Harry's instincts screamed at him to answer the phone, but as always he delayed acting on these instincts until they were wiped from his mind with a wave of rationality. Realizing that he needed to talk to Bob face to face, Harry ignored the call and began walking out front where Anika had the old Lincoln waiting.
He wiggled open the door and then sidled awkwardly into the worn-down leather passenger seat. With a firm pull, he tried to close the door behind him, but the latch seemed to be jammed. Anika watched with amusement from behind the steering wheel as Harry made repeated efforts to force the door shut, focusing more of his strength with each attempt. After many frustrated attempts, he looked back at Anika, took a deep breath, and tried one last time to show the door who was boss. With a heroic pull, the door slammed shut, but the handle broke off and fell into Harry's lap. Anika exploded in laughter and Harry playfully acted as if nothing had happened at all. Seeing that she was still in a fit of giggles, he made a crack about it being a “luxury” car. Hearing the words come out of his mouth made Harry realize what he was doing: He was flirting with Anika – something he hadn't for years, yet it somehow seemed appropriate now, given that they just learned each other's real names.
Harry gently placed the handle in the glove box, and handed the Crown Royal bag to Anika, whose joyful eyes quickly turned somber upon meeting the bag. She slowly pulled out a red notebook and thumbed through it.
Harry's attention turned back to the cell phone he had picked up, and his thumbs began exploring its contents. From the many text messages it was clear that the phone belonged to Vincent who, like Jack, was one of Sal's bodyguard. The most recent text message, however, was particularly interesting:
After you get what you need from the girl, meet me and Sal back at the Petite Auberge. Walt is taking care of Harry.
“The Petite Auberge,” Harry said to Anika, “That's where we need to go.”
“I was ready to go there this morning,” she replied casually, her eyes still skimming the pages of the notebook. Names. Numbers. Addresses. All of them were carefully written by Anne years ago, but meaningless to Anika now...except for one name and one number.
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