Chapter 10: Terms

I wrote my terms on a hotel notepad at noon, with Enoch reading over my shoulder.

One. He would not lie to me again, about anything, even to be kind.

Two. The ledger stayed where I had hidden it, and I would decide when it came out.

Three. His paper went to the police the day the Laskers fell, with his name on it, and he would stand behind it.

Four. He did not touch me unless I said so.

He read the fourth line twice.

"That one's temporary," he said.

"That one's mine."

"Understood."

He picked up the pen and signed under the list.

His hand was perfectly steady.

"You don't have to do this," I said.

"I know."

"Why are you?"

"Because I looked at the clock last night," Enoch said, "and I counted how many nights I have left, if I do nothing."

He folded the notepad and slid it into his pocket.

"The answer was not many."

At eleven that night Odile was sitting up, with her arm strapped across her chest and a mug of broth.

She looked at the two of us standing at her bedside, one with a list and one with a face.

"You've fought," she said.

"We've negotiated."

"Is that what you call it?"

She waved a hand.

"Go and be kissed," she said. "I'm not a corpse yet. I want a report."

The lobby was packed.

Word had spread about the Table, and the Truce had never looked so thin.

The old woman with the cigarette holder sat in the same armchair, and the two brothers stood by the lift.

The heavy man with the gold tooth had come back.

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