The phone rang again; Farukh was sure it was Dadash, but he was wrong. Catherine was on the other end of the line, sobbing so that he could barely understand her.
“I am coming,” he said, grabbing a jacket. “I’ll be there soon.”
He ran down the street to flag a taxi; something was terribly wrong, and Catherine had called on him for help. On him! Not her friend Susan or anyone else. The cab ride seemed interminable.
When the taxi reached an intersection close to Catherine’s apartment, Farukh told the driver that was close enough and threw a wad of francs into the front seat — far more than was due, but he didn’t care. He got out of the cab and ran into the warren of the Latin Quarter.