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

by Dancer, Jack

  “Would you save me, Tucker?” she asks and her saying that just pulled a heartstring.

  “You know; I could've easily fallen head over heels for you, Nanette, I mean, Julia. Even with the whole dominatrix thing, it wouldn't have mattered. More likely it would've been a little extra spice I could’ve probably gotten into with you, but you had to go and do what you did to me, and that just doesn't cut it because you were out to destroy me.”

  “You didn't answer my question.”

  “I know.”

  “So, would you?”

  “I'd have to think about it.”

  “What if I blow you after you save me?”

  “Deal.”

  fifty-seven

  9:55 Hours, Wednesday, 10 September.

  Castello Llivia.

  We took the A-2 out of Barcelona to the C-16 through Manresa. We could've then shot off to the northeast on the C-25, forty-five kilometers or so, and we would've come upon the tiny village of Vic that won the €612 million Christmas lottery in December 2005. The Spanish lottery is no joke.

  “How about a quickie right now?” she says.

  “Now? Better not. I’d probably go off the road and kill us both. Besides, it’s a little cramped in here for that. I don’t think these cars were designed for making out, unless you’re a midget.”

  “Trust me, it can be done. I once blew a guy on a motorcycle.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope.”

  “How?”

  “Simple. He dropped his drawers and sat sidesaddle while I got on my knees in the grass.”

  “Ha. So, the motorcycle wasn’t moving.”

  “Course not. How could you nice a blow job riding on the back of a bike?”

  “Well, that’s exactly . . . Never mind,” I laugh. “Okay, you got me. That was good.

  “Aren't we getting close?” I ask.

  “Let's see. We're about to come up to Puigcerda just ahead. Continue on the N-152 through Puigcerda until we come to the D-68 and take it into Llivia. I'll direct you through town. The castle sits atop a hill northeast of town. We'll want to drive around to the northern side. There's a large copse of trees on that side where we can park out of sight and sneak up pretty close without being spotted. There's also an underground tunnel that comes out near there. Like I said there're three tunnels - this one to the north, another running northeast from the castle and a third running southeast. The northeast and southeast tunnels open almost directly onto the French side. Of course, being secret tunnels, the openings are pretty well camouflaged, but I know what to look for.”

  “You're not going in,” I say.

  “I've been thinking about that . . .”

  “No.”

  “Just hear me out, Tucker. I could go in and meet with mother, as much as I hate to. I can describe the situation to her just as you have to me and tell her to take the offer. As much as we don't see eye-to-eye, she'll believe me."

  "Why will she believe you?"

  "Because I'll tell her the truth. I'll tell her, even if she accepts your offer, there's still no stopping what's happening now or what will take place tomorrow because everything's already in motion. I'll tell her she can take the offer, make the exchange just as you said, Friday at three here, and she can leave the country safely and retire. No one will pursue her."

  "Why would she believe you?"

  "It really doesn't matter does it? She has no other choice. What else is she going to do? Kill Monica? Kill me? Where will that get her? If anything, she's a survivor. She won't fight to the death over principles. She has no principles. She'll do what she has to, to survive this."

  "And that's it?"

  "Of course not. She won't let you just walk in and make the trade, and she walks off. No. You'll have to show some force, and she will too. What I'm saying is she'll do the deal, leave and then one day, maybe a year from now or even ten years from now, she'll show up and take her revenge. You'll never be safe from her."

  "Then maybe I should just kill her while I have the chance."

  "Probably a good idea."

  "What else do you plan to tell her?"

  “That she must let me see Monica now, not only see her but meet with her alone for thirty minutes. I want to know she's unharmed, and I want her to know she'll be freed on Friday.”

  “You think she'll go for that?”

  “Where's the harm?”

  “I don't know.”

  “I'll make it a demand.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “What do you have to lose?”

  “You could tell her I'm outside, and she could send men out to capture me.”

  “What would be the point of that? All the stuff you said is going to happen tomorrow is going to happen anyway, and she's getting the ticket for Monica on Friday, which is something I think you should reconsider because she'll be just as happy with half the winnings. She won't live long enough to spend 120 million euros. Really, I don't think you need to give her the whole thing. Besides, she'll just use some of the money to take her revenge on you. So, in a sense you'll be financing your own destruction,” she says.

  "Even more reason to kill her and keep the ticket."

  "Yeah. Keep the ticket and you and I can go travel the world and I'll give you the best life you could ever imagine."

  "Very tempting Julia but you know that's not going to happen. I'm in love with Monica."

  "I know. No harm in trying. Guess I'll just have to put my fate in your hands.”

  “Your fate is already in my hands,” I remind her.

  “I know. By the way, do you know about this road?”

  "Wait a minute before you tell me." I take the Jawbone out of my pocket and place it in my ear. Then, I check my cell that it's connecting to the Jawbone and when I see there's a connection, I hit speed dial for Speed and place the phone in my shirt pocket. The buttonhole lens is already attached.

  ["Gotcha Bluesman,” he answers, “video too. Turn to your right, so I can see the lovely Nanette, I mean, Julia.” I do. “Still a beauty I see. Think I can have her when you're done?"]

  "Ten-four," I say.

  ["Audio's good. Target's in Llivia. Looks like he's having breakfast or something at a place called La Bambola. If he stays there he'll miss you driving through town. Will keep you posted and will warn any need for a change in direction. Speed remaining on standby," he says.]

  "Ten-four." I turn to Julia, “No, what should I know about it?”

  "Ten-four? Who're you talking to, Tucker?"

  "You wanna tell me something about this road?" I ask.

  "Okay, I get it," she says. “Well, there's a pretty interesting history to it.”

  “Tell me.”

  ["Yeah, I wanna hear too," Speed says in my ear.]

  He'd better not keep this up or it'll drive me crazy, I'm thinking.

  “You already know Llívia (pronounced Libia) is a Spanish enclave within France, right.”

  “Yeah, your little brainteaser about standing on Spanish soil looking south to France.”

  “Right.”

  “You see how the road curves up ahead?” she points.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, now do you see the barrier on the left side, the short run of concrete striped, red and white?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You'll see as we're passing over it's actually a bridge over a stream right? See? Look down.”

  “Okay. I see it, so what?”

  “We just crossed over to France.”

  “There wasn't even a sign.”

  “The red-striped slab of concrete was the border marker. Now, you see the overpass coming up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Here's the deal. The road we're traveling right now is the N-152 right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wrong. It was the N-152, but now it's the D68. You see in Spain the road numbers, the alphanumeric, like N-152 are separated by a hyphen, but in France, which
is where we are now, there's no hyphen. This is now the D68, and it will continue to be the D68 for two kilometers, then we'll be back on the N-152 because we'll be entering the Spanish enclave of Llivia. This road is the only direct access connecting mainland Spain to the enclave of Llivia, and because it cuts through French territory, it has been fought over for years, centuries even.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, think of it this way. How would you like it if an easement cut through your backyard and anyone, total strangers even, had the right to walk through your yard any time they wanted?”

  “I get your point.”

  “Well, it's the same thing here with the French. They resent having a Spanish enclave situated in their country in the first place, but having to put up with an easement cutting through, from mainland Spain, is just too much for some people. The road's been used for smuggling, troop movements, even inciting a war.”

  “War?”

  “Yes, the guerre des stops.” In English, it means, "war of the stops.”

  “This I gotta hear.”

  [“Yeah, me too.”]

  “It was over stop signs installed where two French roads intersected, the N20 and the D20. Each country, you see, thought their citizens should have the right of way, so they ignored each other's stop signs. Sometimes the stop signs would disappear.”

  “You're kidding? How was it resolved?

  “The Spanish circumvented the France N20 with the viaduct we passed over back there and the France D30 up ahead with a . . .”

  “Roundabout. I see it.”

  “Funny huh?”

  “Nuts.”

  “Hey, people around here take their territory seriously. Consider this, 600 stone markers demarcate the border between France and Spain, 45 for Llivia alone and the enclave is only 13 square kilometers.

  "Follow this street through town. It'll intersect with a dirt road on the other side, and we take that for about a hundred yards, and we're there.”

  Driving through town she points out a couple of places of interest, including what is probably the oldest pharmacy in Europe.

  “It's called Esteve Pharmacy, and it dates back to the start of the 15th century. It's a museum now but still has some of the most important prescription guides in existence. Many of my mother's remedies come from those books.”

  “You mean like witch hazel, poultices from monkey tongues and frog hemorrhoids? Stuff like that?”

  “How'd you know?”

  “You said she was a witch doctor.”

  “Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble,” she says. "Turn here, Tucker,” she points.

  ["Negative Bluesman. Turn there and you'll be sharing breakfast with Rakim. Continue straight."]

  I start into the turn then cut back sharply returning to the direction I'd been heading and throwing Nanette/Julia into me nearly bumping heads.

  "Jesus, Tucker! What are you doing?" she hollers.

  "Sorry, a dog ran in front. I didn't want to hit him. Can't we get there taking another turn?"

  "I didn't see a dog."

  "It was a very small dog. God, I hope I didn't run over the little fellow," I say concerned.

  "Just take the next left and the road will circle around."

  "Okay. Sorry about that back there."

  We're obviously taking the long way around Castle Hill to get on the northern side but that's okay. It gives me a chance to see the lay of the land around the castle. In this direction we're actually driving on the D33, a French road in French territory. The castle sits atop a hill that must rise four or five hundred feet above the village below, so it has a commanding view of the surrounding countryside.

  The other interesting thing about the castle-on-the-hill location is the entire eastern side, at the foot of the hill marks the border between this Spanish enclave and French territory. For Drusilla Libica that must be a convenient advantage considering she can exit the castle into either Spanish or French territory so whichever side she happens to have crossed, she can quickly escape onto the other nation's soil.

  Pointing to a copse of trees off the dirt road on the far northern side of Castle Hill, Julia says, "Pull into those trees." She then turns to me, "So, what's it going to be? You want me to see if I can get an answer for you now, smooth the way for Friday and check on Monica or not?”

  “S'pose it makes sense. Just hope nothing backfires.”

  “Would you save me if something does?”

  “C'mon, let's have our picnic; I'm hungry.”

  We get the backpacks from the trunk along with the picnic lunch Julia made. I also shoulder my camera with a long lens and another item, and we trek our way up the side of the hill.

  “The backpacks were a good idea, makes us look like a couple of hikers out on a nice day,” I say.

  It's a pretty good hike before we finally come to the edge of a small forest and the ancient castle looming ahead under a clear blue sky. It's breezy, and we can hear yelling from a knot of people standing at a distance to our right, in front of the castle. Some are even throwing stones at the huge walls.

  “It's bigger than I imagined. What's with the three flags,” I ask pointing, "I recognize the yellow and red Catalan flag but what's the other one? The one that looks like a green alligator or lizard."

  "That's a green dragon. It's the symbol for the political organization Drusilla belongs to for promoting an independent Catalonia," she says.

  "Would that by chance have anything to do with the umbrella shop down on the Ramblas? The one with the green dragon out front?"

  "Yes, that's their headquarters, fronting as an umbrella shop. Why? Have you been there?"

  "Yeah, Monica and I stopped in last week. She'd recognized the green dragon from the tattoos Tiber and Drusus had on their necks. We met a little Scotsman named Pony . . . let's see . . ."

  "MacDonald," she says.

  "Right. Pony MacDonald," I say with a laugh. "We got a kick out of his first name. I guess if he were a larger man he'd be called, Hoss," I laugh again but Julia's strangely unmoved, so I stop there and don't mention the weed.

  "Let me give you fair warning, Tucker. If you ever return to that little umbrella shop do not make fun of that man to his face. He's as dangerous as a snake."

  "Okay, well . . . thanks for the warning; so, what about the other flag? Does that symbolize something too?

  "That's the fairy flag."

  "Fairy? As in Tinker Bell the fairy?"

  "Fairy, yes. Tinker Bell, no. What you see on the flag is an image of a dragonfly . . ."

  "And it symbolizes?"

  "As I understand it, the flag is a replica of the original fairy flag that resides in some old castle up in Scotland. It is also the symbol of a political group promoting Scotland's independence movement.

  “Look, Tucker, there're more people coming up to join the others at the castle's gate, and they don't look happy,” Julia says pointing to a group of people joining the original group.

  “What's keeping them standing away from the gate? Is there a fence between them and the castle that I don't see?”

  “No, there's a moat.”

  “You're kidding? A moat? Wow, this is the real deal. Wonder if they're going to pour hot oil on 'em? These people need one of those big trebuchets to hurl some stones over the walls,” I say.

  “She must be freaking out inside, if she is inside. We don't really know do we?” Julia says.

  “Not for a fact but where else would she be?”

  “She has a house in Perpignan.”

  “She's not there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I outed that one last Friday.”

  “When you went to that guy's funeral?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How'd you do that?”

  “It's not important. Why don't we spread out here and have lunch? We can watch the festivities.”

  Spreading out a large blanket, I unpack my two bags while Julia takes out
sandwiches, a bottle of wine, and two glasses.

  “Would you open this, Tucker?” she asks passing me the bottle and a corkscrew.

  “Sure you want to drink before you go looking for your mother?”

  “You kidding? I need something to calm my nerves before I see that bitch.”

  “Scared of her, huh?”

  “No, scared of me. Afraid I'll want to cut her throat out as soon as I see her.”

  I pour our glasses and re-cork the bottle.

  “Here's to a safe journey and a successful ending,” I say touching my glass to hers.

  I take up my camera with a long lens and pan the area taking shots as I go.

  “What's that other thing you brought?” she asks.

  I pick it up and remove the butt cap to the stock and drop out the receiver and barrel and clip and start assembling.

  “An AR-70 semi-automatic, sometimes called a take-down rifle. Comes with an eight round clip and weighs only three-and-a-half pounds. Very accurate.”

  “God, Tucker. You're making me really hot. You mind if I deliver payment ahead of time so you'll rescue me?”

  “Lemme take a rain check. I need to stay alert here and concentrate on what we're doing and what we may end up doing, which means I'll need all the brainpower I can muster. If Monica were here she'd tell you that sex would only drain my brainpower."

  "Dick brain, huh?" she says.

  "That’s what I'm told."

  "She's probably right. I'll check with her when I see her."

  I grab her by the arm and tell her, "Don't you dare mention anything like that, do you hear?"

  "Take it easy, Tucker. I was just kidding. I wouldn't say anything. Jesus, what kind of heartless monster do you think I am?"

  I don't respond because if she's Drusilla Libica's daughter, then I've got a pretty good idea.

  "I'm not what you think, Tucker."

  "You don't know what I think. You only think you know what I think. What I think is you're a beautiful woman, and I wish to God you weren't doing what you're doing. And I especially wish you weren't doing it to me because if it wasn't that I'm hopelessly in love with Monica, I'd probably be hopelessly in love with you. And if that were the case, I'd be really screwed because I would never see what you're doing to me because I'd be too blind to see. And even if I did see, I wouldn't believe it because I'd be thinking with the wrong brain."