by John Moore
His organization guarantees young women in these countries education and employment in the fast-growing American spa market. Most are not formally trained in any spa services such as massage, skin care, or hair care. He recruits girls from poor families, living in small towns, unable to pay for their daughter’s education. He pays for transportation, including airfare to the States. He picks them up from the airport and their families lose touch with them with the exception of emails and occasional calls on holidays and birthdays. The girls are told they have to work to pay back the money put out for their trip and education. Most of the girls come from cultures where heavy vodka drinking is accepted. They are given all the vodka they want. Eventually they are introduced to special gentlemen as ‘dates.’ The vodka is a gateway to their transition to sex and drugs. They are trapped in the life with no way out. Open the attachments to see a photo of Victor.”
I opened the photo attachment and nearly had to catch my eyeballs before they rolled off the table. I saw a clean-cut handsome man in his early forties. His chiseled jaw and high cheekbones framed striking green eyes and a welcoming smile. His hair was a bit tousled, black with gray streaks running above his ears on both sides. He appeared to be about six foot two with broad shoulders, fairly narrow hips, and muscular legs. He was damn near perfect. He could have had a career as an underwear model or a model for romance novel covers. Then it hit me. This was the man checking me out in the Court of Two Sisters at brunch with Charlotte. I broke out with chill bumps. Victor was in New Orleans.
His dossier said he was educated at one or more of the six institutes of the Russian Academy of Sciences in Saratov, Russia. He graduated with honors and worked for a while as a contractor for the military and the KGB. The Interpol dossier ended abruptly with the statement, “Nothing more is known about the subject.”
A second email from Sophia read,
Alexandra,
The Interpol agent who is responsible for tracking Victor Ivanovich’s movements is Alric Jaeger. He will be in New Orleans by the time you receive this email and will contact you shortly. He’s keen to get Victor.
All the best,
Sophia
Tom used our secret knock at the door. Rap, rap, rap, rap . . . rap, rap. I let him in. His cheeks were red, and his eyes bulged more than normal. Small beads of sweat collected on his forehead. He carefully locked the door behind him. He kissed me lightly on the lips. Before he could speak, my phone rang. Why was Detective Demetre Baker from the NOPD calling me?
“Hello, Detective Baker. I haven’t heard from you in a while. What’s up?” I said.
Baker, not much for small talk, said, “Alexandra, you need to get here right away. Bring your boyfriend, Tom Sanders, and his niece, Constance, with you. Oh—” he paused “—be careful. Watch your back.” He hung the phone up without another word.
I left Piper sitting at the kitchen table and grabbed Tom’s hand to lead him to the bedroom. I filled him in on what I’d learned from Sophia, and I told him about seeing Victor when I went to breakfast with Charlotte. I dug in the bottom of my underwear drawer to retrieve my pistol and holster. Tom watched as I strapped it around my ankle. When we returned to the kitchen, Piper had read Sophia’s entire email.
Piper hung her head and shook it side to side gently. When she looked up at Tom and me, she had a terrified look on her face, but what she said was, “I am so sorry for bringing trouble into your lives. Victor will come for me. I’ve placed you both in danger.” I wanted to hug her. This was an amazing kid.
“Don’t you worry about Victor,” Tom said in a voice full of authority, safety, and strength. “We’ll deal with him New Orleans style.”
What the fuck? Tom was not from New Orleans. What did he know about dealing with people New Orleans style? He was from namby-pamby California. At least I was a farm girl. Then again, he’d been here for five years or more. He’d probably learned a trick or two. And this was his niece, his murdered brother’s surviving daughter.
He was right. If Victor was coming to take us on, we had the home-court advantage, and we would use it. Besides Californian, Indianan, or New Orleanean, we were Americans. We don’t run. Bring it, Victor! I thought.
We were escorted into Detective Baker’s office when we arrived at the precinct. Baker greeted us at his door. He had his coat hung neatly on the coat rack in his office, his holster and gun clearly visible against his crisp white shirt and bright black and yellow New Orleans Saints tie. He’d thoughtfully brought in a third chair so we would be comfortable. Baker introduced himself to Tom and Piper, firmly shaking each of their extended hands.
“Have a seat,” he said. Baker opened a large file strategically placed in the center of his desk. I could see many of the same documents Sophia had sent me. Only he had twice as many as I had received. “I’m going to cut straight to the chase,” he said as he widened his eyes. “You are all in danger. Sophia told me she showed you much of Interpol’s file on Victor Ivanovich, but what she didn’t tell you is Interpol believes he is responsible for more than forty-seven contract killings over the last ten years.”
“Forty-seven killings?” I gasped. “Why isn’t his ass in jail?”
Baker looked at me, turning his palms face up, raising his shoulders nearly to his earlobes. “Slippery bastard, I guess. We’ve got to talk about something else. A German Interpol agent named Alric Jaeger has traveled from Paris to go after Victor. Sophia called me on the QT to warn me about this Jaeger guy. He doesn’t always play by the rules. He’s got a personal thing of some sort going on with Victor Ivanovich. Seems his folks were treated poorly by Victor’s parents during World War II. Sophia wanted me to give you a heads up before you met with him.”
“Oh great, we’ve got to rely on a crazy to protect us from a crazy,” I said.
Baker looked at all of us as if he were addressing a room full of newly condemned criminals. “Oh, he’s not here to protect you. He’s here to catch Victor Ivanovich breaking the law and bust him. According to Sophia, he doesn’t worry about collateral damage. She said he’s sixty-five years old but acts more old school than that.”
A text came across my phone from Charlotte. “Mandy told me she saw you in the Quarter today riding in a horse-drawn buggy with your new ward. She wants to take us all on her tour tomorrow. You in?” the text read.
Oh shit, I thought she didn’t see me. With all of this Victor stuff going on, I didn’t really want to go on a tour with Mandy Morris. But, then again, I’d promised Charlotte and Mr. Morris I’d help with Mandy. I’m sure Piper would jump at the chance to learn more about the French Quarter. So I sent a text back saying, “Fine. What time should we meet?”
“Nine-thirty in the morning at the Café du Monde,” she responded.
Holy shit, what kind of tour was Mandy qualified to lead, bars and beds where I’ve blown and banged? I made myself laugh out loud and blushed as Tom and Piper stared at me.
Detective Baker showed us to the interrogation room down the hall from his office. After making the introductions, he excused himself, saying, “Sorry I can’t sit in, folks. There’s a killer preying on working girls in the city. Of course there always is. They are such easy targets for crazy bastards.”
Memories flooded my mind. This was the same interrogation room Sarah and I sat in so many months ago answering questions about her ex-husband’s attack on us. Now she was gone and I was back here to talk about another murderous maniac. What the fuck is wrong with the world anyway? I wondered. At the table in the center of the room sat a completely bald man, about six feet four inches tall with a muscular build. His face was weathered, making him appear older than his sixty-five years. His teeth were a yellowish brown from smoking cigars, consuming way too much coffee, and who knows what else. He spoke with near-perfect English after he’d looked us all up and down.
“So this is Constance Sanders,” he said, looking directly at Piper.
That was weird. How did he know her name? Why did he focus on her? I thought he’d been chasing Victor internationally. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Jaeger,” I said. “Is this Victor guy coming to New Orleans to kill us?”
“Why, heavens no, Ms. Lee. Victor never gets his hands dirty. He contracts out his dirty work.”
“What the hell does he want?” Tom asked.
“He wants the girl. You see, I have infiltrated his organization. She has something he wants,” he said as he turned and looked directly into Piper’s eyes. “I would like her to tell me what she has that he wants so badly.”
Piper’s expression never changed. She narrowed her gaze, shaking her head side to side, saying, “Haven’t the foggiest.” She was convincing, but I’d been with her long enough to know she was hiding something. I didn’t study Lois Lane’s methods for getting to the bottom of a story for nothing. I was fine with her not opening up, because I didn’t trust this Alric Jaeger guy at all. He looked down his nose in a condescending fashion as he spoke to us. He was a user. He couldn’t care less what happened to us as long as he got Victor.
“What should we do to protect ourselves?” Tom asked.
“Just go about your normal everyday lives. He won’t try anything here in New Orleans. If you were in LA he might, but not here. My sources tell me he needs the little girl’s cooperation.”
Jaeger’s words set Piper’s face on fire. I grabbed her forearm to stop her from going across the table and popping him in the nose with one of the dainty hands balled into fists under the table. She didn’t like this guy, and neither did I.
“So what’s your plan?” Tom asked.
“I have contacts here in New Orleans who can track Victor’s movements. He has to work through local folks. Some of the very people he’ll talk to are our informants. We’ll know what he’s up to before he can make any moves. He’s not as smart as he thinks he is. Victor is an egomaniac who thinks he can outwit me as long as he chooses. He thinks his charm and good looks open any doors that need opening, and the ones he can’t charm, he bribes. Those he can’t bribe, he kills. Victor’s time is running out just like all of the rest of those Russian Mafia thugs from the underbelly of Europe. You see how Putin acts on the world stage? Distributing pictures of himself with his shirt off, claiming he’s not afraid of bears. They are all the same: bullies who only pick fights with the weak. Crimea, Ukraine, it’s all the same. Had it not been for an unusually harsh winter, Germany would have overrun Moscow in World War II. Then there would be no Victor and no Putin either.” His nostrils flared as he lost himself in his diatribe, rewriting history to suit his prideful boasts.
I hadn’t come here for a history lesson, especially from the likes of him. Jaeger wasn’t the type of person who inspired confidence. He was talking about Victor not being from New Orleans as if Jaeger himself was born and raised here. This was probably his first trip to New Orleans. He seemed to be the kind of guy who thinks he’s ahead of everyone else in the race, when in fact he’s being lapped. If he was so much smarter than Victor, why hadn’t he busted Victor in the last five years? What the hell was all of that World War II crap about anyway? That war ended in 1945 with Hitler’s Germany getting their ass handed to them. Where had he been for the last seventy years, still licking his wounds?
Tom didn’t mention anything about his brother’s death in Chicago. He must have gotten the same vibe from Inspector Jaeger: he wasn’t to be trusted. As we left the precinct, Piper said in a squeaky little voice, “He needs to get a grip.”
We all laughed, shaking our heads in agreement. But it was clear trouble was brewing, and somehow or another Victor and Jaeger were going to collide. I only hoped we weren’t in the middle. Tom’s feeling was we weren’t in any imminent danger. He suggested renting a movie, popping some popcorn, and killing a bottle of wine to ease the tension.
“Wow,” Piper said. “I’m going to like it here. Sometimes the ladies at the spa would do things with me, but never my mom, not in the last few years. She was too busy running after Victor or shooting her drugs. And my dad, when he wasn’t at work, was with the nanny.” Her voice was empty of emotion by the end of her speech, but I could feel it anyway.
I felt terrible for her. So neglected and starved for affection. Once the popcorn was popped, the movie was in, and the wine poured, I said, “Well, little Miss Piper. How would you like to go on a tour of the French Quarter tomorrow with my friends Charlotte and Mandy?”
Her eyes popped wide open. “Can we? I love the Quarter. I can’t wait.”
Chapter Eleven:
A Different World
Mornings in the condo with Piper living with me were different. Especially when I woke with the urge. The one that stirs in the reproductive parts of the body. The one that kicks reason to the curb or persuades me to go along with lustful acts. I sidled close to Tom who’d rolled onto his back. I tried to stop myself but just couldn’t. I dove down under the covers allowing my shoulder-length hair to trail down his chest to rest on his stomach. I slowly bathed him with my tongue, feeling him grow as I worked until he filled my mouth. Tom stirred, running his fingers through my hair, grabbing the back of my head to set the pace of pleasure he needed. The fire building in me flashed out of control, and I needed more. I needed to take him. Burning inside, I mounted him with the grace and speed of a gymnast. Soon our rhythms synced together, building to the point of no return. I bit my lower lip, fighting to confine the scream looking for a way out between my clamped teeth. Both mine and Tom’s volcanic eruptions were marked only by clenched, spasming muscles and a deep, guttural UUUUUUUHM! I rolled off Tom to catch my breath, the roaring fire gradually subsiding to a manageable flame.
“I’ll get the coffee,” Tom said.
I muted a giggle as well as I could, feeling like I’d just gotten away with doing something I wasn’t supposed to do.
Today was the day Piper and I were going to tour the French Quarter with Mandy Morris as our tour guide. What a bizarre turn of events. The last time I was with Mandy in the Quarter, we partied at the Cat’s Meow singing karaoke. Her best friend/boyfriend, the murderous Bob Broussard, drugged me and took me home. Instead of killing me, he watched me sleep, finally deciding I wasn’t the type of victim he needed to kill to get his rocks off. So now I was going on a tour with her. But that would be the way things are in New Orleans. Everyone has a good and evil side to their personality, I suppose. The problem here is you can’t tell where good ends and evil begins. They are mixed together like chicken and sausage in jambalaya.
Tom and I drank a cup of dark roast coffee together in bed. When I felt like my legs would carry me, we went to the kitchen. Piper was seated at the table feverishly fingering my computer keyboard. She quickly exited whatever program or site she was interacting with when we sat down.
“Good morning,” I said. “How did you sleep?”
“OK, I guess. When are we going to tour the French Quarter?”
Before I could answer, there was a knock at my door. Tom cautiously looked through the peephole before opening the door, saying, “Hello, Zach. What are you doing here so early in the morning?”
“Good morning, Tom. I am so sorry to bother you and Alexandra, but I need to talk to both of you right away.”
I shouted to Tom, “Tell him to come in and have some coffee.”
Zach hollered back, “Is it OK if my sister comes in too? She’s in the car.”
“Of course,” Tom and I said in unison.
I didn’t even know Zach had a sister. Why would they show up at my condo this early in the morning? Something must be up. I excused myself to the bedroom, reached into my underwear drawer, and strapped my .38 to my ankle. My floor-length nightgown more than concealed the weapon. Is this necessary? I asked myself. Do I really need my gun? Maybe not, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I’d learned blind trust could be very costly. After all, Zach had di
sappeared in the past without good explanation, leading me to believe something more was going on with him than he was willing to share. Before Sarah’s death, I could let erratic behavior slide by, but not anymore. I was no longer naive. Besides, it wasn’t just me I had to worry about. I had Piper to protect.
Zach introduced his sister, Maddy, to us. She was an attractive girl with raven-black hair and iridescent blue eyes accented by eyelashes that must have been at least two inches long.
Pleasantries exchanged, Zach cut right to the chase. “Alexandra, I think it best Piper not be a part of this conversation.”
“No problem,” she said, scooping my computer up and heading to my bedroom.
Oh shit. As she disappeared down the hall, I hoped I’d pulled the sheet and cover up. I listened for a teenage “EWW,” but didn’t hear one. I guess I made the bed well enough.
When Piper was safely in the bedroom with the door closed, I spun around, and all eyes planted themselves on Zach.
“Please, everyone, don’t say a word till I finish. I’ll answer any questions you have when I’m done,” Zach said as we all nodded our consent. “Alexandra, I know you met with an Interpol agent named Alric Jaeger yesterday.”
“How the hell—” I said before Zach cut me off.
“Please just hear me out first.”
“OK,” I said with my bottom lip stuck out and a pouty tone in my voice.
Zach’s sister moved closer to him and put her left hand on his right forearm and gently patted him, showing her support. “Maddy and I grew up in foster care. Our parents died when we were toddlers. I hated the family I was living with, so at fourteen I ran away, but Maddy stayed. She was only eleven, and I didn’t want to leave her, but what choice did I have? I couldn’t take care of her. I hitch-hiked my way to Los Angeles and lived on the streets, selling myself for money. Alexandra, you know I’m gay. Gay men party harder than anyone else in the world. There is a gay party event in a different state at least once a month. I met a very rich guy who took me in when I was only fifteen as his trophy. He bought me fine clothes and spirited me around the US to party after party. Most of the parties went on for two or three days at a time. I drank vodka and did every type of drug you could imagine. Eventually I got hooked on cocaine. I dumped the guy and came back to New Orleans to search for Maddy. Problem was, I was an addict. I needed money and I needed drugs, so I found a way to buy my drugs. I became a mule for drug cartels supplying the Dixie Mafia.”