by L. T. Ryan
Days at a time? That wasn't mentioned in Pierre's reports.
"And he was always high," Corinne continued. "Finally, one day he beat her. No reason at all. He just beat her. She was in such bad shape that she was in the hospital for a week.
Jack acted surprised, but he figured Foster to be the type of man who would beat a woman. He didn't value women. That was obvious by his involvement in trafficking women for the sex trade.
"Anyway," Corinne said. "Let's change the subject."
The bartender returned with Jack's drink. Jack picked it up and held it to his mouth. He checked his reflection in the mirror, rolled his eyes to himself and turned toward Corinne. "Don't tell anyone."
She laughed.
He took a big pull from the glass, sat it down, made a face. "How can you drink that?"
Corinne continued laughing. She grabbed his hand. "C'mon Jack, let's get out of here. I want to go dancing."
Jack groaned. He threw back the rest of the green drink and followed her out the door.
She held his hand and guided him down the street. "It's not far."
They didn't get far before they were confronted by three men. They were young. Jack placed them around Corinne's age.
"What are you doing with this guy, Corinne?" the tall skinny one said. He had long hair, pulled back in a ponytail. He wore a checkered polo shirt and blue jeans. He had a patchy blond beard. "I said, what are you doing with this asshole?"
The other two men positioned themselves on the side. The fat one was to the right of Jack, maybe three feet away. He was shorter than Jack, but had at least fifty pounds on him. All fat though. Jack figured he could drop the man in one hit. On the other side of Corinne was the third man. Jack didn't get a good look at him and wasn't going to take his eyes off the tall skinny one in front of him.
Corinne stuttered, "He...he's a friend of mine from America."
"A friend of yours?" the skinny man looked Jack up and down. "Or your mom's? I bet he screws your mom every night and you just had to have some, huh?"
"Don't talk to the girl like that," Jack said.
The man took a step to the side and lined himself up in front of Jack. "I'll talk to her however I want to." He reached behind and pulled out a blackjack, put the strap around his wrist and twirled it in front of him. He stopped and poked Jack in the chest with the weapon. "You got that, old man?"
Since when was thirty-six old?
"Just leave him alone, will you?" Corinne said.
The skinny man looked cross. He leaned in to Jack, his face only six inches away.
"Oh, you want me to leave your lover alone?" The skinny man turned his head and gave Corinne a pouting look.
Jack didn't hesitate. He grabbed the man's wrist and elbow, pushed and pulled, separating the arm from the elbow joint. The blackjack was strapped to the wrist. Jack didn't even bother to remove it. Much to the skinny man's yelling objection, Jack smashed the fat man's voice box by jabbing the heavy weapon into it. Then he swung the blackjack in a circle. It hit the skinny man squarely in his testicles and the guy fell to the ground in a cradled position. The third man started to run. Jack pulled the blackjack off of the skinny man's wrist and threw it at the fleeing man. It hit him across the back of the head and he fell to the ground unconscious.
Corinne screamed, a much delayed reaction. She backed up against the wall. "Who are you?"
He approached her, arms out, trying to calm her down. "It's OK. It was us or them."
She looked at the three men on the ground. They were all injured but they were alive.
Jack heard a car approaching, turned and saw it was a taxi. He ran out into the street and flagged the taxi down. He pulled Corinne to the open door and put her inside. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "Don't go to work tomorrow, OK?"
"What? Why?"
"Don't ask. Just call in sick." He shut the door and watched the taxi drive off.
When he turned around, he saw the tall skinny man had gotten up and picked the blackjack up off the ground. He was leaning back against the building in an effort to catch his breath. The fat man pulled himself up using a tree. The third man, who was much shorter than the other two, was still on the ground, although he appeared to have regained consciousness.
"You're dead old man," the skinny man said.
Jack shrugged. "What makes you think you can handle me?"
"You got lucky last time. A cheap shot."
Jack reached behind his back and retrieved his gun. He aimed it at the fat man, pulled the trigger. Two shots rang out and the fat man fell to the ground.
The skinny man raised the blackjack and took a step toward Jack. He stopped and looked down at his shirt. A bloodstain spread rapidly from the center of his chest. He dropped the blackjack and fell to his knees. Jack walked toward him and kicked him over. The man's head hit the ground with a thud.
Jack took a look around and noticed a few lights had switched on. He started down the street, making sure to put a bullet in the head of the third man who had finally managed to get to his knees.
At least these guys wouldn't bother Corinne again. Hopefully she wouldn't show up at work the next night. He'd have to find out how to get a hold of her though, if only to apologize for scaring her.
8
"For Christ’s sake."
"Is everything OK, Bear?" Mandy asked from the backseat.
"Yeah, everything's fine," he said. Only it wasn't fine. The blue sedan had been behind him for thirty minutes. It mirrored every move he made. If he sped up, so did the sedan. If he slowed down, the sedan did as well. He changed lanes and the sedan changed lanes too.
The bastards were following him. But how? There was no way they knew which car he was in. Besides, they had been on the road for three hours and he had constantly been looking for any sign of being followed. Until thirty minute ago, he’d noticed no one following them.
He kept checking the mirror every ten seconds.
Mandy must have noticed. She leaned in between the front seats. "Are you sure you are OK?"
He ignored the girl, slowed down to about thirty miles per hour. The sedan slowed as well and was right on his tail. There were four men in the car. The two in the front seat were talking. It looked like the passenger was barking orders at the driver. The passenger pointed at the upcoming exit and the sedan swerved off the road.
Bear sighed loudly, leaned forward and hugged the steering wheel.
"Hey, what's that?"
"What, sweetheart?"
"That thing on your back."
He looked at Mandy sideways. "What thing?"
"I dunno, there's some metal thing stuck to your shirt."
"Shit!" he yelled.
He swerved the car onto the emergency shoulder. Bear jumped out and pulled off his shirt. On the back he found a transmitter.
"Sonofabitch," he said.
The man in the alley must have planted it on him. They'd been tracking him for hours now. He pulled the transmitter off the shirt and put the shirt back on. He sat on the hood of his car and thought for a moment. They knew where he was. He could use this to his advantage, just had to hide the girl first.
Half an hour later Bear pulled into an alley lined with warehouses on both sides. He’d had the little rental car set at one hundred miles per hour on the highway,w which should have provided him with at least ten minutes before they caught up. Mandy was safe at an arcade. The only one who could check her out of the place was Bear. If something happened to him she would end up in custody and a call would be placed to Jack. Now, Bear just had to trap the team sent to kill him.
He broke into one of the warehouses, they all had looked abandoned, and he planted the transmitter in an enclosed office. Solid walls, no windows, only one door in. Just like the warehouse itself. If the team was true to form, then three would go in and one would guard the door.
Bear took position in the abandoned building across the street and waited.
Eight minutes later the b
lue sedan drove by. It slowed as it passed the building then turned left at the next street. Bear assumed they were checking the back of the building, just as he had earlier. A few more minutes passed and the four men appeared on the street from the side of the warehouse. They were all dressed the same in dark suits and black shoes. All four had closely cut hair, three brown, one gray. None had facial hair. All were in pretty good shape. Bear would do his best to avoid a fight with these guys. They were the real deal. Trained assassins.
Three went inside. One stayed outside. He knew that it would take thirty seconds for the team to get to the office.
Bear timed it and at thirty seconds he fired a shot at the man positioned outside of the door to the warehouse. The shot hit the man in the forehead and he dropped to the ground. A half a minute later the door cracked open. Bear took aim and fired another shot between the crack of the door. A man fell out, onto the concrete, leaving the door wide open. A third man leaned out to pull him back in.
Bear didn't hesitate. He fired a third round into the top of the man's head. The guy collapsed on his partner's body.
Bear waited a few minutes, but the fourth man never came through the door. Now he was at a disadvantage. There was only one door in and no windows. Bear would be the one in danger of getting shot if he pushed through the door. He slipped out the side door of the building and started to make his way to his car. But curiosity got the better of him. He had to know who was behind this, confirm his suspicions. He doubled back and got to the side of the warehouse. He made his way to the door, back pressed tightly against the building. The door stood open, unable to close because of the dead bodies on the ground. Bear quickly poked his head around and saw the man sitting on the floor, knees pulled up, head buried between his knees.
Some professional.
Without hesitation, Bear leaned in and shot the man in the right shoulder.
The man screamed, fell backward and rolled onto his left side. The gun he was holding fell when the bullet tore through the flesh, muscle and bone in his upper arm.
Bear rushed in, kicked the gun and lifted the man, pinning him against the wall.
The man yelled out in pain.
"Who sent you?" Bear asked.
The man gritted his teeth. "Screw you."
Bear held the gun to the man's head. "You see your friends over there? Huh? You want to end up like them?"
The man squeezed his eyes tight and tried to spit at Bear, but it just dribbled out of his mouth and hung in strands from his chin.
Bear dropped the man and kicked him in the ribs. Then he grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him to the front door.
"Look at them," Bear shouted. "Tell me what I want to know."
The man started to cry. "OK, I'll tell you. Just don't kill me."
Bear let go of the man and backed up a few steps.
"Charles sent us. Told me that the old man couldn't know."
Bear dropped his head and rubbed his eyes. He held the gun out in front of him. "You're telling me the truth?"
The man scooted back. "Honest to God, man. It's the truth."
Bear sighed and lowered the gun. "Thanks."
He walked toward the door. As he passed the man, he held the gun out and fired a single shot into the guy’s head.
9
Mitchell Foster opened his eyes, sat up and stretched his arms over his head. He rolled over and slid off of his custom made bed, which was four feet wider and two feet longer than a traditional king-size bed. Blue and pink custom-made satin sheets sat wrinkled on it. Foster made a trip to the bathroom and then went downstairs. His luxury apartment was filled with the smell of blueberry pancakes.
He stepped into the kitchen and greeted Gloria, his personal assistant, chef, maid and driver. She’d been with him since his high profile days as a famous actor.
"Hungry?" she asked.
He nodded and took a seat at the breakfast table. He stared out the window at the busy street below filled with people on their way to work and school, heading to the market or just sight-seeing.
Gloria placed a cup of coffee in front of him. "You have a lunch meeting today with Harstein."
"Great," he said. "Can't wait."
He and Jack Harstein had produced movies together nearly a decade ago. From what Foster had heard, Harstein was broke now and had more than likely spent his last two thousand dollars on a trip to Paris to visit Foster to beg for money to produce some crappy action movie.
Gloria looked over her shoulder at him. "You two used to be friends. What harm could come from pitching in on a new movie?"
"Past is the past, Gloria."
"Then why do you keep me around?"
He smiled. "You're the only one that understands me."
He heard the front door open. Little feet pounded the staircase.
"Daddy, daddy," Foster's six year old daughter said excitedly. Her pale face lit up at the sight of her father. Her two front teeth were missing, making her smile appear that much bigger but also giving her a slight speech impediment. She jumped onto his lap, her blond hair tickling his nose. "What's for breakfast?"
"Watch out for daddy's coffee, muffin," Foster said.
"Blueberry pancakes," Gloria said. "Don't they smell yummy, Anna?"
"Mmmhmmm," Anna said.
"Hello, Mitch." Foster's wife Sandra walked into the kitchen carrying their two other children, Jake their eighteen month old son and Jessie their three year old daughter. Both clung to their mother.
Gloria came to Sandra's aid and grabbed Jessie.
Foster sat Anna in the chair next to him and went to Sandra. He leaned in to kiss her lips. She turned her head to the side.
"Not yet," she said. "I still don't know."
"Just move back in," Foster said. "I miss you. I miss the kids."
"What about her?"
Sandra was referring to Lorraine, Foster's mistress with whom he had an illegitimate daughter named Sophie.
Foster turned away. "I told you that's over."
They all sat at the table and had breakfast together. Afterward, Sandra got the kids together and headed for the front door.
"Will I see you tonight, daddy?" Anna asked.
"Yes, of course," Foster replied. "Why don't you all come to dinner at the restaurant tonight?"
Sandra rolled her eyes. "Fine, we'll be there around six."
"Gloria," Foster yelled from the front door.
"Yeah," she said from the top of the stairs.
"I'm going to the restaurant for lunch."
She shrugged and made a gesture that said she expected as much.
"Do me a favor," Foster said. "Call Harstein and tell him to meet me there at four-thirty today. I got other business to take care of before then."
He stepped out and joined the stream of people walking the street. He passed through the market, stopping along the way to buy an apple. He chatted with several different vendors. Every day he made this walk and he enjoyed getting to know the everyday people of the city. People who had no clue that he had once been a major Hollywood player.
After he passed through the market, he turned right and stopped in front of a very old building. He knocked on the unassuming door. Red paint chips hung from the door in strips, and a few littered the ground. Underneath the paint was a door that had seen centuries of activity on the street before it. Foster stared at the street and wondered what the scene was like two hundred years ago.
The door cracked open. "Yeah?"
Foster turned around and nodded at the half hidden face.
"Sorry, Foster. Didn't realize it was you." The man opened the door.
Foster stepped in and tossed the man an apple. "No problem, Adrien. No problem at all."
Adrien led Foster to a small office. In the office was an antique desk covered with dust. There was a stack of papers close to a foot high at one end.
Foster cleared his throat. "Love what you've done with the place."
Adrien dropped his eyes. "Sorr
y, mate. Been really busy this month and haven't had much time to clean up."
"Just make sure anything that has my name isn't on this desk. Got it?"
"Sure thing."
"So what's the news? How are operations?"
"Well, not so good." Adrien fidgeted with a stapler and avoided looking at Foster.
Foster leaned forward and put his arm on the desk. "What do you mean, not so good?"
"Well, eh, we seem to have..." Adrien cleared his throat. "We've lost a shipment."
Foster stood up and pushed the papers off the desk.
"Lost a shipment?" Foster asked. He placed his hands on the desk and hovered over Adrien. "How do you lose a shipment of two dozen women?"
"We believe the shipment was intercepted."
Foster turned around, clasped his hands behind his head and started to laugh. From behind him Adrien let out a nervous laugh. Foster stopped laughing and looked at Adrien out of the corner of his eye. The man was back against the wall and he had something in his hands. Foster reached under his shirt and pulled a nine millimeter handgun from his waistband. He turned around and pointed the gun at Adrien, who was holding a golf club.
"What the hell are you gonna do with that?" Foster asked.
Adrien didn't respond. He stood there, eyes glassy, body shaking.
Foster stepped closer.
Adrien let out a high pitched humming noise.
Foster heard the sound of drops hitting the floor. He looked down and saw a growing wet spot on the front of Adrien's pants. He rolled his eyes.
"Fix it," Foster said. "Fix it by tomorrow or you're dead."
Foster stepped through the front gate, stopped under the awning, took his usual seat. He pulled out his phone and made a call to his bodyguard Terrance and told the team to meet him outside of Lorraine's house at one-thirty. He stopped a waitress, ordered a cup of coffee and a sandwich. He lit a cigarette and sat back, enjoying the unseasonably warm breeze in Paris that day.
The waitress delivered his coffee. "Your sandwich will be ready soon."