Murder My Love (Kindle Books Mystery and Suspense Crime Thrillers Series Book 3)

by Tad S. Torm

  "I have a car in long-term parking," I say. "I can drive you anywhere."

  "I see, Mister Architect, mister retired Architect."

  We pick up the luggage and are now in my car, driving into town. She gave me the name of some obscure hotel, I forget which, and I have not the foggiest idea of how to get there, but I drive and drive, just to be with her.

  Then suddenly.

  "I’m hungry," she says. "Let's get something to eat."

  I have an idea.

  "If you want a bite to eat, I know a place with the best food in Paris. You'll not regret it."

  I have a little retreat, a little chalet, not too pretentious a quarter hour away from the city.

  I call from my car phone.

  I talk to Germaine, the lady of the house, and tell her to prepare dinner for two and make ready two rooms. It's a bold move and I watch Lana's reaction to the conversation.

  "We'll dine there if you don't mind. You'll make up your mind if you want to stay overnight. It's beautiful there. What do you say?"

  "I enjoy familiar places," I explain, "but I find it hard to adjust to new surroundings. Sometimes, when I need peace and quiet, this is where I find it. You'll see. You'll like it there."

  "Let's have dinner then. After that, you can drive me back to my hotel."

  I fill the time with idle chatter and don't stop until we arrive at "Les Alouettes."

  Germaine has set the table in the drawing room and we go directly there. The food is delicious, but I am too nervous to enjoy it, so I’m rather relieved when Lana decides to retire in the middle of the meal.

  "I'm very tired all of a sudden. If you have an extra room, I'll stay here tonight and I’ll get back into the city tomorrow."

  We say good-night and I give her a peck on the cheek. We were outrageous on the plane, where the possibility of sex was almost zero, and now suddenly become very tentative. I reconsider and give her a second kiss, this time hard, on the mouth. But there it ends.

  Our rooms are next to each other. I show her mine and take her to her room. Both come with a bathroom.

  I explain that I have some work to do before I go to bed.

  She wishes me goodnight, after which she closes and locks the door to her room.

  I call Albert from my study. I tell him that everything looks fine and inquire about how things are on his side of the equation.

  "When can we expect you home, Mark?"

  I explain to him that it’s hard to say; this being a hard equation to crack, with too many unknowns. But I'll give it my best shot.

  "Please keep in touch, Mark. I'm an old man, you know. Please let me know you are ok."

  "We'll do."

  On my way back in the hallway as I get near her bedroom, I hear the sounds of a conversation. I put my ear to the door and listen. She's talking on her phone, in a low voice, and I cannot make out the words.

  I continue to my room, where I pour myself a shot of scotch. I turn off the lights.

  I'm waiting.

  A strange peace comes over me, and it takes control over my senses. It's an effect of the dark, the lack of stimuli, the years of meditation and the natural relaxation of the muscles when lying in bed.

  Now is no time to sleep.

  I'm wondering who the recipient of her call was. I'm wondering why she came into my life.

  Luckily, she's not long in coming.

  By the light streaming in from the corridor, I see the door to my room slowly opening. A slight draft of air and a tiny-tiny scent of perfume. All she wears is a sheer nightdress. She’s quiet and has the regal walk of a queen.

  "Did you manage to lie down? Because I couldn’t sleep a wink. I don't know why."

  Absurdly, instead of taking in and admiring her practically naked body, I look instead at the dial of the clock on the nightstand. It's 12:30 am. Who the hell did she call at this hour of the night?

  I'll find out. Not right away. It looks like I’m busy for a while. But I'll find out, eventually.

  I raise my head to get a better look at the splendor that she is. She's very close now.

  I sit up at the edge of the bed and take her in my arms.

  I enjoy making love with the lights on, but it's too late for it now and, anyway, with her it doesn't really matter.

  "I'm so glad to have met you."

  She slips out of her nightdress and comes into my arms. She's all mine now.

  "Shouldn't we close the door?"

  "Why bother? There is nobody in the house."

  "Please go and close it, otherwise, I feel naked."

  That is because she is naked.

  I get out of bed. I go to the door.

  I close the door. This gives me an opportunity to turn on the lights.

  She reclines on her back with the legs slightly parted. She's waiting for me.

  "Turn off the light, please," her voice tinged with such unexpected innocence that I blush.

  I turn off the lights.

  I'm on top of her. It feels good. Everything feels so good now. I wish I could better see in the dark the contours of her face. Her eyes are closed. I stroke her breasts gently, and then my hands come up and cup her face. I kiss her. She moans softly when I move inside her. She seems very relaxed. And so am I. It's a very peaceful process. You'd think we've been doing it for a few hundred years.

  "I'm so happy you came into my life."

  We're at it for a long, long time. A time that cannot be measured in minutes because like any other priceless treasures, it transcends our finite nature.

  We finish but do not part. Everything feels so right with her. Touching her feels so good. Her velvety skin touching mine feels wonderful. My hands on her nipples, my hands on her hips, my hands on her face. There is a reason we call it chemistry. It's because it is.

  But with Lana, and I don't know why I say this, it is more and it is different. What I want to say is that it's not only the body, the biological compatibility, but it's also my mind. I experience a feeling of well-being. When I'm physically close to her and we touch, I have a sense that everything is right in the world.

  "I'm going to sleep now," Lana says. "I'm very tired."

  I wait until I'm sure she's fast asleep and then leave quietly the room. I slip into hers. I want to know what that telephone conversation was all about.

  She left her smartphone next to her handbag, on the big round table by her bedside. I check for her last call. I disconnect as soon as the number displays on the screen.

  The number is familiar and it comes with an address. I happen to know the man who lives at the address.

  His name is Rene, and he is a French broker I have used myself on various occasions for continental business.

  I dress silently. I move quietly. I don't want to wake her up. My plan is to finish this unpleasant business as soon as I can, and then come back into her arms, where I want to remain for a long, long time.

  As soon as I leave, I start fantasizing about the breakfast we'll have in bed, in four or five hours, and all the blessed happiness we'll enjoy in the new life that is to follow.

  It's four o'clock on the dot. The clock ticks the hour of the burglar. Perfect timing to commingle with the thieves and murderers of the underworld.

  I drive on a desolate roadway through a fine drizzle. Occasionally I pass a service truck on its way to the big city, the road otherwise deserted.

  I don't anticipate any significant danger in the enterprise ahead, but my business requires a high level of readiness at all times.

  So I roll slowly on the slippery pavement, not because of the danger, but because I need time to think.

  Although I've worked with Rene before, we don't have an exclusive contract. He's been doing business with other people in my neck of the wood. It's only normal and I'm aware of it. This business of ours gets extremely complicated at times.

  But where does Lana fit in?

  Rene lives in an ancient quarter of Paris in the sixteenth arrondissement. I've last se
en him just about a year ago. I hope he lives at the same address. People don't move as often here as on our side of the pond.

  Last time I saw him, I remember, we shared a bottle of Veuve Cliquot. I like Rene. He's a straight guy, an honest broker. I wouldn't go as far as to call him a good guy because the adjective doesn't belong to any purveyor of services in our trade.

  But he is also a professional who doesn't believe in turning down deals. Turning down deals will get you killed, and so yes, in case you are wondering and thinking about the same thing I do, the answer is a definite yes.

  For the right price, he will sell me in one minute. And if the pressure is right, he will sell me for free.

  It's a quarter to five when I park my car two blocks away from his house. I walk quietly through the drizzle the rest of the way.

  We had dinner the last time I went to his home, with Rene and his wife, Margot. We dined out, on the back terrace. I remember they had a small yard and a vegetable garden, with tomatoes on the vine, hot peppers and cabbage, and maybe some potatoes.

  I will not ring the bell this time.

  I jump over the low red brick fence. I sneak around the back. Breaking the simple lock to the kitchen door is child's play. I will be quiet. If I'm lucky, I'll find him sleeping with the wife in the main bedroom on the second floor.

  On the other hand, if he's been forewarned, he might be lying in wait with a gun or a knife in hand, but I hope he doesn't, I hope it for his sake.

  I creep up the old wooden stair, my ascent accompanied by a slight creaking noise, not loud enough, I hope, to wake up my hosts. A little noise is unavoidable on these old, rickety wooden steps, but I keep it to a minimum.

  The door to the bedroom stands slightly ajar. Another complication. I wait in the hallway until I get used to the dark and I peek inside before I take the first steps in.

  I see a king size bed in the left corner of the room. Snoring sounds are coming from that direction. I sneak in on my toes. In the darkness, I can make out Rene's bulky shape. He sleeps on the right side of the bed, good luck. His wife sleeps on the side facing the wall.

  I grip him by the scruff of the neck and haul him up from beside his wife and out of the bed. Luckily, for everybody concerned, she seems to be a heavy sleeper, while Rene is too petrified to let out the slightest peep.

  I freeze when I hear her sleepy voice.

  "Can't you sleep, love?

  She turns back almost immediately and goes back to her snoring.

  Rene, on the other hand, is fully awake, which is a good thing because now I expect him to walk on his own. I warn him silently using my index finger about that peep which I don’t want to hear from him and we both get out of the bedroom.

  I direct him toward the kitchen, which is on the first floor. We climb down the stairs without too much commotion, turn left in the hallway and we're back from where I started after I broke into their home.

  Here we can enjoy a quiet conversation.

  "It's been awhile, my friend," I grunt after settling myself on a chair at the head of the table.

  He looks at me as if he'd seen a ghost.

  I hold up my hands, turn them in and out with the fingers outstretched. He should abandon any illusion. I’m here in flesh and blood.

  "I'm alive, can't you see? You can touch me. I'm not a ghost, I assure you. You can check me out if you want."

  "I can see that," he grumbles unhappily.

  "Not glad to see me?" I sigh, hiding with difficulty my disappointment.

  We could go on like this for hours, but I want, I really do, to go back as soon as possible to her.

  "Rene. I want you to listen carefully. I didn't come to kill you. All I need is information," I try to calm him down.

  "Why don't you start by making us some coffee and, in the meanwhile, think very hard about what you’re gonna tell me?"

  I pick up a cigarette I finagled from Lana's purse and light it. I'm not a real smoker. I just dabble in it because it seems to be a good look when I'm dealing with crooks.

  "Do you want one?" I ask Rene as I pull another cigarette from the pack.

  "No, thanks, I don’t smoke."

  "And, Rene, don't try any hanky-panky," I warn him, pointing with the tip of my proffered cigarette.

  I wait for the coffee. I light the cigarette only when it's done. I inhale deeply. I never liked the concept of inhaling ashes in my lungs, but I got used to the taste of it as a kid, when not smoking meant I would deprive myself of a social life.

  "I didn't know you were a smoker," says Rene, who doesn't have anything else to contribute and tries desperately to keep both the discussion and himself alive.

  When you don’t have anything to add to the conversation, you just shut up, is what I say.

  "When did you start?"

  I stare him straight in the eye and inhale another breath full of smoke deep into my lungs, "I only smoke when I'm on the job," I say and look at him cringe.

  "I'll give you a good deal, Rene, a good deal, don't you worry! I'm a fair man. An honest broker. Are you a broker, Rene? Are you an honest broker?"

  I take another puff and this time it makes me a little nauseous.

  "Did you ever have cause to doubt me? Have I ever crossed you?"

  He shakes his head.

  "You received a call tonight around 12:30. I want to know who called you."

  He says nothing, just trembles a little. This is a difficult time for Rene. Now, if all the hits succeeded as planned, the two of us would not be in the same room together. I would be frozen meat on a slab in a morgue somewhere, and Rene wouldn't have a single care in the world. But it's not Rene I'm aiming for. He's just a small fish in a big tank full of piranhas.

  "Somebody called. I don’t know her."

  "But you knew the number."

  "Yes, I knew the number. I was supposed to answer after the third ring."

  "Did she warn you that I might come your way, and then told you to be ready?"

  "Mark, you put me in an untenable position. Right now I feel I'm between a rock and a hard place."

  "I strongly disagree. I didn't put you there. You put yourself in it."

  "You don't know the people you're dealing with."

  "This is why I’m asking you. I want to make their acquaintance," vicious smile follows. "I don’t know, but you do, and you'll tell me. Words will start coming out of your mouth in a few minutes if not sooner."

  "You are aware … there are rules … in our business," he tries timidly.

  I don't know why he said that. He's a down to earth guy. He understands how ineffective his words must sound.

  I look at him and grin as I understand.

  Rene is ready to betray his patrons but first needs to give himself some form of justification. That is if I understand him correctly.

  "I know the rules of the business. What I tell you is that they are trounced by the rules of the family. Do you know the rules of the family?"

  He remains silent.

  "When somebody, I don't care who, decides to kill one of my own... and probably myself, as well. That's when the rules of your business are suspended."

  I don't have all the time in the world, and I think he's becoming aware of that. I reflect how slow this length of time must pass for him. What is for me just a banal sequence of minutes, for him becomes a matter of life and death.

  Weaved into the silence before dawn, I hear the insufferable tick-tock, tick-tock the round fat table clock on top of a kitchen shelf makes. It's one of those cheap, sturdy, pre-electronic mechanical contraptions made of wheels, sprockets, and springs, with a rubicund figure on its face that I cannot distinguish too well, from where I stand.

  Rene stares at me like a modest statue, shaking in his boots.

  "We've known each other a long time, Rene. Let's not mess up badly! Once I touch you, things we'll never be same."

  Things will never be the same whatever happens, I judge. But let him think this way. Let him absorb the power
of my illusions.

  "But if you tell me everything, and I'm not kidding you. You tell me everything fair and square, and you know what? When you do that, I'll decide your fate, whether you live or die. I'll make the decision based on what's better for the job like I always do, and what's better for me. But what I can promise you right away Rene, is that it will be quick and if you do as I say nobody else will have to suffer."

  Taking into account the probability that he's involved one way or another in the murder of my brother and an attempted murder of me, chances are he'll die. I’d need a really good reason to let him live.

  "About a month ago Jack Soldi called," he begins. "He needed shooters for a big operation on the continent. He called back again three days ago. This second time he's in a big panic. I honestly think what happened is that he messed up the first time. I honestly think he didn't know. He had no idea his contract involved your brother. Now you had come over to bury your brother and he didn't want you back into the wild. He ordered a big operation, money was no object, but he wanted to be sure you don't get out of there," his voice wavers. "… alive. I told him not to count on it, and that it couldn't be done at such short notice. 'It doesn't matter', he told me, 'Do the best you can!' Which now, in retrospect, I guess, was not good enough."

  "You sold me for a pot of gold, old pal."

  "I didn't have a choice, you know that. You don't play with the likes of Soldi. He's got the biggest operation in North America; now he's expanding his operations on the continent. You turn him down and you start contemplating your own mortality.

  "I know you are going to kill me. I don't blame you. But keep in mind that you cannot beat Jack. He's an organization. No individual, no matter how skillful, no matter how adroit, how smart, how intelligent, can face an organization like his. Keep also in mind that Jack had no idea, when he ordered the operation, that it was your brother who he was going to hit. Once he found out, killing you became simply a matter of business."

  "Maybe you're right, but I hope that maybe you're wrong.

  "Now tell me again about the phone call."