“Yours to keep,” said Rafa. “We sure as hell can’t let Sherlock find them.”
“But how…?” Simon narrowed his eyes, shaken by the turn of events.
“You’re a rock star. You’re being put up to work as an assistant to the vice chairman. Sherlock decided to do a little more digging to make sure they had the right man and requested your transcript from Sciences Po. Somewhere there was mention of both names, Riske and Ledoux. Her curiosity was piqued.”
“And now? She’ll be expecting something.”
“Relax. No one has ever accused the French government of being efficient. We’ll have some fun. Copy the stationery, write our own reply. ‘Nothing found. All a clerical error.’ She won’t look any further.”
Simon tried to share in his friend’s jocularity. He couldn’t. He felt as if he’d stepped off the curb while looking in the wrong direction and only narrowly avoided being run over by a city bus. Had Rafa not been assigned to HR, had he not broken every rule imaginable and risked his own job to steal the envelope, Simon would have been summarily dismissed from the bank. There would have been no question of a letter of recommendation. His career in finance would have been over before it started.
“Thank you.” Simon could think of no other words.
“De nada,” said Rafa, gifting him with a pat on the shoulder.
“I owe you.”
“You would have done the same,” said Rafa. “Cheers, then. To both of us.” Then after they’d taken a swig: “I have a confession to make, too. I’m a liar, just like you. No jail. We called itel reformatorio.”
“You?”
“Don’t tell me you thought I was a saint. I’m insulted.”
“You don’t have to worry on that account,” said Simon, feeling a little better already.
“When I was sixteen I was sent toel reformatorio. Half boarding school, half prison. For teenage boys who’d gotten into trouble with the law one too many times and whose parents couldn’t or wouldn’t buy them out. I wasn’t really bad, I just liked to get into a little trouble. Pinch a bottle of beer. Break a window. Borrow a Vespa. Finally they got sick of my nonsense and sent me to thereformatorio.When I left two years later, I took two things with me.” Rafa rolled up his sleeve, revealing a colorful tattoo. “This lovely piece of artwork and a vow never to set foot in that place again. I got a job as a runner at a bank in Madrid paying spit and a little change. I never looked back.” Rafa pointed at a sliver of blue ink extending from beneath Simon’s sleeve. “You too, I see. What’s that one?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, let Rafa see.”
Simon rolled up his left sleeve, revealing a larger, more intricate, and colorful tattoo of a grinning skeleton with its arms around an anchor, surrounded by crashing waves.
“‘La Brise de Mer,’”said Rafa, reading the words scrolled across the anchor.
“It means ‘sea breeze.’ Corsican mafia.”
“You? Riske…the teacher’s pet? You were in the mafia?”
“Made man at eighteen. Youngest ever. Guess that’s something to be proud of.”
“Now it all makes sense,” said Rafa. “So how did you get here…from there?”
“Long story.”
“I’m from the land of Cervantes. We love long stories.”
“This is one you can’t tell anyone.”
“We’re brothers, no?”
Simon rolled down his sleeve and buttoned the cuff. “Give me a cigarette.”
“You don’t smoke.”
“I don’t. Ledoux did.”
Rafa shook loose a cigarette and offered the pack to Simon. He rolled it between his fingers but refused the lighter. Holding it was enough to trigger the memories. And so Simon told him.
