“That’s okay.” He sounded almost kind. “You gave me the right answer. If you’d said you couldn’t drive, I’d have had to shoot you now. I don’t really want to do that yet. It could make a noise; a mess. It could fuck up my plans… I have to cover every eventuality, you see. I have to be flexible, resourceful. I was born that way—so that’s cool. Now, walk out to that Mercedes outside. It’s not locked. Get in the driver’s seat. I’ll get in back with Madame Duval.”

He gave another small frown; he looked, Gini thought, like someone planning some normal daily routine, faintly irritated when perceiving some potential minor hitch.

“Are you smart?” he asked. He released the safety catch on the gun with a small click. Gini stared at the gun; she swallowed.

“I’m not rash, if that’s what you mean…”

“Fine. Then don’t do anything dumb—will you? I mean—don’t start screaming or trying to run away. When I give you the keys, start the engine and drive—drive really well. Otherwise, I’ll fire. Then Madame Duval won’t be troubled by her angina anymore.”

The old woman seemed to catch the sound of her own name. Some color had returned to her face, and for the first time, she looked up. She lifted her blue-white eyes and smiled. Gini helped her to rise; Madame Duval began to murmur. Crossing the lobby at a snail’s pace, she told her dear Christophe that he was a good, kind boy to be so patient.

As they reached the sidewalk, Gini looked along the street. It was deserted. Her hands had begun to shake. She opened the driver’s door and slid into the seat. She looked at the seat, then the floor by the pedals, and gave a low moan.

Star and Madame Duval settled themselves behind her. The old woman took out a rosary. Gini, who did not dare to look around, could hear the click of the beads. Her mouth was dry with fear; as she had climbed into the car she had noticed something: there was a sticky brownish substance splashed on the leather of the seat; there was a pool of it, still wet, by her feet.

“Yeah. It’s blood.” Star had leaned forward. He was just touching the barrel of the gun against the back of her neck. “You know how many people I’ve killed this morning? Three. The third was the chauffeur. It’s his blood on the seat. His body’s in the trunk right now. Start the engine, drive to the end of this boulevard, then make a right.”

Gini wondered if she could flood the engine. She depressed the accelerator hard, and pumped, before she turned the ignition key. Star laughed.

“That won’t work. Not with a Mercedes. You ever drive one before? They’re the best. My father likes the best. Mercedes. Rolls-Royces. He has four—did you know that?”

The engine purred into life. Gini hesitated, then pulled out carefully and drove along the boulevard. Behind her, the rosary beads continued to click.