Complex Relationships

Leon trudged into the Casablanca Continental Hotel, looking worn out from the road.

His eyes were sunken, and his coat still bore the creases from a long flight. The old friend headed straight for the private lounge, his gaze drawn to the scene in the garden.

Matilda was giggling as she rolled around on the lawn, while two mastiffs happily circled her.

"MI6 has gone completely insane." Leon pulled out a cigarette. "They sent in a decontamination unit to the Forest Club—the woods where the Scotland Yard Chief Superintendent's son was killed. Those lunatics say they're going to collect every blood-sucking mosquito they can find, just to look for the DNA of a killer called Beta."

Matilda tossed a Frisbee into the distance, and the two fierce dogs shot after it like arrows loosed from a bow.

Leon's gaze followed them. "There's also a killer codenamed Jackal who took out a German presidential candidate. Now Europe's entire intelligence network is buzzing like a nest of wasps that's been prodded. You'd better pray you didn't leave any biological traces in those woods. The Brits are serious this time. They really could squeeze your DNA out of the guts of those damn mosquitoes."

Beta lounged in a leather armchair, amber whiskey swirling gently between his fingers.

He narrowed his eyes and looked through his glass at the sunset beyond the window. "I've always been careful."

The ice clinked against the sides of the glass. "I didn't expect MI6 to go so far as to investigate mosquito guts, but it's second nature to me. I took every precaution I needed to."

The bottom of his glass tapped softly against the coffee table. "After all, anyone who survives in this line of work knows that sweat is more likely to kill you than bullets."

Leon struck a match, its orange flame casting dancing shadows in his sunken eye sockets.

He took a deep drag. The faint crackle of the burning tobacco stood out in the quiet lounge. Smoke curled up from his fingers, blurring the sight of Matilda chasing the mastiffs in the garden.

Beta said, "A few days ago, I took Matty along for some hands-on training. She used that angelic face of hers to get the door open, and I—"

He made a finger-gun gesture. "We made a perfect team and got that bad debt paid back."

Leon silently exhaled a ring of smoke, the gray-white cloud slowly spreading between them.

Beta leaned forward. "You took her to kill drug dealers?"

Leon flicked away some ash and gave a brief "Yeah."

"What kind of family education is that?" Beta leaned back in his chair.

Leon looked up, the tip of his cigarette glowing. "And what kind of introductory lesson was yours?"

Beta burst into a fit of coughing and waved the smoke away from his face. "Damn it, can you put out that chimney of yours?"

Leon stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette in a crystal ashtray. The ember gave a faint hiss.

Beta swirled his glass. "Let her go to school like a normal kid."

Leon's jaw shifted slightly in acknowledgment.

Beta looked at Leon. "Can't you say a few more words? Besides nodding and shaking your head like a mute, all you do is make snide remarks?"

Leon glanced at Beta. "You used to be as sparing with words as I am."

Beta said, "Spend enough time with that little chatterbox, and it's hard not to catch it."

Leon nodded. "She's good." Those three short words held more warmth than usual.

"Sophia seems to care about her, too," Beta remarked casually.

Leon's silence was like a wall.

"She's waiting for you in her office upstairs," Beta added.

Leon kept his gaze fixed on the empty whiskey bottle.

Beta turned serious. "If you don't go up and see her today, you're not leaving this place. The Casablanca Continental Hotel is her territory."

Leon hesitated for a moment, then stood and strode toward the elevator.

Only after the elevator doors had fully closed did Beta stare at them in silence for a few seconds, then say, "I'm kidding."

Beta couldn't figure out exactly what was going on between Leon and Sophia. Ever since learning that Matilda was an orphan Leon had adopted, Sophia had occasionally tried to fish for details about Leon's whereabouts.

Now that Leon had finally shown up, how could Beta pass up the chance to watch the drama unfold?

He waited until dinnertime.

Beta pushed open the walnut door to the lounge. The crystal chandelier cast a warm golden glow over the long dining table.

As the Continental Hotel manager's private domain, the room was filled with understated luxury. Silverware gleamed softly in the candlelight, and Burgundy wine swirled in a decanter.

Sophia had carefully arranged a rather delicate dinner party: Matilda swung her legs from a high-backed chair, Leon sat at one end of the long table like a statue, and Beta deliberately chose a seat where he could watch them both.

"Please, enjoy," Sophia said, lightly clapping her hands as the waiters filed in.

The rich aroma of Angus steak mingled with the scent of rosemary. The baguette was still warm from the oven, and the truffle shavings on the organic salad glistened with oil.

Beta's knife sliced through his medium-rare steak, and juices seeped from its pink center. He pretended to focus on his meal, but kept scanning the two people across from him out of the corner of his eye. Sophia's feelings were impossible to read, while Leon wore his usual blank expression.

The atmosphere in the room was more than a little strange.

By comparison, Matilda's table manners were practically performance art. She stabbed her steak with her silver fork and tore at it like a little beast, her hair whipping through the air with each forceful bite. Her napkin had long since fallen to the floor, and a conspicuous streak of sauce marked the corner of her mouth.

Beta leaned back just in time as the piece of steak Matilda had pulled at until it stretched like a rubber band went whooshing past his nose. The meat, coated in black pepper sauce, traced an arc through the air and smacked into the napkin holder opposite. Sauce slowly dripped down the silverware.

Matilda froze, holding up her empty fork. Then she forced an awkward grin. "Uh, was that an accident?"

Her voice grew quieter and quieter, until it was barely a whisper.

The little mishap Matilda had caused finally dispelled the room's earlier strangeness.

Sophia dabbed the corner of her mouth elegantly with her napkin and said gently, "It's all right. I'll have them prepare another portion for you."

Beta took the piece of steak off the napkin holder. "What did you two talk about? First, I have to admit I played a little prank. I told Leon you were waiting for him."

Leon denied it outright. "We didn't talk about anything."

Sophia explained calmly, "Leon will represent me at Helen's funeral. As the Continental Hotel manager, I can't leave the hotel without permission."

Beta nodded thoughtfully. "Represent you? I think I understand what your relationship is now."

"Your relationship really is complicated," Beta sighed. "It's a bit messy, but at least it's still within the bounds of normal."

Matilda had started devouring the vegetable salad on the table again.

Her table manners weren't exactly elegant, but they did make you hungry. She crunched away at the salad-dressing-coated leaves like a rabbit.