by Nic Saint
“A penny for your thoughts?” said Kirt. Chris’s friend and associate was also stretched out in his chair, his feet up on the desk, and playing with a cigarette he might or might not light—he was trying to quit.
“What happened to crime?” said Chris exasperated. “Can it be that the moment I decided to set up shop, all criminals suddenly skipped town? And what about cheating husbands? Or stealing employees? Or spying competitors? Is it really possible that Bruges is the one place on earth where people live in perfect peace and harmony?”
“It is a pretty great place to live,” agreed Kirt, flinging his cigarette between his lips before snatching it away again. “So still no cases, huh?”
“Nada. Nothing. Bupkis. Zero. Naught. In other words,” Chris said with a long sigh, “we’re absolutely screwed.”
“You have to give it time, Chris,” was his friend’s sage advice. “No business takes off from the get-go. Give it six months. You can’t expect people suddenly to come running. After all, they don’t know us. We have to earn their trust.”
“But they do know us. We were born and raised here. I’m a Van Damme, for Christ’s sakes. My family practically built this town.”
“Then perhaps that’s the reason,” said Kirt. “The name Van Damme scares people off. They think you’ll go blabbing their most intimate secrets to your old man.”
Chris frowned. The thought had crossed his mind that the Van Damme name was more a curse than a blessing for a newly established private eye. Especially with his dad now running for mayor. What if he won? Who’d go to the mayor’s son to report a cheating husband or a pickpocketing son?
“I don’t know why they won’t come, Kirt,” he said finally, wearily raking his fingers through his thick mane of curly hair. “I just know that if we don’t get a case soon, we’ll be out of business before year’s end.”
“Don’t you have a nest egg?” said Kirt. “Never go into business without a nest egg. That’s what my old man always used to say.”
“You have one?”
“Nope,” said Kirt with a cheeky grin.
“And that’s another thing. I should never have let you talk me into allowing you to join me in this crazy scheme. It’s hard enough to make living as a PI all by myself, but now I’ve got another mouth to feed.”
“And a big one at that,” said Kirt amiably.
“You said it.”
Both friends stared at each other for a spell, then Kirt said, “You know, when push comes to shove and we’re both starving in the street, I’m sure we can get our old jobs back. Especially since your dad will be mayor soon, and head of the police. He’ll have to take us back.”
“That’s just it. I don’t want him to take me back, buddy, you know that.” He tapped his desk. “This is where I want to make my life now. Here is where it’s at. And I am going to make it work. Whatever it takes.”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” said Kirt. “We started down this road and we’ll keep on going till the very end, no matter what.” He narrowed his gaze. “So… Still hung up on Kate, then, huh?”
Chris looked up as if stung. “What has that got to do with anything?”
“Oh, I was just thinking, it’s not like Chris to go all moody and glum on me all of a sudden.”
“I told you, it’s the business—”
“We’ve been in business for months and practically haven’t seen a single client except for Queenie and a couple of others. Didn’t bother you last week. Didn’t bother you yesterday. Didn’t even bother you this morning. But ever since Kate what’s-her-name walked back into your life, you’ve been as cheery as a death row inmate who just found out the prison cook is sick and unable to prepare his last meal. And I can’t say I blame you, by the way. She’s stunningly gorgeous.”
“She is stunningly gorgeous,” agreed Chris, his eyes lighting up. Then he shook his head, and said, frowning, “Look. It doesn’t matter, Kirt. She dumped me, remember? So I’d appreciate it if you never mention her name again.”
Kirt held up his hands. “Fair enough. As long as you cheer up.”
Actually, Kirt was right. He hadn’t been able to keep his mind off Kate for a single moment since that morning. Just like the first time they met. At the time, he’d been a relatively happy policeman, though later he would realize his true life’s purpose lay in the private sector.
And then the chief of police had sent him across the Atlantic to represent the Bruges police force at an international police conference in New York and life had never been the same again. Before he knew what was happening, he’d fallen head over heels in love with that gorgeous, quirky, funny redhead whom he only knew by her first name. And what a lovely name it was. Kate.
A lovely name for the loveliest girl he’d ever met. Their meeting had begun innocently enough. Coincidence (or fate?) had found him seated next to her at the conference, and it hadn’t been long before they’d exchanged pleasantries and polite banter. He’d instantly felt a strong attraction, and when later that evening he’d seen her sitting alone in the bar of the hotel, he’d bought her a long-stemmed rose and had offered it, along with a drink.
Two lonely people in a strange part of the world. A drink at the bar. A late dinner. An after dinner walk in the moonlight. And before they knew what was happening, love had entered the fray, and they both felt as if they’d known each other all their lives. It’s a rare thing, love at first sight, and Chris had always dismissed it as something that didn’t really exist. Something that could never happen to him.
And then they’d kissed.
And it had happened to him.
For three glorious days, Chris was the happiest man alive.
And they’d made plans. Tentative plans, half joking, half serious, about their future together. About the detective agency they’d start, just like William Powell and Myrna Loy in the Thin Man movies, which they both were avid fans of. Or about the house they’d buy. About the kids they’d have. And of course, about where they’d live. America or Belgium? Or perhaps somewhere in between, on an island in the Atlantic? Or why not up in the clouds? Young love doesn’t bother with trivial practicalities like being separated by an entire ocean.
And then they’d made love for the first time, and it had been glorious. Not that he’d heard fireworks go off somewhere in the distance, but still. He’d never felt like that about any woman ever before, and had lain awake half the night simply watching her sleep. But then his father sent him a message in the middle of the night. Mom wasn’t well, and could he come home as soon as possible. If he wanted to see his mother one last time, he couldn’t wait for a morning flight.
He hadn’t wanted to wake her, and had written her a note explaining his departure, leaving her with his address, phone number and email, entreating her in so many words to get in touch with him.
And then she hadn’t.
She’d never called, or written, or given him any indication she was interested in his offer to pursue a relationship beyond the weekend they’d spent together. For days he’d waited for a sign of life from the American girl he’d fallen for, and when nothing came, it had pretty much broken his heart. Days had stretched into weeks and weeks into months, and finally he’d given up hope to ever hear from her again.
As Kirt had pointed out on more than one occasion, he could have easily found out her address by getting in touch with the organizers of the conference, and contacted her himself, but Chris figured if she didn’t care to respond to his note, it was clear that she wasn’t interested.
Furthermore, after his mother died, there had been so many things to take care of, that he really didn’t want to add pursuing a girl who obviously didn’t want to be pursued to his list of emotionally draining tasks.
What he had done was leave the force and set up shop for himself, just like they’d fantasized about. Only his partner in crime was not the beautiful girl he’d met in the States, but Kirt, his old high school buddy and partner.
“Why don’t you
go over there and talk to her?” said Kirt. “I’m sure there is a really simple explanation for why she never got in touch.”
“Didn’t you see the look on her face?” said Chris. “For some reason she hates me and never wants to see me again.”
“It just doesn’t make sense. You said you thought she loved you and now she hates you? Something must have happened. Some sort of misunderstanding. Or hey!”
Chris looked up. “What?”
“Perhaps she never got that note of yours and she just figured you dumped her?”
“Impossible,” said Chris. “I left it on the nightstand for her to find. She can’t not have found it.”
“Still. No harm in finding out.”
“I don’t need to find out,” said Chris stubbornly. “I don’t know what she’s doing here but I have no intention of coming near that woman ever again.”
“Well, I have,” said Kirt, studying his fingernails.
“You what?” said Chris, sitting up.
“Well, not Kate, obviously,” said Kirt. “But I did get a message from Lauren that she would like to meet, so I’m bound to run into her friend.”
“Quick work,” said Chris admiringly.
“Want me to give Kate a message?” said Kirt. “I’m meeting Lauren tomorrow for drinks.”
Chris held up his hand. “Please. If you could find it in your heart never to mention the name ‘Kate’ ever again, do so, buddy.”
Kirt sighed an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, all right. Have it your way.”
Just then, Chris’s cell vibrated in his pocket. Picking it out, he saw that it was his father. He rolled his eyes at Kirt. “The old man,” he groaned. “Yes, dad,” he said, answering the phone. “What’s up?”
“Son, I have a job for you,” his father’s voice hooted in his ear. “A real job for a real ace. Mind if I pop in?”
Chapter Nine
Five minutes later, the offices of Van Damme Security (& Co) saw the addition of a tubby little man, sporting an impressive mustache and beetling brow, which gave him a perpetual scowl.
“Son. Kirt.”
“Dad.”
“Mr. Van Damme.”
Introductory pleasantries thus suspended with, Jacques Van Damme came straight to the point, as was his custom. “Son, I need you to retrieve some potentially damaging pictures for me. And I’ll pay you top euro if you can give this your immediate attention. If possible, drop all your other cases.”
“Pictures, dad?” said Chris a little wearily. “Again?”
It wasn’t the first time Van Damme Sr. had allowed himself to be photographed in a compromising position, and as a public figure this was never a good idea. Somehow, Chris’s dad had always managed to get away with it, but this time, apparently, something more serious was going on.
For even though Jacques Van Damme was a widower, and people have a tendency to forgive a man who just suffered a great loss just about anything, there is a limit to the number of questionable women a politician can become involved with before people will turn their back—and voting ballots—on him.
“Who is she?”
Jacques glared at Kirt for a brief moment, rightly or wrongly considering Chris’s longtime friend an intruder into this private conversation between father and son.
Kirt, one of those men who don’t take a hint, stared back placidly without moving an inch, and finally Jacques relented and sank onto the IKEA sleeping couch that doubled as office furniture.
“Jeanie Geyser,” Jacques said. “She’s an actress.”
“Not the Jeanie Geyser,” said Kirt with a guffaw.
Once again, he received a penetrating scowl from Jacques, and once again, didn’t budge.
“Who?” said Chris, who hadn’t really been paying attention to what the entertainment industry had to offer these days.
“She’s the lead on Life in the Fast Lane, some trashy reality show,” explained Kirt. “Pretty racy stuff.”
“It’s not trashy at all,” said Jacques, stung to the quick. “Not the least bit trashy,” he repeated. “And Miss Geyser is the highlight of the whole thing. A lovely creature. Quite lovely.”
“So you got involved with this woman and now she’s blackmailing you, is that it?” said Chris. He just wished his mother were still alive. With her around, this would never have happened.
A pained expression came into Jacques’s eyes. “You’re getting it all wrong, son. Jeanie would never stoop to such lows. She’s a kindhearted, sweet little soul. No, it’s that rat Gnat again. How he got a hold of the snapshots I don’t know, but I’ve seen one and it’s the real deal.” He winced. “Nudity and all.”
“How much?”
Jacques’s eyes flitted to Kirt, then he said in a low voice, “A lot.”
Chris grimaced at the picture this confession evoked. “I didn’t mean how much flesh, dad. I meant how much money does this Gnat guy want.”
“A hundred grand. For starters.”
Chris and Kirt whistled simultaneously, and the sound seemed to grate on Jacques’s sensitive soul. “I know, I know! Now if you could please stop imitating a cuckoo and listen for a moment.” He leaned forward, his beetling brow working furiously. “I want you to destroy those pictures for me. I really can’t afford a scandal right now, with the elections coming up. I’m sure those pictures will find their way to publication, even if I pay.”
“You think so? Why?”
“Gnat works for my opponent.”
“Mayor Peeters?”
“Sure. Everybody knows he’s got the Chronicle in his pocket. He’s the one behind this attempt to destroy my reputation. This is his way of beating me.” He shook his fist militantly. “But I won’t let him! By golly, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to win this election and establish a Van Damme on the Bruges throne once again if it kills me! Just like in the good old days!”
Chris and Kirt exchanged a knowing glance. The ‘good old days’ were not such a distant memory that they were beyond the two young men’s recollection. Probably all of Bruges distinctly remembered the days Jacques Van Damme had ruled with iron fist—at least when that fist hadn’t been clasped firmly around a jug of beer or a bottle of Glenfiddich.
Ever since the day he’d fallen from City Hall’s second floor balcony onto the hardwood floor below, and been fortunate enough that Wallace Pruym, the city secretary, was there to break the fall, things had gone from bad to worse with Bruges’s former First Citizen. Most notably the fact that he’d been two sheets to the wind on the night of his dramatic fall from grace, and that poor Mr. Pruym had been out of circulation for two whole months, had prompted him to be ousted from office and replaced by his first Alderman until the next election, which had seen a landslide victory for challenger Piet Peeters.
After Chris’s mother had staged an intervention, though, and managed to heave Jacques back onto the wagon, he’d had a remarkable change of heart concerning his former favorite pastime and was now a rabid anti-alcoholic and proud member of the local AA, as was, oddly enough, Piet Peeters.
Jacques directed a pleading look at his eldest. “Chris, please, help me retrieve those pictures? If they get out it’ll be the end of me. You of all people should know how hard I’ve worked for this nomination. If I screw up this time, there won’t be another comeback. I’ll have ruined my final chance to make good on my promise to your mother that I’d change my life around.”
“You have an odd way of showing it, dad,” grumbled Chris.
“Huh?”
“I don’t think fooling around with trashy women was mom’s idea of getting your life back on track.”
“She’s not trashy,” began Jacques, then thought better of it, and was decent enough to look remorseful for a change. Wringing his hands, he said, “Please, son. Do me this one favor. For your mother’s sake? She would have wanted to see me back in City Hall, don’t you think?”
Well, at least that much was true. Chris’s mother had worked hard to help put her husband in
City Hall and would have loved to see him beat the alcohol demon and rise to his former glory once again.
Chris looked over to his partner, and when the latter gave him the nod, he said, “All right. We’ll take the job. Now tell me, where can we find this Gnat character and where, do you think, does he keep his pictures?”
Chapter Ten
Springtime was about to give way to summertime, but the night was still chilly when Kate and Lauren stepped out. Even though her father had insisted she leave well enough alone, and not get involved in the sordid business of the blackmail affair he’d gotten entangled in, the two women had decided to have a stab at getting those pictures back for him.
It was the least they could do for the dear old man, they felt. And, Kate had reasoned, she hadn’t traveled four thousand miles to be reunited with her father only to see his career go down in flames.
Even though neither she nor Lauren were professional burglars, they were both cops, and in that capacity not unfamiliar with the art of breaking and entering into other people’s premises. Especially Lauren, who’d once followed a locksmith course and had managed to find all the tools they needed at a local locksmith’s shop that afternoon.
Queenie had been so kind as to lend them a pair of bicycles, according to her the ideal vehicle for getting around Bruges, and the two women now pedaled merrily along a cobblestone street lining an old canal, street lamps casting their diffuse light over the fairytale town.
As they crossed a picturesque bridge, Kate watched a young couple take a stroll around the block, pushing a pram. She remembered the house she and Franklin shared, back in Ohio. Franklin had made his home in a suburb of Columbus, and his house had now also become her new home.
This time next month, she’d be Mrs. Franklin Drub, and perhaps in a year or so, if all went well, the first little Drub would be born.
For some reason, the prospect suddenly didn’t hold all that much appeal to her. Imagining herself spending the rest of her life in that neighborhood, raising the Drub offspring, all the while making sure her hubby’s pants were pressed, his dinner ready at six and the house cozy and clean… She shook her head to rid herself from the impending sense of dread the picture instilled in her.