The Prone Gunman Read Online Free PDF Page A

blonde with delicate features, wearing a heavy, ribbed navy-blue sweater and flannel pants, was reading beneath a desk lamp. She had awe-inspiring breasts and eyelashes. Terrier took her for about twenty-six. She gave him a key.
    â€œWhat are you reading?” he asked.
    Silently, she showed him the cover of her book.
    â€œIt’s a story about time travel,” she said. “Does that make you laugh? You think it’s childish?”
    â€œNot in the least. I’m all for time travel,” said Terrier. “Besides, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
    The girl gave him a tired, hostile look.
    â€œYou’re trying to get me interested?”
    â€œNot really,” said Terrier. “Good night.”
    He found his room, washed his face, put on his pajamas, picked up the telephone, and asked for Alex’s number. It was one o’clock in the morning. It served her right if he woke her up. But he got the answering machine again. He waited for the beep. He had nothing to say to Alex.
    â€œYou can keep the cat, you idiot,” he said.
    It began snowing during the night. It was still dark and still snowing when Terrier left the motel. Just after, he left the highway and headed west. The bad weather slowed him down. It was almost noon when the DS reached Nauzac. It wasn’t snowing there.
    Terrier drove slowly all through the town. At one end of the town, a small, low, white perfume factory had recently been built. In the center of town, traffic was heavy and slow. Several times, Terrier almost headed the wrong way down one-way streets. There were parking meters in the neighborhood of the subprefecture, most of them adorned with stickers that read “NO! No parking meters in Nauzac!” and gave the address of the residents’ action committee.
    Eventually, the DS left the center of town and plunged into the residential neighborhood, where it drew up near a posh little apartment house. Leaving the engine running, Terrier got out on the sidewalk side. He remained motionless for a second. He seemed to hesitate. He blinked slowly several times. Then he strode to the entrance of the building and examined the mailboxes in the hallway. A West Indian concierge came out of her lodge. Terrier turned away.
    â€œAre you looking for something?”
    He turned to the concierge, shook his head, and then nodded.
    â€œMademoiselle Freux.”
    The woman looked perplexed, then raised her chin.
    â€œMonsieur and Madame Freux passed away,” she said.
    â€œI didn’t know. And their daughter?”
    â€œMadame Schrader?” asked the concierge. “Madame Schrader?” she repeated impatiently, since Terrier did not reply.
    â€œYes,” Terrier said at last. A thin white line had appeared around his mouth.
    â€œShe doesn’t live very far from here. Let me get you the exact address.”
    She went back inside her lodge, leaving the glass door open. Terrier turned on his heel. By the time the West Indian woman came out with a piece of paper in her hand, he was already back in the DS and on his way.
    He had lunch in the center. The exterior of the Brasserie des Fleurs dated from the nineteenth century and had recently been restored. The interior was full of leather-trimmed booths, little wooden partitions, and decorated frosted-glass panels as well as various modern additions. There were few customers. Terrier sat down in a booth. A bleary-eyed sexagenarian waiter, in a long apron and black jacket, came to take his order. Terrier stared at him as he ordered andouillettes and Munich beer. The waiter noted the order and went away. When he returned with the food and the glass of beer, Terrier tapped his elbow with three fingers.
    â€œCan’t quite place me, Dédé?”
    The waiter looked at him with suspicion, then sucked air. His red eyes filled with tears.
    â€œGod in heaven!” he whispered.
    Terrier invited him to sit down. Dédé glanced