by Dancer, Jack
“It's good to see you again too, Claudia,” I say and mean it; she's so hot.
De La Guarda walks up offering his hand, and I take it. “Welcome, Señor Blue. I believe we have everything ready for you."
“Thank you, Señor De La Guarda. I apologize for putting you out like this, but . . .” The hell I am; I'm paying this guy a fortune to make this happen.
“Please do not apologize, Señor Blue, it is my pleasure to be of assistance to you in this critical hour. Claudia here will accompany you for the rest of the day and evening if necessary to help you with whatever it is you may require. Let me call . . ."
"I'm surprised this little bag can contain one million euros," I say.
"It is the new €500 euro note, Señor. One million euros weighs only a little over two kilograms. It is the denomination of choice for the criminal set."
"Criminal set, huh? Sounds like an exclusive club," I say.
"Ha, yes, Señor. Let us hope you do not become a member, yes? I will call Bruno," De La Guarda says.
He picks up the phone and punches in two numbers and tells Bruno to come into his office. When the knock sounds at the door moments later, Claudia walks over and opens it, and there behind door number one stands Lurch in a chauffeur's uniform. The guy must be seven feet tall with a head like a block of wood and hands the size of sewer covers dangling around his knees. He looks at me with eyes as dead as a fish on ice, no acknowledgement, not even a scowl.
“This is Bruno, Señor Blue; he will be your driver today.” De La Guarda says and turns to Bruno to pick up the small nylon bag and escort Claudia and me to the car. “Good-luck, Señor Blue I hope everything works out to your advantage."
Claudia slips her arm into mine and motions Bruno to proceed; he does. We walk out the back entrance of the bank where a stretch limousine awaits. Bruno pulls a key fob from his pocket and presses a button raising the trunk lid. He places the nylon bag into the trunk then Bruno presses the fob's button again, and the lid closes. I follow Claudia into the plush interior of the car while Bruno holds the door. The windows are tinted dark enough no eyes could possibly penetrate, and I'm happy to see a heavily tinted divider separates us from Lurch. Pressing an intercom button Claudia instructs Bruno to drive around town at a slow pace and arrive at the front entrance of the Park Güell by ten minutes before three o'clock. We have an hour to kill.
“Mister President, may I offer you a beverage?” she says pressing another button revealing a hidden bar with a complete assortment of liquors and lead crystal tumblers.
“You don't have to call me Mister President, Claudia, though I do appreciate you remembering me."
“Señor Blue, the truth is I enjoy calling you, Mister President, as long as you are not offended."
“No, I'm not offended. I actually appreciate your sense of humor."
“But it is yours, Mister President, I only borrowed it, and that drink?"
"Would there be a single-malt tucked away in there?"
"Laphroaig? Is it good?"
"Only if you like the taste of dog after it's rolled through a pile of dead fish. It’s perfect."
"Ugh, doesn't sound very good, Mister President," she says with her mouth twisted and nose scrunched.
"That's just the first sip. The second sip brings on the peaty bog and from there its heaven in the moors."
"And that's an improvement?"
"It's an acquired taste. Some people think it tastes like medicine which might be just the thing I need to soften the pain of giving away all this money."
“Si Señor, which is precisely why I am here with you today, to help soften your pain. Ice?"
“Yes, please. And would it be too much to ask you to partake in a beverage, so I won't feel so much alone enjoying mine?"
“Certainly.” She makes two drinks and hands me one.
“Cheers,” I say extending my glass toward her, and she taps hers to mine with a smile bright enough to catch Lurch's attention even through the tinted divider.
“Salute,” she says.
The cool earthy amber feels good passing down my throat, and with a second sip; I'm feeling even more at ease.
“Mister President, I hope you won't be offended by my forwardness, but I am very much at your disposal, and I would like to offer you a gift during our ride to the Park Güell. Would that be okay?"
“Sure, I suppose so."
She then reaches down to my trousers and begins to unbuckle my belt and unzip, startling the hell out of me. I move to stop her.
“Claudia, this is not really necessary. I didn't expect you to . . ."
“To what, Mister President? To make you feel welcome?"
“No, I didn't mean . . ."
"Please, Señor Blue; this is part of my duties and something required of me but I want to give you this pleasure because it will be as much pleasure for me."
"De La Guarda requires you to do this?" The fucker!
"I do not object, Señor, so it is not a problem. It is a pleasure."
"But, seriously now I'd rather you not have to do this. You can say you fulfilled your obligation, and I'll back you up. The driver will never know either with the divider up, so please . . ."
And without responding she starts to unbuckle my belt. When I put my hand on hers and try to stop her, she says, "Please, Señor, this is my job. Please allow me to do this." Her eyes pleading. I let go.
Holy shit.
She reaches inside and pulls me free then says, “Mister President; this is my pleasure. I want to taste the power of your office."
Bill Clinton, eat your heart out, I say to myself and lay my head back into the headrest.
She reaches into the bar and taking an ice cube puts it into her mouth, then drops her head into my lap and takes me in, rolling the ice cube around at the same time. The sensation is incredible. The warmth of her mouth and the cold ice cube together, holy moly. Who'd believe it? Here I am, being driven around Barcelona in a stretch limo, a glass of wonderful scotch in one hand and a magnificent head of silken hair under my other, bobbing up and down with the determination of an overachiever to extract every drop. Jesus, if this is what it's like giving away a million euros, I'm going to need the winnings from that ticket. If only I can stay alive until then. For now, it doesn't take long before Claudia extracts all the presidential powers and chases with a long pull of her drink.
“Yum, yum, Mister President. That's what I call a power lunch,” she says flashing a killer bad girl smile, “Now, I know how Miss Lewinsky must have felt," giggling while she tucks me back together.
I can't imagine what must be going through Bruno's mind right now. Nothing prob'ly.
"Say, Claudia?" I ask, "Does Bruno know what's going on back here?"
"Worry not, Mister President. Bruno is configured to see nothing, hear nothing, and speak nothing. He is limo driver only."
Configured? What is he, Franken-ware?
“Claudia, may I ask another favor of you?"
“Of course, Mister President, anything."
“When we arrive at our destination, and the bag has been retrieved from the trunk, could you get out of the car and follow the courier until you see this man.” I pull out my iPhone and show her the photo of Captain Pat and me from last night at Scruples. “What I'd like for you to do is to follow him. He's going to hand the moneybag off to someone else. Once he does, and the other person is leaving, I'd like for you to intercept him. His name is Captain Pat."
“Captain Pat,” she repeats rolling the name around in her mouth for taste. “And what kind of captain is this Pat?"
“He's an airline pilot, a friend of mine."
“And what do you want me to do with this Captain Pat?"
“I'd like for you to take him somewhere for the night and give him the same treatment you just honored me with, whatever you decide. Am I stepping over the line asking this?"
“No, Mister President, of course not. I will do whatever you wish of me. I am at your command sir
.” She salutes, and I can't help but laugh at her humor.
“You're something else, Claudia. I only wish it was me going with you."
“So do I, Mister President,” she says somewhat sadly. “But, now that I've had a taste of the ultimate power I will take care of this Captain Pat for you. What would you think if I were to take him to my apartment for the night and share him with my roommate Ophelia? Would that be okay?” she asks like a kid begging to bring the bunny rabbit home.
Holy shit, that lucky guy, I'm thinking. He's going to owe me big for this.
“That'd be fine, Claudia, and I'm certain Captain Pat will be overjoyed. (No shit!) But, be sure to tell him you're there at my direction, and he is to follow your every command. If he's resistant (I doubt that) tell him to call me."
“Yes sir, Mister President. You can count on me, sir,” she says popping to attention with another salute.
By now, we're parked in front of the Park Güell entrance and two quick knocks rap on the trunk lid. Claudia presses the screen divider button and nods to Bruno to unlatch the trunk lid. He does, then pauses about fifteen seconds before getting out of the car and walking around to open Claudia's door.
She gives me a peck on the cheek, salutes and says, “Mission will be accomplished, sir. You can count on me, sir,” then turning; she takes Bruno's outstretched hand and is out of the car. Bruno shuts the door behind her and walks around to the rear and stands watch as Claudia follows a young boy on a wobbly bicycle leaving with the moneybag. As the boy weaves his way between the mass of pedestrians along the sidewalk, Claudia trots behind at a distance that would normally not attract much attention, but nothing about Claudia is normal. Nothing about her goes unnoticed by the men she leaves listing in her wake. When she's out of sight, Bruno's returns to the driver's seat.
“Just wait here, Bruno, until I tell you to drive off.” He nods.
I have my cell phone out, and a message appears along with a streaming video of the boy on the bicycle wobbling over to the side of a building where Captain Pat stands waiting. Captain Pat says something to the boy and retrieves the moneybag then turns the corner and walks down another side street. I can see Claudia following a fair distance behind.
Pat walks another four blocks until he comes to another street and turns. My iPhone video freezes up for a moment before another video stream kicks in from another camera operated by one of Dick's men.
Pat is now handing the bag off to someone in an alleyway. It's too dark to make out a face. He then turns back in the same direction from where he came and practically runs smack into Claudia. In fact, Claudia runs into him sort of accidentally-on-purpose. You can see his surprise, but you can also see it's a pleasant surprise when he gets a good look at Claudia. She gives him a big smile, then goes up and whispers something into his ear before taking him by the arm and leading him away and just like I expected he went with her like a happy puppy. She flags down a taxi, and they're gone.
My video freezes again when the cab drives off then it's replaced again showing a dark alleyway. I can see only the outline of a person receding and then brightening as they come into a sunlit cross street. The courier looks to the right, stops and jumps a step backwards when a motorcycle zooms into frame, nearly knocking the courier over. The rider reaches out and grabbing the moneybag with one hand shoves the courier to the ground with the other and speeds off. The video goes blank. The intercept took at most, five seconds.
What was that? I ask myself. Better’ve been one of Dick's men.
My cell phone starts vibrating, and its Dick. "Ay Caramba! Did you see the woman who picked up Captain Pat?"
"Yes. I sent her in."
"What? You sent her to pick up Captain Pat? Why?"
"As a gift."
"A gift?" he repeats unbelievingly, "Señor Blue, could you send me such a gift?"
"Some other time, Dick. Say, Dick, what gives with the guy on the motorcycle?"
"What guy on what motorcycle?"
"The guy who ran down the courier Pat handed the money off to. He's yours isn't he?"
"Ah, let me check on that. I'll get right back to you." He ends the call.
Shit! What the hell just happened? And Dick doesn't even know? This guy must have been so taken with Claudia picking up Pat, he wasn't paying attention to the guy on the motorcycle ripping off the courier. I can't believe it! Surely his other men saw what happened, I mean, hell, I was getting the video from someone.
I tell Bruno to drive.
"Where to?" he asks.
It speaks! "Anywhere, just drive until I give you a destination."
Three minutes later my cell rings, its Dick.
"What happened?" I ask.
"Someone on a motorcycle intercepted the courier and stole the money. I am sorry, Señor. We did not see this coming, and it happened so quickly none of my men were able to stop it."
"What about the courier? Did your men get him?"
"Yes, Señor. We have her in custody."
"Her?"
"Yes, Señor. She is female."
"Who is it? Do you know?"
"No, Señor. But, we will discover her, and I will let you know. Sorry, but I need to go right now; we will speak again tonight or tomorrow, okay?”
“Fine,” I say and end the call.
I hand Bruno a note with the El Raval apartment address and ask him to take me there before I have to meet with James at the Fira Palace. I'm anxious to hear what he'll have to say about the courier and the money being snatched up. And, why didn't his men intervene?
Hey, could it have been one of his men who pulled that off? That S.O.B. I bet it was. I'm going to fry that guy if he's screwed this up and put Ebba and Terry at risk. Bet you anything he'll deny it.
If it wasn't one of his guys, then it's got to be one of Drusilla's. Had to be. Who's left that would have done this? Couldn't have been the flight crew scammers. They wouldn't jump their own courier.
Man, is this stuff getting confusing. Can't even tell who's on first anymore.
***
When I get to the apartment, the first thing I do is upload the videos from the ransom drop to Speed. Had they originated from my phone he could've seen everything in real time, but they didn't. While I'm at it, I send him the GPS tracker information too so he can check out where Rakim went after our little encounter this morning. But more importantly right now, I want him to see where this guy takes the ransom money. I hid one tracker in the moneybag and another in a stack of bills, just in case they take the money and toss the bag. Damn, I hope I haven't lost all that money!
forty-nine
18:00 Hours, Monday, 8 September.
The Fira Palace Hotel.
Before I leave for the Fira to meet with James, I lift one of the Tasers from Dick's arsenal, just in case. Unlike the stun gun, I used this morning on Rakim, with the Taser I can stand back and shoot. I don't have to press the thing against someone's body for it to work. I'm still uncomfortable carrying around the pistol Dick gave me even though I did have it yesterday, unloaded. Still, I can just see myself getting stopped by the cops for a traffic violation or something. I'd be cooked for sure. Besides, the little prick James'll probably be expecting me to have it, and knowing what a vengeful little prick he's been with Pat, I wouldn't put it past him to have someone there to arrest me for carrying. At least, the Taser's a defensive weapon like pepper spray and easier to explain. I'll just tell 'em, I'm staying in the El Raval. That oughta do it.
Hey, maybe I'll wear one of those Kevlar shirts too. May as well use as much of Dick's stuff as I can. Going to end up paying for it anyhow.
Think I'll get to the Fira a little early and be in place when James shows. Not that I expect to be ambushed or anything, but I'd rather err on the side of caution. Never know. Think I'll take the Mini Cooper again too. Was a blast driving it this morning.
Driving around to the rear of the Fira on the narrow one-way Carrer Joaquim Blume, I park the Mini like the few other cars I see - h
alf on the street and half off. Entering the hotel through the back door and through the Gymfira there're two people walking treadmills under headsets. They notice me, but I'm a pretty nondescript guy, so if anyone asks later, they probably won't even remember I came through, and even if they did, they'll have some difficulty describing such an unassuming man. The mustache and wig oughta help throw 'em off too. Probably throw ole James off for sure. Be fun just messing with him.
The elevator opens on an empty second-floor hallway, and I make a casual walk to the room. Don't even bother knocking since I'm sure to be the first one here anyhow and besides; it's still my room. I slide the passkey through the reader and slip in as quick as you please after the soft click and, damn, wouldn't you know, I get this unnerving feeling I might find Ebba on the other side. She wasn't though. Did find a half-empty bottle of Treignac mineral water, her favorite, and the paperback she'd been reading still on the bedside table. Creepy everything's still here but not her. Like when somebody dies and you go into their room and everything's, just as they left it. Spooky. A pang of sadness, even guilt, reminds me that I haven't given the woman any more thought than I have over the last few days. God I hope they're okay. I guess as long as her stuff's still here there's hope.
One thing catches my eye. The connecting door to Terry and Monica's room is ajar. Strange. I step over to check it out, but then notice a pile of clothes lying on the floor on the other side of the bed, so I divert and tiptoe over there for a closer look, and nearly jump out of my shoes when I see it's a crumpled up man in the pile of clothes, lying on his side.
Holy shit!
He's got one arm cocked back over his face; just enough I can't make out who it is, and that's when panic hits me like a streetcar. Right when I'm taking my first steps to get the hell outta there, I catch myself, thinking maybe I should at least see if it's James or not. Who else would it be? So I creep back over on wobbly legs and give his foot a little tap. Maybe he's just passed out drunk or decided to take a nap, but I didn't believe any of that. Nothing. I kneel down beside him and taking his wrist between my thumb and forefinger with such wariness you'd think I was touching cooties.