre was a great reader of American paperbacks and was always looking for new ideas to give Claudette pleasure. He had released her in an undignified position, to pick up the telephone receiver.
He listened to Bradey’s curt message, then rolled off the bed.
“Business, sugar. Charles de Gaulle at eleven.”
Claudette moaned.
They were now standing in the arrival centre, watching for the Lepskis. Pierre had hired a Mercedes 280 SL which he had parked in the Charles de Gaulle parking lot. After standing and waiting for some forty minutes, Pierre suddenly nudged Claudette.
“There they are,” he said. “Get going.”
He had seen Carroll walk away to the ladies room, carrying the vanity box. The box was unmistakable from Bradey’s description.
Claudette went into action. She walked to where Lepski was standing, began to pass him, then lurched against him as if she had slipped.
Lepski, always quick on the reflex, caught hold of her, and found himself looking at the most sexy woman he had ever seen. Claudette’s sea-green eyes regarded him with a merry twinkle.
“Excuse me,” she said, speaking perfect English. “I always fall over handsome men.”
Gay Paree! Lepski thought. Man! Have I arrived!
“That’s fine with me, beautiful,” he said. “I’d do the same in your place.”
Claudette laughed. She had a rich, mellow laugh that she had cultivated, knowing few men could resist it.
“Have you just arrived?”
“Yeah. My wife’s just gone off to the loo. I’m looking for a taxi.”
“That’s no worry. I’m Claudette Duvine. My husband is somewhere.” Claudette flickered her long, false eyelashes at Lepski.
“Tom Lepski. Where do I get a taxi?”
Then Pierre decided it was time to move into the scene. He came up to Claudette.
“They haven’t arrived,” he said in English. “I guess they’ve changed their minds.”
“Meet Mr Tom Lepski, Pierre,” Claudette said on cue. “This is my husband.”
Lepski regarded the handsome, well dressed man and shook hands.
“Mr Lepski has just arrived. He’s worried about getting a taxi,” Claudette said smiling. “Suppose we give them a lift into Paris?”