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

by Dancer, Jack

  “You want it?” I push it at her angrily.

  “Take it away.”

  I pull it back and close the lid, but I don't put it away.

  “Don't you want it for your trophy case?” I say.

  She starts crying. "Why do you say that? I didn't do that.”

  “You can shut down the tears, Julia. They're very un-dominatrix.”

  “You don't have to be so ugly to me, Tucker. I had nothing to do with that,” she blubbers on.

  "Of course, you did. If you didn't, you'd at least ask me where it came from, who it belongs to? Aren't you even curious?”

  “Who does it belong to?” she asks looking up at me with tear-filled eyes tugging at my gullible, naive heartstrings, but I'll be damned if I'm going to be taken in by this. Not anymore I vow to myself even though I know she doesn't know anything about this severed digit, and I also know she didn't have anything to do with it, but I have to do this.

  “Take another look,” I say opening the lid again but not pushing it at her this time, "don't you recognize it?”

  Her face tightens into a grimace, but she doesn't turn away, "I don't. Why do you think I would?” she pleads.

  “Don't look at the finger, look at the ring,” I say.

  She looks again. "Oh, my God,” she says covering her mouth, her eyes slamming shut, tears flowing, and she actually starts bawling aloud. Her head drops into her hands; elbows propped on her knees, and her whole body racks with sobs.

  Closing the lid, I return the box to the freezer and stand in front of the open door for a minute wishing the cold air would freeze up the tears running down my own face. I try to wipe them away with my hand, but I can't make them stop. I try to think of something else other than Monica, so I open my eyes as wide as I can, hoping the cold air will dry them up before Julia looks up and sees me like this. She needs to think I'm a cold, heartless bastard. She needs to fear me because, in truth, I'm not sure what I may have to do to her or with her, but I'm pretty sure it won't be anything nice.

  When my tear ducts finally, surrender and I think, the cold freezer air has dried my face enough so I can face her, I close the door and turn around.

  “You're in love with her aren't you, Tucker?” she says looking me in the eye.

  “That's none of your damn business,” I spit at her.

  “Okay,” she says demurring, "but I want you to believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that. You've got to believe me, Tucker. I didn't.”

  “Then who do you think did?” I ask though I know the answer.

  “I don't know”

  “You're lying. You know damn well who did this. Those men chasing us and shooting at us last night, who do you think they were?”

  “I don't know that either.”

  “You don't know?"

  “I swear to you, Tucker; I don't. Who were they?”

  “I suppose you don't know what happened with Pau either, right?”

  A gasp escapes, and her eyes spread so wide you'd've thought a demon flew by and snatched her breath.

  “What happened to Pau? Where is she? Have you done something to her, Tucker?” she says her eyes digging, turning cold.

  “And what about James?" I say, "What happened to him? S'pose you don't have a clue there either, huh?”

  “You said Pat saw men escorting him and Lisa out of the Fira, so how would I know? I haven't heard from them,” she says diverting her eyes away from me because she's lying like a dog.

  “You sure?”

  "Why are you doing this, Tucker?” she says defiantly turning back to me.

  “Is James dead Julia?” She backs off, looks away.

  I've got kids who do a better job of lying; I'm thinking.

  “Is he dead?” I repeat.

  “No.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I got a text message from him last night,” she says reluctantly.

  Maybe she doesn't know.

  “And what about Lisa?”

  “I don't know about her.”

  “Do you know she's a man?”

  She snickers, "Yeah; I know about that.”

  “Am I supposed to think James is dead?”

  “What? How would I know what you're supposed to think?”

  “Because you and James planned the cackle bladder.”

  “The what?”

  “Look, Nanette, rather, Julia.”

  “Julia's dead, Tucker. Don't you get it? That whole part of my life is dead.”

  "Where's my money?"

  "I don't have it."

  "Who does?"

  "I don't know."

  "Where's Monica?"

  "I don't know."

  "You're lying. You had her kidnapped, why don't you know where she is?"

  "I didn't have her kidnapped!"

  "What about Ebba? Did you have her kidnapped?"

  "I can't answer that, Tucker."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I won't."

  "Okay, so you did. What about Terry?"

  "She went with Ebba."

  "Where?"

  "I don't know."

  "Okay. I think we need to stop with the games. I'm getting tired of playing with you."

  "Good. I'm getting tired of playing with you too."

  "Okay. Then we're going to end all the bullshit right now. In a few minutes, your entire life is going to change. Actually, it already has, you just don't know it yet."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm going to explain, and then I'm going to tell you what you're going to do. But first, I want to tell you: Do not lie to me anymore. If you start to, then be sure to catch yourself before it comes out. Any more lies and the deal I'm going to offer you at the end of my little story will be automatically rescinded, null and void, and believe me, you're not going to want that. Okay, here goes.

  “I already know most everything. I know all about your little Spanish Prisoner scamming; I know who was in on it with you - James, Lisa, Evelyn? Ring a bell? Pau. And by the way, I'll get to Pau.

  “I’ve already told you I know you’re Drusilla Libica's daughter, and I know she runs some of the biggest scamming operations around - Spanish Prisoner, Nigerian Letter, Lottery scamming, all that. I know she has a bunch of numb nuts working for her and more numb nuts as followers - her so-called guerrilla army for Catalan Independence, the Terra Lliure II. I know all that. I also know your brothers are Tiber and Drusus, and they came looking for Monica and me at the Fira. I've had them tucked away ever since, and they've been extremely helpful and cooperative.

  “I know that as a part of the scam, you, and James and company were pulling on me, that the cackle bladder was a part of it. And I know about the IP cameras set up in the room and a computer in your apartment recorded it all. I know because I have your computer, your hard drives, and a lot more.

  “Now, let me tell you what you should know. Some of it you do know and the rest of it you should have figured out by now, but if you haven't I'm going to enlighten you.

  “First of all, Ebba and Terry were, in fact, kidnapped per James’ instructions; only things went awry with his little plan because he couldn't count on Juan - the kid he hired to do the actual kidnapping a week ago yesterday. Juan decided he'd get more if he tucked Ebba and Terry away with your mother's group of numbskulls in the Pyrenees. Except, something else occurred even Juan didn't count on. He and Terry fell in love. An unusual case of Stockholm and Lima syndromes going hybrid, which led Juan to defect and take Terry with him.

  “How do I know that? Because yesterday I met with Terry, and she and Juan decided to come over to my side and help.

  “So, what about Ebba, you might ask?

  “Apparently, she too fell victim to Stockholm syndrome and went Patty Hearst, joining the cause of her captors and is currently an active soldier in your mother's army or the army of some guy named Pello Azaura, if you can believe that.”

  Julia starts laughing.

  “Uh oh, you're in
terrupting,” I warn her. She zips her mouth shut.

  “Now, for those questions that should have crossed your mind and which you may or may not have answers.

  “First, who took Monica and where is she now? The men who kidnapped her last Saturday work for your mother and my best guess is, Monica is currently residing at the castle in Cerdanya or thereabout. Your clue about standing on Spanish soil and viewing France to the south was very helpful in that regard. I expect to have the exact location any moment, but I'd also expect by the time we make our little deal here you'll give me the exact location.

  “The men who escorted James and Lisa out of the Fira on Monday night were as you've probably guessed, employees of your mother (I lie), as were the men who attacked you and me last night. You need to give that very considered thought, if you haven't already, because you could've easily been killed by them had it not been for the bulletproof Mini Cooper, my driving expertise and this apartment; and, of course, the man who was here earlier. By the way, he captured three of those men. Two are in custody, the other he turned over to the Barcelona police.

  “Now for the really big one as Ed Sullivan would say, "Why would your mother become involved in all this? Why would she want Tucker and Monica or even Terry and Ebba from last week's kidnapping? I suspect she never did want Terry. Terry just happened to come along with Ebba. She was more interested in Ebba just as she is interested in Monica. Why? She wants to use them, just as you want to use them - as Spanish Prisoners to lure me, the mark. You wanted two million euros, but your mother has much larger expectations. She wants 120 million euros.

  “Does that ring a bell with you, Julia? You may answer this one.”

  “You really did win the lottery?”

  “Correct-a-mundo.”

  “Holy shit, Tucker. You weren't kidding last week at the Taverna La Tomaquera?”

  “Nope.”

  “But, I don't understand.”

  “I know you don't. You don't know how your mother got involved, but you do know about the train incident near Perpignan because we told you; about the guy who crashed into our compartment and fell dead. That's where we met your mother. She was the doctor we told you about.

  “You see it was the dead guy, who had the lottery ticket. She was after him to get it, and she killed him for it.

  “What she didn't plan on was he'd come crashing through our compartment door before he died and drop the newspaper he was carrying, and I'd pick it up and take it when Monica, and I left the scene. No one knew the lottery ticket was tucked away in the newspaper except Paulo, the dead guy, and he wasn't talking. I didn't discover it until I was unpacking at the Fira and the ticket fell out of the newspaper.”

  “And Mother is now after you and Monica to get the ticket? Oh, my God,” she says.

  “My exact words when I discovered what it was worth.”

  “Tucker, you're rich.”

  “And that's where you, and I can make a deal if you're interested,” I say.

  “Would a blow job do it?” she jokes.

  “Normally, but not in this case. I want Monica back, and you're going to help me get her back. Are you in?”

  “Two blow jobs?”

  “Sometimes you scare me, you know that?”

  fifty-six

  06:35 Hours, Wednesday, 10 September.

  The El Raval Apartment.

  My anti-Libica Campaign kicks off when I send three coded text messages to the services hired to mass fax and email. Within minutes every politician, government department and agency, hospital, clinic and professional healthcare organization, police and fire station, school and church from Perpignan to Cerdanya to Barcelona will have Libica wanted posters and alerts in front of them. The idea is to force Libica into her castle and not allow her to leave.

  I text her a personal message, "Fair Warning: Take cover, Hell, is coming.”

  “I need you to do two things right now,” I tell Julia as I'm clicking the laptop's mouse on Google Maps. "First, I want you to find and show me the castle on Google Maps.” Within a few moments, I'm looking at an aerial view of the castle. I fill the screen with the aerial view and print off a copy and hand it to Julia along with a large tablet of paper and a couple of pencils.

  “Now I'd like for you to sketch out the floor plan of the Castle, including walls, rooms, dungeons, tunnels, secret exits everything you can think of and anything that would help us to get into or out of the place.”

  “Us?” she asks.

  “Yes, you and I. We're going to pay your mother a visit.”

  “Oh, Tucker. I don't think you want to do that. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into.”

  “What I'm getting into?” I say incredulously, "I think I'm already into it - whatever IT is, and I didn't ask to be into IT either. But, now that I am, I'm going to finish IT off, and you're going to help me. Otherwise, I'll send you off with the rest of them and do IT without you. If it comes to that, believe me, I'll toss you to the wolves right along with your mother, and you can go to hell.

  “I don't have time to waste with you, Julia. Either you're in, and you're going to help me take down your mother and rescue Monica, or you're not. If you're not then, you're going down with her and the rest of your crew. And don't for a minute think I'm in this alone, because I'm not. I have lots of help on both sides of the border and from both governments. Your mother and Pau and your brothers and your entire scam crew are going to end up so far down a deep dark prison hole not even the Generalissimo could find you.”

  “He's dead, Tucker.”

  “I know, and that's exactly what you'll wish you were if you don't do everything you can to help me. If you do help me, I'll be in a position to heap great rewards on you, and you'll go free. And you'll be wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. But, choose otherwise, and I'll have you taken away right now. So, what's it going to be? Wait. Don't answer just yet. Stay here and don't move.”

  I walk into the other room and give Speed a call.

  “Hey man, I need you to do something for me right now. No questions. Okay?”

  “Go.”

  “Send a text to this number and spoof it with this caller ID. Do it as soon as I hang up.”

  “Ten-four.”

  I walk back into the kitchen and hand Julia her cell phone. It rings a message coming through.

  “Check the message and read it aloud.”

  “So, what's it going to be?” she reads.

  “Who's the sender?” I ask.

  She looks at the caller ID. "Oh, shit. It's Drusilla.”

  “Right, your mother. So, don't for a minute think I don't have control over this situation, Julia.”

  “Okay, Tucker, okay. I never said I wasn't with you. I just want you to be aware this woman is not some common criminal. She is evil through and through. She is insanely powerful. Both of our lives will be at severe risk here, and there's nothing I can do to influence her. Once she discovers I'm helping you; she won't hesitate to kill me as quickly as she'll kill you or Monica. Family means nothing to her if she's threatened. She'll sacrifice a family member as quickly as anyone. You have to believe me on this.”

  “I believe you. Now let's get to work. I want to be in the castle this afternoon.”

  “Ohmygod.”

  While she starts sketching out floor plans for the castle, I take over the computer and right-click on the castle. A pop-up menu appears from which I click on "What's here?” Latitude-longitude coordinates (42.467659, 1.986167) display in the address bar. I jot the coordinates into my Moleskine and text them to Dick from my cell phone.

  Dick has assigned one of his men, Tomeu, to coordinate the tasks I've assigned for Angelo and his street urchins. I give him a call and confirm he's rented two large trucks and is now picking up the posters, handbills, and Burma Shave signs from the printer. Beginning at midnight, there will be four crews of urchins working until dawn. Two crews will be nailing posters on every telephone pole and power pole up and down both sides of
the route for tomorrow's million person march, beginning at the intersection of Gran Via and Passeig de Gracia to the Parliament of Catalonia building in the Parc de la Ciutadella.

  The other two crews will be setting out Burma Shave signs of Libica wanted posters along the main arteries connecting Barcelona with Perpignan. One truck will start in Perpignan and work its way south while the second truck will start out of Barcelona and work its way north. They have 500 signs to post along the roadway, which should give us about one sign every half-mile in each direction.

  Speed has hired two freelancers to create websites for Drusilla Libica - a website with Twitter feed and a Facebook site. Both were put in place early this morning. All the printed materials, faxes, and emails we're distributing include the addresses for these sites. My iPhone is set to receive the Twitter feed and regular updates reporting hits for each site.

  Within an hour of the initial fax and email blasts, both sites are screaming with hits. I only hope the servers can keep up and don't clog and slow down or worse, crash. I'm counting on maybe 48 hours before the authorities get wise to the campaign, and the bloodhounds start picking up my scent. The French will be quicker but only because the Barcelona authorities will have their hands full with the march; and given that all of this reaches across borders, the red tape to mount a coordinated and legal search for me would most likely stretch my safety corridor to a week or more. By that time, I intend to be well out of arm's reach.

  While on the computer, I also check the GPS tracking site to get a lat-long or better yet, a street address, for the moneybag. The interesting thing I discover is Puigcerda, the town where the bag was located last, turns out to be the last town on the Spanish side of the border on the road leading to the Spanish enclave, Llivia - the village where Libica's castle is located. I say, last located because the bag has been moved. When I zoom in on the map where the GPS trackers last transmitted (and no, the two transmitters have not been separated), the bag appears to be placed under a small bridge on the north side of the castle hill.

  Hot damn, I'm thinking, maybe I can get my money back today!