Detour Paris: Complete Series (Detour Paris Series Book 4)

by Dancer, Jack

  "But you think this Drusilla Libica is responsible for Paulo's death?"

  "Yes, we think during the operation on the train something went awry, which caused Paulo to fall into your compartment."

  "And that's why Libica was so quick to show up and take over the scene?"

  "Precisely."

  "But why? If the Raven's advantage has been anonymity, all this time, and Libica is the Raven, why would she risk revealing herself? I mean, why would she involve herself directly with Paulo? Why wouldn't she have someone else do it, members of her guerrilla army or even her sons? They appeared perfectly capable."

  "The reason she involved herself directly is because the bait was too valuable for her to risk leaving the job to someone else."

  "The bait being Paulo."

  "The bait being what Paulo was carrying on his person,” Rakim says.

  "I see." Bingo.

  A moment passes in silence, and it dawns on me we're the only table occupied in Claude's Bar. There were three or four others when I arrived, but they've since emptied. And come to think of it, there were people coming through the door Claude had, strangely enough, turned away. He'd even closed the door and pulled the shades. Why has all this only just now dawned on me? Maybe because I'm not a real detective, just a pretend one? Maybe I'm out of my league here. I think I've screwed up. Shit.

  "So, Rakim?” I ask.

  "Yes, Tucker?”

  Uh oh, change noted. No more Mister Blue, señor or monsieur? No more deference to seniority now that the badges of authority have come out? Maybe the wince I thought I noticed earlier wasn't a wince.

  "What is it you want from me?” I ask sitting up a little straighter, a little bolder.

  "What makes you think we want anything from you, Tucker? You approached us.”

  "Yes, I do remember. But now, I'm not so sure. On hindsight, I'm thinking maybe you recognized me at the funeral, knew I could overhear you fellows talking and dropped a little bait so I'd come here, to Claude's. Normally, I'm not the suspicious type, but I've noticed Claude has already closed up, which seems an odd thing to do in the middle of lunchtime. Did he do that so we could talk privately?"

  "You are very observant."

  "Am I in trouble here, Rakim?"

  “No, I don't think so, Tucker. What I'm thinking is we may have an opportunity to help each other.”

  “Really? How?”

  “We want the Raven, Tucker, and I think you might be in possession of the prize she's seeking.”

  “And what makes you think that?”

  “Because you said you're missing two women from your group, and that's what the Raven does, she kidnaps.”

  “Would this be the Spanish Prisoner scam?” I say remembering the in-flight movie.

  “Precisely. But, the other thing, perhaps even more telling, is that she sent her sons to Barcelona to find you.”

  “Okay, I see where you're coming from, but what if I'm not in possession of this prize she so desperately wants she'll risk exposing herself?”

  “Tucker, whether or not you're in possession of the bait Paulo carried, she must think you are.”

  “And if I am?”

  “Then you should know; it's a fake, a good fake but a fake nonetheless, and therefore, of no actual value.”

  Shit.

  “But, there's perceived value,” I say.

  “As perceived by the Raven, yes.”

  “Okay, so how are you going to help me?” I ask.

  “I'm thinking maybe we could . . . how do you say, kill two birds . . .?”

  “With one stone,” I finish.

  “Precisely. I'm thinking maybe in the course of capturing the Raven we might also be able to win the release of the two women you say have been kidnapped. And may I ask, how is it you know they've been kidnapped?”

  “I've received a demand for ransom.”

  “I see,” Rakim says pondering the idea. "The woman you were traveling with on the train, she is one of these kidnapped women?”

  “Actually, no. But, I believe she was the target, only the operation misfired, and they ended up with the two other women she happened to be with at the time.” I went on to explain what had happened in the limo, Monica jumping out, and all.

  “I see,” Rakim again says, pondering.

  Enric jumps in, "Tucker, if I may ask, there is something I don't understand. You say two women from your party. I was under the impression you were traveling with one woman. Are you saying you, and she are traveling with a group of people?”

  “Sorry, no Enric. Let me try to clear that up, and I went on to explain the whole companion-pass-flying-training-through-France-detour story and how Monica and I ended up together.

  “So you see, the 'party' I'm referring to is actually the flight crew,” I say wrapping up.

  “Sacrebleu! Tucker Blue, ets el semental!” exclaims Cesc with exaggerated admiration, the others joining in raising their glasses to me.

  I turn to Enric in confusion and say, "I think I've heard that before."

  “He says you are the stallion.”

  “Oh, Christ,” I say.

  “Do not take it the wrong way, Tucker. In France, Spain and especially Catalonia, it is a compliment,” says Enric with an ear-to-ear smile.

  I add my raised glass in mock toast to my stallionosity too. What'd I say before? Guys are admired for their studliness.

  While our little mutual admiration society seems to be coming together pretty well, I can't stop thinking about Rakim's comment about the prize being a fake. What I'm thinking is: Why would he say anything else? I mean, it doesn't seem it would be in their best interest to confirm it's the real deal as long as it's in my possession. What if he's just saying it's a fake so when it does come time, I'll have no reason not to hand it over to them to bait Libica again?

  There's still two facts operating that says the ticket is real: The sales receipt verifying authenticity and if what they say is true - Libica being the lottery scam queen they say she is - I would think it highly unlikely she'd fall for her own scam. Risking her greatest asset - her anonymity? I don't think so. Even her sons; would she send them down to Barcelona pretending to be cops and even interviewing guests in the hotel like Randy if she wasn't sure the ticket's the real McCoy? I doubt that too.

  Then there's also the possibility this whole story of Rakim's - being part of the task force and all - is just a ruse to get me to cough up the ticket. For that matter, Rakim and his buddies could be working for Libica. They've already admitted they baited me to Claude's Bar. Wouldn't it make even more sense that they're somehow the ones responsible for getting me up here in the first place? It could've easily been a Libica backup plan in case the cop ruse with her sons failed.

  But, how would they have pulled that off when it was my idea? Or, was it my idea? I rack my brain trying to recall the events. Then the words ring out all over again,

  "Hey buster; this was my idea.”

  Monica.

  thirty-eight

  Friday, 5 September.

  Claude's Bar, Perpignan, France.

  I need to know, and I need to know now and there's only one way to find out. It's not foolproof, but it'll have to do, so I turn to Rakim.

  “Rakim, so far we've come to an agreement that we could help each other - that is, I could help you to capture the Raven and at the same time, you and your team (I acknowledge the others), can help me to locate and free the two kidnapped women. Exactly, how we accomplish that is yet to be determined but that's where we stand at the moment, would that be accurate?”

  “Yes, Tucker.”

  “Okay. Then I'd like to propose that we both, right now, make a show of good faith.”

  “And how exactly are we to do this?”

  “I'd like from you a copy of the photos you took on the train along with your promise as a gentleman that you'll not release those photos to anyone, anywhere, at any time. I understand you need photos of Libica, and I have no problem with that. It'
s the other persons included in those photos I want you to promise never to release. I'm sure you understand why I'm asking this of you.”

  “Of course, Tucker. I understand perfectly, but what is it you will be offering in return to demonstrate your show of good faith?”

  “I'll give you two things, actually three. I'll give you Libica's home address and cell phone number . . .”

  A gasp of surprise goes up from everyone at the table, except Rakim.

  “And the third,” Rakim asks unimpressed.

  “Her two sons.”

  “Tiber and Drusus?” Enric asks.

  “Yes.”

  “And how exactly are you going to give us Tiber and Drusus?” Rakim asks.

  “I'm going to give you photographs of them.”

  “We don't need photographs of them, Tucker. We already know what they look like.”

  “Yes, but you don't know what they look like now.”

  “Their appearance has changed?”

  “Considerably.”

  “In what way?”

  “You'll have to see for yourself. It's difficult to describe,” I say.

  “So, you have only photographs of them? You do not have them in person too, right?”

  “The photos I'll give you, I'm sure, will answer your question to satisfaction.”

  “Okay, so how do you propose we make this trade here and now?”

  “I'll give you my cell phone number, and you can send the train photos to me attached to a text message. Do you have the photos on your phone?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I pull out my notebook and using my Stealth Pen, scribble down my cell phone number and tear off a blank sheet and lay both and my pen on the table in front of him. While I'm at it, I rotate the Stealth Pen in a 360 and take photos of everyone at the table. You never know.

  “Here's my cell phone number. Write down yours and we'll get everything set, then we'll each press our send button simultaneously.”

  “Tucker, you are quite the sleuth. Are you a cop?”

  “No, I just watch television sometimes.”

  “Well, I'm impressed.”

  “But, are you in agreement to do this?” I ask hopefully.

  “Yes, Tucker. I think your request is a fair one.”

  “Good. Let's go then because I really need to start heading back to Barcelona.”

  We both put our heads down and create text messages and make the attachments. When we're finished, I say, "Okay, I have one text message that includes Libica's address and cell phone number and two photos of the boys attached.”

  He says, "And I have one blank text message with three photos attached.”

  We hold our cell phones up.

  “On the count of three we send. One, two, three.”

  After a minute or so passes his cell beeps announcing the incoming text message. He opens the message and reads, and his mouth drops open with the first photo.

  “Santa Mare de Déu!” he says.

  Now my cell beeps with an incoming message. I open it and start with the first photo, then the rest. Something's missing in all three but I'll wait to bring it up because I know Rakim's dying to hear me object and I'm not going to give him the satisfaction right now so I ignore him.

  Holy shit, I'm thinking. No way I'm showing these to Monica. She'll have a cardiac. Hey, I don't look so bad after all.

  “I tots els sants,” I hear Rakim say.

  As Rakim passes his phone around for the others to see I carefully study each man's reaction. They're all the same - confusion, followed by astonishment, then hysterical laughter. These guys are eating it up.

  Bingo, I'm thinking; they’re the good guys.

  They passed my test, which was simple: If they were Libica's men, they'd respond to the photos with disgust, fear, and anger, but they didn't. To a man, they thought the photos were disgusting but hysterical. They loved seeing Tiber and Drusus's humiliation. A sick group this is, but I'm glad for it. It might not be one hundred percent proof these guys are not Libica's men, but I'm betting they are who they say they are. Sure hope I'm right.

  When Rakim's phone completed its way around the table and returns, he dials in a number. He starts rattling off instructions in Catalan, including Libica's home address. I figure he's telling them to do a drive by of the house. He ends the call.

  “Tucker, where did you get this address and phone number?” Cesc asks.

  “State secret,” I say. Not a good answer I can see. "Just kidding Cesc. It was Tiber and Drusus who gave it up.”

  That sparked a round of Catalan from everyone.

  “And, Tucker, how do you know the information is accurate?” asks Guillem.

  “I don't for sure. But, when they were told the photos would otherwise be sent to their mother; they offered all sorts of information up pretty quickly,” I lied.

  That sparked another round of even more excited Catalan.

  “You know, Tucker,” says Enric, "if the Raven sees these photos it'll probably mean death sentences."

  “Whose?” I ask.

  “Well, first of all, whoever is responsible - yours, I would guess.”

  “And second?” I ask reluctantly.

  “Theirs.”

  “You mean Tiber and Drusus?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would she want to kill her own sons?” I ask.

  “Because they are now tainted,” Rakim says.

  “I don't understand.”

  “By making them look like such fools, Tucker; you've made her look like an even greater fool, and she cannot afford that. She rules over a large organization of criminals of the most violent natures, and if they were to see what has happened to her sons it will be a sure sign of her own weakness. She couldn't protect them. You see, Tucker; the Raven rules by the power of fear. These photos prove her power is limited. That she cannot protect even her sons." Enric says.

  “And you know what happens when animals smell weakness, Tucker?” says Cesc.

  “They kill them, mercy killing,” answered Guillem.

  “Holy shit, I didn't think of that. Mercy killing. That's cold,” I repeat.

  “That is because you do not live in her jungle, Tucker,” says Rakim.

  “Guess not,” I say stunned, remembering Dick had already sent the photos to Libica.

  Holy shit, I've killed them; I'm thinking. They're just kids. Then it dawns on me; they're not dead, not yet at least. Dick still has them; I hope. The son of a bitch better have 'em. This could work in our favor. If these boys know they can never go back because they're on their own mother's hit list; hell, we can squeeze 'em for all they know. There, I feel better already.

  Glancing at my watch, "Oops, guys, I gotta run,” standing up. "If I'm not back in Barcelona soon everybody'll take me for kidnapped.”

  “Oh, yes, Tucker, I meant to ask you about that - the ransom for the two women? I assume it was for the thing we know the Raven seeks the most, right?” Rakim asks.

  “As a matter of fact, no. They want cash.” Rakim's face falls.

  “I do not understand,” he says.

  “I know it’s got me stumped too. Doesn't make sense does it?”

  “Not if the Raven has them, no. Did you go to the police about any of this?”

  “Yes, and it was a waste of time. They said this sort of thing happens all the time - you know, the Spanish Prisoner scam and all. What really stunned me was how they just disregarded the ransom note outright, because it was an email sent by my girlfriend - not Monica, but my original girl friend, Ebba,” I lied, "one of the two kidnapped victims. The police said because the ransom letter came from the kidnapped, instead of the kidnappers, it wasn't really a ransom letter. One cannot kidnap and ransom one's self off.”

  Hearing myself say this out loud is a tad disturbing. I notice subtle nods of agreement all around. Uh oh.

  "They actually thought the whole thing was a pretty stupid scam and thought we were gullible falling for it,” I say, and hea
ring myself I almost believe it. “When they saw we weren't going to buy into this line of thinking they blew us off saying, the women were adults and were allowed to be missing all they wanted, and even so, they hadn't been missing long enough to make a dif . . ."

  Now I'm losing 'em.

  "Bottom-line is: The police were too busy getting ready for the million person march next week to give us the time. And, now that I'm saying all this out loud, it does sound like a pretty ludicrous story doesn't it? Someone kidnapping and ransoming themselves off.”

  “I had the same thought,” says Rakim.

  God, I hope I didn't shoot all my credibility to hell with these guys. They've got to be having second thoughts about me now. If this is Ebba's doing, joke or not, I'm going to kill her.

  “Rakim, I really gotta run. You've got my cell number, my email. I've got yours. We need to touch base by Monday, anyhow, don't you think? We're supposed to be flying back to the States at the end of next week, whether that happens or not, who knows, but by Monday, I should have some ideas on how we might bring Libica, I mean the Raven, to the surface, maybe before.

  "What I'm thinking is putting her out for public display, show her for what she really is and destroy her that way. Maybe use the independence march to put her evil face in front of a lot of people who count. At least, that's what I've been thinking. I was going to Photoshop her face out of your train photos to take the most important thing from her - her anonymity. But it appears from what you've given me, you've already Photoshopped the woman out so I guess I'll have to use my own photos," I say knowing this guy is not going to give me anything and he's most likely passed the photos of me and Monica around to his buddies for laughs.

  "You have photos of the Raven, Señor Blue?" asks Enric.

  "Yes, I have photos of everyone in the train compartment that day, including those who were standing outside peering in," I say smiling at Rakim as the shit eating grin falls from his face. I don't trust this guy for shit now and I get the distinct feeling he's a rogue player here.

  I shake everyone's hands all around and tell 'em thanks and give 'em each a buddy pat on the back. Gotta keep the camaraderie fired up.