C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series) (7 page)

“
Bonjour
, Monsieur
—
” He waited for Raja to fill in the blank.

“Williams. Raja Williams.”

“You say you have a proposal from Jules. How is that possible?”

Raja felt the ice under his feet cracking.
All in
, he thought again. “I have recently begun working for Jules. He would like to strike an alliance with you in the hopes that together you might squeeze out competitors like Leon Julian.”

The flash of hatred on Andre’s face was obvious, but strangely softened by the angelic voice. “Go on.”

“Perhaps together we could even move up the supply chain.”

Andre laughed heartily, sounding like a weird combination of man and child. “Take out Bruno? Jules has been sampling too much of his own product.”

Raja thought he might have pushed too far. He had to think quickly. “We heard there are investigations ongoing that may put an end to Bruno’s reign.”

Again the weird laugh. “Police investigations? I think your boss underestimates Bruno and the support he has from the police themselves. That could prove fatal.”

Raja was walking farther out on the already thin ice. “Not if we get control of the manufacturing line. Do you know where the drugs are made?”

“Of course. But that does one little good if the police are protecting the operation.”

“Would not the police protect the operation if you ran it?”

“I suppose.” The hook was set. It was now or never.

“In any event, we would like to do some observation. Call it idle dreaming. Where is the lab?” Raja waited.

“It’s the warehouse on Rue Guillot in Montrouge, just outside the city proper. But, you better tell Jules to be careful or Bruno will make your dreams permanent.” Andre laughed fiendishly at his own joke until he began coughing and waved Raja out of the room.

Raja wasn’t going to argue and left. He had the data he needed and no bullet holes. It’s what he called a good day.

Chapter Eight: Showtime

Vinny took a taxi to the club just after dark on Friday night to start her new waitress job. Cabaret d’Artois was already filling up with customers. She made her way to the dressing room behind the stage. It was a large open room with lots of mirrors, makeup counters and chairs that didn’t afford much privacy. Vinny squeezed into the French maid outfit consisting of a low-cut stretch midriff blouse that didn’t hide much, and a much too short black skirt. The gartered black stockings were all that kept her from feeling naked. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror and adjusted the outfit as best as she could. She felt like she should be in a low budget porn film.

“
Bonsoir
,” said a brunette dancer who had come in and was putting on her costume nearby. “You’ve got a great pair of legs, honey. Bruno is going to want you up on the stage.”

“I’m only a waitress.”

“Sure you are. My name is Coco.”

“Livinia—Vinny.”

“Which is it?”

“Vinny.”

“Vinny it is,” said Coco, laughing. “You just wait, honey. You’ve got the legs. But, be careful with Bruno. That is between you and me. Do not tell him I warned you.”

“My lips are sealed. He’s trouble, you say?” asked Vinny, fishing for more.

Coco looked around, making sure they were alone. “Mean is more like it. Whatever you do, do not try to make nice with him. Believe me, you don’t want his kinda rough.”

“You’re up,” said a short redheaded waitress who had just come in and plopped heavily into a chair nearby. She looked at Vinny. “I hope you are ready. They love to pinch.”

Vinny had never been prudish about her body, but one hour into her shift and she felt like she needed a shower. The only time she got any relief from the groping customers was during the floor shows that played every two hours. The first show was at ten o’clock, featuring male and female dancers who performed a variety of mesmerizing choreography set to loud, pulsing music. The finale of each set, always the popular can-can performed by a topless chorus line, held nearly all eyes in the club. Even during the floor show, with everyone else watching the girls on stage, the occasional creep was drunk enough or emboldened enough to make a grab for a waitress’s girl parts. Vinny handled most of it like the professional she was, although there were more than a few men in the club that first night who never knew how close they came to having their heads handed to them by one pissed off blond French maid.

The action in the club was too crazy for Vinny to do much investigation while she was on the floor serving drinks. However, Vinny had a break just after the midnight show, giving her time to snoop around. She had noticed waitresses dropping small packets onto tables or into customers hands when serving drinks. That had to be how the drugs were being distributed. She had to find a way to get a few samples. She identified two particular waitresses, Oceane and Freda, and waited until one of them headed to the back on a break. Freda, an athletic brunette who looked like she might have done some bodybuilding, turned in her receipts and headed to the dressing room. Vinny followed and sat down next to her. Vinny began rubbing her head.

Freda took the bait. “What’s the matter,
chère
, rough night?”

“My head is killing me, and my feet aren’t doing much better,” said Vinny. “I don’t think I got enough sleep last night. I’m dead tired already.”

Freda reached into her apron pocket and tossed a small packet on the table in front of Vinny. “Take one of those. It’ll give you the boost you need. But only one, you hear?”

“What is it?”

“Nothing dangerous. You heard of drone?”

“No.” Vinny had in fact heard of it. Drone was short for Mephedrone, a nasty variation in the amphetamine class that was popular as a club drug.

“It’s a mild form of speed. Just what a girl needs to get through a long night.”

Vinny held up the square plastic packet and looked at the contents. There were two pale blue tablets inside. “How much do I owe you?”

“Never mind. Just keep it to yourself, okay?”

“Sure, thanks.” Vinny got up and went into the bathroom. She pocketed the pills and came out a minute later.

“Remember, only one until you get used to them. Give it a little time,” said Freda, “and you’ll be feeling a lot better.”

Vinny nodded and, after adjusting her outfit in the mirror, went back out onto the floor to waitress. Just after one in the morning Bruno sneaked up behind her. “How is your first night,
ch
é
rie
?” he whispered intimately in her ear.

Vinny could feel his hot breath, and the hair on her neck stood straight up. She steeled herself and turned around slowly. “So far so good,” said Vinny, trying to back away from Bruno. He grabbed her at the elbow and pulled her closer. “I’ve gotten no complaints from the customers. Let’s keep it that way,
ma chérie
.” He squeezed hard deliberately and then let go.

“Thank you. I’ll do my best,” said Vinny. Picturing several ways she might cripple Bruno allowed her to smile while she said it.

Bruno smiled back and walked away.

At four in the morning Vinny’s shift finally ended. The bar closed and the customers began thinning out. Her feet felt like lumps of throbbing lead. She had pulled three hundred euros in tips but at a steep cost to her sense of decency. Her estimate of blisters and bruises said that she had one for every single euro she had earned. She sat down and watched the other waitresses and dancers changing into street clothes, too tired to do the same herself.

“First night?” asked a gorgeous redheaded dancer who sat next to her wiping off rouge.

“How could you tell?” Vinny chuckled at hearing the disgust in her own voice. When she looked up the redhead was smiling.

“Antoinette,” said the redhead by way of an introduction. “Are you a dancer?”

“Everyone else seems to think so,” said Vinny.

“It’s how Bruno operates. He doesn’t usually hire waitresses. He only hires girls he wants to dance. Thinks he can charm them into it. More like scare them. Although it does pay better. You’ll see.”

The metro train got Vinny within three blocks of Raja’s flat, and she dragged herself the rest of the way on foot. Raja was sound asleep. Vinny was soon to follow.

Chapter Nine: Margaret Meets Her Captor

When Margaret awoke for the second time, light streamed into the room from a window above her on a side wall. She was alone in a small, plain, bare room with shelves running floor to ceiling on three sides. They were empty. She guessed it might be a large pantry or storage room. The high ceiling and crown molding told her it must be in a substantial, large house. Margaret had no idea how long she had been there. Although it might have been only one day, the empty knot in her stomach said two or three was much more likely. She was ravenous and dehydrated. She twisted her hands painfully, but the straps tying her hands behind her back were not going to come loose. She opened her mouth to shout for help and managed only a strained croak that would never penetrate the solid walls. There was nothing she could do but wait.

Margaret thought about why she was there. It certainly couldn’t be for ransom. She and her husband had a moderate amount of savings, but nothing near the prize that she conceived would be necessary to drive someone to commit such an act. Her husband Phillip, bless him, was a passionate man only about his books and studies. He had no political connections and he certainly had no enemies. Other than offending one of the other professor’s wives who was being intolerably smug in bragging about her own husband’s accomplishments, neither did Margaret.

Margaret couldn’t remember how she had gotten into the room, or what she had been doing before she was taken captive. She had a vague recollection of shopping, of walking on the streets of Paris, and then nothing. The void in her memory was disconcerting.

The isolation and complete sense of helplessness had finally driven her down into a wooden lethargy when the door suddenly opened. A man of about thirty stepped into the room. He strode quickly to her side. Margaret felt too apathetic to bother resisting or being afraid. The man reached behind her and began loosening the
straps. “
S
acré
bleu
,”
he said, more to himself than to her. Then he turned and walked out of the room. Margaret saw the gun attached to his belt as he
spun around. She finished untying the strap and freed her hands, rubbing them to regain proper circulation. The red marks on her wrists felt worse than they actually were.
 

The man returned with a gl
ass of water and handed it to her. “Don’t drink too fast,” he advised, but Margaret ignored the advice and began guzzling. She gagged and choked some of the water back up. Margaret peered up at the man like a child who has spilled something and expects punishment. He ignored the spillage and bent down to untie the strap binding her feet together. Margaret had the momentary urge to smash him with the water glass but, recalling the gun he carried, thought better of it.

After releasing her feet, the man stood up and faced Margaret. His forehead wrinkled as he appeared to be mulling something over. His hand twitched nervously near the handle of his gun. “Do not try to escape,” he said, emphasizing the order. Then he turned and left as quickly as he had arrived. Margaret heard the door bolt click solidly as he locked her in the room.

A short time later Margaret heard the bolt slap back out of its hole, and the door opened again. This time the man held a portable tray table with food on it. He placed the table down in front of her. “Please take your time,” he said, sounding sincere.

“I suppose it wouldn’t do you much good if I choked to death, now would it?” said Margaret.

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand you have brought me here against my will. I demand you release me immediately.” Margaret had passed right through the fear stage. “I insist you let me contact my husband.”

The man looked annoyed and exasperated. “I’m afraid you are in no position to demand anything. You are lucky to still be alive. For now, that will have to be enough. You will stay here.”

Margaret studied her captor’s face. She had recently read a book proposing the theory that there are common genetic markers that cause identifiable physical characteristics found in most criminals. Right now she wasn’t buying it. He looked normal enough. He could have been one of Phillip’s colleagues or the husband of one of her bridge club friends. She supposed the indifference he showed toward her was a product of his criminal nature. She forced herself to remember that he was a person with a father and mother, just like she. “I don’t know your name,” she said quietly.

“Didier,” he said, just as quietly. “Didier Perrin.”

Margaret suppressed the panic rising in her chest. Her mind raced. She had watched enough kidnapping thrillers on the BBC to know what that meant. This man had shown her his face and now he had told her his real name. She was sure of it. No matter how decent he appeared, that could only mean one thing. She would not get out of there alive. She tried to make eye contact, but Didier refused. She could cry and beg for her life, but not yet. That would be her last resort.

Didier turned away from her and left the room, bolting the door behind him.

Chapter Ten: Best Laid Plans

For the first time in months, Vinny slept a whole night’s worth. When Vinny woke up it was eleven, and Raja was already gone. A long shower washed away the hands from the previous night’s gropings and the long sleep had fully recharged her batteries.

Vinny had collected samples of three different drugs selling at the club that she needed to get analyzed. Using the police lab without knowing how extensive the corruption ran in the police department was out of the question. If the lab was compromised, the word could get back to Bruno and she could end up dead. Instead, Vinny found a small independent lab in the phone book. Offering twice the asking price got her priority service. After dropping her samples at the lab, she spent the rest of the afternoon researching.