My name is Dougay Roberre. My passport reads: Douglas Roberts. I don’t think either is real. At age three, my parents fled France to go into witness protection. I grew up in Sydney, Australia, among the sun, the sand, and the surf. As I neared forty, I had a yearning to discover my French roots, selling my Bondi Beach apartment and buying an attic apartment in Nice on the Cote d’Azur. I can speak French, though not read nor write it. I can use my fists – as a teenager I was taught to box. Without academic qualifications, I take whatever employment comes my way. I am a man for hire. I looked to where the car had stopped. On the footpath was a dark form – a non geometric shape. Curiosity aroused, I crossed to it. It was a person. I turned the body over and she moaned, “Don’t phone the police. Don’t phone the police.”
