Old Wounds (Chance Assassin Book 4) Page 16

  Setting the coffee on the table, Frank said, “I wanted to thank you. For your loyalty to me and Vincent.”

  A hint of a smile, and a hint of embarrassment flashed on Joe's face. He gave his full attention to the coffee Frank had prepared for him. “You're welcome.”

  “Will it take awhile to sway him?”

  “At this rate I think you'll have your revenge before Miko does.”

  Nearly a week had already passed since they left the cesspool and returned to the preferable side of the English Channel. Simon's death had finally made the news, some neighbor complaining about the smell; and the Paris police were requesting the public's assistance in identifying the man who exploded in a warehouse which was subsequently burned to the ground. There hadn't been any more phone calls to Simon, or to Yuri. Joe and Miranda had stayed in London until Sebastian's hotel room had been rented out, but nobody came to look for him. The next step would be repeating Bond Street on the Champs-Élysées, which they weren't particularly enthusiastic about doing. At least not until they could weed through some of the faces.

  “Well I hope Miko is more patient than Vincent,” Frank said. V was about to start shooting steaks off trees like he had during their retirement.

  “There aren't many who are less patient than Vincent.” Joe looked to his phone as if that could expedite the process. “I don't suppose you two would consider giving up the assignment, now that Simon is dead.”

  Frank huffed a laugh. Even if Frank wanted to, Vincent wouldn't. Besides, Vincent insisted that Frank had to introduce himself to them by saying, “My name is Frank Moreaux, you killed my father, prepare to die.”

  “Thought not.” He finished his coffee. “It is still speculation that there even really is a hit.”

  “Then we'll speculatively kill them,” Vincent said as he entered the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Frank's neck from behind and kissing his cheek. Then he yawned and slumped onto Frank's lap like he'd been roused far too early while Frank, and the rest of the household, had been up for hours. “What's for breakfast? Please tell me it's murder.”

  “No murder yet,” Joe said. “Miranda is on the way with pastries.”

  “That'll do.” Vincent picked up the pictures of the day, a German named Oskar who according to Miko was good at torture. Frank wondered how well he would stand up on the receiving end. If he was even one of them. They were working on memorizing Simon's entire crew drawing by drawing, disguises on and off. It was possible they'd have to kill all of them. If they could find them.

  Sebastian's photograph was on the refrigerator with a large red X through it, and a car drawn on it in pink crayon courtesy of Bella's daughter. And Bella's ongoing need to antagonize Vincent.

  “Look at the forehead on this guy. He'd be hard to miss.” Vincent put down the barefaced sketch and selected one where Oskar was wearing a hat. “If he's smart, this'll be closer to the real him. And with a head that size, you'd think he'd have to be.”

  Oskar was part of the select few that Frank had seen at Silva's. He couldn't speak for his intelligence, though he could speak for that forehead. Frank picked up a different sketch, but the only pictures he was interested in looking at were their marks. How ironic that killing them would make Grace Alcott rich, make her the heiress she would've been before Frank's father swindled his way into their family. The misery his father had started would finally end. Frank felt a strong urge to light a cigarette with a few hundred pound notes, and he scooted Vincent off his lap to go back outside.

  Watching the flames dance against the tip of his cigarette, Frank realized he was being watched himself. “Ca va?”

  Nasir nodded to him from where he stood in the shadows of the porch, warming his hands on Kiki. He'd been carrying the dog around with him for most of his stay, which Kiki wholeheartedly approved of. “You're feeling positive today?”

  Frank blew out the ashes of currency. He could understand what Miko saw in Nasir, but then, he was also slowly losing his mind. “I'm considering feeling positive in the near future.”

  “You are English. That's basically the same thing.”

  “Half-English,” Frank corrected.

  “You grew up there. It is a wretched place. Terrible weather.”

  Frank didn't disagree, but he doubted Nasir had grown up in a much better place. “Where'd you come from?”

  “War-torn Liberia.” He smiled widely and raised his palms. “But the sun was always shining.”

  “Not like England.”

  “The rain is different here in France, I will give you that. Not as melancholy.”

  “You were a soldier?”

  “I was then. I am now.” He scratched Kiki's ears. “Pink team.”

  “What do you think of our strategy?”

  “The waiting? I think your blond maniac needs a release.”

  Frank smiled. “That he does.”

  “If I start calling numbers from Simon's phone, trying to track down his men, it will make it more likely that Rodrigo will get word.”

  “And never trust Joe.”

  “I will do all I can for you. But I will not hinder Miko's mission.”

  Tracing his hand over the claw marks the cat had left, Frank said, “Maybe I'll order a copy of Hamlet in German for him. It should be easier.”

  Nasir laughed. “No, my friend, his German is not that good.”

  “I noticed. You can keep the book though. Take it to him. I have more copies.”

  “You have more copies of books than you do books.” Nasir glanced sideways at him. “And strange bookends.”

  “It's Voltaire.”

  “I know who it is.” And it seemed Nasir had suspicions about where it came from. “I've always worried for Miko, but you took care of him. Simon didn't.”

  Frank looked over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone. “If you want your rocket launcher back, we keep it on the wine rack in the cellar.”

  “I do not want to be responsible for your divorce,” Nasir said. He gave Frank another nod and went inside with the dog.

  Taking the last puff of his cigarette, Frank followed him only to find that Nasir hadn't gone very far. He was watching Joe on the phone. So was Vincent. Miranda had arrived, and V had stopped mid-chew to stare at their handler.

  “Charles de Gaulle it is,” Joe said, his face betraying nothing as he disconnected the call. “And that, gentlemen, is why I network.” He looked at Frank as if having a house full of family, not to mention two new house guests within a short period of time couldn't possibly constitute networking. If Frank didn't socialize for the remainder of his life it would still be more than enough.

  “Are you gonna tell us or do we need to torture you for information?” Vincent asked sternly. “FYI, if you really love me you'll opt for the torture.”

  “That was Giancarlo Pellucci.”

  Nasir asked, “The handler?”

  “The very same. It seems that in light of recent events, Simon, Yuri, and now Sebastian, some of Simon's men have decided to raise a white flag. They went to Pellucci to arrange a meeting.” Past the security checkpoints at the airport, they'd be in neutral territory. It was the safest route. As long as they got there alive.

  “Good thing I smashed Sebastian,” Vincent said, earning a look from Frank and Nasir. “What? Third murder's a charm.”

  “Hush. The adults are speaking,” Joe said, which left Vincent so aghast they'd have a few seconds of silence.

  “Simon warned Miko and I about him,” Nasir said. “After Simon sent a man to kill Miko in Italy. He lied and told us Pellucci was the man's handler.”

  “Well if Simon was trying to sic Miko on him I'd say that's a pretty good indication he's on our side.” Joe passed another pastry Vincent's way to further keep his mouth occupied. “Or at least not on Simon's.”

  “Did he say who we're meeting?” Frank asked.

  “As a show of good faith, yes he did. Serge and Michel. No comment on the French being the ones to surrender.”
/>
  “That is a stereotype, Joe Russell!” Vincent scoffed. Frank had his own aghast silence.

  Raising his palms and chuckling, Joe said, “I said no comment.”

  “You also said we should give up the hit,” Frank reminded him, clamping his hand down on Vincent's shoulder before V could jump over the table for some well-deserved bloodshed. Frank smiled challengingly at Joe, while Vincent said he would “gladly show him the meaning of surrender.”

  “Back down, dear,” Miranda said to Joe. “I won't think any less of you.”

  Joe shook his head. “Vincent, please go kill something and get some of this hostility out of your system.”

  “That's why we're going to the airport, isn't it?”

  “Who said anything about we?” Joe asked. Vincent slumped over, discouraged. “We're there to meet and form a truce if at all possible.” Then he sighed and relented, “Go pack a bag. No weapons.”

  Frank watched Vincent leave, more out of habit than purpose.

  “You too, my courageous Frenchman. Somebody needs to keep that one under control. And if I'm not mistaken, the next kill is yours.”

  Lowering his gaze to Joe's empty cup of coffee, Frank smiled and left him to ponder the contents, and whether it were really Frank's turn after all.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  With my unarmed luggage on the seat beside me, I sat at my departure gate where I could see Joe and Nasir in front of a cafe. Frank was sitting across the way at another gate behind them, so he'd be able to watch our sensible, not cowardly French colleagues. We all had legitimate plane tickets, a couple hundred euros wasted was money well spent for a meeting where no one could bring guns, and anyway, if they turned out unhelpful we could always kill them once they left.

  As our new associate and Simon's former one, Nasir was there to assist Joe with any negotiations and translation that may be needed, since he spoke Italian and French. He also knew who to look for, although just like it had been with Sebastian's sketch, the drawings were spot on.

  Serge had grown facial hair, but they were both recognizable immediately. They were flanking an older man in a nice suit, who gestured to Joe and Nasir and courteously requested that they stay seated. Joe had met him a few times before, and Pellucci obviously knew about Joe's physical limitations. Whether or not Frank's compatriots had recognized us from Casey's other drawings, they both had their guards up.

  We were equipped to hear their conversation through Joe's phone like we'd been with Miranda in London, Frank with the more mature Bluetooth which he despised, and me with perfectly immature green earbuds I hijacked from Casey because they matched the backpack I also hijaked from Casey.

  Michel and Serge were silent during the introductions, but as soon as Pellucci nodded his way, Serge began in heavily-accented English. “Thank you for meeting. This whole thing is...” he paused and looked to Michel.

  “Ridiculous,” Michel said stoically.

  “Oui, ridiculous.”

  “That's one word for it,” Joe said, playing cold rather than his usual cool.

  “Simon gave us a series of photographs—drawings, and stakeout locations where the targets may be.”

  “Which targets?” Joe asked, and I could see Michel pass an envelope across the table. Joe didn't open it. He didn't even glance at it.

  Serge continued, “There were many locations. We were spread out, and Simon wanted us all to check in with him daily in the morning to say what we found. Who we got.”

  “What did you find?”

  “I was set to watch Alan Barker. He is...” Serge looked back to his buddy. I could think of a number of things Alan Barker was, but none of them were close to what Michel came up with.

  “Elusive.”

  “Oui, elusive. Just when I think I am on to something with him, he is only out for tea. Or taking a stroll. He went to a lot of museums, but honestly if I wait in line at the Louvre I'm going to see Lady Liberté.”

  Frank raised his eyebrows and tilted his head as if that was completely reasonable.

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “What else did you see?”

  “No one. Like I say, Barker is elusive. This job...”

  “Shit,” Michel said.

  “Oui, shit. All watching, waiting, following, and for what? The pay is shit. We get money per head. Unless we find you, all of you, it is not worth it. And the others, they are watching and following too. They find you first, this is all wasted. You know, they do this as more of a...”

  “Favor.”

  “Oui, favor. They do a favor for Simon, or for Yuri who they like. But we...”

  Michel rubbed his fingers together in the universal gesture of money.

  “Oui,” Serge said, and parroted the gesture. I rolled my eyes. They were totally gay for each other.

  “Being sold to the highest bidder doesn't exactly speak of your trustworthiness,” Joe said.

  Serge and Michel exchanged glances, then Pellucci said something in Italian, and Simon's name. Nasir looked between the three of them and I totally thought he was about to go all killy-face himself which would've very quickly gotten him removed from our super comfy sofa, then he lowered his head a bit and said, “Loyalty is earned. Favors are earned. So is disloyalty.”

  Pellucci nodded. “I vouch for these men.” He put a hand on each of their shoulders. “There are not as many of us now. It helps to have allies. Simon was only interested in his own affairs.”

  Joe asked, “What can you tell us?”

  “The big money was on Frank,” Serge said. “Alive.”

  It was a double blow for me, imagining what they would've done to my husband, and hearing that I wasn't the most important quarry.

  “Why is that?” Joe asked. “He wasn't a target?”

  “He was, but not for us. There was something Simon was angry about.”

  Michel chimed in, “István.”

  “Oui, István. Frank was to be brought in.”

  “Brought in for what?”

  “For Yuri.”

  “Yuri's gone.” Joe somehow conveyed just how gone Yuri was, making the word sound simultaneously gruesome and threatening.

  “He and István were close. And you know, I understand wanting to avenge your friend. But we did not know István. Michel and I are friends.” Gay. “Simon, we only worked together for a little while.”

  “Who was your previous handler?” Joe asked.

  Amazingly, Serge didn't need his “friend” to fill in the blank. “Jacques. We worked together with him.”

  “Jacques was a good man,” Joe said. There was the politician in him.

  “And Hector,” Michel said, for once not waiting for Serge's prompting.

  Nasir said something else in Italian to Pellucci, Hector's name as well as Simon's coming up. By Michel's response I guessed that he understood the language just fine. His eyes narrowed and he gave Serge a pointed look, then nodded.

  Serge said, “There were six of us. And Yuri. Michel and I, we were taking turns between Barker and the Champs-Élysées. It gets boring, you know?”

  “The lines.” Michel shook his head, clearly also a fan of Lady Liberté.

  “A few weeks ago, Simon tells us not to follow Barker for the day. I say, 'he is up to something.'” That something was likely a someone, when Simon was moving Miko across the chess board. “So we go anyway, both. We think Simon is maybe giving the jump to one of the others. And we see him, but he does not see us.”

  “Who's he?” Joe asked.

  They looked at each other again, and Michel shrugged so naturally Serge said, “Oui,” and also shrugged. “Mateo. He is a Spaniard.”

  “Was,” Michel said.

  Serge nodded and smugly said, “Oui.”

  Now Joe and Nasir looked at each other. “You were fighting amongst yourselves?” Joe asked.

  “Not amongst. Only Mateo, when he is there where we should be.” Serge smiled. “We did not tell Simon. Now Simon is a was as well.”

  Nasir's face r
emained expressionless as Joe confirmed, “That's right. Did you see it on the news?”

  “Sebastian called us. We saw Sebastian on the news.”

  Michel snickered. I found myself liking him, even though they killed one of our targets.

  Joe briefly caught my eye as if he knew I was being naughty, then he turned his attention back to our white flag wavers. Or rainbow flag, since at this rate we would have every homosexual killer in the land on our team. “And the other two?”

  “We give you this, we are...”

  “Even.”

  “Oui, even. No bad feelings?”

  “None,” Joe said.

  “So you know, we are aware of being watched.” Serge turned to look directly at Frank, while Michel looked at me. It was synchronized, their heads moving in opposite directions from each other. Michel remained expressionless as he observed me. I blew him a kiss. They both turned back to Joe.

  “I would hope so if you have these,” Joe said, finally taking hold of the folder. He didn't bat an eye as he paged through, but when Michel wrote something down and slipped it to him, the surprise was clear on his face.

  “Do you know them? We can help you if need be, but...” Serge did the money gesture again, this time managing without yes Michel.

  “We know them,” Joe said. “But if this turns out financially fruitful, I'll be sure to be in touch.”

  Pellucci stood and shook Joe's hand, then Nasir's, quietly speaking to him in Italian. “Grazie,” Nasir said, and the three of them walked away without once turning around.

  “You're a natural,” Joe said to Nasir. They were watching the trio's exit, and hadn't given their attention back to me where it belonged. “What did he say to you?”

  “He asked about my loyalty to Simon. I told him of Hector. He offered his condolences.”

  “Good. You fellas get all that?”

  Frank nodded but since they weren't watching him I answered for us both. “Who do you think is the top?”

  Joe hung up on us, waiting until our homies were out of sight to come on over. He handed the folder to me, and the slip of paper to Frank. Since I knew the folder contained at least one picture of me, and of course Frank's pretty face, I went straight to it. Casey's sketches printed out, photographs of Alan and one of Casey. There was only one of me. Several of Alan. “Elusive. Whatever.” I snapped the folder closed, only to find that attention still hadn't come my way. Frank was looking at the paper, the same surprise on his face that Joe'd had. “What? They gave us names?”