“May I know why?”
“Just listen to me, Cristoneli, because we’re running short on time. If you don’t go to your office, photocopy all my papers, and then come to the police station in the ninth arrondissement within the next hour, I’ll sign my next book over to Mr. Park.”
“Who is Mr. Park?”
“I have no idea. But there must be someone with a name like that at my Korean publishers!” Paul yelled.
Cristoneli hung up on him.
“Is he coming?” Mia asked in a pleading voice.
“Anything’s possible with him,” Paul replied dubiously, laying the phone back in its cradle.
“Well,” said the detective, getting to his feet, “if this man you were yelling at is stupid enough to help you, you’ll be sleeping at home tonight. If not, we have blankets here. France is a civilized country.”
Paul and Mia were escorted to the cells. Out of courtesy, they weren’t put in with the two drunks who had been left to sober up.
The door banged shut behind them. Mia sat on the bench and held her head in her hands.
“My business partner will never forgive me.”
“Why? It’s not like we ran over an old lady or something. Anyway, what are you so worried about? There’s no way she’ll find out we’re here.”
“She’s also my flatmate. When she gets back from the restaurant, she’ll see I’m not there. And I won’t be there tomorrow morning either.”
“You are allowed to sleep out at your age, aren’t you? Seems like a pretty controlling business partner. Unless she’s . . .”
“She’s what?”
“Nothing, forget it.”
“I pretended to have a migraine so I wouldn’t have to work tonight, even though she needed me.”
“Ah. That wasn’t a very nice thing to do.”
“Thanks for twisting the knife.”
Paul sat next to her and said nothing.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “I have an idea, just an idea. Maybe you could neglect to mention the arrest and the police station and the handcuffs and all that to your great-grandchildren . . .”
“Are you kidding me? That would be their favorite part. Imagine Granny spending a night in the nick!”
They heard the sound of a key in the lock. The door to their cell opened and a policeman ordered them out. He led them to the detective’s office, where Cristoneli, after handing over a photocopy of Paul’s residence permit, signed a check to pay his fine.
“Perfect,” said the detective. “You can take him with you.”
Turning around, Cristoneli noticed Mia and stared accusingly at Paul.
“What is the meaning of this?” he exclaimed angrily, turning back to the inspector. “I should be able to take them both for that price!”
“Mademoiselle does not have her papers.”
“Mademoiselle is my niece!” Cristoneli said. “On that, I give you my word.”
“You’re Italian and your niece is English? That’s quite the international family you got there!”
“I am a naturalized Frenchman, Detective,” Cristoneli replied. “And yes, my family has been a mix of nationalities for three generations. You can call us immigrants, or the future of the continent, depending on how open-minded you are.”
