French Kiss

by Susan Johnson

  “No, I just thought of it, that’s all.” Add another lie to the lengthening list. “Vernie has my charge cards, so buy whatever looks good to you and Jordi.” He smiled. “And thanks in advance.”

  “Don’t think I’m falling for this diversion,” she grumbled, her fork poised over her slice of cake. “But I’ll do it for Jordi.”

  No way was he going to argue about diversions. “I’ll be back in a day or so,” he said. “And if my friend, Kazuo, has time, I’ll bring him around so you can meet him.”

  She didn’t even want to know who someone called Kazuo was; not if she wanted to sleep tonight. Better to deal with the reality she knew. “I don’t want Barry or Cole stepping on my toes. Agreed?”

  “They’ll keep their distance. It’s just a temporary precaution anyway.”

  “So you say.”

  “Trust me on this one.”

  “It’s not you I don’t trust so much as your untrustworthy ex.”

  “She won’t bother you again.”

  Each word was cold as the grave.

  And on that point if nothing else, she believed him.

  Thirty-seven

  Kazuo had a tail on Yuri, so he called to get an update as they were being driven to their hotel in Zurich. Setting his phone aside after a brief conversation he turned to Johnny. “Yuri’s still waiting for his buyer.” He grinned. “You wouldn’t be interested in Catherine the Great’s coronation ring if the price was right, would you?”

  “No thanks, Kaz. Play it safe—that’s my motto.”

  Kazuo’s grin widened. “What if Yuri wants to give it to you?”

  Johnny laughed. “Somehow I can’t see Dutov the elder going along with the deal even if his son caved.”

  “I could guarantee you ready compliance.”

  “Much as I appreciate your offer, I think I’ll stick to shopping at Costco.”

  “I was just looking to make this more interesting.” Kazuo’s gaze was amused.

  “While I was looking for this to go smooth and easy.”

  Kazuo dipped his head faintly. “You’re the boss.”

  “Not really. Your father’s the boss, and for that I’m supremely grateful. But let’s not complicate things.”

  “Smooth and easy it is, then,” Kazuo murmured, although it was obvious he would have preferred a little sport. “From last reports, here’s what’s going down. Yuri’s to meet his buyer tonight at SINNERS. Once the transaction is over, I’m guessing the buyer, Gurbanly, will want to take his prize back to Baku, Azerbaijan, where laws are—shall we say—more flexible. That will give us an opportunity to speak to Yuri without fear of being overheard by Interpol or any of the other agencies tracking Gurbanly’s lamentable activities. Not that Dutov, the elder, doesn’t have a penchant for torture, too,” Kazuo said with a shrug. “But his son’s a nonentity as far as the governmental agencies are concerned.”

  “Fucking Lisa,” Johnny muttered, words like torture way the hell out of his universe. “If not for her, we wouldn’t even be here.”

  “I never did figure out why you married her.”

  “Who the hell knows why we did anything in those days,” Johnny muttered.

  “True,” Kazuo grunted.

  “And Jordi’s more than a payoff for the train wreck of my marriage. Although her mother is beginning to really get on my nerves. I shouldn’t be in Zurich chasing some lowlife. I should be home with Jordi and Nicky.”

  Kazuo’s brows rose. “Did you say Nicky’s at your house?”

  “Just till all this blows over. Don’t look at me like that. It’s temporary, okay?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “That’s what I say,” Johnny growled.

  “Relax. Marriage isn’t so bad.”

  Johnny gave him a narrowed glance. “Don’t tell me about marriage.”

  “Maybe if you marry someone who isn’t into drugs next time.”

  “How about I don’t get married at all?”

  “Fine.” But Kazuo was thinking he might have to begin looking for a wedding present after all—protests or not. Johnny was going out of his way for this Nicky woman. But obviously, this wasn’t the time to have that conversation. “Would you like to meet my banker while we wait for the club to open? I have a little business to do with him as long as we’re here and he could save you a bundle on your taxes.”

  Johnny grinned. “You don’t know my accountants. But sure, why not? It doesn’t hurt to listen.”

  The two friends spent a leisurely day, Kazuo’s contact the stereotypical Swiss banker. Soft-spoken, well-dressed, an office like a movie set with manly furniture, real paintings, and expensive carpets. Over a lavish tea served by an in-house chef, he was able to offer Johnny the moon in terms of tax-free investments and high-interest bank accounts. But then Swiss bankers had been doing business with rich men for centuries. They understood balance sheets better than anyone.

  The men had cocktails afterward in their hotel suite and a light dinner before setting out to square accounts with Yuri.

  They walked the short distance to a large medieval-looking structure on the lakeshore that was flamboyantly illuminated with strobe lights. The building gave the appearance of having once been a church, the exterior exuberantly gothic from top to bottom, although the architectural detail was so crisp and clean it was more likely a nineteenth-century pastiche. But whatever its date, it was impressive.

  Entering through monumental cast bronze doors, Johnny and Kazuo found themselves looking down into a large nave. The high, gothic-arched ceiling was supported by soaring, elaborately carved pillars, flickering torches on the wall bestowing a sinister, dungeon-like atmosphere to the interior.

  A punk band on what once might have been the altar, had their amps ramped up high, the sound shaking the colorful pennants and banners hanging from the ceiling. The crowd on the dance floor below was wall to wall, people at the bar three deep, the din ear-splitting.

  Johnny and Kazuo stood at the top of the broad stone steps descending to the main floor where bodies gyrated to the loud, energetic head-banger music. Every color of the rainbow emblazoned the bobbing heads below, heavy eye makeup apparently de rigueur for the predominately Goth crowd, body studs and tattoos, leather and chains the uniform of choice.

  “See anyone you know?” Kazuo shouted above the raucous roar.

  Johnny shook his head.

  Kazuo made a drinking motion with his hand and pointed at the bar.

  As they moved down the stairs toward the bar, Kazuo touched Johnny’s arm and putting his mouth to Johnny’s ear rapped out, “VIP section, first table on the left by the rail.”

  Three men were at the table.

  Leaning in close so he could be heard, Johnny half-shouted, “Is the bald guy the buyer?”

  “In the flesh.”

  Three men standing off to one side against the wall were obviously bodyguards: muscled, gimlet-eyed, casually dressed, each with a bulge under their armpits.

  “Let’s get that drink,” Johnny said, feeling a rush. “And wait.”

  They had two drinks before the bald man stood up and walked away, one bodyguard peeling himself away from the wall and following him out.

  “Now,” Johnny said, pushing away from the bar.

  Kazuo followed as Johnny shoved his way through the crowd. Taking the stairs to the VIP section three at a time, Johnny slipped the bouncer a large bill and stepped over the velvet rope that closed off the mezzanine level. The sound of the music was substantially muted in the area, as though money had the power to diminish long-term hearing loss.

  Walking over to Yuri’s table, Johnny pulled out a chair and sat down. Kazuo took the chair beside him.

  “If it isn’t the man who couldn’t keep Lisa satisfied,” Yuri jeered, swagger in his blustery tone and lounging pose.

  “Everyone can’t be a big-time supplier,” Johnny silkily replied.

  “Funny man. Hey, Raf, look who’s here. Lisa’s loser ex.”

&n
bsp; Johnny smiled faintly. “I doubt she’s interested in you for your scintillating conversation or intellect. But we didn’t come here to exchange compliments.” He leaned forward slightly. “I came here to tell you to stay away from my girlfriend. I don’t want scum like you anywhere near her. And while we’re at it, stay clear of Lisa, too. I don’t want you around my daughter.” He sat back in his chair, his gaze ice cold. “I wanted to deliver the message in person so you understood my views. So everything was crystal clear. Stay away from them all. Got it?”

  “You got balls,” Yuri sneered. “I’ll give you that. Obviously, you don’t know who I am.”

  “I know who you are. You’re a fucking pussy.”

  At the sound of the word pussy, the two bodyguards pushed away from the wall, but assured of his family’s power, Yuri stopped them with a raised hand. “You must have a death wish, pretty boy. Apologize, or you’re dead.” He smiled tightly. “Or maybe you’re dead anyway.”

  “I doubt it. For starters I could shoot your balls off right now if I wanted to. You don’t have to look down. They’re still there. But you might want to think about being polite to me or you’ll be carried out of here on a stretcher. My Beretta is pointed right at your crotch.” They were a little more casual about weapons in Europe, since no one could buy them or by extension carry them. Unlike in America. Johnny and Kazuo were both armed.

  “There’s four of us and only two of you,” Raf defiantly challenged, although he glanced at their bodyguards for reassurance.

  “You’d lose your gonads before your goons could get over here.” Johnny shrugged. “Kazuo has you in his crosshairs. It’s your decision.”

  “You might want to consider what Johnny said for another reason as well,” Kazuo murmured, slipping a pendant from under the buttoned collar of his shirt, the jade seal a translucent glimmer in the torch light. “Johnny and I have been friends a long time.” He turned to Johnny. “How long has it been, mon ami?”

  “Fifteen years, give or take.”

  Yuri’s face had gone ashen, Raf was openmouthed. Even the guards knew better than to move at the sight of the Fukuda insignia gleaming on Kazuo’s chest. The Fukuda clan’s reputation and reach were formidable. In the pyramid scheme of organized crime, they were top dog.

  “We’re waiting for your answer,” Kazuo said, pointedly. “You hassled Johnny’s girlfriend; you shouldn’t have. We don’t want it to happen again. I’m sure my father would also appreciate knowing she was safe from any further visits from you. You understand how it works—my friends are my father’s friends.”

  For a brief, ominous moment the word father hung in the air.

  “I—I…” Yuri swallowed hard. “I—I—it was a mistake,” he stammered.

  “And?” Kazuo softly challenged.

  “I apologize for bothering her,” Yuri quickly said, his eyes darting from side to side as though searching for a means of escape.

  “You, too, Raf, darling,” Kazuo ordered, his voice whip-sharp.

  “Sorry,” Raf swiftly responded. “We’re… real—sorry.”

  “And it won’t happen again?” Kazuo gently queried.

  “No… no—of course not.” Raf nodded at Kazuo. “We didn’t—know… I mean, that she—he… was your friend.”

  “What about you, fuckhead?” Kazuo jabbed a slender finger at Yuri.

  Yuri recoiled, as though he were about to be beaten and, sweating profusely, whispered, “We didn’t—know… we won’t go near—”

  “Any of them,” Kazuo prompted.

  “Yes, yes… never again.” Yuri had found his voice.

  “Now you darlings toddle along. We’re finished with you. A last word of warning though—stay out of California, too. Understand?”

  “Yes, yes…” Both men nodded their heads like bobble dolls.

  “Now beat it,” Kazuo crisply ordered.

  The men turned and tripped over each other trying to flee, eventually disappearing down the stairs at a run, their bodyguards right on their heels.

  Lifting his hand, Kazuo beckoned a waiter and ordered a bottle of Krug. Leaning back in his chair, he tucked the pendant back under his shirt and smiled lazily. “I’d say that went well.”

  Johnny grinned. “You’ve got the touch.”

  “With people like that”—Kazuo made a dismissive gesture with his hand—“all they know is brute force. So when in Rome…” He grinned. “What say we wind down after our drink?” He paused as the waiter poured their champagne, and set the bottle in an ice bucket. “I know a very nice brothel not far from here,” he went on as the waiter walked away. “It’s discreet, quiet, excellent wines.”

  “Not me, but feel free.”

  Kazuo’s brows rose. “Am I hearing right? Johnny Patrick turning down sex?”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  Kazuo grinned. “Even more astonishing. Has darling Nicky emasculated you?”

  “Don’t ride my ass. Everything’s operating just fine.”

  There was a don’t-push-it in his tone, Kazuo noted, and well-mannered and urbane, he remarked, “Come to think of it, my wife is having a dinner party for some distinguished scientists day after tomorrow. Something to do with the Arctic ice cap. I should probably show up.”

  “I should get back, too. I owe you, Kaz,” Johnny said, understanding his friend had come to help without regard for his own schedule. “Next time, it’s my turn.”

  “Glad I could be of help. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Funny how life gets in the way of friendships.”

  “We both have more on our plates than we did when we were hanging loose in our twenties. Kids”—Johnny grinned—“or soon-to-be kids, work”—he shrugged—“and more and more work.”

  “If you settle down with your tree house lady, maybe you’ll take a vacation and come see us.”

  Johnny liked the way Kaz referred to his wife. Maybe Kaz was right about recognizing when a woman was the best. Maybe he should have sense enough to see the light himself. “You and your wife come and visit us sometime, too,” he offered.

  “Us?” Kazuo drawled.

  Johnny grimaced. “Fuck you.”

  Kazuo grinned. “It happens to the best of us, bro.”

  “Piss off. I’m not even sure I can get my head around the idea.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “That’s not fucking helpful,” Johnny grumbled.

  “Do I detect an actual romantic state of mind?” Kazuo said with a smile. “Surely not.”

  Johnny blew out a breath. “Fuck if I know. But I do know if I decide to get married again, it’s gonna be for all the right reasons. If it means figuring out this love and romance stuff”—he grinned—“I’m gonna have to figure it out.”

  “I recommend diamonds as a means to possibly solving your dilemma,” Kaz offered. “I suggest you bring home a large one for Nicky. I know this very good jeweler.”

  “Forget it.”

  “It can’t hurt to look. Gustav will open his store for us. I’m a good customer.” He lifted his flute with a smile. “To the blissful state of matrimony.”

  Johnny raised his glass and grinned. “No way.”

  Thirty-eight

  The next afternoon, as Nicky left her office at the end of the day, she saw Johnny leaning against her car, a handsome Japanese man with long black hair standing next to him. She instantly understood the man must be Kazuo.

  Both the men were smiling.

  Which meant, she hoped, she could stop worrying.

  She’d been mega-tense in Johnny’s absence, his phone call at Chez Panisse unsettling, even more so his lack of explanation and quick departure. What made it even worse was the fact that she couldn’t call any of her friends or family and whine to them about her fears. If she even mentioned the word gangster to her family, they’d get on the first plane, fly out here, and drag her back home. Gangster was only a movie word in Black Duck. As for her friends… she wasn’t quite ready to tell them she was maybe in love after
a week. They’d think first, that she was out of her league, and second, that a man like Johnny Patrick wouldn’t remember her name in another week.

  Which might be true.

  So she’d been forced to stew and fret all by herself.

  And apparently all for naught, she cheerfully noted as she walked up to the men. They were both dressed casually in slacks and dark T-shirts. Johnny looked gorgeous as ever, and his friend could have been the Japanese Bruce Lee, he was so incredibly beautiful.

  It just went to show that worry could be a real waste of time.

  “You weren’t gone long,” she said, approaching them with a smile.

  “I was in a major hurry to get home.”

  If ever there was a heartwarming smile, she’d just witnessed it, Nicky thought, all her apprehensions swept away in an instant by Johnny’s smile.

  “Nicky, I’d like you to meet Kazuo Fukuda, Kaz, this is Nicky. Nicole Lesdaux to be exact,” Johnny added, curving his arm around her shoulder and drawing her close.

  Kazuo grinned. “Johnny spoke of nothing else but you.”

  “You two must have gone to the same charm school,” Nicky said, lightly. “But thank you. I adore flattery.”

  “Kaz just stopped by for a minute to meet you. He’s heading back home.”

  At Johnny's lifted hand, Nicky took note of a black Mercedes and driver waiting at the curb.

  “My wife has a dinner party I have to be back for,” Kazuo explained. “I’m trying to talk Johnny into bringing you to Tokyo soon.”

  The casualness of his remark struck her with a far from casual impact. Her pulse began beating violently. Did that mean her relationship with Johnny was more than say… a weeklong affair? Or was Johnny’s friend just being polite?

  “I told Kaz we’d try to work something out,” Johnny said.

  She almost fainted. Work something OUT—like—WOW. Did this mean Cinderella dreams really came true? Did this mean she wasn’t crazy to move from instant infatuation to instant something else way more profound? Okay, okay, take it easy. Johnny was just talking about a trip to Japan. Like a trip to Paris. He probably took trips with women all the time. “That’d be great,” she said, ultra-casually, like she might respond to a comment about car insurance, say, or a Disney movie.