Simon finished his espresso. “I need everything you have on three people. Paul Modriani, Salvatore Brigantino, and Tino Coluzzi.”
“You’ve narrowed down your list.”
“I hope that helps.”
Nikki set her elbows on the counter. “Modriani ran things five years ago, but he’s retired. He has a restaurant in Lyon, where he spends his time. You can forget him. I haven’t heard anything about Brigantino for years. His son manages a casino in the Bois de Boulogne. Gambling’s not my jurisdiction. I heard Coluzzi’s name a year ago in connection with a theft of a shipment of prescription medication—OxyContin, opioids, something like that. Nothing since. He’s probably back down south. Now it’s your turn.”
“Like I told Commissaire Dumont, I’m looking for something valuable that was stolen from my client.”
“And a little birdie whispered in your ear that it was stolen by one of these men.”
“Exactly.”
“What is it that you’re looking for?”
“A letter.”
“You’re serious? What are you going after next?” she asked with a smirk. “A pen?”
“They didn’t take the pen,” said Simon.
“Very funny,” said Nikki. “If you know so much already, why do you need me?”
“Reliability. Confirmation.”
“You dragged me away from the biggest theft in the last six months to find a letter?” She looked at the ceiling, shaking her head. “I know what you are, coming here in your expensive suit and your expensive shoes, calling in a favor from the commissaire. You’re a fixer. The guy that does somebody else’s dirty work. The commissaire told me about your last job—finding the runaway heiress who’d fallen in love with her coke dealer. Classy. What is it this time? Tracking down an incriminating letter one of your rich friends dashed off to his much younger girlfriend? Well, then. Another worthy cause for the Paris police. At least I don’t have to worry about being shot.”
“Not by the bad guys,” said Simon.
“Tough guy, eh?”
“Not especially.”
Nikki stepped closer, her fingers tracing a path along his lapel. “Must be some letter.”
He took her hand from his jacket and lowered it to her side. “Point me in the right direction. I’ll take it from there.”
Still, Nikki didn’t move. She stared at him, not bothering to disguise her contempt. Simon held her gaze. Her brown eyes had flecks of gold and he caught a hint of expensive perfume. He decided he liked the streak of blue. It was fading and he wondered when she’d put it in and why.
“Time’s up,” she said, before sliding down the counter and collecting her tobacco tin. “I’ll ask around about your friends from down south.”
He threw a ten-euro note on the bar. “Sooner rather than later.”
“I have other cases that take precedent on a letter.”
Simon buttoned his jacket and reached for the door, but she was there before him. She paused, halfway out the door. “Hey, Riske, my cigarette.”
“I gave it back to you.”
“Actually, you didn’t.”
“You sure?”
Nikki fished out the tobacco tin and opened it with a thumb. The cigarette lay inside. “How…?”
“Talk to you tomorrow,” said Simon.
Chapter 15
