Chapter 1
The brown coffee went sideways across the white table with the gold rim and I watched it hit his pants. It wasn't an accident. My palm was flat against the edge and I shoved, hard enough that the cup tipped and the dark liquid jumped and spilled down the front of his right trouser leg. He was sitting there so still, so clean in that dark three-piece suit with the white pocket square, holding the white napkin like nothing could touch him, and for a second the stain was the only color that mattered.
The man in the black leather jacket moved faster than I expected. One second he was standing back, the next his hand was around my upper arm, fingers digging in, yanking me away from the table. He was breathing loud and I could smell coffee and sweat. Mr. Belgasham didn't stand up. He looked down at the wet brown spread on his leg, at the napkin still folded in his hand, and his face didn't change. That was worse than if he'd yelled.
My name is Leo and I was nine that spring and I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.
It was just past noon and the light over the sidewalk cafe was that flat overcast kind that makes everything in Paris look gray-beige, the stone buildings and the balconies across the street washed out. I'd been standing two tables away pretending to look at a menu I'd taken off an empty chair. I saw the man in the leather jacket lean over Mr. Belgasham's table when Mr. Belgasham looked away toward the street. I saw his hand go to his chest pocket, then to the coffee cup, something small pinched between his fingers. It was fast. A tap, a drop, his palm closing again. Then he stepped back and wiped his forehead like he was nervous.
I didn't think. I walked straight to the white gold-rimmed table and knocked it with both hands. The cup fell and the coffee splashed.
"Woah, what the hell are you doing?" the man in the leather jacket shouted, and his grip tightened hard enough I felt my feet leave the ground a little.
Mr. Belgasham held up one hand. He wasn't looking at me yet. He was looking at the stain spreading on his trousers, dabbing once with the white napkin and then stopping.
"Let him go," he said. His voice was low and calm and it made the other man let go right away, even though his hand hovered near my shoulder like he wanted to grab me again.
Mr. Belgasham looked at me then. His hair was slicked back, his tie was perfectly straight, and his eyes stayed on my face for a long pause before he spoke.
"Why did you do that, kid?" he asked.
I was breathing hard. My shirt was hanging loose and dirty and I could feel my hands shaking. I swallowed and said it plain.
"That coffee was poison."
The man in the leather jacket let out a short laugh that sounded wrong. Sweat was beading on his forehead now and his hand had gone back to his chest, pressing against his jacket right over the pocket.
"He's just a crazy street kid, boss," he said quickly. He didn't look at me. He looked at Mr. Belgasham like he wanted him to look anywhere else.
I stared at that hand. At the pocket it was covering.
"Ask him what he just put in his pocket," I said.
Nobody moved for a second. The cafe had gone quiet except for the street noise and my breathing. Mr. Belgasham's gaze shifted slowly from my dirt-smudged face to the man in the leather jacket. He took his time. He studied the sweat, the hand clutched to the chest, the way the man's eyes darted toward the curb and back.
"Why are you shaking?" Mr. Belgasham asked, very quietly.
The man in the leather jacket shook his head. His fingers pressed harder into the fabric.
May you like
"I'm not," he said.
Mr. Belgasham didn't answer. He just kept holding the white napkin, the brown stain drying on his trouser leg, and kept looking at the pocket. The air felt tight, like everyone was waiting for someone else to move first. I stood there between them with coffee still dripping off the edge of that white table with the gold rim, and I could see the black car parked at the curb behind them. It was out of focus and blurry, windows dark, engine running low. The rear door hadn't opened yet. Nobody had gotten in. Nobody had gotten out. We were all still frozen on the sidewalk, and the door was about to open.
