CHAPTER 50 – RETURN TO A FOOTBALL PLAYER
Carterson drove up to the palatial compound and stopped at the main gate. A guard came through a small side gate and up to him.
"Name, sir?"
"Carterson."
"First name?"
"C.B."
"Spell that, sir."
"C full stop. B full stop."
"Cute. That's initials, not a name."
"Clyde, then, although nobody calls me that, and Mr. Barrajas isn't likely to know it either. He sent for me. Here's the note." He handed over a printout of an email.
The guard sighed. "Do you ever miss the days when people wrote notes by hand, sir?"
"Depends. This way's faster."
"Also harder to verify, sir."
A voice came over the guard's radio. "Let him in, Robertson. It's the man I sent for."
"Thank you, sir," the guard said into the radio. He opened the gate and waved Carterson through. Carterson took in the security cam system with an appreciative eye as he drove by. He'd also noted the camera on the guard's lapel. Talk about cute.
"Neat car," Barrajas said as Carterson walked into his den. "I'm thinking of getting one."
"I'd think you could afford something better than a Kia Picanto," Carterson said.
"But they're fun, aren't they? Just to look at if nothing else. My grandfather drove a VW bug just to tweak his snooty relatives. That, and he liked the silly thing. The difference with me is I can get paid simply to say that I like something. Takes some of the fun out of it, I think, getting paid to do something that you think would be humorous or intelligent done on its own. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Is coffee on the menu?"
"Also stronger, if you'd rather."
"Coffee would be great."
Barrajas sent a servant to get coffee.
"Sorry about your leg," Carterson said to the football player.
"You play the game, you take your chances," Barrajas said. "Besides, it was only broken in three places, and all the breaks were pretty clean, and I got the best treatment available on the planet. Shouldn't take that long to heal."
"If you say so. The talking heads say you're out for the year."
"Probably. But I'll be back next season, meaner and leaner than ever."
The servant came back, with coffee and a large tray of sandwiches, biscuits (cookies), pie slices, boiled eggs, and wedges of cheese.
Carterson kept a straight face until the servant had left and he was alone with his host again. "Meaner and leaner did you say?" he asked.
"You'll not get the whole mess that easily. I'm still lifting weights. I can burn it off. Besides, I've got mending bones to feed. Sit down and make yourself at home."
Carterson did his best to make himself at home in unfamiliar and rich surroundings. He couldn't help but notice that his host, for all his poise, was nervous and uncertain. "You didn't ask me here to help you eat a platter of sandwiches," he ventured.
"Yes, well, I've done something I likely shouldn't have," Barrajas said.
"We all do, now and then. Something to do with the boy? Mauger?"
"In a roundabout way. I was in Paris the other day, and there's a bookie there I know. I use him for horse races. Don't think I bet on football. I wouldn't."
"Didn't think you would."
"Well, since that dinner with you and Mauger, I've been wondering. This bookie's name is Blondet, see? And, well, the way it fell out was I told him I'd heard that a Blondet had been killed by his brother, and I was glad to see it wasn't him."
"Likely no harm done. Likely it's all over Paris by now, at least at that level of society."
"Shut up and let me finish. What I got for being nosy was he frowned and said it was a filthy rumor."
"Well, of course, if he's-"
"Shut up. This isn't easy. I promised you I'd stay clear and I didn't. I hate admitting that. But, anyway, things took a strange turn. Blondet – no relation to your brothers, by the way, or that's what he says – he said Jean doesn't deny the charges, but for reasons other than being guilty. First off, Jean found that once people thought he was capable of killing his own brother they were afraid of him at long last, and he rather likes it. And second, everybody thinks Jean's afraid to cross the man who framed him. And who wouldn't be? I mean, he's high up in the government, worse yet, in some sort of secret police. Or that's what people are saying, at any rate. Oh, I know, it's hard to believe something like this, and maybe it's not true. That's your job, I figure, to figure it out. I'm just passing along what I heard. Anyway, the street-level rumors have it that Jean killed his brother so a man named Castelneau could have his job. My Blondet, and the people he relies on to keep a finger on the pulse of things lower than street level, well, he says Castelneau did the job himself, and pinned it on Jean, but holds off having him arrested so long as Jean does favors for him. Castelneau started the rumors, and keeps them fed, and Jean's got nowhere else to go. Pretty slick, eh?"
"If you like riding tigers, I guess," Carterson said.
"That's what I thought. I asked if he thought Jean was biding his time and looking for an opening to get his revenge, and suddenly my Blondet thought I was asking too many questions. So I dropped it, and we left it with pats on the back and marvels about how different people's lives are, one from another, even though we're all living on the same planet at the same time. He's a philosopher, my bookmaker. Mention Voltaire or Sartre or Aristotle, and you're hard pressed to get out before he gets hungry. Works every time. I'm trying to get him interested in St. Augustine or Thomas Aquinas, but he's afraid they might talk some sense into him. Which they might, of course. One could hope, considering bookies supposedly have souls like the rest of us. Well, I didn't know if it was important or not, the rumors he shared, so I thought I'd better pass it along."
"And hope beyond hope that the British government has sense enough not to get your other leg broken, if not your head cracked, by thugs with malice aforethought. If I have anything to do with it, no one will know where the tips came from, believe me."
"Thanks. You read my mind. I suppose you think I'm a coward."
"Don't make me laugh."
"To be honest with you, it was almost a week ago I found this out. I'm sorry I took so long, but besides breaking my leg right after that, I've got a wife, and it's funny how many worries you can have for someone else."
"Say no more. It's nice to meet someone who understands that real life isn't video games, and that bad guys don't have normal ideas about who's a fair target. I'll let you know if I see any hornets leaving their nest."
"Thanks. For myself, it's not so bad."
"I know the feeling. I'm getting married in a few months, and already I'm having panic attacks about people dumping on her for my mistakes."
Barrajas grinned. "Some of that gets easier after the wedding. Beforehand, the nerves and doubts and distance blow things up." He sobered. "Speaking of blowing things up. The way I met you was you kicking up a fuss when Mauger tried joking about blowing up the Chunnel. How's he doing, or may I ask?"
"He's fine. He's back with his buddies, so he's back to being pack leader, which suits him fine."
"Back in France?"
"No, we didn't think it was safe yet."
"Good. I was worried he'd just be turned loose again."
"Hey, I said I wouldn't turn my back on the kid, and I won't. If we don't find homes to take them back to, we'll find adoptive parents for them."
"Do they have to be French nationals?"
Carterson studied his host. "Are you volunteering for something, or is it just my imagination?"
"Maybe," Barrajas hedged.
"Look, so you know what we're dealing with, Mauger comes as half of a set of two. He's got a blood brother, so they call each other, a bit younger, and just as lacking in good upbringing."
"He did all right eating with us, I thought, Mauger did."
"Oh, he can imitate like nobody's business. If he gets a good role model
he'll likely do all right. If he doesn't get a good male role model, we've got another fulltime criminal on our hands, I'm afraid. Con man, likely. He's a master manipulator already."
"If you live on the streets by your wits, that's not necessarily a bad thing."
"Look, it's worse than that. We found Mauger's mother. She's in prison for killing his sister. Seems she kicked the kids out of the house, said they got in her way, told them not to come back. When they figured she'd cooled off, they went back, and Mama blasted the sister to kingdom come to prove she was serious. Mauger dragged the body away, and nearly got sent up for the murder."
"You don't think he did it?"
"He had some luck. A pile of furious grandmothers held his mother down until the police got there. It's a tough neighborhood, but they weren't having any child killings in it, and that's a fact. Mama had powder burns and a big mouth. Told them she'd tried everything short of murder first, motherhood being such a drag if your lifestyle is sleeping around, you know. Furthermore she wanted a pat on the back for kicking them out first so they at least had a chance. It was their fault, you see, for crawling back to the only home they knew. When the cops suggested adoption might have been an option, she laughed at them. Apparently, in her circle, adoption is taboo, unless you can find an illegal organization that pays enough money under the table. Too much paperwork and bother otherwise, not to mention that bureaucrats ask too many irrelevant questions and might get it into their minds to arrest a self-satisfied, liberated woman for who knows what totally justifiable action, like drug dealing."
Barrajas didn't say anything for a while. Neither did Carterson.
"You ever feel you're put somewhere for a reason?" Barrajas asked.
"Sometimes," Carterson said.
"The rest of the team flew. Pablo and me, we were going through the Chunnel for a lark. My idea. Had no idea why I wanted to, I just did."
"Probably a coincidence."
"Possibly. But I don't think so. If I called my wife in here, do you think you could tell her as much as you can about Mauger, and his brother? What's the brother's name?"
"Conan, but the last I heard he favors either Raoul or The Fox."
Both men grinned.
"Is that it, the two of them? I got the feeling there were more," Barrajas said, serious again.
"Four total, but only Mauger and Conan have done the blood brother thing."
"The others don't fit in with these two, you mean?"
"No, they're more or less like brothers, too. Squabble amongst themselves, but put up a good united front when the need comes up. But four's more than anyone could be expected to take on."
"I have five brothers and three sisters. I'm used to it."
"You have five brothers and three sisters who weren't tossed out on the world before they were ready. This is a feral pack as much as anything. And don't forget they've got some enemies, at least for now. We can probably neutralize that by getting our own stories out so they can't be accused of knowing any secrets, but it's still going to be a wild ride for anyone who takes them, no matter how all that plays out."
"So I'm crazy. They'd have five uncles and three aunts on my side of the family – my sisters are fairly formidable aunts I might add – and three uncles on my wife's side, and four steady and grounded grandparents, plus teammates and friends and bodyguards, not to mention my priest, who is the sort of priest who teaches boys boxing and doesn't apologize for eating meat. Who better than me and my family, official and otherwise?"
"Why do I get the feeling you've spent some of the last few days consulting legal experts and paying private investigators?" Carterson said.
Barrajas shrugged.
"You knew about Mauger's mum and sister before I told you, didn't you?"
"I didn't get where I am today without being thorough," Barrajas said, in lieu of a direct answer.
"You're not doing this because you feel sorry for these kids, are you? Pity won't work with this group."
"Pity's no good for anybody. Shall I call my wife?"
"It's your life," Carterson said. "As to your French nationals question, the few persons of authority in France who know about these kids only care that they get sat upon in a proper manner so they have a chance to turn into decent men. They'd okay moon men or possibly even Americans if they thought they had the right stuff for it."
Barrajas grinned. "I'm not being insulted, am I?"
Carterson shook his head. "You'd do, most likely."
"I've been known to be noisy, but I like to think that I know the difference between right and wrong, and I do know how to stand my ground. So, then, I may call my wife, and you'll not undermine me?"
Carterson nodded.
"You can be an honorary uncle if you like," Barrajas said, as he picked up a phone.
Carterson developed a sudden interest in looking at the garden. He went to the window. He was getting soft as he got older, that was it, he decided. Why else should the chance to be Mauger's uncle bring tears to his eyes?
"She'll be about five minutes, I hope that's all right?" Barrajas said, after he rang off.
"Gives me time to confirm a few things," Carterson said, pulling out his phone and calling Stolemaker, with glistening eyes still glued on the garden outside.
Not Exactly Allies Page 51