The Adventures of Mademoiselle Mac 2-Book Bundle Read Online Free Page A

“ Transatlantic Train. ” I didn’t tell him it just sounded totally weird to me.
    â€œListen, Rudee.” Dizzy lowered his voice so it could barely be heard above the din of CAFTA and leaned toward his friend. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about the city getting darker, and I’m sorry that I laughed at you, mon ami . I know the theft of the cross from the Église Russe bothers you a lot, and I figured that’s what was getting to you. Anyway, I was picking up my usual fare on Rue Bonaparte, and I realized that I couldn’t read the building numbers. There was no fog, the lamps were on, but it seemed a bit darker to me. Maybe we’re both crazy.”
    â€œThat’s it, slideman,” Rudee burst in excitedly then quickly glanced around the room to see if anyone was paying attention before continuing. “I know it’s true. Paris is getting darker by the day. Hardly but slowly. A driver in the Métro drove past the Pigalle station and two hundred passengers on the platform yesterday.”
    Rudee paid for the drinks and the warm chocolate croissants that had magically appeared and quickly disappeared, and we all headed into the street. We waved to Dizzy, who got into a very low-slung cab with exhaust pipes that looked like trombones. His cab belched blue smoke, and Rudee shook his head. “Only bohemians would travel like this.”
    The café door swung open, and a driver wider than the doorway squeezed out to spit in the street. Spotting us, he lumbered over.
    â€œDaroo, you lunatic, how do you afford gas with all your freeloading friends?” He snorted like a pit bull and tilted his face close to mine. When he spoke, his breath could’ve been used as rust remover. “Past your bedtime, isn’t it, nana?”
    Rudee stepped between us. “Her name is Mac, sewer lips. Isn’t it time for your big flea bath?”
    This gross chunk of man lifted Rudee off the ground with one hand and dangled him like a dirty sock. “I think you need a new hinge for that hairdo of yours, beet breath. Sorry you’ll miss the show at the club tonight.”
    Rudee’s eyes seemed to recede under his mighty brow, but he said nothing. His assailant dropped him to the pavement and strode off, laughing to himself and spitting like a broken faucet.
    Once he was out of sight, Rudee gathered himself and said, “Blag LeBoeuf. I’ve known him since we were knee high to fire hydrants.
    â€œOur families knew each other from the old country. Then we went apelove for the same girl, don’t you know.” He shrugged, and a small smile emerged. “He lost the girl to me, and it’s been like this ever since.”
    I wanted to know more about Blag, but as soon as we settled into Rudee’s cab and he adjusted the lights and music to his liking, the radio squawked, and Madeleine’s voice cut through. “ Bonsoir, everyone. Just thought you all should know that the cross from the domed church has been stolen. Incroyable , non? Let me know if you hear something, and I’ll pass it along to the others.”
    â€œThe domed church. That’s Les Invalides,” said Rudee in an awed tone. “That’s where Napoleon is boxed. The church with the golden dome is one of Paris’ most shining monuments. But how could someone ...”
    He yanked the wheel of the cab to the left, and I fell onto his shoulder. He threaded the needle across six lanes of cars as he madly circled the Arc de Triomphe. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I must see this for my ownself.”

Eight
    When we slammed to a stop outside the domed church, a TV crew was setting up hastily, uncoiling cables and mounting a camera on a tripod. A reporter was fixing her make-up and throwing her hair back for that windblown look. A small collection of blue-and-white police cars was gathered at the entrance, and official looking people were trying to appear