by P. A. Wilson
Monique went to the door, pushed in the lock, and wiped the handle. She leaned close to the door and listened, her fingers twitching again to release some of the built up tension. No sounds came from the hall. As she turned the doorknob, she froze.
Light switches. The first time in, she’d turned on the light in the hall and bedroom. Swearing under her breath, she skirted through the apartment, wiped the light switch in the bedroom, ran back, and rubbed at the hall switch. Ripping open the door, Monique stepped into the corridor, closed the door, tested the lock, and then almost dove into her own apartment. Never again, no matter how much she felt the need, she would never go through that again.
CHAPTER 10
Monique kept moving, not wanting to experience the consequences of the shock. She hoped the constant activity would help until it passed, although it never had before. A shower, a change of clothes, breakfast, and then she’d figure out what was in the envelope. Maybe it was something she could give to the cops, to help them solve the murders. There was no doubt that Snake and Alexi were killed, if not by the same person, for the same reason. She knew in her gut that this Colonel guy was behind it, whatever the hell it happened to be.
She grabbed a garbage bag and threw the gloves and cleaning cloth inside. She stripped and threw her clothes in. Another outfit she would never wear again. She started the shower and waited until the water was steaming before stepping in. Two minutes later, she was toweling herself dry, skin red from the heat.
Keep moving.
She knew if she could do that, the panic she could feel pushing at her nerves wouldn’t take control. Monique scrubbed at her hair, trying to dry it. Then she ran for clothes, stumbling over the edge of the rug in her bedroom. As she fell, Monique curled into a ball, the realization she couldn’t outrun the panic dropped on her. Naked and cold, lying on the carpet, she stopped fighting and let it flow over her. It started with shakes, and then gasping sobs, then she was gulping for air as the world went black around her.
She woke up shivering. This time it was just from the cold. The panic had gone, leaving her feeling empty. Her hair was still wet, so she knew it hadn’t been long. Monique pulled herself up to sit on the edge of her bed. Her left arm and leg were dusted with fluff from the rug, but there was no other damage.
The hollow feeling inside wasn’t just hunger. It was as if all the horror was cried out of her soul. She knew it wasn’t permanent, but at least she was able to start moving again. It felt like someone had erased everything from her life, and she could choose what came back in. It was a good feeling, even if it was a delusion.
She rubbed her skin to remove the fluff and then dried her hair. When she was dressed, Monique gathered all the trash in her apartment and stuffed the garbage bag full. The envelope went into her purse and she grabbed a jacket. She was starving, and if crying was so cleansing then food might give her the energy she needed for the next steps.
When Monique opened her door, she came to a stop. In front of Alexi’s apartment, his back to her, was a man, stocky and head shaved to stubble. He was listening at the door. Was this the Colonel? Fear froze her from stomach to head.
There was no way for her to avoid being noticed. If she retreated to the apartment, it might signal that she knew something, so she pulled her door closed and turned to lock it as though there was nothing wrong. She sensed the man turn around as she finished.
He stared at her. What was it with Alexi’s visitors and the creepy expressions? Gray eyes, a scar running from his right eyebrow to his cheek, twisting his face into a grimace. He tried a smile and said, “Good morning. Do you know, Alexi? Your neighbor?” He was obviously trying to sound pleasant. The effect was just weird, like that doll in the horror movies, Chucky. His voice also brought back memories of her search. It was the man on the phone.
“No, he’s new.” She turned to walk away.
He took a step toward her. “Do you know where he is?”
“No,” she said, then decided that it might send him away if she told him the truth. “Well, he’s dead, so…”
The forced smile turned into a scowl. “Dead? When?”
“Yesterday. You should talk to the police. They were here asking questions.” Monique turned to leave. She expected him to ask something else, or to say something else. When he pushed roughly past her and stormed through the stairwell door, she felt relief.
Monique waited until he had time to clear the building. The thought of being in the stairwell with him almost made her consider taking the highly unreliable elevator.
She took a table in the back of Mitch’s Diner. There weren’t that many people in, but it was getting close to morning coffee time, and she didn’t want anyone who was standing in line for a coffee and donut to be looking over her shoulder.
“Hey, Monique, it’s been a while. What’s your pleasure?” Jack was waiter, prep cook, busboy, and owner of the cafe.
“Hey, Jack. I’m starving, bacon, eggs, pancakes, and coffee.”
“Everything cooked the usual way? And sourdough toast?”
She nodded and pulled out the envelope as soon as Jack turned away. Inside was a picture. One man staring off into the distance. He was tall, face ruddy, gray hair bushy with a trimmed goatee. It had been cropped badly. It looked like the picture was taken from a larger shot. Someone’s shoulder jutted into the corner of the frame.
“Still, black?” Jack’s voice cut through her thoughts, confusing her until she saw the coffee cup in his hand.
“Yeah. I don’t see that changing soon, thanks, Jack.” She stared at the picture while she waited for breakfast. He didn’t look familiar. He looked like someone in charge, someone you’d call for help. Maybe it was the way he was focused on something in the distance, as if he saw more than the common person did.
Jack slid her plate in front of her and went back to the kitchen. Monique placed the picture on the table so she could look at it while she ate. The flavor of bacon reminded her how hungry she was, so she took her attention off the picture until she’d eaten half the food on her plate, and had to slow down so she could digest.
The photo was set in a village. It looking like an Italian one, although Monique was pretty sure lots of countries had villages with stone walls and shuttered houses. So this was important enough to Alexi to hide it, which meant he might be planning to use it. And this was what the Colonel had killed for, or at least part of why. She just needed to figure out why it was important, and then give it to the cops. Well, she also had to figure out a way to explain how she came into possession of it, and why she didn’t just hand it over first thing.
She took her phone out and tapped the Google icon. There must be something that could help her identify this guy, or the town, or something that could help her get to the next step. A quick search gave her an app called Google Goggles. She downloaded the app and let it install as she finished the last bites of her pancakes. Pushing her plate across the table so Jack could clear without disturbing her, Monique played with the app until she understood how to use it.
“Still hungry?” Jack asked, filling her cup and lifting the plate.
Monique laughed. “Not right now, but I’ve missed a few meals. I can’t guarantee I won’t need a burger in five minutes.”
“You need some more meat on you, girl. You keep doing whatever you are doing. I’ll keep the coffee coming.” Jack was always good about letting her hangout even when it got busy. Monique knew that she had the table as long as she needed it.
She returned to the app. It would try to identify anything in a picture she took with her phone. Monique smoothed the photo and took a picture of the man – no magic answer. She waited a few minutes hoping for something, but nothing happened. She decided she might have done it wrong. Looking around she saw a newspaper in the booth across from her. Grabbing it, she flipped through, looking for a photo of someone she recognized. The entertainment page had full sized shots of the new James Bond.
Monique took a picture,
and within seconds the app returned a result, Daniel Craig. Okay so she was using it right, maybe this guy was camera shy. She took a picture of the street he was standing in, as much as she could get into one shot. The app returned the name Konjic, Bosnia. She tapped the Google search bar again and typed, The Colonel, Bosnia. The first link that returned was to The Times, a UK link. The headline read Javor Dragic, aka The Colonel, remains a fugitive. She followed the link to learn that the man was a Serbian War criminal.
There was a picture, kind of like a mug shot. The man had dead eyes, black like Vincent’s. His face was square and the goatee made him look like a devil. She barely recognized him. She could see how the app had missed the connection. She wouldn’t have thought they were the same man. Now all she needed to do was figure out who the hell he was pretending to be in Vancouver.
An hour later, Monique sat on her couch at home. It was almost lunchtime. Didi would be going through his treatment by now. She didn’t expect him to call when he was done. He’d remember they were fighting and continue to punish her for a few hours. She dialed the number for his friend Andy. The call went to voice mail.
“Andy, I don’t know what Didi told you, but I hope you can let me know what’s going on with him.” She left her phone number.
Monique itched to get into action. She couldn’t think of how to find this Colonel without talking to someone who knew Alexi, or maybe Snake. She wasn’t stupid enough to ask Vincent, even if she could find him. She couldn’t help picturing the dead eyes staring at her. Given what she’d overheard on the phone, she couldn’t ask the guy who was at Alexi’s this morning, or anyone else who came to the door.
She considered telling the police what she knew, but the same two things held her back. She had no legal right to have broken into the apartment, and that action might put her back on the suspect list. And she was pretty sure the information she had wasn’t enough to help them do anything.
She’d run out of ideas on how to find someone who wanted to stay hidden. As sure as she was that this Javor Dragic was in Vancouver, she was certain that he wouldn’t be using that name.
It was too quiet in the apartment. She needed people around her, and she needed to talk even if no one had information for her. She gathered her things and headed to the club. There she could relax and enjoy the other musicians, maybe join someone on stage for a set. She’d done this so many times before and it had seemed normal, this time it felt more like seeking refuge than company. Then again, her days hadn’t been that much different before this. Being around murder seemed to heighten her senses.
Maybe fighting with everyone she cared about did that too.
It was quiet in the club. Afternoons were sometimes like that. Tess was running an open mike, looking for a few new house singers now that the city let the clubs stay open so much later. Tess turned as Monique entered. She waved her over. “Come help me choose.”
Monique noticed four other women sitting at the bar. “How many have you auditioned so far?”
“This is number two. The first one couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.” Tess went to the bar and grabbed a glass. “Here, on me.”
Monique sniffed the glass, a nice Cabernet. She nodded to the girl on stage who couldn’t have been more than eighteen. “What are you going to sing?”
“Night and Day.”
Monique shook her head. “That’s not going to showcase your voice. I’ll give you some advice. Try doing something from a different playlist, and make it your kind of jazz.”
The girl frowned for a second, and then brightened. “Okay, how about Oh! Darling. My mom used to sing it to me.”
Monique checked with Ray who was playing for the auditions, he nodded back and ran the first few phrases before saying, “When you’re ready.”
While the girl sang, Tess leaned in. “That was good advice.”
“I learned it early on. No one is really looking for the same old thing. They want something fresh. Anyway, she’s good.”
Tess sipped her own wine before speaking. Monique could almost see the wheels turning. “Yeah, she needs some maturing. Would you help her?”
Monique considered. Was she willing to spend time mentoring another singer? The real question was what else would she do? “Sure, why not. How many are you planning on taking?”
“Two. You don’t need to worry, I’m not cutting back on your gigs.” Tess waved at the girl. “What’s your name, child?”
“Maisie. I go by Maisie Lee.”
“Okay, you go sit down there. Next girl up.”
They went through the other four women who’d been paying attention because they sang everything but jazz. One of them, Laura, made the cut. Monique gave advice to the other three. Their voices were more suited to rock and gospel, and she knew they would have more luck sticking to their strengths.
She waited while Tess gave instructions to Laura and Maisie. They left, Ray went to the lounge, and Tess brought coffee to the table. “One glass of wine at this time of day is enough. Now, it looks to me like you want to talk about something?”
How much could she tell Tess? It was hard to know where her boss’s priorities lay. Monique considered what might make Tess help without getting her suspicions up. Tess was pretty connected, not because she was crooked, but because she didn’t much care what people did as long as they kept it out of the club.
Maybe she had some information that would lead Monique to the Colonel. Not that she’d go after him. When she could point the police to something concrete – like proof of a war criminal living in their town – she would. “You know anything about a group of Serbs living here?”
Tess narrowed her eyes. “What are you getting into?”
Monique was surprised by the question. Tess seemed to care about her, not just the bottom line. Although maybe Tess cared about the customers Monique brought to the club. “Nothing, but I can’t get this murder off my mind. I don’t like what’s happening. All I know is that there’s some connection between my neighbor and Snake. The cops don’t seem to be doing anything other than questioning me.”
“You stay away from these Serbian guys. I don’t want to hire another singer when they kill you. And how will Maisie get any better without your help?”
She started to say, ‘I can take care of myself’, but realized it would shut Tess down, and that would bring an end to any information she would be willing to share. “I’m not sure staying away is possible, Tess. They killed that guy across the hall from me, and Snake down the lane. I’ll be careful, I promise. Will you tell me what you know?”
Tess stirred her coffee, thinking it over. Monique watched the decision get made as Tess firmed her lips. Looking Monique in the eye, she started talking, “Most of the people who came here were looking for a place to settle peacefully. Some of them were looking to expand their operations, and some are here to hide. It’s the same with any people. I guess you’re asking about the last two types?”
“Yes, I think so. How do you know this?”
“I know about people. I came here from somewhere. I know about settling into a new world. And I know how it works when it’s about money and power. I know how bad it can get. I just don’t know any of the people you need to talk to.”
Monique finished her coffee, not sure she believed Tess, but knowing better than to push. “Thanks anyway, boss.”
CHAPTER 11
An hour later, the club started to fill with the early evening crowd. People who were willing to sit and drink until the entertainment started, or were there for the drinks not the jazz. Monique had switched to water when the coffee pot was empty. Now she sat at the bar and watched the activity as people wandered in.
One of those people was a friend of Snake’s. Monique watched her slide into a booth and order a drink, something long and dark. Her name was something like Celia… Celie…Celeste, yes. Monique wondered at the fact that the only reason she knew these people was because of Didi’s life. He had some sleazy friends, but they were c
oming in handy right now. And at least he had friends. She didn’t have many. She didn’t know which of them had a better life.
She watched Celeste swallow half the drink in one gulp. The girl didn’t look well. She was shorter than Monique was, maybe four foot nine, but even at nineteen her body was padded at hips and bust in a way Monique’s was never going to be. If Celeste was drinking that fast, there was probably something going on. Maybe she’d know who Snake was – had been – involved with. Monique ordered another of whatever Celeste was drinking and took it with her to the booth.
“It’s been a while since I saw you last, Celeste. How are you doing?” Monique slid into the booth, staying close to the edge, so she couldn’t be trapped if someone else joined them. “You waiting for someone?”
Celeste finished her glass and then pulled the second one to her, taking a smaller sip. “No, just wanted to see what’s going on.” Her eyes wandered to the door. “You seen Snake?”
Monique didn’t want to be the one to tell her what happened. There was no way to make that kind of news easy to swallow. No matter what kind of life you lived. “When did you last see him?”
“A couple days ago. He said he’d be here, so I thought I’d check it out. You still singing here?”
Nodding, Monique sipped her own drink. “What is Snake into these days?”
“Credit cards. You know, it’s big business. No one gets hurt except the big credit card companies and they make too much money anyway. But you won’t tell anyone, right?”
Nice justification. Monique had learned that justification was often the only difference between a thief and a law-abiding citizen. She settled against the backrest, unwilling to push, or end the conversation. “I hear some rough characters get into that.”