Chapter 2 - The Portrait in the Dust
Guzman dropped to his knees right beside the dining table, entirely unconcerned that his thousand-dollar trousers were pressing into the plush carpet. He caught the little girl by her small shoulders, his large hands trembling so violently he could barely keep them steady.
"What was your mother's name?" Guzman demanded, his voice a tight, frantic thread. "Tell me! What was her name?"
The little girl didn't answer with words. She reached into her dress pocket again, her small fingers fumbling against the fabric until she pulled out a worn, square photograph. The edges were creased, soft from years of being handled, and stained with rain.
"She told me to show you this," the child whimpered. "She said you would know her."
Guzman grabbed the photograph.
The image was twelve years old. It showed a young woman with laughing hazel eyes, dark wavy hair, and a radiant smile, standing on a balcony overlooking the Seine. She was holding a newborn baby wrapped in a yellow knit blanket. Around her neck hung a simple silver chain, and on her right hand—shining clearly in the daylight—was the massive blue sapphire ring.
"Clara..." Guzman sobbed, a tear spilling over his lower lid, cutting a wet track through his weathered skin. "Clara... my baby..."
He pulled the little girl into a sudden, crushing embrace. The child stiffened for a fraction of a second, but then her small arms wrapped tightly around Guzman’s neck, her face burying itself into his grey wool lapel as she wept uncontrollably.
"Where is your mother?" Guzman asked, pulling back slightly to look into her face, his thumb gently wiping a tear from her cheek. "Where is Clara? Why didn't she come herself?"
The little girl swallowed hard, her small eyes darting nervously toward the dark tinted glass windows at the front of the restaurant.
"She... she told me not to let anyone see me," she whispered, her voice dropping into a terrified, conspiratorial tone. "She said I had to sneak inside... because they're looking for us."
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"Who is looking for you, child?" Guzman asked, his voice instantly dropping two octaves into a dark, lethal register. "Tell me."
"The men in the black coats," the girl whimpered. "Mommy hid me in the laundry van down the street. She told me to run into the restaurant and give you the green napkin. She said... she said if she didn't come back in ten minutes, I was never supposed to leave your side."
