BY THE TIME the sun had risen, he was long out of Monte Carlo, driving north on the A8 toward Lyon. Traffic was sparse. It was a Saturday at dawn. Who in their right mind would be driving now?366Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYstC2kVB7v
He chuckled, betraying his nervous energy. Was he in his right mind? Arguably not, after what he'd just done. But maybe his mind was right for the first time. Maybe this was right, and everything that had come before was wrong.
He stretched his limbs as he drove. He was full of electricity but he knew it was induced by the adrenaline; he knew it was temporary; and he knew he'd crash hard when it was over. He hadn't slept, after all, and he still had more than two hours to drive.
He pulled off the highway near Rousset, a village near Aix-en-Provence, one of the most picturesque parts of the France, but the scenery wasn't on his mind this morning. He needed to pee, he needed caffeine, and he needed something in his stomach. Nothing more. In a perfect world, he wouldn't stop at all; he would remain alone and anonymous in the car, driving straight to Lyon. Nobody to see his face. Nobody to remember him later, to recount to the authorities: Yes, now that I'm thinking of it, he did seem rather nervous. Like he was hiding something.
He'd even topped of his tank late yesterday so he wouldn't need to stop on this trip for gas. But he hadn't brought along anything to eat or drink in the car----truly an unforgivable oversight; how the hell had he missed that?----plus he wanted to use a decent bathroom, not one of those freestanding toilet facilities along the French highways that suffered, to put it mildly, from inadequate plumbing. In any case, it was decided, he would stop. He found a gas station and killed the engine.
He had no disguise. He'd ditched it hours ago, after everything had happened. His reasoning; if he were pulled over by the French police for some reason---either for what had happened in Monte Carlo or for something as innocuous as a moving violation---he wouldn't want to have to explain why he was traveling incognito. How does an innocent man explain away a disguise?
That was the problem, of course: he could remain disguised and assume that risk, or he could go au naturel and take a different risk----that he would be caught on some security camera, leading to the obvious question of what he was doing two hours outside of Monte Carlo at dawn.
He zipped up his nylon windbreaker, pulled his baseball cap down low, and adjusted his sunglasses. He checked himself in the car's mirror. Not good. He looked like someone trying to hide his true identity. But again with the problem----wouldn't that be preferable to smiling for the camera?
Yes, and so he got out of the car and walked without incident to the front door of the gas station's shop. He reached for the door handle and looked through the glass door and saw the security camera and wondered just for a moment if he had taken leave of his senses and should just live with hunger pains and drowsiness, and he cold always take a piss on the side of the road....
In his distraction with the camera he missed the door handle and his momentum carried him into the door itself, where the brim of his baseball cap collided with the glass, pushing the cap back off his face and nearly off his head altogether. This bit of embarrassing clumsiness caught the attention of the lady behind the counter inside, who, from the looks of it, had been reading something but now turned in his direction.
What to do? Cut your losses and make a run for it? Stroll inside as if nothing had happened?
He wasn't good at this. He'd been remarkably adept in Monte Carlo, if he did say so himself. The pre-event planning had been careful and he'd carried it out with icy precision. Why was he so pitiful with the getaway?
He fixed his hat atop his head once more, adjusted his shades, and walked in. He tried to whistle, which he didn't do very well but which signaled calm. He nodded to the lady behind the counter, a young petite woman with a button nose and inquisitive eyes.
"Hall-o," she said in stilted English. Damn her! He hadn't opened his mouth, and already he was exposed as a foreigner. Well, so much for blending in!
He didn't answer, fearing his voice might betray his nerves. His lips formed into some kind of conciliatory expression and he pretended to be fascinated by the assorted soft drinks and bottles of water lined up in the refrigerated case on the back wall. In the reflection of the case's glass he could se her watching him. But why? What about him was arousing her suspicion? What else could she tell simply by watching him? Something obvious he had missed? Was he tracking in blood, for the love of Christ? Surely not, but the problem was, he couldn't very well inventory himself right there in front of her. Why had he come here? Why was he risking everything just so he could piss in a clean urinal and fill his stomach with empty calories? How shockingly stupid could he be?
It flashed through his mind: he could kill her with his bare hands and then steal the security tape. But where would that tape be located? He could get that information from the lady, he could make her tell him before he killed her...
Without further thought, he walked across the store to the bathroom. He was headed to a urinal but suddenly found himself opting for a stall. His hands went flat against side walls and he balanced himself, as his heartbeat ricocheted against his chest and his legs buckled.
What had he missed? What mistake had he made? Why had he done it? In the end, was it really worth all the risk involved?
Then he exhaled and raised his chin. Remember, he told himself. Remember the anger. The betrayal. The wound to your pride. Let it motivate you now, just as it did last night, before you carried it out. Stay focused. Stay mad.
He took a breath, finished his business in the bathroom, and assessed himself in the mirror. He felt better. Fuck it up now, and everything you've done is for naught.366Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxUgTOu2Ov9
He strode confidently out of the bathroom and purchased threw Powerbars, a bottle of Evian, and a large cup of store-made coffee up to the register. The lady had returned to her paperback novel, which she laid facedown, revealing a crumbling spine and the words La comedie des menteurs.366Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSNTPp4rRgd
Menteurs. Liars. He smiled at the lady but didn't speak. He paid in cash and left. Once he was safely inside his car, he felt very much like laughing his head off.366Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIxqpHGQqTr
