by L. T. Ryan
A mane of blond hair popped up from the edge of the dinette table followed by a pair of big blue eyes. "Mmm, pancakes. Yes, please."
"It must be your lucky day because they are serving pancakes downstairs right now." The hotel they were staying in was first class. No continental breakfast here. "But we gotta hurry before they stop making them."
Mandy jumped out of her chair and raced to the door, still dressed in her pajamas.
"You're not going to put on some clothes?"
She looked back at him like he was crazy. "Momma always said pancakes were s’posed to be eaten in your pj's, Bear."
He shrugged. Who was he to argue with that logic? "Sounds good to me, sweetheart. Let's go."
He opened the door and led Mandy down the hall to the elevator. It was a typical hotel hallway, drab paint, ugly wallpaper in spots, paisley carpet, ice, soda and vending machines at the halfway point. Nothing out of the ordinary, and that was exactly what Bear wanted. The quieter their stay in San Diego the better. He didn't know anyone in the city and no one knew him.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened up. Mandy stepped forward. Bear reached out and pulled her back, insisting on peeking in first.
"Why are you looking at the ceiling, Bear?"
He smiled. "Can't be too cautious, you know."
She giggled. Of course she didn't know. Or maybe she did after everything the little girl had gone through the past few days, lost in the middle of the city, rescued by Jack, abducted, orphaned when her mother was killed.
"Get in there, rascal." He nudged the little girl in the elevator. "Press the L button."
"L like Loretta. That's momma's name."
Did she realize her mother was dead? She was a hostage at the compound when it happened and Jack and Bear assumed that she had been a witness. Maybe she blocked it out and was in shock now, something like that, because she kept talking about her mother like she was going to be waiting for them at the airport when they went back home.
If they went back home.
Ding. The elevator doors opened. Bear held the little girl back, again, and checked to make sure it was safe to exit. He took her hand and led her to the dining room. The lobby was pretty empty and he was free to make note of more drab painting, terrible wallpaper and paisley carpeting.
"Smell that?" he asked.
"Yeah, smells yummy," Mandy replied.
"You bet it does."
The food was laid out in a buffet line. They grabbed their plates, filled them with pancakes, strawberries, butter and syrup. Bear led Mandy to a table in the corner, which gave him a full view of the dining room as well as the street in front of the hotel.
Mandy stuffed half a pancake in her mouth before she sat down. Bear smiled at her as she slowly worked her way through a mouthful of food.
His cell phone buzzed on the table. Restricted number. "Hello?"
"Hello Riley," A man's voice said.
"Who's this?"
"Who is not important, just know that I'm a friend of Jack's."
"Independent?"
"No," the man replied. "Government funded."
"What can I do for you?" He smiled at Mandy, who was staring at him, eyes wide. He motioned for her to keep eating.
"Just got word that someone sent a team out to California looking for you."
Bear covered his mouth with his hand, lowered his voice. "Did a certain Asian friend send them?"
"We believe they're his guys, but he didn't send them."
Charles, that bastard.
"I'm sure you can figure out who did," the man said.
"How long till they get here? You guys know?"
"Unfortunately our intelligence was skewed and we got this info late. They are already on the ground."
Bear pushed his chair back and stood up. Peeked through the window and scanned the dining room again. Nothing stood out.
"Riley? You there?"
"Call me back if you hear anything else." Bear hung up the phone. "Sorry sweetie, we gotta go."
"But I'm not done yet," Mandy protested.
He ignored her complaints, picked her up, threw her over his shoulder. "I'll get you more in a bit. But we gotta get out of here now."
He headed straight for the exit, leaving their belongings behind in the hotel room.
Bear turned left out of the hotel and hid behind a taco cart about a hundred feet from the entrance.
"Bear, what are we doing here?" Mandy asked.
"Shh, I need you to be quiet. OK?"
"But I'm hungry," she said. "Can I have a taco?"
He pulled out his wallet and handed her a five dollar bill. "Here, get however many tacos you can for five dollars." Now he had to watch two spots at once, the front of the taco stand and the entrance to the hotel, but at least she would be quiet and he could concentrate.
He repositioned himself so he had a view of Mandy, the street and the hotel entrance. Everything looked normal. Tourists walked around in shorts and t-shirts or colorful Hawaiian shirts, business people on their way to an early lunch, kids riding bikes. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Except for the four guys in dark suits crossing the street.
Bear ducked behind the cart, made his way to the other side and positioned his head to see the men as they approached the hotel. He did not recognize three of the men, but one was someone he knew, and that was a bad sign. Carlos Solano, a hitman who worked for the old man.
He took position behind the cart again, out of sight from the hotel. "Mandy," he said. "C'mon, we have to get going."
"One second," she said.
"C'mon kid," he said. "We don't have time to..."
Mandy yelled.
Bear froze. He feared the worst. He'd been spotted and now they had the girl. He took a deep breath, pulled the gun out of his waistband, spun around and crouched low, facing the front of the stand. He found himself face to face with Mandy, who was kneeling down, picking up the taco she had dropped.
"Jesus, girl," he said. "I thought… You scared me."
Mandy giggled. "You get scared?"
He smiled and forced himself to laugh. "Yeah, even I get scared."
Bear put away his gun, hoisted Mandy up and started down the street. The rental car was parked four blocks away.
"It's too bumpy," Mandy said. "I can't eat."
"I'll slow down in a few." He was walking fast enough that it could have been classified as jogging in some circles. They were now two blocks away and he was feeling better about their chances of making it out. He stopped and looked back.
"Shit," he said.
Mandy gave him a scolding look.
He frowned back. They were being followed by a man in a dark suit. He recognized the man. Not by name, but he knew his face, another one of the old man's crew. Bear looked around for a place to hide, turned his attention back to the hitman. He was gone. He must have made them and was now in stalking mode.
Bear started walking again, faster than before. The lot was less than two blocks away but he would have to make a detour. He turned right the first chance he had. They were at a major disadvantage here. He didn't know these streets at all and he didn't have time to stare at little maps on his phone. His sole thought was to find a place to hide. Only then would they have a chance. Halfway down the street was an alley. He turned there and hid behind a dumpster.
"What are we doing?" Mandy asked.
"Shhh," Bear said. He held his hand up to Mandy's mouth. "You need to be quiet as a mouse."
Mandy smiled. Bear reckoned she was trying to figure out just how quiet a mouse actually was.
Bear heard the sound of footsteps getting closer. They pounded on the pavement, running. Slowed as they got closer to the alley then stopped.
"Come out," a voice called. "I won't hurt you. We just need to escort you to the marina."
Mandy looked up at Bear, eyes wide, hand over her mouth.
Bear nodded at her and pointed her head away. He pulled out his gun and then crouche
d down.
The footsteps started again. They went past the alley, stopped. Came back and now were coming toward Bear’s hiding spot.
Bear got ready. He would try to neutralize the man instead of shooting him but it wouldn't break his heart if he had to kill the guy.
The steps slowed. The man must have been close to the dumpster. His movements were cautious. Finally, a foot appeared.
Bear reached out, grabbed the foot and pulled. The man crashed with a thud. Bear pulled hard, slamming the man's body into the dumpster. He heard him let out a grunt and gasp for air. Bear got up, gun aimed down, stepped around the dumpster, stood over the man. The hitman dropped his gun when his head hit the ground. Bear kicked the gun to the other side of the alley then reached down and pulled the man up by his shirt. He lifted him in the air, walked him around the dumpster and slammed his back into the brick wall.
"What do you want?" Bear asked the man.
The man spit at Bear.
Bear elbowed him in the side hard enough to crack a rib or two. "Who sent you?"
"Little girl," he said. "She's dead."
Bear looked over at Mandy. She had scooted down to the end of the alley and hid in the corner, head at her knees, hands over her head. He turned his attention back to the man.
"I said, who sent you?"
The man puckered his lips to spit again, but Bear backhanded the man and dropped him. The man hit the ground with a thud, then scrambled to grab Bear's legs. Bear bent over and slammed his large fist into the man's head, collapsing him to the ground. Bear lifted him again, pinned him to the wall by his neck.
"Last chance," Bear said. "Who sent you?"
The man gasped and wheezed and swallowed hard. "And before we kill her, we are going to take turns raping her." He smiled.
Bear reached back and threw all of his weight behind a right hook that dislocated the man's jaw and knocked four teeth out. Bear didn't stop. He hit him again and again. His left hand squeezed the man's neck tighter with each blow. The man's body went limp. Bear let go and the man’s body hit the ground and folded over itself.
He turned toward Mandy. The little girl stood there, mouth open, brow furrowed, eyes turned down. Tears streamed down her face. She gasped in between heavy sobs.
"Mandy," he said.
He held out his arms but Mandy backed up to the wall behind her. Bear's stomach knotted up. He walked up to her, knelt in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulder.
"He was going to hurt you, Mandy," he said. "I was protecting you from him. He wanted to do bad things to you. He left me with no choice."
The little girl cried harder and covered her eyes.
Bear looked over his shoulder at his reflection in a window. His face was spotted with blood, his hair, his beard, all covered with the man's blood. He took off his button up shirt and wiped the blood from his face and hands. Checked his undershirt and made sure it wasn't covered as well.
"Look at me Mandy."
She lowered her hands and opened her eyes, still crying.
"I won't hurt you. I'm here to protect you from anything and anyone." He opened his arms for her to hug him.
She buried herself into his chest, wrapped her fragile arms around his large torso and sobbed heavily.
Bear folded his arms around her and stood up, holding her tight to his chest. He started down the alley toward the street. Stopped at the dumpster and grabbed a few cardboard boxes, tossed them over the hitman, then went to the other side of the alley and grabbed the man's gun.
He took his time before stepping onto the main street again. Once he did though, he didn't look back. He made a line to the parking lot, got in the car and took off heading north on the highway.
4
Pierre pulled up to the front of the Hotel de Crillon and motioned for Jack to get out. "You check in, I'll park the car."
Jack jumped out, grabbed his luggage and went inside the lavish hotel. The lobby resembled something out of an old film. Lit up, it had a golden glow. The checkerboard floor reflected the light of the chandeliers that hung gracefully from the ceiling. The huge marble columns were large enough for a man to hide behind.
Would be a good spot for a hit.
He went to the counter. "Howard Blair," he said to the concierge.
The concierge began typing on his keyboard with two fingers without looking up at Jack. He was an older man, thin, bald on the top and short gray hair on the side. The lines etched on the man's face led Jack to believe he was around sixty years old and had probably spent his whole life sucking up to the rich and famous who vacationed at the posh hotel.
"Monsieur Blair," he said. "There you are, room 314. How many cards will you require?"
"One," Jack said.
The man still hadn't looked up at him. It was for the better. Perhaps later he would be questioned about the man who checked into room 314, the man who left four bodies behind and skipped out without paying his telephone bill.
Jack smiled, playing the scenario out in his head. He imagined the look on the housekeeper's face when she pulled the duvet back, revealing four faces, each with a single bullet hole in their head. She'd scream of course, pass out most likely, then would come to with a crowd standing over her. The police would want to question her, she had to know something. They would question everyone who might have come into contact with Jack during his stay. Who was this man named Howard Blair and how did four people end up dead in his hotel room?
"Monsieur? Monsieur?" The concierge interrupted Jack's daydream. He held out a credit card sized plastic key card. "Your room card, monsieur Blair."
Jack grabbed the card, nodded his thanks and walked away, ignoring everything the concierge said after room card.
He stood on the sidewalk outside the building, waiting for Pierre. The street was busy, which was to be expected since the hotel sat in the heart of Paris. Tourists and locals passed by. This was the best place to stay. Here he was just another face. Any place less populated and someone might remember him.
Pierre walked up, slightly out of breath. He pulled out a cigarette, offered it to Jack.
"Thanks," Jack said.
Pierre lit it for him then retrieved one for himself. "Beautiful building. Really is."
Jack looked up at the archways and long columns that adorned the building's facade. He shrugged. He had seen plenty of beauty in his life. A building didn't really do anything for him. "It's ok.”
"You really are quite the conversationalist. You know that, right?"
Jack rolled his eyes. He pulled out his phone. No messages. He wondered why Bear hadn't checked in yet and made a mental note to call him after Pierre left.
"So tell me more about this assignment."
Jack pressed his lips together and furrowed his brow at Pierre. "Not the right place."
Pierre shrugged and frowned. "Perhaps."
They walked in silence through the hotel lobby. Jack led the way to the elevator with Pierre right behind him.
"Three," Jack said.
Pierre pressed the button for the third floor and turned to Jack. "I have a few guys who can help if you need a team."
Jack nodded. "We'll know soon enough."
The elevator opened and they stopped in front of room 314. Jack stuck his key card into the door and looked at Pierre. Both men winced. Despite the alias, the old man knew Jack was coming to France and most likely knew that he was here now. Might even know where he was staying. It was possible that the old man arranged for Jack to stay in room three-fourteen. And if he did that, he just as easily could have rigged explosives to detonate as soon as the key card was inserted into the door, or arranged for someone to be waiting inside.
The door unlocked and Jack pushed it open. No explosion. No thugs waiting on the other side. It was just an empty room with a complimentary bottle of champagne. Despite the luxury rating of the hotel, the room was rather lackluster. Some people may have found it fancy, but to Jack it was just another boring hotel room in a lon
g list of places he’d stayed.
Jack opened the closet and looked around. He felt up in the corners, slid the garment bags to the side, checked under the hanging rail, opened the garment bags. He closed the closet and turned over the chairs, lifted the table and turned it over on its side.
"So, Jack, tell me. Who is the target?"
Jack narrowed his eyes and looked at Pierre. He continued his search of the room without saying anything. He pulled the sheets off the bed, lifted the mattresses and crawled under to inspect the frame. He went on like this for fifteen minutes. Occasionally Pierre would say something and Jack would ignore him.
Finally satisfied, he said, "OK, room is clean."
Pierre smiled and pulled a small electronic device from his pocket. "You could have just used this, Jack." He held a bug sweeper up for Jack to see. "If the room was bugged it would have gone off as soon as I stepped through the door."
Jack clenched his mouth shut, working a muscle in his jaw. "You could have said something."
"You didn't seem like you wanted to talk, so I kept my mouth shut."
"You said every other damn thing that came to your mind," Jack said.
Pierre laughed. "You must learn to trust me."
Jack pulled out his cell phone, connected it to the TV and pulled up a picture of the target. "You want trust? Well then here you go."
Pierre studied the man. Dark complexion, shaved head, broad face speckled with four day old black and silver stubble. Both ears adorned with gold hoop earrings. Eyes covered with expensive sunglasses. A full mouth, partly open like he had a secret to tell and was just about to let them in on it.
"Is that who I think it is?" Pierre asked. "I know him. From the movies, right?"
"Yeah, Mitchell Foster. Started off in bit roles in the nineties, became a leading man toward the end of the decade. Used his big payday to start producing."
"What was his big payday?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "Some flick about a team of assassins. Garbage."
Pierre laughed.
"So why were you contracted to kill a movie producer?" Pierre asked. "I don't understand."
Jack sat down on the corner of the bed. Flicked the camera and put the next document up on the screen and nodded.