from behind the counter.
But Bald Guy just turned and shoved him hard, the same way he'd done me, only instead of landing on the floor he went flying right through the café's big picture window. A crowd quickly gathered around the café owner, who lay groaning on the pavement. Bald Guy glanced over his shoulder to check out his handy work and I jumped up and kicked him in his other knee. This time I added the anger over my smashed cell phone and the waste of a perfectly heavenly cup of hot chocolate into it. Bald Guy shrieked â some people never learn â and I scooped up Sherlock's cap from the floor and ran out the door just as the scrappy café owner ran back in to confront Bald Guy. Before I rounded the corner, the café owner went sailing back through the window. Poor dude.
****
I was trying to be philosophical about the fact I was running, again, for the third time in less than two hours. I still couldn't believe Bald Guy had found me, and I needed to make sure it didn't happen again. I still had my backpack but no phone, which meant I had no way to contact Alex and Lily, and they had no way to contact me. It was still twenty minutes before we could touch base. I wondered where they were and if they were safe. But first, I had to make sure I was safe. I don't know how far I ran. I didn't feel safe standing still. Bald Guy had caught up with me in the first place, because I dropped my guard and wasn't paying attention. Rule number four was always be aware of your surroundings. And I had failed miserably.
Since it was Sunday, many of the shops and restaurants were closed. And even if I could find another café to hide out in, I was too afraid of being cornered again. I finally had to stop running because my side hurt and I was out of breath. If I were Devon, Lily or Alex, I could run for miles. But I couldn't and there was no use dwelling on my lack of athletic ability because it wouldn't help me stay out of Bald Guy's clutches. Plus, obsessing over perceived shortcomings was so bad for your self-confidence. Boy, did I need some chocolate.
I found an open patisserie down a deserted side street and after looking up and down the street to check for any big bald men, I went in and bought two chocolate hazelnut tarts. The French know their chocolate. I was shoving one of them into my mouth as I left the shop, and trying not to swoon over how incredibly delicious it was, when I saw something and stopped dead in my tracks. Directly across the street was a sign mounted over a black door. The sign had no words, just the picture of a black cat with its tail curled into a question mark. I pulled the card Father Crozier gave me out of my pocket and compared the two images. They were the same black cat.
Not even bothering to see who might be watching, I ran across the street and tugged on the doorknob of the black door. It opened and I ducked inside. I was in a dark foyer with a flight of stairs in front of me. I ate the other tart for strength and climbed the stairs. At the top was another door with a window in it and another image of the black cat painted on it. This time there were words underneath the cat. They read: Le Chat Noir Recherchez . Black Cat Research. It was some kind of business. I went inside expecting to find an office; instead, I found myself in a small room with three rows of chairs facing a podium.
There was an enormous fat man sitting in the front row with his large backside draped over two chairs. He was asleep with his mouth hanging open and the red suspenders of his pants trailing the floor. He was snoring loudly, and I was hypnotized by how his enormous belly shook each time he breathed in and out. Crumbs decorated the front of his blue shirt.
" Bonjour !" A woman wearing a green, striped dress, who had frizzy black hair and glasses with lenses so thick they made her eyes look enormous, came out of a back room, she was carrying a tray of luscious-looking fruit, cheese and bread.
But Bald Guy just turned and shoved him hard, the same way he'd done me, only instead of landing on the floor he went flying right through the café's big picture window. A crowd quickly gathered around the café owner, who lay groaning on the pavement. Bald Guy glanced over his shoulder to check out his handy work and I jumped up and kicked him in his other knee. This time I added the anger over my smashed cell phone and the waste of a perfectly heavenly cup of hot chocolate into it. Bald Guy shrieked â some people never learn â and I scooped up Sherlock's cap from the floor and ran out the door just as the scrappy café owner ran back in to confront Bald Guy. Before I rounded the corner, the café owner went sailing back through the window. Poor dude.
****
I was trying to be philosophical about the fact I was running, again, for the third time in less than two hours. I still couldn't believe Bald Guy had found me, and I needed to make sure it didn't happen again. I still had my backpack but no phone, which meant I had no way to contact Alex and Lily, and they had no way to contact me. It was still twenty minutes before we could touch base. I wondered where they were and if they were safe. But first, I had to make sure I was safe. I don't know how far I ran. I didn't feel safe standing still. Bald Guy had caught up with me in the first place, because I dropped my guard and wasn't paying attention. Rule number four was always be aware of your surroundings. And I had failed miserably.
Since it was Sunday, many of the shops and restaurants were closed. And even if I could find another café to hide out in, I was too afraid of being cornered again. I finally had to stop running because my side hurt and I was out of breath. If I were Devon, Lily or Alex, I could run for miles. But I couldn't and there was no use dwelling on my lack of athletic ability because it wouldn't help me stay out of Bald Guy's clutches. Plus, obsessing over perceived shortcomings was so bad for your self-confidence. Boy, did I need some chocolate.
I found an open patisserie down a deserted side street and after looking up and down the street to check for any big bald men, I went in and bought two chocolate hazelnut tarts. The French know their chocolate. I was shoving one of them into my mouth as I left the shop, and trying not to swoon over how incredibly delicious it was, when I saw something and stopped dead in my tracks. Directly across the street was a sign mounted over a black door. The sign had no words, just the picture of a black cat with its tail curled into a question mark. I pulled the card Father Crozier gave me out of my pocket and compared the two images. They were the same black cat.
Not even bothering to see who might be watching, I ran across the street and tugged on the doorknob of the black door. It opened and I ducked inside. I was in a dark foyer with a flight of stairs in front of me. I ate the other tart for strength and climbed the stairs. At the top was another door with a window in it and another image of the black cat painted on it. This time there were words underneath the cat. They read: Le Chat Noir Recherchez . Black Cat Research. It was some kind of business. I went inside expecting to find an office; instead, I found myself in a small room with three rows of chairs facing a podium.
There was an enormous fat man sitting in the front row with his large backside draped over two chairs. He was asleep with his mouth hanging open and the red suspenders of his pants trailing the floor. He was snoring loudly, and I was hypnotized by how his enormous belly shook each time he breathed in and out. Crumbs decorated the front of his blue shirt.
" Bonjour !" A woman wearing a green, striped dress, who had frizzy black hair and glasses with lenses so thick they made her eyes look enormous, came out of a back room, she was carrying a tray of luscious-looking fruit, cheese and bread.
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