C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series) (11 page)

“What are you doing here, Baston? You can’t just
—
”

“We can do whatever we want, Jules. You ought to know that by now. We are the police. Come in. Sit down.” Revel dragged Jules over to a chair and roughly forced him to sit.

“Hey, I’m going to tell Bruno. I don’t think he will appreciate you coming here to beat me up.”

Baston smiled. “Maybe it hasn’t gotten through your drug-addled brain yet, but we don’t take orders from Bruno. Besides, we aren’t going to beat you up. We just want to know what you told Raja Williams.”

“Who?” asked Jules.

Revel, who held Jules by the top of the shoulders, dug his fingers into the soft tissue where the nerves ran.

Jules winced in pain. “Revel, please.”

“Yes, Revel, don’t hurt him,” said Baston. “He wants to tell us what he knows. Isn’t that right, Jules?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said the terrified drug dealer, nodding vigorously. “Let me think. You must be talking about the American. I did see him. But I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Jules, you do not want to make Revel angry,” said Baston.

“Okay, okay. He wanted to know where the drugs were made. But I gave him nothing, I swear. I told him to get lost.”

Baston knew that Jules Masson was too scared of his own shadow to play tough with anyone, but he let it go. “What did the American say about the British woman?”

“What woman?”

“Jules,” Baston said threateningly. “Do we have to play like this?”

“I don’t know where she is.”

“If I find out you are lying.” Baston looked up at Revel who squeezed Jules again.

“I’m not lying. The American said he was looking for her, that’s all. I don’t know anything but what I seen on TV. She’s missing, that’s all I know. Why the hell do you care anyway?”

“We just need to find her.”

“I don’t know nothing about her,” insisted Jules.

“Okay, okay,” said Baston, patting Jules gently on the face. “If you hear anything, I better be the first person you call. And you better go easy on the drugs, man. You’ll eat up all your profits.” The two policemen laughed out loud. After opening the closet and showing Jules where they had stashed his missing henchmen, Baston and Revel left the flat.

It took two hours for Jules to calm down, partly due to realizing he had escaped serious damage, and partly due to the third, or was it the fifth, line of coke he had snorted. Jules had lost track. He was beginning to feel pretty lucky when, from the back room where he sat, he heard a loud knock at the front door. One of his men opened the door for Bruno Laurent. Bruno whispered something to the man who then motioned for his partner to follow, and the two walked out leaving Bruno and Jules alone in the flat.

Jules heard the door shut. “Who was it?” he asked, from the next room.

Bruno stood silently, putting on his black leather gloves.

“I said who
—
” Jules stopped in his tracks and in mid-sentence when he saw Bruno.

“
Bonsoir
, Jules. I understand you had some visitors earlier today?”

Jules’ first impulse was to run, but there was nowhere for him to go. He sighed heavily, knowing his luck had suddenly turned for the worse.

“Where is the woman?” asked Bruno.

“I don’t know.”

“Where is the woman?” By the time Bruno was done, Jules had spilled everything he knew. He even made some stuff up, but it did him little good. Despite having much greater powers of persuasion, Bruno left having learned little more about the whereabouts of Mrs. Browning than the two cops. He did confirm that Baston and Revel, two of the cops who were supposed to be working for him, were instead working behind his back. He also came to realize that Jules Masson was a weak link in his organization that he could no longer afford. Not one to waste efforts, Bruno decided to make an example of him. It was always good to put a head on a pike once in a while to keep the rest of his people in line. Two days later, the police found Jules Masson behind a bright green dumpster in the alley where his own men had dumped his battered body.

Chapter Sixteen: Out of the Frying Pan

Once Raja had gotten the address for Corinne Reneau, the dead shopkeeper’s sister, it was only a matter of time before he found himself standing at her door. Like the proverbial moth to the flame, Raja had an unreasoned desire to help damsels in distress, and the more beautiful they were, the less reason he displayed.

So it was that Raja found himself in the hall outside Corinne’s flat, telling himself that she might be the key to solving their case, and several other justifications for being there. When his conscience had been sufficiently massaged into submission he knocked at her door. There was no answer. He knocked again, this time louder. When no one came he tried the door out of habit and found it unlocked. He decided it wouldn’t hurt to look around. He let himself in quietly, turning to close the door. When he turned back around, a large round object was rapidly approaching his head. Only Raja’s lightning-fast reflexes enabled him to deflect the blow. He sidestepped and grabbed the object, which turned out to be a solid iron skillet, as it went by, and pulled hard, bringing his assailant toward him. Without ever letting go of the pan, he wrapped his other arm around the assailant’s throat. After a moment’s orientation, he realized it was Corinne and loosened his grip on her neck.

She coughed once, and said, “I thought you were
—
someone else.”

Raja hefted the heavy iron pan. “From the size of this, I’d guess it is someone you are none too fond of.”

“I’m frightened,” she said. “Please hold me.”

Raja put the pan down and wrapped his arms around her. He could feel her trembling and looked into her green eyes. “Who are you afraid of?”

“A bad man.”

“Who?”

“Bruno. Bruno Laurent.”

“I keep hearing that he is not a very nice man. Why not keep your door locked?”

“I’m afraid it would do no good. Bruno has a key.”

When Raja looked at her quizzically, Corinne broke down and told him how she had come to start a relationship with Bruno.

“When I began to waitress at the club, he was kind and generous. Before long he offered me a spot as a dancer. The girls tried to warn me, but I had my own dreams. I thought he
—
” Her voice trailed off, and she looked at the floor.

“You could change the locks,” said Raja.

“That would never stop a man like Bruno.” Corinne shivered at the thought of him.

Raja could not stand to see a woman abused by anyone, especially a beast like Bruno Laurent. “It’s okay. I’m here now.” He held her tightly in his arms and she seemed to melt right into him. As Raja engulfed her universe, he felt the heavy burden of dread and despair that weighed her down. Corinne deserved a better life than one filled with terror, pain and loss. His work on this case might change that for her. Then again, it might not.

However, right now he had priorities. He was smack in the middle of an investigation and he had yet to find Margaret Browning. He had to keep himself on task. Raja remembered a line from a movie spoken by a beat cop at a crime scene to the gathering curious onlookers. “Move along, there is nothing for you to see here.” Hoping to follow that advice himself, he made one fatal mistake. When Corinne turned her face up toward his, he took one last look at her perfect French mouth. A mouth he wanted to taste. Anyone would. One kiss couldn’t hurt anything.

Raja awoke the next morning alone in Corinne’s bed. The delicious combination of chocolate and coffee drifted in from the kitchen. Corinne was humming a light melody. He breathed deeply and savored the scent as he recalled the passion that had erupted between them the night before.

A phone ringing interrupted the dream. He realized it was his phone and looked at the caller ID. It was Vinny.

“Vinny, I found the girl,” said Raja, sheepishly.

“No kidding, MaGoo, you’ve done it again. I suppose I should say well done, on that count. Would I be correct to assume you are still at Corinne’s place?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Of course. Have you discovered anything beyond the location of her birthmarks?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. She knows who
—
let me call you back.” He ended the call and got dressed.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Oh, no,” said Corinne. She was standing by the stove in an oversized T-shirt and nothing else. “I had quite a surprise planned for you this morning.” She glanced at the chocolate melting in a pot on the stove and smiled.

She was a beautiful girl. Raja walked over to her. “I will be back,” he promised, kissing her gently on the lips.

Corinne held him tightly, and he waited until she let go.

“I have to work,” he said.

“Yes, your case, I know.”

“Can I see you later?”

“I will be here,” said Corinne. “I’m not ready to go back to work.”

Raja didn’t know exactly how Corinne fit into his case, or even if she did, but he was convinced that, rather than a player, she was more a victim of circumstance. Around Bruno there were far too many of those.

On the way back to his flat, Raja began to get some perspective on his new situation with Corinne. He was reminded of one of his rules of investigation: Don’t sleep with the client, and its corollary, don’t sleep with the suspect. Those two simple ideas alone could prevent most of the worst entanglements a private investigator could get himself into on a case. So much for closing the barn door now. Vinny was going to read him the riot act when he got home.

When Raja walked into the flat, he was prepared for the verbal assault he knew was coming. Vinny was busy at her computer and did not even look up. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. He preferred the frontal assault. Much like quickly tearing off a band aid, it hurt for a moment but then was over. Now he was stuck with the whole thing just hanging there over him. She was good.

“Hey Vinny,” he said.

“Hey Raj,” said Vinny. As far as Vinny was concerned, Raja Williams was the kindest, most ethical, and most caring person she had ever known. He was not without his flaws, and Vinny made certain to tease him about those as often as possible. However, she also knew he had a blind spot with the ladies that he wasn’t ready to deal with. Not yet, at least. So she decided to say nothing. It was better that way. For now. For him.

“So, any luck on the research?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah. I am rockin’ the Buddha. I found out that the club is listed under a corporate ownership that runs through several jurisdictions around the globe. I don’t know where it ends
yet
. However, I did find out that the antique shop that appeared to be owned by Corinne Reneau is only on paper. I found a separate legal filing in another jurisdiction that signed over a controlling interest to the same corporation that owns the club.”

“So we have our nexus. Who ultimately owns the corporation and what does it mean?”

“I-D-K. But I am working on it.”

The possibility that Corinne might not be involved in any of the criminal activities they had uncovered brought much needed relief to Raja. Otherwise, he was heading for trouble.

Chapter Seventeen: Streetwalker

After spending hours trying to get more files on the policemen under investigation by computer, Vinny gave up. She went to the club to rent one of the rooms. The bartender told her that Marcelo handled the rooms.

“You want a room upstairs?” asked Marcelo.

“A little one. Just for sleeping.” Vinny wanted to cut off any opportunity for Marcelo to make his usual lewd comments. It didn’t work.

When they got to the third floor, he made his pitch. “
Ch
é
rie
, you have all the right equipment to make good use of a courtesan’s room.” He stopped in from of the door marked with a brass five. “Why don’t you let me show you how easy it can be?”

“In your dreams,” said Vinny.

“You are already there,” he said, smiling.

“Eeww, gross. Just show me the room I asked for.”

“
C’est la vie
,” said Marcelo. He walked to the end of the hall and around the corner with Vinny following. Using one of a pair of keys he opened a door. It was one of the tiny closet-rooms Vinny had seen before.

“This will do,” she said.

“Your choice,” said Marcelo, shrugging. He took one key off the ring and was going to keep the other.

“I want the other one, too,” said Vinny, taking the second key from his hand. “And if there is another key, I suggest you don’t try using it. It would be a grave mistake.”

Marcelo smiled. “You share the bathroom at the end of the hall.” He pointed to his right. “Towels and sheets are in the bathroom closet.”

Vinny went inside her room and closed the door. She had nothing against aggressive men, in fact sometimes they could be a lot of fun. But, she could smell a male chauvinist a mile away. And to Vinny, that was a very bad stink.

Vinny had to get into the police files, and she wasn’t going to do it over the internet. Their system was too archaic. Most of it wasn’t even hooked up to the internet. She would have to get inside the police station to access their system. She smiled. There was one surefire way for her to get inside the station. She would have to get herself arrested.

While the private practice of prostitution was legal, solicitation on the street was not. The recent crackdown in Paris should make getting arrested a piece of cake. The question was what to wear. The clothes make the hooker. The French maid outfit she wore to waitress was too outrageous. Her street clothes were too Vinny. She needed to go shopping. Yvette would know where to go.

Vinny walked down the third floor hall to Yvette’s room. She was about to knock, when she heard voices inside. One of them was a man. It was too early for a client from the club. Vinny pressed her ear to the door. She couldn’t make out the words but it sounded like an argument. If Bruno hurt Yvette again, Vinny was not going to let it go. The voices calmed. The argument was over. Vinny tiptoed back down the hallway and took up a position where she could peek around the corner and watch. A few minutes later the door opened and the voices got loud enough for her to hear.