Todt gets Tired

I quickly threw the blanket over the tires in the back of his BMW Estate and slammed the hatch. Turning in the dark alley, I could see Todt's face lit by the glow of his indrawn cigarette. The glowing tip was shielded by Todt's hand as he exhaled the bitter smoke, turning his head to check the nearby street again.

The noise of the playboy's parties echoed dully as I noticed the lights of the yachts reflected on the Monaco harbour, framing the Ferrari manager's head.

"Say it again" I demanded, as I felt in my pocket for the keys. "Just get zem out of here Smiss", he hissed impatiently.

"Say it Jean", I repeated. He shuffled in the dark for a second before repeating in a monotone the words I had coached him in for hours. "Everbody knows that at Monaco the track conditions are very different on ze first day..."

I moved closer to him and patted his cheek menacingly. "That's right Jean, you know the drill now. I'll be in touch."

I moved to the car, opened the door and sat down, simultaneously starting the engine and reversing out of the alley.

I lowered the window as I slid past Todt's hunched figure. He was already shuffling into the street, hands thrust deep into pockets, collar raised. I realised he was beginning to be a liability. "I'll see you in Canada Jean," I called, "But you might not see me..."

The last sight I saw of him showed the fear in his eyes. I opened the throttle, hearing the tires shifting in the back.