Crushed Ice (23 page)
Authors: Eric Pete
Epilogue:
Monaco
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1 year later
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“Welcome back, Monsieur Spielberg,” the valet said, opening the door to my restored MGB Roadster as I returned to Hôtel de Paris from a day on the town.
“Don't scratch it,” I said curtly as I exited, barely acknowledging his presence. I didn't have to, for the gambling profile of Elvis Spielberg didn't just register in Vegas; it spanned the ocean, garnering attention even in the midst of a spectacle such as the Global Music Awards taking place this weekend.
I'd spent the past year jaunting about Europe, blowing more money than I won, but establishing myself nonetheless ahead of my arrival in Monaco last week. I carried myself like the high roller I pretended to be as I jogged up the stairs under the canopy. The uniformed doorman smiled, throwing the doors to the palatial hotel open for me, granting me entry into the majestic ornate lobby built in 1864.
Beyond the standard high-end elite, I was met by an international who's who of entertainmentâShakira, Paul McCartney, Björk, Kylie Minogue and Shahrukh Khan, to name the ones I recognized immediately. Most were either returning from a day of yachting and photo ops or heading out in anticipation of a night of partying prior to tomorrow's awards show. I quietly slid among them, not interested in the festivities or the paparazzi outside along Place du Casino.
One party tonight held particular significance for a guest of the hotel. My contact inside his camp had kept me up to speed on it all. It was to be a celebration of his accomplishments. Almost a coronation, if you will.
But what is it they say about the best-laid plans?
As I entered the elevator to the Suite Garnier, I reflected on how successful my contact had been in getting so close to him. She'd been in my target's camp for the past six months, having “accidentally” run into him in Las Vegas, the place where he'd first met herâand he had wanted her ever since.
Of course, I knew that at the time.
“Are you with the music people?” the elevator operator dared ask in his best English, his disdain briefly showing.
“No. I actually have a life. No time for dealing with fantasies and ridiculousness,” I answered in his native French, startling him. Once that was overcome, he acknowledged his pleasure in my answer.
“That one on this floor,” he said in French as the elevator stopped. “One of those American bigshots. He's supposed to receive an award from the Prince tonight.”
“Well, good for him,” I said. “Maybe he'll be on his way then.”
At the door to the suite where “that one” was staying, I passed by, instead entering the adjacent suite with my key. Once inside, I quickly walked over to the connecting door, opened mine then knocked once. His entourage would still be on the yacht at the suggestion of my contact, having wanted some one-on-one time with him before he was to receive the Principality's award for music executive of the year.
As I was about to knock a second time, my contact answered.
“You don't have much time,” she said, wearing nothing more than a smile and a mischievous wink. As she clung to her gathered clothes in one hand, I could smell him on her nude body. She loved itâthe danger and the thrill of the moment. In a sense, she was the perfect person for this.
A lot like me, you might say.
I entered his suite, the more opulent one, scoping the nineteenth century decor of the large entrance hall. Definitely suitable for royalty, or at least the modern day equivalent. Through the windows at the far end of the suite, I could see the full-length terrace overlooking the Place du Casino. Avoiding the possibility of anyone seeing me from outside, I cautiously walked the length of the spacious grand suite, checking the other rooms for anything unforeseen, and making sure there would be no witnesses.
Jason North was in his bedroom, standing solely in pair of boxers. I was given the rare glimpse of the blubbery girth surrounding his mid-section, it having expanded along with his wealth and power over the years. He jiggled a pair of cufflinks in one hand and a glass of wine in the other as he surveyed the tuxedo lying across the bed he'd just shared with the beautiful woman.
“Tiffany! Is my shower ready?” he yelled.
Good memory on her. She'd used the same name from their first meeting that time long ago. Made the gradual seduction more believable, easier to work over the coming months, with me feeding her what to say all along. He hummed something to himself while stroking his goatee, a quiet moment of self-admiration apparent.
“Big night?” I asked, causing him to drop his wine glass as he noticed me standing there in the mirror. Rather than breaking, the glass simply rolled around, relinquishing its contents onto the expensive carpet. Jason almost stepped on it himself.
“Truth,” he voiced as he turned around to face me. “Christ, you scared me.”
“Hello, Jason. Miss me?” I said, smiling over the fact that I'd rattled him.
“Of course, dear boy,” he answered while reaching for more clothing to put on. In his gush of sudden modesty, he again almost stepped on the glass. “No one's heard from you in like forever. We thought you wereâ”
“Dead. You thought I was dead,” I said, giving voice to his dark thoughts.
Of course he did.
I had Officer Kane take a picture of me back in Texas as I lay there shot up. Then I had him anonymously e-mail it to Lorelei Smart with 4Shizzle. A little gift left out there for any parties that might be interested in my wellbeing. I'm sure it choked Jason up to learn his dear nephew had met an unfortunate end.
Yet, here I was.
Alive, despite his attempts at betraying me to Collette and selling me out to Penny Antnee.
“Where's Tiffany?”
“Busy,” I said with a chuckle as he hastily put on a pair of pants. “Look at you, the world at your feet. All your scheming, blackmailing, and backstabbing finally paying off,” I said, applauding him mockingly as I took a few steps toward him. “Bravo. You're a titan. A figure of myth.”
“I'm not understanding you, Truth,” he said, feigning defiance while retreating an equal number of steps. “I hate it when you ramble like your mother.”
“Like mother like son, I suppose. Or maybe more like father, like son.”
“Excuse me?” Jason said, exhibiting a faint nervous laugh. “I don't even know who your father is. And I doubt your mother did either.”
“I think you do,” I stated, picking up his BlackBerry from the antique chest of drawers beside me. He noticed the latex gloves I wore. I watched his throat rise with a gulp. “See, that's where the mythology lesson comes in. You really are like one of those Greek gods, ruling from on high, sticking your nose in the affairs of mere mortals as you see fit.”
“Like you're any better,” he huffed. I watched his hands as he clenched and flexed them, cufflinks still being held. Maybe he'd use them as weapons and hurl them at me.
“Never said I was. Ever heard of Cronus? See, he was a Titan who killed his father, Uranus. Then he became ruler, and took his sister, Rhea, as his wife. Crazy stuff, huh?”
“Crazy. Good term, because you are as crazy as your mother, I see,” he prodded.
“Problem was that things have a history of repeating themselves. There came a time when Cronus had a childâa son, Zeusâand a time when the son returned to strike down the father once again. Just a wild, vicious cycle.”
“I hate seeing you like this. Perhaps I can get some help for you, nephew.”
“You know what I've noticed? You only call me nephew when you need self-assurance. You can drop the act. I know you're my father.”
Jason stroked his goatee, but it was false this time. No confidence to it. A rehearsed motion with no substance or heart behind it. My mother was clearly the better actor of the two. Rather than speak, he just shook his head in the negative.
“Is that how she lost her mind? What was it? Did you rape her? Did you want her to have an abortion? Is that why she ran away and had me in New Mexico?”
“Stop, Truth.”
“Uh-huh. My name had a greater meaning than the town where I was born, but it took till now to realize it,” I said as it dawned on me. “It was that I was the truth staring you in the face when my mom returned to New Orleans. That's why she slapped the fuck out of you when you dared to play ignorant when we first met. Your denial of me as your son and what you didâthat was the lie.”
“You don't know what you're talking about. Now give me my fucking phone and get out of here!”
I ignored him, continuing. “The great Jason North in an incestuous relationship that produced a bastard offspring, of all things. Then he politely prods his own sister off a bridge one day to ensure no one ever finds out. More scandal than even you could take, I imagine.”
“Shut up! Shut up! That isn't true!” he barked as he stepped toward me.
“What are you gonna do, Jason? Kill me like you did Melvin way back? Kill me like you did my mom the day you did that to her? Is that how it goes?”
“Fuck you. I didn't kill Leila. And . . . and I sure as hell didn't sleep with her.”
“In case you didn't know it, you don't lie well without preparation. Good-bye, Jason. Can't say that you'll be missed.”
With the finality of my words setting in, he charged me, either to get to his phone or to try to overpower me. When he did, he finally stepped on that wine glass. It cracked beneath his weight.
“Arrrrh!” he hollered as a shard cut through his bare foot. And as he did that, I struck.
Swiftly. Smoothly.
A simple syringe filled with sixty milliliters of air that I'd held in my pocket until now.
I covered Jason's mouth, injecting the small gauge insulin needle right into his jugular as he pivoted away in pain from the cut.
I cradled his head to my chest as he winced. Rather than letting Jason plummet to the floor, I held him up, beating away his frantic hands as he descended from Mount Olympus where he dwelled.
“You should've left me alone. You really should've left me alone,” I whispered as I hushed his frantic yelps. I closed my eyes, continuing to hold him.
Then he stopped. The air bubble had worked its way to his heart. No more spasms. No more fighting. Cardiac arrest.
Simply no more.
There was a knock at the front door to Jason's suite. Somebody back from the yacht. She'd warned me to hurry up.
Rather than panicking, I checked Jason a final time. Looked into his empty eyes and saw all the dark evil deeds we'd done together: all the blackmail jobs, all the intimidation tactics, my disposing of Melvin for him during those pre-Katrina days. We really were like father and son.
I walked to the door, opening it before the knocking got out of hand. But it wasn't my contact.
A large, muscled, stoic figure greeted me.
I faced Penny Antnee, neither one of us choosing to speak at first.
“He gone?” he finally asked.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Enjoy your empire. It's all yours.”
“Good.”
Until everything fell apart, I was only conducting business. I'd leave it up to Penny to decide whether or not to come out of the closet, for at the end of the day, it was really none of my business.
We all have secrets that we live . . . and die with.
“You know we ain't straight over Loup,” he said, deciding to admit the elephant in the room really existed. “That was my boy to the end.”
“He tried to kill me. We'll never be straight over that,” I said, looking him in the eye without blinking. “But are we okay?”
“Yeah. We okay,” he begrudgingly acknowledged. In some illogical, random, circuitous way, we were even now. A war had been waged that we'd never speak of again.
“Final request of you,” I said.
“What?” Penny asked, eager to enter the suite to see my handiwork.
“Push him off the terrace for me. Let him fall onto the street.”
“Why?”
“It has some meaning for me,” I replied, thoughts of my mother on the Mississippi River Bridge raw on my mind. I'd always suspected Jason's involvement; however, his reaction proved it. “He started having a heart attack, stumbled. Broke the glass in the bedroom with his foot. Staggered out to the terrace for some air or to try to call someone . . . and bam. Right over the ledge. Make sure to drag his bloody foot across the floor as if he walked on his own. Drop his BlackBerry over with him too. I played it in my head just now. It'll fly. The Prince hates scandals in his country.”
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