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across the street and, when she reached them, she placed the muzzle of the big-bore revolver against the woman’s temple and fired. Natalija Dini´c dropped to the ground. Beniamino went on staring at her, misty-eyed. His face was spattered with her blood. Christine grabbed him by the arm and forced him to start walking. But the old bandit moved slowly, awkwardly.
    â€œYou’re going to get us killed like this,” the bank robber from Marseille implored him. “We’ve got to get out of here fast.”
    At last, Rossini snapped out of it. “Yes, let’s get out of here,” he muttered and strode off with a brisk step toward Luc, who was waiting for him with the motor running. Christine put on her helmet and roared off a second later. People started to pour out of the Académie de Billard, attracted by the sounds of gunshots.
    I walked away, doing my best to keep from breaking into a run. Max had parked in a nearby side street. He peppered me with questions when he found out that it had been our friend Christine who shot and killed Dini´c. He couldn’t believe that Beniamino could collapse like that either.
    I called Bojana. She attacked me with a string of insults.
    â€œDo you want to know where to go get Uncle Lazar or shall we talk again after you’ve calmed down?”
    â€œThere was no need to put Ana’s life in danger,” she retorted furiously.
    â€œWe couldn’t trust you,” I said, cutting her off. I gave her the address of the farmhouse. “He’s locked in the basement.”
    â€œI just hope you treated him well. My family might not be pleased,” the Serbian woman said in a threatening tone of voice.
    â€œFrom this moment on, as far as all the members of the GaraÅ¡anin family are concerned, we no longer exist,” I stated, enunciating my words very clearly. “Otherwise we’ll circulate the video that shows how Natalija Dini´c was betrayed by her bodyguards.”
    Bojana said nothing. Then she hung up. I was sure we’d never see her again.
    â€œYou’ve gotten so good at spinning bullshit,” Max said, admiringly.
    I broke the phone’s SIM card in half and tossed it out the car window. A gust of icy wind blew in.
    â€œLet’s just hope this is all over,” I sighed.
    The fat man said nothing. He handed me a flask of Calvados. An act of brotherly kindness. It was exactly what I needed.
    There was no one at the safe house but the couple from Marseille.
    â€œBeniamino decided to stay in Vienne,” Luc explained. “He said he needed some time alone.”
    Christine finished rolling herself a cigarette. “I don’t like the fact that he’s driving around on a stolen motorcycle that was used in a murder. Natalija Dini´c was a big gun and all the cops in town are going to have their eyes peeled.”
    â€œHe ought to be here, safe, with us,” her husband chimed in.
    â€œI’ll go find him,” I said.
    Â 
    I found him sitting on the steps of a small Roman temple in a city square. He was smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. It was really too cold to brave the out-of-doors, but plenty of other patrons of the bar that had served Beniamino were sitting outside so they could enjoy a cigarette.
    I joined him, though I couldn’t keep from expressing a note of disapproval.
    â€œHow the fuck are you sitting on this goddamned ice-cold piece of stone?”
    â€œYour ass is resting on a piece of history. Try to show some respect.”
    I nodded and looked around for the motorcycle.
    â€œI hid it,” he reassured me. “They’ll find it come springtime.”
    â€œLuc and Christine are worried. And so are we.”
    â€œDid you think I’d gone nuts and forgotten the basic rules for a killer on the run?”
    The bitterness of his tone couldn’t conceal the despair in his voice.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    He took a sip and handed me the