Free Magic Terror by Peter Straub Page B

cut the lights and ignition. Far below, headlights swung around a curve and disappeared. He straightened his tie and patted his hair. A few minutes later, he got out of the car and stood in the middle of the road with the satchel under his arm, listening to the Mercedes as it worked its way uphill. Its headlights suddenly shot across the curve below, then lifted toward him. N stepped forward and raised his right arm. The headlights advanced, and he took another step into the dazzle. As two pale faces stared through the windshield, the circular hood ornament and toothy grille came to a reluctant halt a few feet short of his waist. N pointed to his car and raised his hands in a mime of helplessness. They were talking back and forth. He moved around to the side of the car. The window rolled down. M. Hubert’s face was taut with anxiety and distrust. Recognition softened him, but not by much.
    “Monsieur Maris? What is this?”
    “Monsieur Hubert! I am absolutely delighted to see you!” N lowered his head to look in at Martine. She was wearing something skimpy and black and was scowling beautifully. Their eyes met, hers charged with furious concentration. Well, well. “Miss, I’m sorry to trouble the two of you, but I had car trouble on the way down from the auberge, and I am afraid that I need some help.”
    Martine tried to wither him with a glare. “Daniel, do you actually know this man?”
    “This is the customer I told you about,” Hubert told her.
    “
He’s
the customer?”
    Hubert patted her knee and turned back to N. “I don’t have time to help you now, but I’d be happy to call a garage from the auberge.”
    “I only need a tiny push,” N said. “The garages are all closed, anyhow. As you can see, I’m already pointed downhill. I hate to ask, but I’d be very grateful.”
    “I don’t like this, Daniel,” Martine said.
    “Relax,” Hubert said. “It’ll take five seconds. Besides, I have a matter to discuss with Monsieur Maris.” He drove forward and stopped at the far end of the lay-by. N walked uphill behind him. Hubert got out, shaking his head and smiling. “This is a terrible place for car trouble.” Martine had turned around to stare at N through the rear window.
    “Finding you was good luck for me,” N said.
    Hubert came up to him and placed two fingers on his arm in a delicate gesture of reconciliation. Even before he inclined his head to whisper his confidence, N knew what he was going to say. “Your question about that marquetry table troubled me more and more this evening. After all, my reputation is at stake every time I put a piece on display. I examined it with great care, and I think you may have been right. There is a definite possibility that I was misled. I’ll have to look into the matter further, but I thank you for bringing it to my attention.” The two fingers tapped N’s arm.
    He straightened his posture and in a conversational tone said, “So you had dinner at my favorite auberge? Agreeable, isn’t it?” Hubert took one brisk stride over the narrow road, then another, pleased to have concluded one bit of business and eager to get on to the next.
    A step behind him, N drew the pistol from the case and shoved the barrel into the base of Hubert’s skull. The dapper little fraud knew what was happening—he tried to dodge sideways. N rammed the muzzle into his pad of hair and pulled the trigger. With the sudden flash and a sound no louder than a cough came a sharp scent of gunpowder and burning flesh. Hubert jolted forward and flopped to the ground. N heard Martine screaming at him even before she got out of the Mercedes.
    He pushed the gun into the satchel, clamped the satchel beneath his elbow, bent down to grasp Hubert’s ankles, and began dragging him to the edge of the road. Martine stood up on the far side of the Mercedes, still screaming. When her voice sailed into outraged hysteria, he glanced up from his task and saw a nice little automatic, a sibling to