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

by Dancer, Jack

  “I'm not sure where she is tonight. She could show up any time or not at all. She has friends she hangs out with. We see each other, obviously; we share the same apartment, but we live separate lives. Besides I fly quite a bit too. You know how it is. You live the single life. Do you share a place with anyone, Tucker? Ebba maybe?”

  “No, I've got a place. I own a condo, and I also have a small getaway place over on the Gulf coast in the middle of nowhere, actually. I use it for fishing and diving, boating, that sort of thing.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “It's pretty casual.”

  “Speaking of casual, I ordered Dominos Pizza for dinner. I hope that's okay.”

  "Right now, that's perfect.”

  “Well, let me make you a nice drink, and we can relax until the pizza arrives.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Follow me and I'll fix you up. Single malt, right? On rocks with a splash?” she says leading me by the arm to the bar.

  “That's me, but I can drink just about anything.”

  “Don't worry, I gotcha covered.”

  I have to admit I'm having a little difficulty even looking at Nanette right now because I can't help thinking she's somehow involved in this scam.

  I know James said she wasn't a suspect, but he blew it when he said another FA (flight attendant), named Evelyn, was a suspect. I suppose the Evelyn he's referring to could be a different Evelyn than the one Monica and I met on the flight to London, and who Nanette indicated she knew when all of us had dinner at the Taverna La Tomaquera, but my gut tells me it's not. And if I'm the mark for this scam, seems to me, that's all the reason for the London Evelyn to call Nanette and tell her the mark's on his way.

  I'm chomping at the bit to confront her with my suspicions, but I can't. I've got no real evidence. Plus, I'd have to bring up James, and she's going to find out about him soon enough anyway. Guess the best thing to do is to watch her closely for any "tells.” If she's involved in this, she should be acting really nervous about now, but then again, she's probably a pro, and I'm not.

  Wait! I'll bet that little trick she played last Tuesday, when she tackled me and dragged me into her room . . . she did that to keep me from getting into Juan’s car with Ebba and Terry and Monica. That's it! That was her plan all along - to hijack me so Juan could hijack the girls! Of course!

  Her cell phone rings with a simultaneous knock to the front door.

  “That's probably Dominos, Tucker. Would you get it while I take this?”

  “Sure.”

  She takes the cell from her pocket and walks in the opposite direction from the door while I answer. It's Dominos. I start to retrieve my wallet when she taps my shoulder with a fifty-euro bill, pushing it at me. I trade with the Dominos guy and set the pizzas on a side table. He's shuffling around with bills, and I ask,” How much?”

  “Twenty euros.”

  Nanette's hand urgently taps my shoulder again and pushes a coupon at me. I take it, look at her, and grin; she grins, and I hand it to the Dominos guy who now says, "eighteen euros.”

  When I pay him and I turn around, Nanette is putting away her cell in a small drawer in a side table. She takes up the two pizza boxes.

  “Follow me, Tucker. I got a pepperoni and cheese and a supreme deluxe. Didn't know your taste in pizza, so I figured at least one of these would be to your liking.”

  Extra cheese on that deluxe, I want to ask but don’t because I don’t want to interrupt my gaze on the derriere I'm following. Holy Saint Levi! What I'd give to bed this lady. Ah . . . in a more conventional manner than the last time I mean. Wait! She bedded me!

  Still . . . a pang of guilt runs through me when a flash of Monica interrupts the thought. What would she think? Not much I’m sure. She might've gone along with last Friday night's orgy-fest, but she also conditioned that on her being present too. Least that’s what she said the next morning. But, if I know anything about women, I know they’re not going to accept infidelity any way you serve it up. I don't care what they say. No one wants the one they love running around on 'em. Guys neither.

  And with Monica being kidnapped and all, me doing Nanette would be the height of betrayal. And if it turns out Nanette had anything to do with Monica's kidnapping it'd be the worst thing I could do.

  Then again . . . if bedding Nanette led to unmasking her as one of the scammers, maybe even the one who facilitated Monica's kidnapping, wouldn't that justify it? Especially if uncovering Nanette leads to Monica's rescue? Surely, Monica would see it that way. So why is none of this is pushing away the pang of guilt that’s needling me?

  Is it because I'm rationalizing an excuse to do Nanette? Maybe. But not if I expose her, right? No pun intended. Now if this isn’t a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t I don’t know what. Either way it could come out badly. What about putting out the million euros in ransom. . .then losing it. God almighty! That’s gotta count for something.

  I guess the real question is: How would Monica see it? She's a pretty no-nonsense woman. She proved that on the train ride down here lecturing me on the natural order of things - roles of men and women and all that.

  So why am I not convincing me? Monica’d probably say I'm jerking off in man-think just to have my way with Nanette. But it leads to her freedom wouldn’t she see it in my favor then? Maybe even praise me for doing Nanette? What'd she say? 'That's my man taking his due?' Something like that.

  Now you’re really going over the top.

  Okay, but she'd forgive me, right? She can't have it both ways.

  Who says? She's a woman.

  Goddamnit it’s not fair! Women’re just too fuckin’ smart. We don’t stand a chance in hell against ‘em.

  “Tucker, you look a little lost in thought over there,” Nanette says while rolling the pizza slicer over the two pies making nice little triangles, “Something bothering you I don't know about, something you're not telling me?"

  “Tucker?” she startles me.

  “What?"

  “Is there something you're not telling me?"

  “No. Why would you ask?"

  “Don't be offended. Call it a woman's intuition. You’re obviously pretty shaken up over something, and I mean something more than losing the ransom money. Did something else happen before you came over tonight?"

  "No. It's just everything - Ebba & Terry, Monica, the screw-up today with the ransom. Seems like nothing's going right."

  "Well, that's an understatement. I've never seen anything go so screwy like this past week in my life. It's crazy! I don't know how you're keeping it together. I really don't.

  “Here, Tucker,” she says handing me a plate, “make yourself a plate, and we'll eat in the living room at the coffee table."

  “Fine,” I say picking two slices - one of each - and we move to the living room where the coffee table is centered between two couches. I take one, and she sits across from me, and it's a face off. I think Nanette’s warmth is cooling a little; cracks are beginning to appear. She’s becoming a little unnerved.

  Maybe it's me who's unnerved. This whole thing with James is not looking good. I mean shit. I find the guy dead, an agent for Homeland Security probably, and even though my P. I. Dick has him, what's left of him anyway, and his partner Lisa too. At least, I hope he got her. I don't even know that for sure.

  And if Dick does have 'em, how long's he going to keep 'em? He already got the two stalker brothers, Drusus and Tiber, who were sicced onto Monica and me at the behest of their evil little doctor mother, the Raven, to retrieve the winning lottery that good ole Paulo saddled me with after his last breath crash into our train compartment.

  How rude too! I mean if you got drop dead do it in your own compartment, don’t come crashing through my door, for crying out loud. And if you can’t help yourself at least don’t do it at the very moment I’m about to make every man’s fantasy come true. Jesus! How often in one lifetime does an opportunity like that come along? To have a love at first sight, en
counter with what is probably the most beautiful creature I’ve ever met is itself miraculous. But adding to that twenty hours of fun and foreplay riding the rails all the way down through France into Spain only to have a stranger come crashing through the door at the very moment you’re about to consummate? Now how rude is that?

  Course some people might wonder why I’m complaining when the dead guy also happened to drop a lottery ticket worth 120 million euros in my lap, and I would too if it hadn’t forced Monica and me into hiding. Then the bitch finds her and kidnaps her anyway.

  My thoughts turn back to Dick and the four people he’s now got stashed away and all because of me. Wait, there're five now after Dick picked up the courier from the ransom drop earlier today. Holy shit. He can’t keep all these people locked up indefinitely; somebody’s bound to get out, and if that happens all hell’s going to break loose.

  And don't forget the housekeeper at the Fira; the one Dick says is on his payroll. Still, she walked in and saw me, plain as day, standing over a dead body with a gun in my hand. And the IP cameras. What the hell does that say? It says I'm cooked is what. Talk about stress! I'm no professional at this stuff, and Nanette can easily see that. And why am I the one on trial here anyway? She's the one who's probably mixed up in this. I need to shift some of this load to her and see how she deals with it.

  “There is something," I say.

  “What?"

  “I didn't want to mention it because it’ll probably turn out to be nothing, but there is one thing that's bothering me."

  “Well, tell me, Tucker. Don't leave me here hanging. (That conjures memories.) Share the load. You're taking on far too much by yourself. I'm your friend. That's why you came over, remember? To get away from it all, to have some company and talk, that's what you said. So, talk, Tucker. Maybe I can help."

  “Yeah, you're right. Okay, here's what's bugging me is earlier today James asked me to come by the Fira toward the day's end; said he had something to talk to me about. I don't know what it was, but I told him I would. He seems a nice enough guy."

  “He is. Did you go?"

  “I did and the odd thing was; he wasn't there. On my way out of the hotel, I stopped by Scruples to have a drink - a much-needed drink. Today was stressful enough, but now here James stands me up and it pissed me off that I’d gone over there for nothing. I thought it was unlike him, you know, to be rude like that.”

  “That is unusual for him.”

  “Anyhow, while at Scruples, who should I run into but good ole Captain Pat. Course you know Pat's my best friend now, since our Saturday night meeting where I said, I'd put up the ransom for Ebba and Terry. Apparently that made a big impression with him because as much as he didn't like me before, he’s been uncharacteristically nice every chance he gets ever since. I think he's doing his best to kiss and make up for being such an asshole. And I think it's genuine. He thinks I'm a boy scout I guess.

  When I saw him tonight, the first thing he asked was why I was there and of course I said to meet with James, and you know how he is about James, being a funny boy, and all.”

  “Pat can have a real cruel streak, and it's not at all appropriate how he speaks to James sometimes.”

  “You're talking to the choir here. I agree. Thing is, Pat told me he saw James and Lisa in the company of four or five men in suits. Said it looked like they were rushing them out of the hotel.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, said they all piled into two black Suburban’s and drove off. He didn't think it was a friendly encounter either. Of course, he didn't know what it was about.”

  “Did he try to intervene or anything?”

  “No, I think he didn't want to get involved,”

  “I'm going to call James right now,” she says then stands and goes to the sideboard table in the foyer where she retrieves her cell phone and dials. James’ phone must be turned off because it went straight to voicemail. She leaves a message for him to call her back.

  “His phone's turned off. I'll try Lisa.” She dials and same thing.

  “Nothing there either, huh?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “The thing that bothers me with Pat's story is, it almost sounds like another kidnapping . . . but surely not, right?”

  “Tucker, I don't know what to think. I can't imagine why anyone would want to kidnap James and Lisa. That can't be right.”

  “I don’t know, but then I'd’ve thought the same with Ebba and Terry too until someone explained to me it was probably a Spanish Prisoner scam, something not uncommon around here, I'm told. Do you know about this Spanish Prisoner thing?”

  “No, not really. I've heard of it, but that's all. I saw a movie once. I believe it was called the Spanish Prisoner. It was about a scam, but I don't remember there being a kidnapping.”

  "Yeah, I saw the same movie on the plane over to London. It was the inflight movie and you're right I don't remember there being a kidnapping either, now that you mention it."

  "I'll call Pat, see if he knows anything more,” Nanette says dialing her phone.

  Oh, shit, I'm thinking. Pat had better not answer, or I'll be cooked. Hopefully, Claudia and Ophelia have him all tied up.

  And just like with James and Lisa's phones, Pat's too is off, going directly to voice mail. Nanette leaves a command to call her.

  "Jesus, everyone's missing. Have you tried Pau?" I ask.

  "Before you came over, I called her, and her’s was off too. I'll try again.” She dials and goes straight to voicemail. She leaves a stern message to call her back.

  "Christ,” I say, "maybe there's a mass Spanish Prisoner scam going on all over town. Look out the window and see if you see anyone.”

  "Not funny, Tucker."

  "Right, sorry. But, they're not exactly the same,” I say.

  "What's not the same?"

  "The way they took 'em I mean. Ebba and Terry, weren't snatched off the street like Monica was by strangers. They were in a car with someone they knew or at least trusted enough to go to dinner with. Monica was violently kidnapped right off the street by unknown assailants. Pat didn't describe James and Lisa's leaving like that, but he did say it appeared, they were being escorted out, maybe, and that's a maybe, against their will, and by strangers or at least by men he didn't recognize - men in suits.”

  "Sounds like the police to me - the whole men in suits and black Suburban thing,” she says.

  "Or, government people,” I say studying her closely for any reaction and, bingo, I detect a little twitch of surprise.

  Could it be Nanette knows James and Lisa are Homeland Security? James never said she didn't know, only that she wasn't a suspect. Maybe she does know they're agents. If she does, why would James or Lisa tell her about the scam? Not for the same reason they told me; I'm the mark according to James. If Nanette were involved in any innocent way, I can't imagine a reason they'd reveal themselves to her. Unless, unless she's also an agent. Holy shit. Is that possible? Anything's possible. Naw, she'd tell me if she was an agent because she'd know James had told me about the scam so there'd be no reason for her to keep it a secret. Plus, James would've told me she was an agent. He told me Lisa was.

  Why’d she twitch?

  "I don't know. It's probably nothing. I think Pat has a tendency to jump to conclusions sometimes, read things where nothing exists,” I say. "He did that with me from the get go. I'll never forget the ragging he gave me at the Taverna La Tomaquera."

  "What are you talking about, Tucker? He had you pegged cold. There wasn't anything innocent between you and Monica taking the train through France, and you know it,” she says.

  "Maybe so but he was still an asshole.”

  "But, that's Pat. He's always an asshole when he's been drinking. Don't let that fool you into thinking he's dumb, because he's not. He's actually very smart.”

  “Speaking of whips.”

  “Why? Do you want a whipping, Tucker? I'll accommodate if you want.”

  “You sure about th
at? You still look a little swollen.”

  She reaches up and rubs her jaw, "Oh, yeah. Forget it then. You know, Tucker, most people pay me to whip them. It's not nice to hit your Domme.”

  “You're not my Domme, Nanette. But, I am sorry for hitting you anyway; I really am. It was reflex. I wouldn't have done it on purpose. I hope you know that.”

  “I do, Tucker. Don't worry about it. I promise I won't whip you unless you ask me to, and even then, I'll want your permission in writing. Come to think of it, I'll have a loaded pistol in my other hand just in case you forget yourself,” she says with a laugh. We both laugh at that. Except, I'm thinking, there might be a vein of truth there.

  “No, but really, how'd you get into the whole dominatrix thing? I'm just curious. You're the first Domme I've ever met.”

  “Oh, you've probably met lots of them, you just didn't know it. It's not something we tattoo across our foreheads.”

  “Come to think of it, little Susie Salisbury back in the third grade, she was the meanest thing on the playground,” I say.

  “You don't have to be mean to be a Domme, Tucker. Most Dommes, at least the ones I know, are very kind and caring people. It's a hobby, playacting. Some people like to play the dominant and others like to play the submissive. But, in all cases - at least the way it's supposed to work - both parties are clear upfront that it's playacting, nothing more, and there are limits. Usually, dominate and submissive partners who have an ongoing relationship . . .”

  “Like you and Pau?”

  “Yes, like me and Pau. There'll be clearly defined limits and code words or phrases used to signal the other whenever those limits are being exceeded or about to be. It puts the brakes on, so it doesn't get out of hand. It has to be a mutually agreed-upon thing to work.”

  “You mean like the night when you tackled me in the hallway and tied me up to your bed, then proceeded to do things to me? Is that what you're talking about?"

  “I'm going to give you a code word for when you're getting too close to being an asshole, Tucker, and the word is, Buster. Meaning watch it Buster,” she says, "Besides, that was an exception, I was merely trying to protect you; I mean, keep you . . . forget it. Somehow, and don't ask me how, but I had this feeling you wanted me, and you'd enjoy me doing those things to you. And they weren't so terrible. There was even some evidence, to that effect. Some very personal evidence you left behind. DNA-rich evidence. Remember?”