Noble Intentions: Season One

by L. T. Ryan

  He walked into the expansive lobby. A statue of a man on a horse greeted him. He didn't know who it was or why he was important, and he didn't bother to read the inscription to find out why. It didn’t matter. He looked up at the priceless ornate chandelier suspended from a gold chain. He followed the chain upward where it hung from a huge blue and yellow stained glass window over thirty feet from the ground. Light poured through the window and lit up the entire lobby.

  He continued through the lobby, veering to the left in front of the wide marble staircase. He walked up to the concierge who glanced at Jack and then returned to writing in his book.

  "I'd like to book a room for three nights," Jack said.

  "Nothing available for three nights," the concierge said.

  "What do you have available?"

  The concierge lifted his head and looked Jack up and down. "I have a two bedroom suite available. Four night minimum. Thirty-five hundred Euros a night." He returned his attention to the book on the counter.

  "I'll take it."

  A smile swept across the concierge's face.

  Jack realized he fell for the man’s ploy.

  "How will you be paying?" the concierge asked.

  Jack didn’t answer. He slid a Visa card across the deep rich wooden counter.

  The concierge picked it up and looked at it. "Very well Mr. Harrod." He turned his attention to a slim computer monitor and punched at the keys on a small keyboard. A few minutes later he handed Jack a key card for his room. "Fourth floor, room 410. Dial 0 for the concierge on duty. Exit through the front and turn left, and the Le Grand Casino de Monte Carlo is a short walk." He dipped his head and leaned forward. He gestured with his hand to Jack.

  Jack leaned forward.

  They were inches apart.

  The concierge reached into his jacket and pulled out a card. He placed the card in Jack's hand. "You give them this card and you’ll get a twenty-five percent bonus on your deposit."

  "Thank you," Jack said.

  The man nodded and raised an eyebrow. "I only give one or two of those away each month."

  Jack nodded his thanks again and stepped away from the desk. He made his way up the wide marble stairs, past the glass walled fitness center and stopped in the elevator lobby. He stepped in the open elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor. When the doors reopened he walked down the hall and stopped in front of room 410. He unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway. He walked past corridors on either side that led to the bedrooms and bathrooms. He pushed open a set of double doors that opened up to the living room. On the far side of the living room another set of double doors led to a balcony that looked out over the sea. He backed out of the living room, turned left and stepped into a bedroom. The suite was huge, over one thousand square feet. Larger than some of the apartments he and Bear owned in New York and other areas.

  Jack dropped his bag at the foot of the bed and fell back on the soft mattress. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  8

  Bear's flight landed at Charles de Gaulle airport, Paris mid-afternoon. He stood out among the crowd of tourists and businesspeople. Hell, he stood out everywhere he went. Customs stopped him. He handed them a passport with his picture and the name Marvin Schlater. They searched through his bag, but didn't question him. The customs agent waved him through without ever making eye contact.

  Thirty minutes later Bear sat in the backseat of a cramped taxi on his way to the American Hospital of Paris on Boulevard Victor Hugo. The taxi driver was an older man wearing a blue ball cap. Tufts of grey hair stuck out from the bottom of the hat. White stubble littered his face.

  The driver tried to engage Bear in conversation.

  Bear ignored him.

  "Do you not know how to speak?" the taxi driver said in a gruff tone.

  "Leave me alone," Bear replied. He kept his eyes fixed on the road, avoiding the taxi driver's stare in the rear view mirror.

  The taxi driver started yelling in French.

  Though not fluent in French, Bear picked up a few choice curse words during the driver's tirade. Bear smiled when the old man stopped yelling.

  "I like you," Bear said.

  The driver looked up at the rear view mirror.

  Bear caught his gaze. "You're a crazy SOB, aren't you?"

  The driver laughed and shook his head. "You Americans, you got it all wrong."

  "How so?"

  "Always so self-absorbed and thinking ahead, making plans. You miss the moments that matter."

  Bear nodded and sat back in his seat. He stared up at the dome light on the ceiling. His thoughts turned to Mandy. How was she getting along with the family? Was she scared? He pulled out his cell phone and started to dial, but stopped half way through. He needed to focus right now. He might be walking into a dangerous situation at the hospital.

  The taxi stopped.

  "We're here," the driver said.

  Bear looked out the window at the large red brick and white plaster building. It stood six stories tall. The first two floors were taller than average. A retro looking glass enclosed entrance stuck out from the building, a chrome roof circled the entrance and had American Hospital of Paris engraved in it.

  Bear handed the driver twenty euros, opened the door and stepped out. He walked through the rotating door hidden in the glass capsule and made his way through the hospital. He stopped at the information desk. A thin man with a long nose, brown glasses, and a receding hairline looked up at him.

  "Clarissa Abbot's room?" Bear asked.

  The man typed her name on his keyboard, waited a few seconds, and then tore off a piece of paper and handed it to Bear.

  Bear looked down at the paper. It simply said, Third floor ICU. He walked away without acknowledging the man behind the desk. He found the elevator lobby and rode up to the third floor. The doors opened and a sign told him to turn left for the ICU. He rounded a corner and saw a large sign labeled ICU hung over closed doors. He pushed through the door on the right and walked up to the nurse's station.

  "Clarissa Abbot?" he asked.

  "Ami ou un parent?" the nurse replied.

  Bear held up his hands and scrunched his face up at her.

  "Friend or family?" she said in English.

  "Both," Bear replied.

  The nurse pursed her lips. "Follow me."

  She got up from her seat and led Bear to Clarissa's room. The two men at the door moved close together to block entrance when they saw Bear.

  "Move," Bear said.

  "We can't do that," the one on the left said. He was tall, thin and wore his brown hair high and tight like a Marine.

  "Who are you?" the man on the right asked.

  Bear turned his attention to the man on the right. He was tall as well, but with a heavier build than his partner. He had a similar hairstyle. Both men wore tinted glasses and Bear couldn't tell if they were looking at him or past him.

  Bear leaned in to the man and spoke in a hushed tone. "Riley Bear Logan. Friend of Jack's, and I'm responsible for the safety of this woman."

  "Didn't do such a good job, did you?" the thin man said.

  Bear grinned and looked down at the floor. He stepped forward and brought both his hands up at the same time. He wrapped his large hands around both men of their necks and pushed them backwards into the room.

  "Oh my God," the nurse called out as the heavier man reached out and grabbed her shirt, pulling her into the room too.

  Bear threw both men on the ground and closed the door.

  "I don't know who the hell you think you are," Bear said. He reached behind his back and pulled out a gun. Pointed it at the thin man. "Don't you ever talk to me like that again."

  Both men pushed themselves back to the far wall and held their hands out.

  "Who's your boss?" Bear asked.

  "Pierre," the thin man said.

  "Get her up," Bear said to the nurse. He motioned toward Clarissa.

  "What?" she said. "She can't
leave. She was only shot two days ago. It's not safe."

  The heavier man stood up. "I think we just had a misunderstanding here, that's all."

  "Is that what you think?" Bear pointed the gun at the man.

  "Let me call Pierre and get this straightened out," he replied.

  Bear nodded. He kept his back against the door and his gun aimed toward the two men. The nurse paced the length of the bed.

  "Pierre," the heavier man said. "We are in the room right now with a man named Riley."

  "Bear," Bear corrected him.

  "Sorry, he says his name is Bear," the man said. He paused. "OK." Another pause. "OK, will do." He hung up the phone, placed it in his pocket and held his hands up. "I am deeply sorry, Mr. Logan. We had orders to allow no one into the room. Pierre says you can stay and he will visit you later today."

  9

  The ringing phone woke Jack. He looked out the window. Dark. He picked up the phone's receiver.

  "Yeah," he said.

  "Good evening, Mr. Harrod. This is a courtesy call to let you know we are having a wine tasting in the lobby followed by a courtesy dinner."

  "No thanks." Jack hung up.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated his plans for the evening. A night at the casino. Find a table, play cards and remain anonymous. He showered, shaved, and dressed in his best clothes. Best was an overstatement, but they'd have to do. They were all he had.

  The walk to the casino took no more than five minutes. He stopped in front of the building and gazed up. Jack wasn't one for architecture, but he couldn't help admiring the design and the way the light danced against the facade. Palm trees lined the manicured grass in front of the building. He followed a path that led to the casino’s entrance. He pushed his way inside and found the change counter. He placed ten thousand euros on the counter and set the card the concierge gave him on top of the pile of bills. The lady behind the bulletproof glass smiled at him and pulled a lever. His money disappeared from site. A minute later, the woman pushed the lever and a pile of chips appeared in front of Jack. He grabbed the tray from the deposit box and found a hundred euro minimum bid blackjack table.

  He took a seat at the table between two other players. To his right was a heavy man with a shaved head and a dark goatee. Thick black rimmed glasses covered his eyes and wrapped around his ears. He wore a light pink polo shirt with dark tan dress pants. A thin gold chain wrapped around his wide neck, gold bracelets on each wrist, but he didn't have any rings on.

  To Jack's left sat an older woman. Her grey hair was pulled up in a bun. She wore a minimal amount of makeup. A short, sleeveless black dress revealed her toned arms and legs. He considered her attractive, albeit too old for him. She had a way about her that told him she had money.

  "Is this seat taken?" Jack asked.

  The heavy man didn't acknowledge him.

  "No. Please sit," the woman said with a British accent. She smiled.

  Jack nodded. "Thank you, ma'am."

  Jack sat down. He waited for the current hand to finish and then he placed two hundred Euro chips on the table. The dealer signaled the pit boss and then nodded at Jack.

  Jack found the dealer to be a stunningly beautiful woman. Her dark eyes turned slightly upward. Her long ringed hair fell across her shoulders. Her mocha skin was smooth. He wondered why she was dealing cards instead of working in the casino’s show. She dealt two cards to everyone at the table, including herself. Her top card faced up. Five of spades.

  Jack looked at his hand. Eight of clubs and six of hearts. Fourteen. Smart money said stand. The woman next to Jack showed fifteen. She waved her hand across her cards to indicate stand to the dealer. Jack's turn. He tapped his cards. The dealer flipped another card over and placed it next to the six of hearts. Three of diamonds this time. Seventeen. He should stand. He tapped his cards again. Five of clubs. Bust.

  The man next to Jack snorted. Jack looked at the heavy man's cards. King and queen of hearts. He waved his hand over his cards. Jack would have split.

  The dealer finished with the table. She flipped over her second card. Jack of clubs for a total of fifteen. She dealt herself another card, this time the queen of diamonds. Bust. Everyone won but Jack.

  "You're not very good at this," the woman said.

  Jack shrugged.

  "Maybe you should go play at a five Euro table, pal," the heavy man said with an eastern European accent.

  An hour passed. Jack lost half his money. Most of the table got up when the dealer stepped back and a man stepped forward to take her place. The woman next to Jack gathered up her chips.

  "Buy you a drink?" Jack asked the woman.

  She laughed. "I'm old enough to be your mother."

  "Just one drink."

  "I suppose."

  Jack followed her to the bar. They took a seat.

  "What can I get for you?" the bartender asked.

  "Martini," Jack said.

  "You?" the bartender asked the woman.

  "Sidecar."

  Jack exhaled. "Glad we aren't in Paris at the Bar Hemingway." At the Bar Hemingway at the Ritz-Paris, the Sidecar is served with a Cognac that is considered one of the finest in the world, bottled between 1830 and 1870.

  The woman smiled. "That's the first place I had a sidecar. Back then it didn't cost over a thousand Euros, though."

  “I know. I was there Dottie.”

  The woman kept looking over Jack's shoulder. He turned to look. Jack figured the man was close to her age. He had a full head of grey hair, cut short, with a grey beard to match. He wore a custom tailored blue pinstripe suit. A Breitling chronograph watch wrapped around his left wrist. A platinum bracelet around his right.

  "Who is he?" Jack asked.

  "Thornton Walloway," she said. "One of the most powerful men in England. A billionaire."

  "Your husband?"

  She nodded.

  "What are you worried about?" Jack asked.

  "He'll beat me if he sees me with you." She took a sip of her cocktail.

  “When did you get mixed up with him?”

  “Shortly after the last time we worked together,” she said. "Shit, here he comes."

  The man walked toward them.

  "Dottie," he said. "Who's this?"

  Jack held out his hand. "Sherman Harrod, sir. Nice to meet you."

  Thornton didn't reach for Jack's hand. He grabbed his wife's arm. She winced.

  Jack stood and moved close.

  Thornton raised his other arm and snapped. Two large men appeared. They said yes sir in unison. Their accents were Irish. They walked over and stood next to Jack. They were both taller than Jack by a few inches and wore dark suits.

  "Who the hell are you?" Thornton asked.

  "Nobody," Jack said.

  "Dottie," he said. "Why are you talking to this nobody?"

  "We were at the same blackjack table," she replied. "I got up and came over here to get a drink. He followed me. What do I know of who he is?"

  "That's right," Jack said. "I just came over to talk, that's all. My wife is back in Paris. Just wanted some friendly conversation."

  Thornton nodded and the man on Jack's left grabbed Jack's left arm and held it out.

  "Where is your wedding ring then?" Thornton asked.

  "Lost it a long time ago. Never replaced it."

  Thornton held his hand up, palm facing Jack. "So you take a trip to Monte Carlo. You have enough money to piss it away in this casino, but you can't replace your wedding ring?"

  Jack smiled. "You got me. I struck out with a younger woman at the bar. I spotted your wife and could tell she was a sure thing."

  Thornton's face turned beet red. His breathing quickened. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared.

  "Take him outside," Thornton said. "Escort him to the sea and wait for me."

  "Thornton, no," Dottie said.

  He didn't listen.

  Jack winked at her as the two men placed their hands inside his elbows and esc
orted him out of the casino. Jack didn't resist.

  Outside the casino one of the men dropped back behind Jack and jammed the barrel of a gun into his ribcage.

  "No funny business," he said. "Got it?"

  "Yeah," Jack said.

  They led him down past the casino and hotel, across a street and around a large building. They stopped at the entrance to a long pier.

  The man behind him stepped back around. "Hope you can swim."

  The other man laughed. "Gonna be hard to do with a bullet in your gut."

  Jack smiled. He pictured the surroundings in his mind. The long concrete pier extended in front of him. Concrete and sand backed up behind him into the wall of a building. The concrete gave way to a parking lot to his left. A steep, sand embankment dropped down ten feet or so into the sea on his right.

  Jack jumped and swung his right elbow out and up. He struck the pale bald man across the bridge of the nose. He landed and kicked the darker man in the stomach. The darker man keeled over. Jack kicked again, his foot smashed into the man's face. The man straightened up for a second and then fell backwards.

  Jack turned around. The pale man was bent over, holding his face. Blood dripped through his cupped hands and spilled onto the ground. Jack lunged toward him and delivered a knee into the man's stomach from the side. The pale man collapsed face first onto the concrete. Jack leaned over, picked him up by his pants and shirt and dragged him over to the embankment. He dropped him on the ground and kicked him in the face. Then he pushed him over the side. He didn't stay to watch him hit the water. The sound of the splash confirmed it, though.

  Jack walked back over to the darker man, who was now on his feet. He held a gun in his shaky right hand. Jack stepped to the side. The man's aim couldn't keep up. Jack slid his left leg behind the man and delivered a crushing blow to the man's throat with his elbow. The man fell back hard, tripping over Jack's outstretched leg. His head hit the ground with a thud. Jack reached down and tore at the thug’s sleeve until a piece ripped free. He grabbed the gun off the ground with the sleeve, being careful not to get his fingerprints on it. He grabbed a rock off the ground and held it in his other hand. He slipped into the shadows and waited.