***
Minutes later I was alone circling the revamped Hodaka while sipping my tea, reluctantly admitting to myself I missed Angel already. Indeed, I could not the evict the essence of her from my every thought. In a lull during our overnight consortium, Angel disclosed it was she who originally retained Sondheim, asking him to provide his best to deal with the matter of his old acquaintance -- her father -- Wayland Bridgework. Angel wanted nothing more than to have her dad safely rescued from himself and his wealth.
In a brilliant prearrangement, Angel used the unsuspecting Ethelene as a conduit of communication with Sondheim. She pointed out the botched kidnapping attempt resulting in Stinky's overseas travel as having a potentially disastrous ending for the old diplomat had not Sondheim surreptitiously arranged for the Bridgework's carefree departure from Newark. By influencing Ethelene to travel with me as his spy, Sondheim forced Chip/Silly to play his strongest hand of cards. It seemed I misjudged my handler and, frankly, owed the dear old bastard yet another heartfelt thank-you.
Angel also imparted she was dropping Shumway from her chain of identification, legally taking her former simplistic title of Angelica Formica de Corcoran Bridgework. I heartily approved of both this and her desire to ultimately change the corporate name of her company to Next Generation Investment.
In turn, Angel wanted to know how I survived my fall at the hands of Moeziz into the darkened Parisian alleyway. Assuring her she would not believe me, I described hearing the voice of Kamir in the abandoned art studio moments before plunging into the night. As absurd and random as it was, the lower half of the vacant tenement serving as our makeshift battleground was leased to Kamir for storage of the fleur-de-lis gandoras we had flown into the city. I wish I could have said my fall was broken by piles of the soft fabric. Instead, I crashed through the top of a wooden crate containing the overstocked robes. Still, this was preferable to landing directly on the uneven centuries-old cobblestones of the street, which surely would have inflicted greater -- and perhaps fatal -- injuries. And thanks to the flying Moroccan's timely reaction, I received medical treatment much swifter than I might have. Kamir proved a true friend when the moment of such vindication arose.
Clear your mind with a ride, old boy!