Cocaine Read Online Free PDF Page A

definitely not French. This was not fatal, because Cannes was full of people who were also not French, but it did mean that he would probably assume that I was rich.
    ‘Aah need security’, I said, adopting a broadly Texan American accent. ‘Back home we got guns ‘n all, and I don’t have a permit here, see, so I need to buy me some alternative means of protecting myself.’
    ‘Boorglars?’ he asked in a thick French accent.
    ‘Yeah, I wanna give anyone who comes in unannounced a surprise. Can you help me, son? I’m goin’ back to the States and it’s a gift for my wife. Fer when I go away on business.’
    The man smoothed down his slicked back hair and nodded, holding his chin on his palm. I could see him carefully looking at my shoes and my watch.
    ‘You said you az hand-gun experience, sir?’
    ‘Yup. And so does my wife.’
    He walked over to the Taser section.
    ‘Zees come in variety models, ze price range from four-hundred euros to one thousand five ‘undred.’
    ‘What’s the difference?’
    ‘Well. You ‘ave more shots, is lighter, smaller and az more features.’
    ‘How big is the box?’
    ‘ Excusez moi ?’
    ‘I need it to fit into this bag, see.’
    I unraveled my large green logo-less supermarket bag. My French guide raised an eyebrow in a way only the French can.
    ‘I think you take the smallest one’, he said. ‘You ‘ave many free cartridges, and the instructions, zey come in English.’
    ‘Fifteen hundred euros?’
    ‘One thousand, five ‘undred. Made in America.’
    I opened my wallet, handed him three five-hundred euro bills, slipped the box in my bag and walked out of the store before he had a chance to ring it through on his till or to ask me if I wanted to go on his mailing list.
    I turned onto Rue d’Antibes and lingered for a second to light a cigarette, a Gauloise Blanc, with the blue and white packets. They fitted the colour-scheme of my apartment with their brilliant white filters and black tobacco. Opposite me there was a branch of Sephora , a cosmetics store for men and women. Outside, leaning against a black plastic hoarding, a woman in her twenties was also lighting a cigarette and it was also a Gauloise Blanc. I had my sunglasses on – as always – and I stood pretending I was waiting for someone whilst I was watching her.
    She wore a black and grey uniform with a white name-badge, and the skirt brushed the top of her knees. She was tall and she wore highly-polished flat shoes, diamond earrings and a pendant around her neck with a stone that looked green through my blue-tinted lenses, which probably meant it was yellow. She had long dark hair, wide-set brown eyes, and a deep sun-tan. She was very slim and I could see the bulge in the muscle of her calf. She probably cycled and swam, or did step-aerobics or spinning or some other activity that kept her toned. I had an overwhelming desire to go over and speak to her, but I was also aware that I was standing on a busy shopping street holding a weapon that was illegal in most countries.
    I crossed the street, still holding my cigarette, and stopped outside her place of work with my back to her. I pulled out my mobile telephone and pretended to take a call.
    ‘ Oui, oui ’, I said to my non-existent caller. ‘ Je cherche le CD. Charlotte Gainsbourg. Cinq-cents-cinquante-cinq. Oui, c’est ca. FNAC? Ou est FNAC? ‘Allo? ‘Allo?’ I shut the phone with a quiet ‘ merde’ , but just loud enough for her to hear. I smelt her perfume now, coming towards me.
    ‘ Excusez moi, monsieur? Vous cherchez FNAC? ’
    ‘ Oui mademoiselle ’ – I looked at her badge – ‘ Stephanie .’
    ‘ C’est juste par la. ’
    She pointed to the large FNAC sign a hundred yards up the road on the left. I smiled and nodded. It was enough. A first contact. She didn’t have a wedding ring and I was a good fifteen years older than her, but that made the whole thing far more exciting. I hadn’t spoken to a pretty woman for a few