* * * * *
By the time they finished the meal the daylight through the window had turned amber from the streetlamp.
Cameron paid the bill and his companions went to freshen up.
The meal had given them new vigor and when they walked out into the warm air the three felt at ease for the first time since New York. Along the sidewalk they passed others strolling leisurely on their way to dinner, clubs, and the late night shops of the avenue. Cameron and the two women beside him easily blended as denizens of Montreal.
They walked a few short blocks and then stopped in front of the last building on the block, a small solitary building that sat near a corner, surrounded by a parking lot.
“This is the place,” said Marie.
Cameron lifted his eyes to the blue neon sign above the door. The sign portrayed a blue mermaid, her tail flashing intermittently to the left then to the right. Next to the mermaid, in fancy stylized script were the words, La Sirène Bleue.
“The Blue Mermaid,” said Cameron. ‘Live Jazz Tonite, featuring Glenda Johnson’ was scrawled on a chalkboard in the lower corner of the window. “This ought to be interesting,” said Cameron. He opened the glass door and the three entered the club.
On the other side of the vestibule, a large black man in a turtleneck and dark sport coat spread open a beaded curtain with one meaty hand and waived them through with the other.
The sparsely crowded La Sirène Bleue had been decorated in the fifties or sixties. Patina and shadows accented the brown wood and brass detailing the room. The namesake, a topless mermaid with a blue tail, orange hair, and perky smile, was depicted on a mural that ran the length of the sidewall. The blue mermaid rested on a rock outcropping surrounded by a turbulent seascape. A martini glass in her hand held an obligatory olive compliment.
On the other side of the room huge aquariums, their algae crusted backs painted cerulean blue, sat above the shelves of liquor on the wall behind a long bar. The aquariums may have held salt-water fish at one time, now old oversized cichlids, mostly blood bellied Oscars, inhabited them.
In the back of the room a double bass, baby grand, and small drum kit were being put to use by three leathery faced musicians. The bass player sported a goatee that ran pencil thin on the sides and a tall porkpie hat high on his forehead. His elongated face paralleled the neck of the double bass he was gently plucking. The piano player and drummer each moved in slow time to the lament of the torch song crooned by the beautiful caramel colored mezzo-soprano.
Glenda Johnson stood in low blue light on a small corner stage. Her song of love and lovers was sweet and slow and Glenda sang the ballad deeply. Like the trio playing with her, Glenda performed with her eyes closed. Her head tilted slightly to the side as she sang, a passionate appeal that true love is unstoppable.
Cameron could not help being mesmerized. He did not immediately notice the woman in the blue cocktail dress and menu cards in her hand, sidled next to them. When he did, she gestured Cameron and the women to follow her. The woman led them to a small round table near the stage, and placed the menu cards on the table when they sat.
“Trois vins rouges, s'il vous plait,” said Cameron.
“Oui, un instant,” said the woman in the blue dress.
The three quietly listened to the performance as the woman went to get the drinks from the bartender. She quickly returned with wine and a small crystal bowl of assorted nuts.
When the song finished the audience applauded and only then did Glenda open her eyes. She nodded her head to the crowd, if as sparse a group could be called a crowd, and placed her hands together, graciously thanking the room.
The bass player took a long draw from a rock glass, and then, refueled, began a driving rhythm. The piano player and drummer bobbed their heads in time and launched into an upbeat standard. Glenda looked over to the band with a full open smile, said something Cameron did not make out, and then turned back to the microphone and belted out the verse.
Glenda engaged the room and at one point in the song, locked eyes with Marie. Cameron sensed a recognition that was confirmed when the singer’s eyes trailed to Nicole, in a brief gesture Glenda lowered her head to the young woman.
The light shined in Marie’s eyes. Her hand lightly tapped the table in time with the bass.
“Glenda, we’re here to meet Glenda Johnson?” asked Cameron. Marie nodded.
* * * * *
Chapter 11
Montreal
Cameron felt relief, maybe because they had arrived at their destination, maybe because of the wine, perhaps both. He eased back in his chair and lifted his glass. When Glenda’s eyes met their table again, Cameron tilted his glass toward her, and she responded with a smile.
When Glenda finished the song the room applauded again and she excused herself from the stage. She stepped over to the musicians, said something, and then joined the three at the table. Marie stood and the two embraced tightly.
“Mon ami, tant de temps,” said Glenda. The two traded kisses on each cheek.
“It has been too long,” said Marie, holding Glenda close to her.
When the two let go, they stepped far enough away from each other to trade an inspection. “Si belle,” said Glenda.
“Et vous,” said Marie. She gestured toward the table, “Glenda, you remember Nicole.”
“Of course, what a lovely woman you have become.”
“Merci,” said Nicole.
“And this is Mister Kincaid.”
Cameron stood and held out his hand. Glenda placed her hand on his.
“How do you do Monsieur?”
“I’m well, thank you. Your singing is lovely.”
“Merci, I am glad you enjoyed it.”
Glenda’s brow furrowed, very slightly, subtly. “Mister Kincaid, are you a good man?”
“Excuse me?” asked Cameron, unsure what Glenda meant.
“She is asking if you are one of us,” Marie said to Cameron, and then turned back to Glenda, “No, he is not. But he has gone out of his way to help us.”
Glenda’s face lost expression.
“He can be trusted,” said Nicole. With that, the smile returned to Glenda’s face and she gestured Cameron to return to his seat.
“After you,” said Cameron.
All were seated, Glenda taking the seat between Marie and Cameron.
“I am sorry Mister Kincaid. It seems I, we all, owe you a debt. In these times it is hard to know who to trust.”
“I understand,” said Cameron.
Glenda placed her hand on Cameron’s and gazed into his eyes.
“Glenda and I grew up together,” said Marie.
“Really,” said Cameron.
“Yes,” said Glenda, “hard to believe that so many years have passed.” She looked across the table at Nicole, “The Perfect will be glad to see you.”
“Is she near?” asked Marie.
“She is not. The Rex Mundi has been close, too close. It was not safe for her here any longer. I know you have had some trials of your own, but it is not safe for you either.” Glenda raised her head and scanned the room. “They watch us even now.”
Cameron faced the length of the room from his side of the table. He could see two men in leather jackets at the bar, conversing amongst themselves, and stealing glances between Glenda and the table. Under the mural, a man and a woman shared an iced bottle of champagne from a bucket next to their table. They too traded glances at the table. He had not thought about anyone in the club being an assassin before Glenda said they were being watched. Now every patron looked suspect.
“Who is it?” asked Cameron.
“Any of them, all of them. Hard to know,” said Glenda.
As Glenda and Marie talked amongst themselves, Cameron continued to size up the patrons. When his eyes got back to the large man at the door, three men entered the club. The three men were young, their hair close to their scalps and all were leather clad. The leather jackets were not out of the ordinary, many of the men Cameron
had seen on the streets of Montreal as well as a few here in La Sirène Bleue sported them. Dark leather jackets were always in fashion in northern cities. Something about these three men stood out to Cameron, made them different than the others around them. Their grooming, trained physique, the way they postured at the door, three together, not one with his back to the room. These men were military, that Cameron was sure of. Two of the three conversed with the doorman, while the third, the tallest of the three, scanned the room, ultimately locking eyes on Glenda. The tall man placed his hand on the shoulder of the man standing next to him and whispered into his ear. This one then looked to the length of the room, passed the table where the four were sitting, and then back to the tall man and nodded his head and began to walk toward the table.
Cameron was sure something was up. He leaned into the table to casually slide a hand beneath so that he could secure the P226 tucked into his waist.
“Excuse me,” Cameron interrupted Marie and Glenda, “this guy coming up behind you and his buddies at the door don’t settle right with me.”
Glenda did not turn toward the door. She looked passed Cameron to the bass player. The player acknowledged Glenda’s concern with a nod. “It seems Tom agrees with you Mister Kincaid,” said Glenda.
As the young man approached the table Cameron’s hand tightened on the P226 grips. The young man walked past without a glance down to the table or anyone sitting at its side.
“He is going to the men’s WC,” said Marie.
At the edge of Cameron’s peripheral he saw that was so. Marie turned around to look at the two men standing sentry at the front door. “They are only waiting for their friend,” said Marie. “They will be leaving soon.”
Cameron wanted to believe Marie. Though the two at the door no longer scanned the room something was still not right with them. Cameron knew he was correct that they were military, that was not what stuck out though. What bothered Cameron was the way they stood. The music the Jazz trio played was infectious with a solid backbeat and everyone in the club was bobbing their head, tapping their fingers or feet, or all of the above. Not the two at the door. They stood poised. Only one other person in the club was still, set for recoil, unaffected by the music, and that was Cameron himself.
A moment later, the young man exited the men’s room and walked back by the table as he had the first time, without a glance to any of the four. Cameron gripped the P226 firmly. When the man got back to the front door where the other two were waiting, all three left the club.
Marie watched the door close behind the last. “You see,” said Marie, “only using the WC.”
Cameron was still unsure about the three and Glenda confirmed his suspicion, “They have been here before.”
“That was a sweep,” said Cameron. “They were casing the room. They’ll come back and when they do they’ll mean business.”
“Mister Kincaid is right. It will not be safe to leave through the front. Come,” Glenda stood, “follow me to the back. You can leave that way.”
The three followed Glenda through a door behind the stage to a small musty back room used for storage. Cases of liquor lined one wall and a large metal washtub with a mop set inside was on the other. Cameron decided the musty smell was coming from the mop. At the back of the room was metal door.
Glenda reached behind a box of candles on a low shelf and brought out a black handbag. She removed an envelope, “Take this,” Glenda said to Marie. “The Perfect is in Toronto. The address is here along with some cash.”
Glenda took hold of Marie again and the two held each other in another tight embrace.
“When this is over I will be back to see you, Mon ami,” said Marie.
“It will be like the old days,” said Glenda. She then hugged Nicole, wished her well, and lastly turned to Cameron and took his hand between both of hers. “Please be safe Mister Kincaid. We all thank you for this.”
Cameron did not know what to say. He had thought his journey over until a few moments before. “I will,” was all Cameron said.
Glenda unlocked the metal door.
“Au Revoir,” said Glenda, and closed the door behind the three as they stepped out into the night.
* * * * *
Chapter 12
Montreal
“We should move quickly,” said Cameron. He led Marie and Nicole into the parking lot behind La Sirène Bleue. “We can go back to the hotel and plan our next steps from there.”
From a tall pole, two halide lamps rained down on the almost vacant lot. Cameron peered into the far shadowy corners. He saw no signs of life. If the three young men were waiting for them, they were on the main street in front of the club.
“This way,” said Cameron. He lifted his hand toward the side street that ran along parking lot. “We can circle around the block.”
The three passed the few cars in the rear of the parking lot and were stepping onto the sidewalk when a concussion lifted them into the air and thrust them forward. For a split second, thunder surrounded them and then silence. Bright yellow light flooded the dark side street. Cameron scrambled to find and shield the two bodies on the curb. Nicole squeezed her head between her hands, her eyes pinched closed. Marie was yelling something at Nicole that Cameron could not immediately make out. A ringing came into his ears and he began to hear Marie’s pleas, at first muted then, as quickly as sound had escaped him, he could here what she was yelling, “Nicole! Are you ok? Are you ok?”
Cameron brought himself up to his knees and ran his eyes across each of the women, head to toe. They were ok. The corner of the building had shielded them from the worst of the blast.
Marie wrapped her arms around Nicole. “Nicole, ouvrez vos yeux, ouvrez vos yeux! Open your eyes, let me see you!”
Nicole did open her eyes, leaving her hands on the sides of her head. “What happened?” asked Nicole, “Everything was so loud, then no sound.”
Cameron helped them to their feet, “It was the club,” he gestured back. “They blew up the club.”
Marie now realized for the first time that La Sirène Bleue was in flames. She put her hand on Cameron’s shoulder to push him aside, “Glenda. We have to go back.” Cameron put his arms around her and held her, shielding her from the fate of her friend. She pushed at his chest with her forearms, “We have to go, she needs our help.”
“There is nothing we can do,” said Cameron. “We have to get out of here.”
Nicole was composed. She took Marie by the shoulders and pulled her back toward her. “Mister Kincaid is right. She has gone to the next life. We must go.”
Marie pulled her arms from Cameron’s chest and pressed her wrists against her forehead. “You are right,” said Marie. Her tone lowered, her hysteria passed. “We must go.”
Cameron turned back to view the burning building. Two more smaller explosions murmured from within the club, the second causing a tall flume to shoot out above.
“I don’t see anybody. They must think we were in the club. Let’s go now before they start snooping around.”
* * * * *
Chapter 13
Montreal
“Are you back in the city?” asked Claude.
“I am in a city alright but not New York,” said Cameron.
“Oh, you are still in Boston.”
“Actually, I left Boston, and my Mercedes this morning.”
“So where are you?”
“Would you believe I’m walking the streets of Montreal?”
“I love Montreal. What the hell are you doing there?”
“The hits just keep on coming. After I talked to you in this morning in Boston…”
Claude had answered the phone expecting Cameron to tell him he had returned to New York. Cameron explained to him that was far from the case. As Cameron led the women along the side streets toward the hotel he briefed Claude about the skinny tie-dyed man, the car chase across the Zakim Bridge, the bus ride to Montreal, and then finally the fate of Glenda and La Sirène Bleue. T
hen, as Marie and Nicole whispered prayers by his side, Cameron told Claude what he knew about what he had been drawn into.
After hearing Cameron’s account of the day’s adventure, Claude was momentarily silent. Then Claude asked, “All of that since we spoke this morning?”
“I tell you, what happened here was exactly like what happened to us in Tangier ten years ago,” said Cameron.
“I don’t like the sound of this Rex Mundi, and I think you are right, it all sounds too familiar. This all adds up to only bad news,” said Claude.
“I’m sure you’re right, but I gave Marie and Nicole my word that I would get them to safety. I need to see this through to the end, whatever that means.”
“It might mean your end my friend. My advice to you is to tread lightly.” Cameron heard Claude sigh, and then Claude continued, “Can I help you? Would you like me to come to Montreal?”
“Thanks Claude, you don’t need to come up here. I need you to keep things together until I get back.”
“Of course.”
“There is one thing you can do though,” said Cameron.
“I will call him,” said Claude, “as soon as I am off the phone with you.”
“Ha, ha. You don’t miss a trick.”
Claude knew that Cameron needed Pepe, a friend from their time together in the Legion. Pepe lived in Montreal and Claude could easily find most anyone he and Cameron had served with.
“Find a safe place to wait for the call,” said Claude.
“Thanks Claude. I’ll hang tight until then.”
Cameron finished the call and then looked at the battery indicator on his phone. The Mercedes charged the cell phone’s battery when the phone was plugged into the car. Cameron did not have another way to charge the phone, and now a day out, the battery was already half gone. Cameron decided he would wait for the call from Pepe and then go silent, using the phone sparingly until he needed to reach out again.
The Cathari Treasure (Cameron Kincaid) Page 5