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Ten Cents And A Smile BISHOP “Call him.” The words catch me off guard, and I look at Jax across the tiny café table in a little spot called la Petite Monde. The music playing in the background is soft. Our conversation is barely above a whisper, and yet I constantly find myself looking over my shoulder. I know my waitress isn’t a spy. She hasn’t been sent by some rogue organization to kill me… but she might as well have. She sets my coffee mug on the table, giving me a wink, and I snatch it so quickly that the hot lava almost spills all over the table. I nod, dismissing her, before I even reply to Jackson. “Keep your f*****g voice down,” I hiss. “Oh, cut the s**t, Bishop,” Jackson groans. “We’re a million f*****g miles from New York. We’re in the middle of Nowhere, France, and nobod