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

by Dancer, Jack

  “No Capità Marti, this one, is not dead, he only appears to be dead,” says the face hovering over mine.

  “What about the other? The woman?” Paulo asks.

  “She is not dead either Capità,” the man says.

  “Take them both outside,” Paulo orders.

  I want to scream, but I can't. As hard as I try nothing comes out. This must be what a quadriplegic feels like or someone comatose but aware. Oh, my God, is there no more of a helpless feeling? Wait. I feel something. Air. I feel the air against my face. It's cool. My toes. I can wiggle my toes. Can't you people see my toes wiggling? I'm thinking.

  Little by little my body is throwing off the grip of death. I can blink my eyes.

  “Capità Marti, the man is blinking his eyes, he's coming around,” the medic wrapping my arm in bandages yells.

  “The woman too,” someone else yells.

  Now Captain Pat's face is hovering over mine again. "Tucker, Tucker, it's me, Pat. Can you hear me, Tucker? It's going to be all right buddy. You're gonna be all right,” Pat says, his big face smiling down on me.

  “Capità Marti, Capità Marti,” a voice screams over Paulo's walkie-talkie. There's screaming in the background too.

  “What is it, Guillem?” Paulo answers. "What is wrong down there?”

  “It's the men, their eyes. Flying monsters are blinding them, Capità Marti.” The walkie-talkie goes dead.

  “Guillem, Guillem,” yells Paulo into the walkie-talkie. Nothing.

  “Wasps,” I try to say to Pat.

  “What, Tucker?” Pat asks. "What are you saying?”

  “Wasps. Get them outta there,” I squeeze out.

  “Paulo, Paulo," Captain Pat yells.

  “What? What is it? I have men in trouble,” yells back Paulo.

  “Wasps, Tucker is saying wasps,” Pat says.

  “What?” Paulo asks, "Wasps?”

  “That's what he's saying. He says to get your men out of there,” says Pat.

  Paulo brings the walkie-talkie to his mouth and yells, "Guillem, get your men out of there pronto. They are deadly wasps. Close the doors, close any doors you can. Do you hear me Guillem?”

  “Yes, Paulo, we have closed the doors, and we're running back.”

  “Close any doors behind you, Guillem,” Paulo screams but nothing more comes through the walkie-talkie. “Guillem, Guillem. Do you hear me, Guillem?” Paulo screams into the walkie-talkie.

  No answer.

  “Enric, take some men, find, Guillem, but be careful. There are man-eating wasps down there. Do not engage them, Enric,” Paulo says.

  “Man-eating wasps?” asks a bewildered Enric. "Are you out of your fucking mind? I'm not going down there with man-eating wasps.”

  Paulo yells, "Does anyone have wasp spray?”

  “In my backpack” I say.

  “Why do you have wasp spray?” asks Paulo.

  “Just get it,” I say.

  “Then give it to, Enric here,” Paulo says. Then to Enric. "Check on my men. Kill any wasps you find. No questions, shoot first.”

  “Are you kidding me?” says Captain Pat. "Killer wasps? Man-eating wasps? What the hell is that all about, Tucker?

  “Japanese wasps,” I squeeze out, "They blind you.”

  “How do you know about these wasps, Tucker?” Pat asks.

  “I brought them here . . . to fight Libica's men,” I say.

  “Killer wasps, you brought?”

  “Yeah, pretty cool, huh?” I say.

  “Pretty fucking bad ass for sure,” Pat says raising his hand in a high five.

  "How did you get here?" I ask Pat. "I mean how'd you know to be here?"

  "I got a call from your buddy Mike Speed. He said you, and Nanette and Monica were in trouble and to get the police and come up here pronto. How did he know to call me, Tucker?"

  "He's omnipotent," I say.

  "Omnipotent? What the hell's that mean?"

  "Don't worry about it. You got here didn't you?"

  I'm starting to feel much better now. The NMBA is wearing off, and when I sit up, I notice Pat has some sort of ID dangling from a chain around his neck.

  “What's this?” I ask pointing to the ID card.

  “Oh, that, well, Tucker, you see . . .” says Pat.

  “It's Homeland Security, Tucker,” a voice interrupts along with a face coming into view, a familiar face. Holy shit, it's the woman who bumped me from the plane in New York.

  "Captain Pat is doing some side work for Homeland Security, Tucker. And I'm with Homeland Security. My name is Sandy Smith,” she says extending her hand.

  “Pleased to meet you, Sandy, I guess,” I say.

  “Tucker, I've been working undercover with Homeland Security to bust the flight crew scamming ring that pulled the Spanish Prisoner scam on you. We've been after these people for a long time, and now we've got 'em thanks to you,” says Pat.

  “Tucker, where are you, Tucker?” yells Monica.

  “I'm over here honey,” I say, "Are you all right baby?” I start to get off the gurney and go over when Sandy's hand stops me.

  “Don't, Tucker. Stay here,” she says.

  “No, Tucker. They're arresting me. Can you help me out here? Talk to them. They're making a mistake. Tell 'em, Tucker, they're making a mistake,” Monica pleads.

  “What the hell,” I say shrugging off Sandy's hand, "What the hell're you doing?”

  “She's the one, Tucker,” says Pat.

  “The one what?”

  “The one who set you up. Monica's the Spanish Prisoner, Tucker. She's the one who's been scamming you all along. Well, she and the others,” says Pat.

  “What others?” I ask.

  “Well, there's Nanette, she was the ringleader.”

  “Where's Nanette?” I ask, and then I remember. "Oh, God."

  “She's dead, Tucker. Someone shot her in the head. Do you know who did that?” Pat asks.

  “Pau shot her,” I say as the awful event rolls through my mind.

  “Pau? Nanette's roommate?” Sandy asks.

  “Yes, Pau. Her real name is Julia, Julia Libica. She's Drusilla Libica's daughter. Where are they anyway? Do you have them in custody?” I ask.

  “No, we do not as yet, Señor Blue,” says Paulo. "My men are looking for them now. We believe they are hiding here in the castle somewhere.”

  “And why is Nanette dressed like that, Tucker?” asks Pat and when he does everyone turns to me, curious.

  “I don’t know exactly. It was a surprise to me. She did it to get Pau’s attention, I think,” I say.

  “Did it work? asks Pat.

  “What do you think?” I say.

  “Tucker, are you going to do something?” yells Monica.

  “Yes, honey. I'll get it all straightened out with them. Just give me a few minutes to explain the situation, okay?” I yell back.

  “Okay, but be quick about it, Tucker. They have me handcuffed again. I can't stand these damn handcuffs, Tucker. I've been handcuffed all week you know,” she yells back.

  “Can you have them take off the handcuffs, please. I think you've got it wrong on Monica, and I'll explain, but please have them take off the handcuffs. She's been handcuffed all week while she's been Drusilla Libica's prisoner.”

  “Go ahead, John, uncuff Ms. Reyes,” Sandy yells over. "Just keep her near you.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “You haven't found Drusilla and Pau yet?” I ask.

  “Not yet, but we will,” says Pat. "By the way, Tucker, where are Tiber and Drusus?"

  "They're dead."

  "What? Who killed them?" asks Pat.

  “Drusilla.”

  “She killed her own sons?” Pat says astonished.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “They embarrassed her. They'd been defiled,” I say.

  “You're kidding,” Pat says.

  “Nope, I'm not.”

  "Where are they now?" asks Pat.

  "Ar
ound here. In the courtyard," I say.

  "Hey, has anyone seen two bodies laying around here somewhere?" Pat calls out.

  "No. There were no bodies in the courtyard," someone yell back.

  "Well, they're here somewhere. If anyone stumbles across them let me know," Pat yells out.

  "Pat, they're here somewhere. They were shot dead over there," I point.

  "They'll turn up. What about the lottery ticket? Where's it?” Pat asks.

  “I have no idea. Tiber and Drusus were supposed to pick it up from where I had it hidden in the Roman aqueduct, the Pont del Diable. They were supposed to bring it here, but they apparently didn't. That was probably another reason Drusilla shot them - they didn't have the ticket,” I say.

  “Maybe she thought they were cheating her,” Pat says.

  “Maybe, I don't know,” I say, "Wait; they handed Drusilla a note. Did you find a note?”

  “What note?”

  “Tiber handed Drusilla a note. I thought he was handing over the ticket but apparently not. She read the note then shot both boys. She dropped the note to the ground. It's gotta be around here somewhere.”

  “Everybody spread out and look for a piece of paper on the ground,” yells Pat.

  “Here it is,” someone yells back and brings the paper to Pat. He unfolds the note and reads. "What?"

  “What does it say, Pat?” I ask.

  “Read 'em and weep, Tucker,” says Pat handing over the note. I take it and read.

  FUCK YOU CHEATER.

  “What's this,” I say. "You mean I went through all of this for nothing?”

  “Not for nothing, Tucker,” says Sandy, "you saved the woman you fell in love with. What can be more important than that?”

  “Maybe so, but don't forget Sandy, Monica was after Tucker's money from the get go,” Pat says.

  “But not the lottery ticket money, that was a fluke,” says Sandy.

  “Yeah, but she was still after his money. The whole scam was to get Tucker's money . . . well, to make Tucker fall in love with her and then get Tucker's money,” Pat says.

  “What do you mean, make me fall in love with her?” I ask a bit indignantly.

  “That's what Monica's role was, Tucker. The reason they picked her,” says Sandy.

  “Who're they?” I ask.

  “Nanette. She was the ringleader of the group,” says Pat, "Monica was picked because she has a very special talent, Tucker.”

  “What special talent?” I ask.

  “She makes men fall in love with her. That's her talent, and she's very good at it too. Don't you agree?” says Sandy. "She got you.”

  My whole world crumbles and I'm feeling sick to my stomach.

  “Don't feel bad, Tucker. She's done this many times. It's her talent. You can't blame a girl for using what talents she's been endowed with, now can you?” says Sandy.

  “Suppose not,” I say, still sick that none of it was real. Then, thinking more about this sudden turn of events ask, "do you know anything about a guy named Lloyd?”

  “The guy Monica was supposed to have been in love with? The one she was going to sleep with?” asks Sandy.

  “Yeah. How do you know about that?”

  “He wasn't real, Tucker. Never existed. Monica was just playing you.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “It's a ploy she uses to make men fall in love with her. It comes from the idea that things you lose double in value, at least sort of. She created Lloyd to make you jealous, to make you think she's not easy, and that you may think you have her, but you don't. Then, when you're about to lose her, she suddenly becomes more valuable, and you want her more. She used Lloyd to set the hook. And she did, didn't she?" says Sandy.

  “Yeah, it worked. God, what a fool am I? I can't believe it. I hear you saying this, but I still love her. It doesn't make any difference," I say.

  “I told you, Tucker, the girl has talent,” says Sandy.

  “And what about Terry and Ebba? Were they part of the scam?”

  “No, they weren't involved. They just got caught up in the same net. They were unintended victims,” Pat says.

  “Well, I suppose that's good. What about Nanette, you said she was the ringleader?”

  “Yeah, she was, Tucker,” says Pat.

  “But she really wasn't because the real ringleader was Pau, Nanette's roommate,” I say.

  “You're kidding,” says Pat.

  “No, I'm not. Pau, rather, Julia Libica, was the actual ringleader. Nanette only carried out Pau's orders. Pau was blackmailing Nanette. She had no choice but to do Pau's bidding,” I say.

  “How was she blackmailing Nanette?” Sandy asks.

  “I don't know,” I lied.

  "Tucker, you realize that this crew, these Spanish Prisoner scammers have been framing you all along with more crimes than we can even count. You know that don't you?" Sandy says.

  "Well . . . I . . . I had suspicions about that," I say. "You mean the cackle bladder?"

  "That was one. Do you know they captured that whole thing on video?" she says.

  "Really?" I say. Shit, I thought Dick got that video.

  "That's not the only one either. Apparently, they also had another video of you doing some very disturbing things with three women too, things involving BDSM, hangings, and whippings, even rape. You're aware that video went all over the Internet?"

  "That was all play-acting, Sandy. None of that was real. You do know that don't you?" I say.

  "That was all Nanette's doing, Sandy," says Pat coming to my defense. "I know. I was in that room."

  "You were there too, Pat?" Sandy asks.

  "Not at the time. I was there another time. I saw the room and all the contraptions weirdo Nanette had in there," Pat says. "I'm sorry to say anything bad about Nanette, rest her soul, but we need to keep perspective here. Tucker's an innocent party. He's the victim in all this, and we need to keep that in mind. Right, Tucker?"

  I smile and nod. I appreciate that Pat's trying to help me out here, but I'm also getting a little concerned where this is going.

  "I understand, Pat, I do," says Sandy. "However, there're still things unaccounted for that the Spanish authorities . . ."

  "And we'll deal with those, Sandy. I'm sure Tucker can explain everything. Right, Tucker?" Pat says looking hopeful.

  Holy shit. I could be really fucked here, I'm thinking.

  "What about the ticket, Tucker?" asks Sandy.

  "I don't know what happened to the lottery ticket . . ."

  "Not the lottery ticket, Tucker. What about the airline ticket to Morocco?" she asks.

  "I didn't buy that ticket. James Culpepper gave me that ticket," I say.

  "So what, he has a ticket to Morocco? What's the big deal about that?" says Pat.

  "The big deal is that Morocco doesn't have an extradition treaty with the United States," she says.

  "Why would he want to go to Morocco?" asks Pat.

  "Well, if you cashed out a lottery ticket for €120 million euros, and you'd rather not pay Uncle Sam taxes owed, where's a better place to be than in a country where Uncle Sam can't touch you?" she says.

  Holy shit. That fucking James set me up. I'm going to kill that son of a bitch!

  “And, where is the lottery ticket, Tucker?” asks Paulo.

  “I don't know. Someone else must have found it and taken it. I left it in a fissure in the Pont del Diable aqueduct down in Tarragona. That's the last I saw it. I thought it was still there. Why else would I have gone through all this?”

  “For love,” says Sandy.

  “Well, yes, there is that,” I say. "But Rakim told me the ticket was a fake. So was it?”

  “No. It was real, Tucker," says Paulo. "Both Spain and France financed the ticket as bait to capture Libica. It had to be real.”

  “Holy shit."

  Then it dawns on me. "Hey, what about those two missing girls, Elena Basso and Sophia De la Riva? You found them right, Paulo?” I ask.

 
; “Yes, we found them in the room next to the one where we found you and Señora Reyes. Butchered is how we found them; poor angels,” Paulo says turning to hide his tears.

  Then it dawns on me . . . Drusilla and Pau going into that room after injecting Monica and me with the NMBA. I remember hearing Drusilla and Pau talking. Oh, no! "Where are they now, Paulo?” I ask.

  “They've been taken by ambulance to Perpignan, why do you ask?” he says wiping tears.

  “Could you put a call to the ambulance?” I ask.

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Ask the driver or attendees to check the two bodies for a missing ring finger.”

  “Why?” Paulo asks again.

  “Just do it Goddammit. I wouldn't be asking you to do it if it weren't important, do you think?” I say, perturbed.

  “Okay, fine. I'll call.”

  He pulls out his cell phone; dials and puts it on speaker, so we can all listen.

  “Hola,” comes from the other end.

  “This is Capità Paulo Marti.”

  “Aye, Capità.”

  “Have your attendee inspect the two bodies for a missing ring finger.”

  “What Capità?”

  “You heard me, have your attendee inspect the two bodies for a missing ring finger.”

  “Si, Capità. Aon mionaid."

  “What the hell language was that? Pat asks.

  "Sounded like gaelic,” says Paulo.

  The wait is killing me. Then the driver comes back on and reports, "Na a dh' easbhaidh meur Capità."

  "What language are you speaking driver?" Paulo says out of frustration.

  "Excuse Capità. No hi ha dits anulars desapareguts."

  “He says there are no missing fingers,” Paulo says to me.

  "Ask the driver his name," I say with Paulo giving me an odd, "is-this-relevant?" look.

  "Ask please,"

  "Quin és el seu nom, conductor?" Paulo asks.

  "Pony MacDon . . . er, Pablo Escobar, Capità," the driver responds.

  "That's Pony MacDonald! Tell him to pull over immediately and hand his cell phone to the attendant.

  "Conductor, aturi immediatament i donar-li al seu telèfon mòbil a l'operadora," Pablo orders.

  "Vés a la merda vostè, Capità." (Fuck you Capitan.) A shot rings out. "Vostè pot recollir el seu assistent al costat de la carretera . No hi ha pressa." the voice comes back.