by L. T. Ryan
Jack exhaled, sat back. He read the subtitles on the screen as eyewitnesses recounted the ordeal. Not a one had a good look at him. And as it turned out, Lorraine had been hit by the bullet. The wound left her unconscious and they feared she would die during the night.
Then they displayed a composite sketch of the shooter.
Jack grinned. No way was anyone going to figure Jack as the shooter.
He picked up his cell phone and placed a call to Bear.
"Hey, Jack," Bear said.
"How are you two doing?"
"It's been a damn mess, Jack. A damn mess."
Jack sensed something was wrong. "Mandy OK?"
"Yeah, she's fine now."
"Now?"
"The guy in the alley, he bugged me. They followed us. Mandy actually spotted the transmitter on my shirt."
"What did you do?" Jack poured himself another drink.
"I let them know I spotted them following me. They pulled off the highway and I took off like a bat outta hell. Serious, pushed over one hundred for thirty minutes."
"Damn."
"Dropped Mandy off at one of those protected arcade places and then found a place to set them up."
"I take it everything went fine?" Jack asked.
"Yeah, killed all four." There was a pause. "Jack, you won't like this."
"What?"
"It was one of the old man's teams."
"I have to meet with him tomorrow."
"Yeah, I know. But they weren't sent by him. He might not even know about it."
"What are you saying, Bear?"
"Before I killed the last guy, he confessed that Charles had sent them."
Jack rubbed his temples. "OK. I'll call you after the exchange tomorrow."
He hung up and thought for a minute, then dialed the old man.
"Mr. Jack," the old man said.
"How do you know it’s me?"
"I know all of your numbers, Mr. Jack."
He decided against pressing the phone number issue. "What the hell is going on? Why did you send a team after Bear and the girl?"
"I'm sorry?"
Was he being condescending?
"You know what I'm talking about. They went to San Diego and were greeted by a hit team."
"Ah, I see," the old man said. A long pause ensued. "I seem to have a loose cannon in my organization. I take it the team was not successful?"
"All five are dead."
Muffled voices filled the ear piece of Jack's phone.
"Hello?" he said.
The old man cleared his throat. "One minute, Mr. Jack."
Jack tried to make sense of what the muffled voices were saying but it was pointless. He couldn't make out a single word.
"Mr. Jack, my apologies. That team, which was one of my better ones, was not sent by me. I didn't order a hit on Mr. Bear and I wouldn't dare harm a hair on the little girl's head."
Jack didn't believe the last part, but he did believe the information Bear had coerced out of one of the hit men was correct.
He changed the subject. "Where are we going to do the exchange?"
"I've got a spot selected, Mr. Jack."
"Yeah, where is it?"
"I will tell you that tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. You should be waiting outside your hotel."
"Why?" Jack asked.
"It will take you fifteen minutes to reach the location by foot," the old man said, ignoring Jack's question. "You are to travel only by foot. Do not attempt to drive."
Jack looked up at the ceiling, clenched his fist, took a deep breath.
"OK," Jack said. "Anything else?"
"Yes, come alone. Do not attempt to bring your friend from the French government with you."
So he did know about the hit.
"Do not bring anyone. If you do, the girl dies. Understand?"
"Yeah, I got it."
The old man started to talk, but Jack hung up the phone. He had wasted enough time on the phone tonight.
Jack stood up and looked at the door. He thought about going out for a few hours but decided against it. Instead, he collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.
13
Jack stood outside the hotel and looked at his watch. Ten a.m. He held his cell phone in the opposite hand. It rang.
"Yeah," he answered.
"Le Pont Alexander III," the old man said. "Meet us on that bridge."
"Got it."
"And remember, Mr. Jack..."
"Yeah, yeah, come alone."
The old man hung up. Jack flipped the GPS on his phone on, and after a short walk down Cours la Reine, turned left on Avenue Winston Churchill. He could see the bridge in the distance. It took him just seven minutes to reach this point and he had time to spare, so he sat next to an older woman sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette. He bummed a smoke from her and scouted the area.
Right away he spotted two men positioned on either side of the road, standing against the large fifty foot high columns at the end of the bridge. He figured there would be two more on the other end, and anywhere from one to four along the bridge.
The bridge was busy, a combination of cars and pedestrians. Locals, businessmen and tourists all made their way along the century old bridge that spanned the width of the Seine River
He saw a luxury car stop in the middle. An old Asian man and a woman got out.
Clarissa.
Jack leaned his shoulder toward the older woman, thanked her for the cigarette and asked if he could have another for his walk. She handed him two and a book of matches. He thanked her again and made his way to the bridge.
The two men at the end stood motionless. Jack nodded at each. They didn't respond. Jack took comfort in the fact that they knew that he knew they were there. He walked down the side of the bridge, along the edge. He stopped to take pictures with his cell phone for no reason other than he wanted to drag this out and piss off the old man's bodyguards.
He got closer. The old man nodded to him. Clarissa spun, smiled and dropped her head.
Jack stopped ten feet away.
"Send her over," he said.
"Give me the documents," the old man said.
Jack reached into his pocket, pulled out a cell phone and placed it on the ground. He backed up another ten feet.
The old man took Clarissa by the arm and stepped forward. He reached down and picked up the phone.
Jack was surprised the old man was so bold. What if he had planted an explosive instead of a real phone? But he wouldn't take that chance with Clarissa's life and the old man knew it.
"What's this?" the old man asked.
"The documents. I had to get rid of the originals in case customs stopped me. They’re stored on the phone."
The old man frowned and shook his head.
"What did you expect me to do? France was your idea, not mine."
"What else is on there?" the old man asked.
"Nothing," Jack said. "I wiped everything else off."
He pulled another phone from his pocket, showed it to the old man then put it away.
The old man raised his left arm and waved. One of his men crossed the street, dodging cars along the way, and approached Jack.
Jack reached behind his back, grabbed the butt of his gun.
"Now, now Mr. Jack," the old man said. "There's no need for that."
The old man looked through the phone and nodded at the man standing next to Jack. The man walked over to Clarissa, took her hand and led her to Jack.
Jack reached for Clarissa's hand, held it tightly. He watched the old man turn to walk away, then stop abruptly.
"Mr. Jack," the old man said. "If you happen to see Mr. Charles, please do let me know."
With that, he walked another twenty feet. The luxury car pulled up next to him and he got in.
Jack waited until the car disappeared. He turned to Clarissa and hugged her tight to his body.
"Oh, Jack," she said through muffled sobs.
"Shh, take it easy. We sti
ll need to get off this bridge."
Clarissa looked at him wide-eyed.
"He's got what he wants. He might think of me as dispensable now." Jack brushed her windblown red hair out of her face.
She reached up and cupped his hands with hers.
"We are going to turn around and walk. Don't look back. Don't look to the side." He slid his hands behind her head, pulled her face close to his. He pressed his lips firmly against hers and kissed her. "Take my hand, let's go."
They walked back the way Jack came. As they neared the large columns, Jack leaned over and whispered, "Don't look to the side. Keep your eyes straight ahead."
She squeezed his hand tight, dropped her head a few inches and kept her stride.
Jack led her by the bench where the older woman still sat smoking a cigarette.
"Need another?" she asked.
Jack smiled at her. "In fact, I do." He didn't, but what the hell. They were safe now. The crowd was thicker here. No way would the old man chance firing at them now.
"Take these dear," the old woman said. She handed Clarissa a pair of large sunglasses and shook her head at Jack.
He frowned at her. "Wasn't me."
"Well I hope you take care of the one that did it."
"I have every intention of doing just that," he said.
Clarissa tugged at his hand. He looked over at her. She bit her lip and raised an eyebrow at him and she looked around at the crowd.
Jack nodded. "You take care, dear."
14
Charles paced the living area of the hotel room. Where is that old bastard?
The dark haired man on the floor started to move. Charles hit him over the head three times with his gun. The man had been guarding the old man's door and refused to let Charles in.
Big mistake.
The door handle jiggled, gave way. The door pushed open and the old man stepped in, followed by two guards. The first guard moved past the old man and ran up to the motionless man on the floor.
He looked up at Charles. "You sonofabitch," he said.
Charles grinned at him.
The man stood and pulled a handgun from inside his sports coat.
"There will be none of that," the old man said. "Take him and leave me and Mr. Charles alone."
Charles crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. He didn't take his eyes off the old man. He knew well enough that his boss was as capable of taking a life as Charles himself was.
"How did the meeting go?" he asked.
The old man shook his head. "Fine, no thanks to you." He took off his coat and hung it in the closet.
Charles shrugged. "Wasn't no point in me being there."
"There was every point in you being there," the old man yelled.
"Why?" Charles asked. "Not like you would have let me take care of Jack like I've been asking."
"Why this fascination for killing Mr. Jack?" the old man asked.
Charles moved toward the old man and stooped over so they were face to face.
"Look at my face," he said. "Look what he has done to me." He pointed at the long scar on his cheek and the wound on his forehead. "He’s attacked me not once, but twice and I can't do anything about it."
"He was defending himself," the old man said.
Charles turned his back on the old man and walked to the window. He stared out at the city, his eyes sweeping side to side. He caught a reflection of the old man in the window. Charles narrowed his eyes and honed in on his boss's figure, holding a knife.
"You know," said Charles, "I've never actually been in the Eiffel Tower."
"We should go later this afternoon," the old man said. "I'll arrange it after a nap."
Charles watched as the old man crept closer. He sighed, feigning tiredness.
That's it you old bastard, just a little bit closer.
He took a deep breath and spun to his right, his outstretched right arm connecting with the old man's chin in a vicious backhand.
The old man was lifted from his feet and flew more than eight feet in the air. Probably would have gone farther if the wall wasn't there to break his flight path. His motionless body lay on the bed. Blood trickled from the back of his head.
Charles ignored the old man's groans. He moved to the door and looked out. Only one of the guards remained. Charles armed himself and pushed the door open.
"Back up Briggs," he said.
Briggs looked at the gun in Charles's right hand. The man was half the size of Charles and eight years younger. His dirty blond hair was cut short. His blue eyes were wide with fear. He backed up to the wall.
Charles moved slowly, never turning his back to Briggs. The little man might not look it, but he was more than capable of taking Charles down in a hand fight. Charles would make sure he never got close enough for that to happen. He pushed the button with the down arrow in the elevator lobby. When the door opened he stepped in sideways, keeping an eye on Briggs until the final second when the doors shut.
The nudge to his ribs jarred Jack from his sleep. He sat up, fists out, ready to take on an attacker. Clarissa jumped back. She was holding his phone.
"It's ringing," she said.
Jack opened his hands and reached for the phone. He didn't recognize the number.
"Yeah?" he said.
"Good work on Foster," a man's voice said.
Jack stayed silent while placing the voice.
"It's Frank."
"Yeah, Frank, you saw it?"
"The whole country did. Doing the hit in a restaurant? That was a nice touch, Jack."
Jack laughed. "Didn't intend to."
"Whatever, it got the job done. We opened an account in Switzerland under Howard Blair. Your money is there."
"Appreciated," Jack paused. "Not setting me up are you?"
"We're not dumb enough to do that."
Jack hung up, got to his knees, pulled Clarissa close. He caressed her face then shook his head.
"I'm so sorry for letting them do this to you," he said.
She shrugged. "I didn't make it easy for them."
He leaned in and kissed her neck, pulled her close until her breasts brushed against his chest. She moaned in his ear. He rubbed her back as his hand slipped down toward her waist.
The phone rang again.
"Jesus," said Jack. He picked up the phone. "It's the old man."
Clarissa shuddered and slipped over to the other side of the room.
Jack answered the phone.
"Mr. Jack, thank you for taking my call. I'll make this brief. My associate Mr. Charles, you know him, has become something of a nuisance to me. I'd like to offer you a job."
Jack stood and looked out the window. "What kind of job? A position?"
The old man laughed. "Oh dear no. I learned long ago that a tiger cannot be caged and still be effective. I need you to take care of Mr. Charles."
Jack almost dropped the phone. Did the old man really just ask him to kill Charles?
"Hang on," Jack said while he locked himself in the bathroom.
"Why do you need me? You’ve got guys that can handle this assignment."
"Two things," the old man said. "For one, I don't know where certain people's loyalties lie."
"The rogue team that tried to take out Bear and Mandy," Jack said.
"Exactly," the old man said. "And in addition to that, I don't have people that can move in and out countries like you can. At least, no one other than Mr. Charles."
"What happened?"
"Excuse me, Mr. Jack?"
"What happened that you are on the phone asking me to take care of your right hand man?"
"We had an argument. It escalated and came to a head this afternoon after the exchange."
"This sounds like a family thing and I don't like to get involved in family messes," Jack said.
"Please consider it. I'll pay you five hundred thousand dollars."
The number kept going through Jack's head. He could disappear for a while on that kind of money whil
e he contemplated his future. Take Clarissa and go. Set Mandy up in a boarding school far away from all of this.
"I'll think about it." He hung up the phone.
A knock on the door jarred him from his thoughts. He cracked it open.
"Everything OK?" Clarissa asked.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm going to get a shower."
Clarissa jumped on the bed and rolled over onto her back. The sound of the shower provided the right amount of white noise and she felt her eyelids getting heavy. She forced herself to sit up, knowing that if she fell asleep now it would be hours before she awoke.
She and Jack had some business to attend to and it didn't include sleeping.
She didn't have much of a wardrobe, so she opted for a simple white button up shirt that belonged to Jack. She took off her clothes and slipped into the shirt. She smelled the collar. It had the faint smell of Jack. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her chest.
Clarissa sat down at the table and poured whiskey into a glass until it was half full. She took a few sips and let the alcohol warm her.
She went to the mirror and stared at her beaten body. Her chest and back were bruised. Her face was lined with cuts. One eye was still partially swollen. What a screwed up week. Never in her life had she endured so much pain and torture. But she made it through it and was stronger for it.
Clarissa was startled by a knock at the door. She hesitated to answer it.
"Who is it?" she called out.
"Room service," a female voice said back.
Did Jack order something?
She had been in and out of sleep the past hour and couldn't remember anything clearly.
"One moment," Clarissa said.
She knocked on the bathroom door. "Jack?"
He didn't respond. Probably couldn’t hear her over the sound of the shower.
She tried the door, but it was locked. She dropped her head and sighed. Clarissa looked through the peephole, saw the young blond haired woman on the other side dressed in the hotel's standard uniform. The woman had a cart with trays and a bottle of wine. Clarissa shrugged, unlocked the door, opened it.
The woman stepped through the doorway, looked at Clarissa head to toe and smiled. "Looks to be a fun evening, eh?"