An essay in vernacular architecture, there were scarcely any two structures in the street that looked as if they belonged together. Outwardly, the two guys strolling along Rue Vaulesne didn’t seem much alike, either. Exuding an attractive mixture of warmth and sensitivity, one was dark, strongly built and moved with a sort of easy confidence. The other, a skinny individual with wiry red hair, had the mischievous alertness of someone who was used to taking his chances. But they had at least one thing in common. They enjoyed a joke. Or that’s what it would have looked like to anyone watching. ‘I suppose it was too much to hope the van would be parked outside,’ Bonbon said. Darac laughed and gave his mate a punch on the arm. ‘Can you see us?’ he asked. Lartou Lartigue’s voice buzzed into his earpiece. ‘Yes we can, chief. We just rang the landline again – intending to pose as the phone company, this time. Still no answer.’ ‘Anything else we need to know?’ ‘Nothing.’ ‘Everyone in place?’ ‘Everyone.’ Darac and Bonbon were still shaking their heads and chuckling.
