“How about tomorrow night?” It was a Saturday. “I’ll call later and make reservations.”
“They don’t take reservations. I’ll do that call ahead thing.”
“All right, DB.”
“Thanks, Quinn,” he said again. “You’re a real pal.”
“Brothers, right?”
“Right. And you know what, brother? I’m tired of feeling miserable. Tell me something that will cheer me up.”
“I’m sorry, I’m still on London time,” I said, grateful it was only an hour off Paris time. “I can’t come up with a thing.”
“Shit, I should have asked. Did you have a good time in London?”
“It was... interesting.”
“That’s good.” Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice how lackluster my response was. “Oh well. I’ll just have to cheer myself up. I suppose it’s too much to hope Vincent’s dead?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said—”
“Vincent is very much alive.”
“Wait, how do you know this?”
“Really, DB?” I made my tone amused. “It’s my job to keep abreast of the whereabouts of other agents.”