by L. T. Ryan
God help all of them if he did.
Jack stepped out of the elevator, walked through the elaborate lobby and nodded at the doorman as he stepped out into the cool night air. It felt good against his skin, but the smells of the city were a bit overwhelming, even for someone who had just come from New York City.
He pulled out his cell and dialed Pierre's number.
"Allo?"
"Pierre, its Jack. Look, I'm feeling a bit naked here. Think you can hook me up?"
"I presume you need some protection?"
"That's correct."
"There is a cafe not too far from your hotel. Get to the street, turn right, two blocks, a left and it will be the first building on the left."
"Got it."
"Good, see you in thirty minutes Jack."
The waitress rolled her eyes when Jack ordered a cafe Americano. He'd be damned if he was going to order anything else. Why hadn't he trusted his instincts and suggested a bar instead of agreeing to meeting at a cafe? Whiskey is whiskey, no matter where you go.
He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He looked around as he exhaled. No dirty looks from the non-smokers. One of the only good things about being in Paris, he figured. Half the city smoked. And the non-smokers didn't go around giving the smokers dirty looks or coughing loudly to make a point. Although he wanted to quit, he didn’t feel like being judged for his vice.
He had asked for the table in the back corner on the terrace so he could see people as they came and left and could also get a good view of the street and the people passing by. He studied the crowd sitting outside the cafe with him. Two separate couples, one of which refused to make eye contact as they drank their coffee, were seated on either side of him. Two ladies sat near the entrance and were engrossed in a heavily animated conversation. They looked eerily alike, but he didn't think they were twins. Lastly, there were two individual men seated outside. One was reading a magazine, the other talking on his phone. More like groveling from what Jack and his limited French could understand.
"Hello, Jack."
Jack looked up and saw Pierre standing there. Instinctively he had grabbed the fork as soon as he heard his name.
"Sit," Jack said. "Scared me."
Pierre smiled. "You must be slipping, letting me sneak up like that when I should have been in full view."
Jack nodded. "Was trying to figure out what that guy on the phone was saying. Sounded to me like he was apologizing for cheating on his wife."
Pierre cocked his head and listened for a few seconds.
"I would agree with that assessment," he said.
Pierre raised his hand and signaled to the waitress.
She came over and said nothing while staring out at the street.
"Un cafe," Pierre said.
The waitress walked off without saying a word or acknowledging the men.
"Love the hospitality," Jack said.
Pierre laughed. "Takes some getting used to."
"Did you bring it?" Jack asked, his tone serious now.
Pierre grabbed a napkin off the table and wrapped it around something in his lap, placed the item on the table and slid it across to Jack.
Jack picked the item up, felt its weight and tucked it into the waistband behind him. He nodded approvingly. "This is just for protection. You'll be able to acquire an M40 for the hit, right?" The M40A3 rifle was Jack's preferred weapon for this kind of hit, where he would stake out and be making a distance shot. It's the weapon he grew up with in the Marines and he'd relied on it countless times.
"Yes," Pierre replied. "We select the location tomorrow and everything will be arranged for Wednesday."
Jack stood across the street from a small restaurant named Sensationnel. A green and white awning extended over a concrete patio. The patio was separated from the street by a three foot high black iron gate. About a dozen small bistro tables littered the patio. It was early, around ten a.m. Business was slow, just a few customers drinking coffee and checking emails on their phones or reading newspapers. One woman was talking loudly on her phone while her young daughter, maybe four years old, played on a tablet computer. The little girl kept looking up at her mother, opening her mouth to speak. Her mother just waved her off and continued with the conversation.
He saw Pierre walking up and gave him a nod. Pierre acknowledged him, turned and stepped into the building behind Jack. He followed the Frenchman inside. They climbed three flights of stairs.
"There," Pierre said while pointing at the apartment labeled C. "It's vacant. Has been for three months."
"Key?"
"Here you go," Pierre said as he handed the keys to Jack.
Jack pulled out the handgun Pierre had delivered the night before, unlocked the door and stepped inside the apartment. Dirt and dust greeted him. He pushed through cobwebs toward the window that looked onto the street and the cafe.
"Problem," he said. "If he's not at one of those first tables, the awning is going to block the view."
"They take the awning up at night. It's just there to keep it cool during the day."
Jack picked up a chair and set it down in front of the window. He grabbed a rag off the table and wiped the dust off the chair and window sill. "So what's his routine?"
"Twice a day he comes to eat here. Once around noon, stays for thirty minutes. Again he comes at five, and this time stays until eight or nine. Sometimes even later. Depends on who is with him."
"Think it’s better to do this in the evening?"
"Probably. Will be hard to escape during the day, especially at noon. You will see shortly. Many people out. We’d be spotted for sure." Pierre walked to the window and looked down on the street. "You find this spot suitable?"
Jack nodded.
"Good." Pierre picked up a chair and sat it next to Jack's. He sat down and put his feet up on the window sill. "Now we wait."
Two hours passed and the men barely said a word. Jack was running different scenarios through his head. Every once in a while he would think about Clarissa. His thoughts drifted to Bear and Mandy. He wondered where they had gone. Bear didn't say in his message. Jack couldn't fault him for that. Someone fed Charles the flight information. That same someone might also be able to get information from Jack's mailbox.
"Foster," Pierre whispered.
"Where?"
Pierre pointed at the man dressed in black, flanked by three bodyguards.
Jack looked through a pair of binoculars to get a glimpse of Foster before he disappeared under the awning, managing to only see him from behind. The man had tanned skin, a shaved head with a day or two of growth on top, and a menacing tattoo on the back of his neck.
"Yeah, that's him," Jack said. "He stays about thirty minutes?"
"That's what our file says."
"I'm going to get a closer look." Jack stood up and pushed back the chair. "Need some coffee anyway."
"Be careful," Pierre said.
Jack nodded without looking back. "Will do. Cover me."
He jogged down the stairs, through the small lobby, through the door and into the street. He turned left, walked about two hundred feet and then crossed over. Turning right, he made his way back to the restaurant. He didn't want Foster's bodyguards to see him cross the street directly from the apartment building.
He took his time walking to the restaurant. He pushed through the gate and walked past Foster's table. Foster was sitting with his back to the road. That would make the hit easy if he sat like that for dinner tomorrow night. The table was to Jack’s left. He turned his head to the right as he passed.
"Can I help you?" the waitress asked as Jack stepped inside the main building.
"I'd like a couple sandwiches and some coffee. Can I get that here?"
"Oui monsieur. Follow me."
She led him to a counter, ducked under and pulled out a menu for Jack. Her brown hair caught on the counter and pulled a good chunk of hair from the bands holding it in a ponytail. Her hair fell across her face, covering her
blue eyes. She tucked her head and smiled at Jack, her large red glossy lips giving way to reveal white teeth as her lips parted. Jack smiled back. She brushed the hair from her face, regained her composure and took his order.
"On vacation?" she asked.
"That obvious?" he replied.
She shrugged. "You don't look like a tourist. That's a good thing."
He laughed. "I'm here on business for a few days."
"Perhaps you could come back tonight?" she said. "I get off around nine and would be happy to show you around the city?"
He thought it over. He didn't have any interest in the woman, but she might be able to provide him with some inside information on Foster. Things that even Pierre's sources didn't know.
She disappeared for a moment and returned with a bag and two cups of coffee. "Well?"
"Sure," he said. "Name's Jack."
"Corinne," she said. "Be here at nine sharp. I won't wait."
He stepped onto the covered patio and walked toward Foster's table.
"Mitchell Foster?" Jack said. "Holy shit. I'm a huge, huge fan."
Foster looked up at him with his dark eyes. True to form he had about a week's growth of hair on his face and wore a gold earring in his right ear. He was older looking than Jack imagined, though. He figured the man lived a tough lifestyle. Foster took a pull on his cigarette and nodded at Jack. This must have been routine for him. A fan walks up, says I loved you in such and such, asks for a picture and walks off. Jack figured Foster had been through this exact scenario thousands of times, but probably not so much in France.
"I loved you in Assassins." Jack smiled wide, really hamming it up. "But my favorite was A Wind Swept Shot. That had to be the most realistic hitman movie I ever saw."
Foster grinned. He seemed genuinely pleased by Jack's remarks. "Thank you. No one ever mentions that movie. Tell you the truth, I wish I had stayed on that track instead of going for the big payday."
"Ah, but the payday has merits right?"
Foster laughed. "Want to sit down?"
Jack pretended to look at his watch, then snuck a glance at the bodyguards who were all shaking their head slightly. The biggest one furrowed his brow and stuck out his lips.
"Perhaps some other time," Jack said. "I have to get back to the office."
Foster shrugged and nodded. "It was nice meeting you..."
"Where are my manners? Blair. Howard Blair."
"Nice meeting you, Mr. Blair."
Jack walked off, whistling, his mind going in twenty different directions. He caught himself at the last second about to step into the street. He swung his leg in the other direction, turned right and repeated his earlier path in reverse.
Back in the apartment, he set the food and coffee on the dusty table and gave Pierre the abridged version of events. He decided to leave out the bit about Corinne. He didn't want to be tailed when he left with her.
They ate in silence, like an old couple with nothing left to say to each other. They watched as Foster and his bodyguards left the restaurant. According to Pierre's information, it would be over four hours until Foster returned. Jack decided to use that time to familiarize himself with the area. He took a walk and got to know the street names, as well as the streets that intersected those. He scouted out a few possible places to hide for the night if it came down to it.
When he returned to the vacant apartment for the third time, Pierre was asleep. Jack decided to test his associate's skills. He had entered without a sound and crept up behind him. He took one of the cups from the table and pressed it into the back of Pierre's head.
"You would have been dead already, Jack," Pierre said.
Jack laughed. "Is that right?"
"Yes, that's right," a deep voice said from behind him.
Jack spun around, reaching for his gun, and came face to face with a large black man. "Who the hell are you?"
The large man smiled. Half his teeth were missing. The other half were discolored and chipped. He had a heavy beard, thick eyebrows and a bald or shaved head. Jack guessed shaved. The man's head was heavy with wax, the type you would use after shaving your scalp.
Pierre stood. "This is Gaston. He is going to set for us. I asked him here so that you could instruct him with what you need and where you need it. When we get here tomorrow, Gaston will have everything arranged for us."
Jack held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."
Gaston nodded and shook Jack's hand.
"You ever sneak up on me again," Jack said, "I'll kill you."
Gaston laughed, turned, and slipped past the door.
Jack gave Pierre a curious glance.
"Don't worry, he's trustworthy," Pierre said.
Another half hour passed without much activity. Jack had nearly dozed off when Pierre nudged him, pointing out the window at Foster and his entourage.
His party had grown considerably. There were the three bodyguards, but he was also accompanied by two men and three women.
"Is this typical?" Jack asked.
"Yes, he entertains at dinnertime. Always the bodyguards. Sometimes friends. Sometime his wife and kids. Sometime his mistress and their illegitimate child."
"Hopefully no kids tomorrow," Jack said.
Pierre nodded. "Yes, that would be messy."
The awning retracted and they saw Foster and his party. Four tables were adjoined. Two of the wait staff attended to him. One of them was Corinne. They'd have something to talk about tonight after all.
The remainder of the afternoon and evening went by with relatively little activity. The party shifted, a few people joined, a few people left. Occasionally someone would wander up and take a picture or get an autograph. Sometimes Foster would get up and hug a visitor. Jack figured this was when drugs or information were exchanged. Foster and his guests drank a lot. His bodyguards didn't. Quarter after eight, they got up and left.
"We'll do the hit at six," Jack said.
"Why six?" Pierre asked.
"It's arbitrary," Jack replied.
Pierre shrugged. "Good enough for me." He walked to the door and turned to Jack. "Coming? My neighbor Suzette is making a roast tonight."
"I'm going to watch for a bit. See if Foster or his bodyguards return. Never know."
"Suit yourself."
"Give Suzette my best."
The door closed. Jack sat back, pulled a flask from his pocket and took a good, long pull on the whiskey.
Just enough to calm his nerves.
7
The street was dimly lit, perhaps enough so he could cross without being noticed. But Jack decided to play the same routine as earlier. He turned left, walked two hundred feet, crossed, turned back to the right and entered the restaurant through the patio.
Corinne sat at the bar. She looked about fifteen years younger than Jack. Why would she even be interested in him? Sure, he was a good looking guy and received his fair share of attention from the ladies. But why would a twenty one year old be interested?
She smiled and winked when she saw him. He smiled back and momentarily shoved the questions to the back of his mind.
"Shall we go?" she asked.
He glanced around the restaurant making a mental note of where the kitchen and restrooms were located.
"Yeah, let's get out of here," he said.
They stepped onto the front patio. He looked up at the strands of string lights woven above them.
"These on every night?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Most nights I suppose."
This would be something to consider if the hit went down after the sunset. The lights might offset his target. It would only be a bit, but it could be enough. The hit had to go down without a hitch.
"What time do they normally turn them on?"
Corinne faked a yawn. "Why are you asking me about stupid string lights?" She jumped in front of him and grabbed his hands. "C'mon, let's go have some fun."
He began to wonder if it had been a mistake to agree to go out with her.
>
She pulled him through the gate and they walked down the dimly lit street. She had her arm wrapped around his. He thought about pushing her aside, but truth was he didn't mind a beautiful woman hanging on him like this. His thoughts turned to Clarissa and for a moment he felt uneasy. They had always said that there was no attachment, each of them could come and go as they pleased. And they pretty much had over the last couple years. Jack wasn't really the type of guy who could commit to a long term relationship. He also wasn’t the kind of guy who should be committed to. Anyone in his line of work only endangered the lives of their loved ones.
Corinne pulled him to the left, through another gate and into a bar. The room was dark. There were a few small pendant lights over the bar itself, and each table had a lantern on it. Jack felt like he had stepped back eighty years.
"What'll you have?" the bartender asked in French.
Corinne named a drink Jack had never heard of. He ordered himself a whiskey, figuring that wouldn't get lost in translation. The bartender nodded and walked to the other end of the bar to begin mixing Corinne's drink.
"Whiskey?" she said. "How boring. Why don't you try what I'm having?" She held the glass to her mouth and licked the rim.
Jack shrugged. "I stick with what works."
"Oh, I bet you wear the same white colored boxers every day and these boring Khaki pants all the time." She laughed.
The bartender returned with another round of drinks. Jack pointed at Corinne's green concoction.
"I'll take one of those too," he said.
The bartender nodded and disappeared again.
"So I saw a movie star at the restaurant today," Jack said, figuring this was a good a time as any to gather some intel.
Corinne scrunched her face. "Foster. I don't like that man."
Jack raised an eyebrow and didn't say a word.
"I think he is into some bad stuff."
"Why do you think that?"
"Something one of the other waitresses told me. She dated him for a while. His third mistress at the time. Anyway, there were always people showing up and his phone was always ringing. He would disappear for days at a time."