The Model Spy

Chapter 7 - Painting the Roses Red (With Blood)

Zach nodded lazily to the large doorman as we made our way out of the building.

Another model was following us out, chatting energetically on her cell phone. Zach acted like the gentleman he wasn't and held the door for her. I stood there, but with a roll of his eyes, he gestured for me to go too.

As I made my way out into the afternoon sun, I collided with a man who seemed in a hurry to get somewhere. We both fell to the ground. Zach, already five steps ahead of me, spun around.  

"I'm so sorry," I told him as I picked up my bag. I was doing that a lot lately. I was a klutz in a sea of gracefulness. People in Paris walked down the street like they were all fashion models who owned the runway.

He never said a word, but jumped to his feet and continued the way he was originally going, his head down and his feet shuffling fast.

"That was rude," I mumbled to Zach. But he wasn't listening. "What's wrong?"

"He was standing out here when I came in. That was nearly an hour ago." He began to follow the man.

I kept up with his swift pace. "Do you think he's up to something?"

"I'm going to find out," Zach said.

We slowed a little so we didn't look as suspicious, our strides syncing as we walked side-by-side. The man continued on his unknown journey and never looked back.

We followed him for at least ten minutes. We went down small streets, crowded streets, even through alleys. We got to a street flooded with tourists when he suddenly turned around. Zach and I hid ourselves among the crowd, my heart thumping rapidly. 

Quickly, with my handy sunglasses, I snapped a picture of the man’s bearded face. Almost instantly, he started off again. We couldn't lose him. There was something strange about him. He began to take bigger steps, his pace quickening. He knew he was being followed.

He wandered into a shady alley when he broke into a run. Zach sprinted like he expected it all along. "Stay here!" he yelled over his shoulder. Yeah right! There was no way I was staying behind. I dashed after the two of them, my adrenaline racing.

The alley was long and dark. Not to mention dirty and smelly. Cold water splashed up from puddles and onto my pants as I ran. Zach was fast. Really fast. I couldn’t lose them or I’d be the one lost in the middle of Paris.

It became harder to run as the bottoms of my shoes became stickier from the garbage strewn on the cobblestoned ground. This job was far from glamorous.

Things didn’t get any easier as I exited the alley. I came to another street lined with shops and tourists. I plowed through them. At first, I kept apologizing for bumping into them. After saying “Sorry!” ten times, I soon ignored the bitter glares from people trying to pick up their bags I had so ungraciously knocked from their arms. Zach was getting further away. It would be only too easy to lose him in the crowds of people.

The man ran into the middle of the road, causing near crashes on a street already plagued by enough reckless drivers. The honking of horns and screeching of tires became ear-splitting. So much for trying to stay undercover. Shoppers and tourists were casting curious glances around them, searching for the source of the chaos.

Like the man and Zach before me, I darted between the buses and taxis until I was safely on the other side of the street. I dodged more angry pedestrians, nudging them to the side with my elbows. I was getting closer to Zach. His dark hair and clothes stood out among the flocks of tourists. The bearded man continued to run. I had doubts when we first started following him, but he was running. If someone ran, they usually had a secret they didn’t want anyone to find out.