Speak Softly My Love by Louis Shalako

like a colossal bit of nerve
to me.”
    He
looked over at his partner.
    “ Yes, when I run into that husband of yours, I may very well
give him a piece of my mind.”
    She
looked away, very upset.
    Hubert
had agreed to take the bad-cop duty next round and Emile might as
well make a total ass of himself while he had the chance. He had
her rocking on her heels.
    So far
they hadn’t provoked any uncontrolled responses. This was merely an
observation, and meant nothing either way. Some people had very
good self-control.
    Tailler
decided to make peace if he could.
    “ I can’t help noticing, Madame. You have such a lovely home.
And I guess cops can maybe be, ah, you know—assholes sometimes. Is
the kitchen right there?” Emile lifted his right hand and indicated
an arch behind her, the heavy vertical maple planks of the door
giving that end of the room the impression of medieval
solidity.
    Chaillot
wasn’t exactly homogeneous, but this particular little street was
definitely charming and he wondered about the rent.
    She made
a quick decision, perhaps also sensing the need to back off for a
moment. There was the additional bonus of seeing the lady slide her
feet outwards so as to keep those luscious knees together, and then
ramp herself up out of the low settee. Her skirt had a way of
hiking itself up. She paused at the edge of the couch. She was
rocking back one minute and then leaning well forward the next like
she was straining at the leash. Every time she looked at Tailler,
his heart did this odd little flutter.
    He hated
his own cruelty.
    What can I fucking say.
    There
was probably going to be no getting over it. It made the job a
little tougher sometimes.
    She sat
there poised, blinking at them, wondering what to do.
    “ If that green tone was any lighter, the red wall would have
overwhelmed it.” To be fair, it was a very, very dark red, almost
black in the way it kind of sucked the eye inwards.
    She
stood, so they did too. Tailler took an appreciative stock of the
room.
    “ Yes, it really is stunning, Madame.”
    The green was very soft. Maybe that was the word for it.
    A low, white sideboard stood out in stark relief, nothing on
it but a tall pale blue vase with long-stem flowers in blue—irises,
he thought. Something like that. Tailler’s mother would have
positively shit to see this room—he would make a point and tell her all about
it later. You had your good days and your bad days. One had to
admit, the work was always interesting. He had been taken out of
his background. So to speak. He lived in a completely different
world now.
    “ It really is nice, Madame.”
    She
turned her head, giving Hubert a grateful look. Leading the pair of
males, she opened up the kitchen door and Tailler went in. His head
barely cleared the frame. Hubert stood in the doorway and had a
quick look.
    “ Wow. My mother’s kitchen is miniscule compared to this.” The
place was done in a cheery yellow and cream décor.
    Tailler
gave an approving look around. Maybe she really did cook. There
were racks of copper pots and kettles hanging overhead. It was all
very dramatic, and there was the birdcage. It hung on a tall pole,
bent over at the top and curving down into a hook. There was a
dedicated, carefully fitted cloth for it, with one side pulled back
so the birds could greet the day and their mistress. A pair of
birds were twittering away, and it seemed very pleasant.
    “ Very nice. I must say, it’s all open, clean and modern, isn’t
it.” The heavily mullioned windows and painted brickwork in a soft
creamy colour kept it bright even without the electric lights
on.
    She was clearly thawing out. She was pretty good about
regaining control of herself. It was always interesting to study
people’s reactions, not that one didn’t partake of the tragedy in
equal doses. The flics, the cops at least, had some degree of separation.
They called it objectivity. It wasn’t really, it was just
different. There were plenty of emotions