C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series)

by Jack Thompson

  While Raja waited for the nurse, he found a pay phone and called Vinny. Before he could say anything, Vinny jumped down his throat.

  “Where the hell have you been? Stay in communication, keep the lines tight, isn’t that what you always say, Raj? Well?”

  “Vinny, I’m at the hospital.”

  “Say what?” Her tone changed immediately.

  “I’m okay. Bruno is dead.”

  “O-M-G, you killed him?”

  “No, although I would have, given the chance. However, I am quite sure he was going to kill me. A timely visit from Claus took care of Bruno.”

  “Is Claus there now?”

  “Need you ask?”

  “True dat. How bad are you hurt?”

  “Minor cuts and bruises. But, I could use a ride. My Porsche is probably still parked behind the club. You know where I keep the extra key.”

  “Which hospital?”

  “It’s the Hôpital Lariboisière, on Rue Ambroise Paré.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Make that ten.”

  “No hurry, Vinny. Really, I am okay. Vinny?” She had already ended the call.

  True to her word, Vinny showed up at the hospital in ten minutes. Raja had gotten three stitches in two different places and two butterflies on his eyebrow. He looked like someone’s favorite old Raggedy Ann doll that was well past its expiration date and had been lovingly stitched together. The nurse was giving him antibiotics when Vinny walked in.

  “Jesus, Raj. You look like someone tied you to the back of their bumper and drove away.”

  “Don’t make me laugh, Vinny. I’ll pop a stitch.”

  “Do you want painkillers?” asked the nurse.

  “No thanks. I’ve got scotch at home to take care of the pain.”

  “Try to rest a few days, Monsieur Williams,” said the nurse. “Besides lacerations and bruises, you suffered a mild concussion. Are you going to drive him?” she asked Vinny.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Good. He may have some blurred vision. Keep an eye on him for the next twenty-four hours.”

  Vinny put her arm around Raja to help him walk out of the emergency room.

  “I’m not crippled you know.”

  “Shut it.”

  When they reached the car, Raja walked straight to the driver's door.

  “No way, Jose,” said Vinny.

  “Napoleon needs me.”

  “Napoleon can wait. You heard the nurse. You need to rest.”

  Raja didn’t protest. He wasn’t feeling as strong as he put on. The drive to the flat was a quiet one. Although Vinny had several lectures she was prepared to reel off, she was just happy Raja was okay and still mostly in one piece.

  Back at the flat Raja sat on the couch sipping a drink. Vinny worked on her computer.

  Half an hour later Vinny found a report circulating on the police lines. It was the latest terrorist watch bulletin that had the name Raja Williams on it.

  “O-M-G,” said Vinny, upon finding the report on Raja. “W-T-F.” Vinny fully expected others to act decently and sanely, despite encountering repeated evidence to the contrary in the world around her. Her refusal to compromise with her innate faith in people was one of the characteristics that made her such an asset to Raja. Otherwise, a life investigating crime could get rather grim. “I can not believe it,” said Vinny. “You are still on the terrorist watch list. Some crap about flying into Afghanistan from western Pakistan, and running weapons into Africa. All of it years ago. BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. I thought you said that Captain Milan took care of that.”

  It is a well known fact that the police often focus their investigations on the victims of a crime rather than pursuing the perpetrators. Sometimes they incorrectly target someone who was a witness or simply an innocent bystander. The biggest errors are made when the police target someone who is trying to help solve a crime, such as a private investigator or a reporter. It happens more than you might think. There are more than a few people in prison for a long time due solely to their proximity to a criminal investigation. Raja called it the crime of being there.

  Because Captain Milan of the National Gendarmerie had told him he would still be on the watch list, Raja was not surprised when Vinny discovered the report circulating along the police channels naming Raja as a suspected terrorist on the to-be-watched list. Knowing how Vinny would react, he had deliberately withheld the details of his encounter at the Gendarmerie.

  Raja knew the PR ploy well. Tell a lie, wrap it in a half-truth to make it easier to swallow, and send it out on enough channels so that each one starts to confirm the story to one another. Once again, the crime was being there. The truth was, Raja had flown in and out of Afghanistan, but only to rescue a Hindi family that was trapped and hunted by the Taliban. And his pilot Mickey had flown weapons into Africa, but only enough to get the badly needed medicine and food past the rebels and into civilian hands. And even that was all before Mickey started working for Raja. Thankfully, Captain Milan had been thorough and intelligent enough to see through the outpoints.

  “Is it a red or yellow alert?” asked Raja.

  “Yellow.” That meant to be watched only.

  “Don’t sweat it, Vinny. I’ve gotten used to it. As long as it stays yellow there won’t be any problem.”

  “Well, I don’t like it.” When it came to Raja, Vinny was a protective mother hen.

  “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we just solve this case and then we can blow this French popcorn stand.” Vinny’s penchant for slang was rubbing off on Raja.

  “Bam shizzaam,” she said, smiling at his attempt.

  “Have you found anything more on Mrs. Browning or the crooked cops?”

  “No, but there is a report on one of your drug dealer pals. Jules Masson was found beaten to death. No leads on who did it.”

  “I’m not surprised. That guy was a disaster waiting to happen. Sounds like more of Bruno’s handiwork. Nobody is going to miss that bastard.”

  “True dat, boss,” said Vinny, thinking of the girls at the cabaret.

  “I think I’m gonna go lie down. You be okay out here?”

  “No prob. Get some rest.”

  Raja did just that, and thankfully he did not dream.

  Chapter Thirty: Down the Garden Path

  The next day Raja was sore but his head was a lot clearer. Vinny wasn’t so sure, but Raja convinced her he was ready to go back to work.

  “I’m sure I could rest for a week, but we still haven’t found Mrs. Browning. You weren’t there to hear her husband. He is one lost puppy.”

  “Okay, but no more gunfights for a while.”

  “I was thinking about doing some nice quiet surveillance.”

  “On who?”

  “Inspector Gilliard.”

  “You think he might be the Scorpion?” asked Vinny.

  “I don’t know. But I’m convinced he’s in the thick of it. Bruno was too much of a loose cannon to be running a major crime operation in the shadows for all those years. Have you found out any more about Gilliard?”

  “I still haven’t connected him to the woman on the bank account.”

  “See, he is hiding something. And who knows how many other accounts he has. I still haven’t heard from Remy on the ship we are watching, so I thought maybe I’d put eyes on Gilliard for a while. Some nice relaxing surveillance couldn’t hurt.”

  “Raj, I’m not sure you can do nice or relaxing. Remember, you had a concussion. No rough stuff. You let me know if you find out anything. Promise.”

  “I promise. You should get back to the club. All hell must be breaking loose over there with Bruno out of the way.”

  After Vinny dropped herself off near the club, Raja climbed behind the wheel of the Porsche and headed for open road. He needed to clear his head, and driving always worked. Raja cruised the Champs-Elysées west past the Arc de Triomphe eventually making his way onto the Boulevard Périphérique, the Paris beltway. There he opened the throttle, weaving
through the traffic at high speed as he circled north around Paris. He left the beltway heading south, stopping when he reached the Basilique du Sacré-Coeur, a fabulous Catholic Church and basilica that was constructed on the highest point in Paris. He parked and climbed the many steps. It was one of Raja’s favorite places in Paris, with its panoramic view of the city. He drank in the sights like cool lemonade. It was on this very spot more than a century earlier that Archbishop Guibert had had his vision as clouds dispersed over the panorama and said, “It is here, it is here where the martyrs are.” That had inspired the construction of the church on the top of Montmartre.

  Raja thought about where the case had taken him so far. He wondered where Mrs. Browning was at this very moment, and whether she was destined to be a martyr herself. And, if so, to what cause. That he would find her, he had no doubt. Whether she would be alive was a different story. The drive and the view renewed his determination to make just that happen.

  As the day wore on, Raja drove to the 36 to take up a spot to watch and wait for Inspector Gilliard. Vinny had already identified Gilliard’s vehicle and plate number. Raja parked where he could see the policemen leaving for the day. In the late afternoon he spotted Gilliard’s Renault pull out of the parking garage and head north across the river. Raja stayed as far behind as he could. Gilliard took a turn and drove past the Louvre complex. Raja sped up to close the distance as Gilliard rounded a circle near the Jardin des Tuileries, the huge palace garden created when the Louvre served as the palace for the French king. When Raja reached the other side of the circle, Gilliard was already getting out of his car, having parked in a small spot designated for official use only. Raja had no choice but to drive past, parking at the next place he could. He ran back to the circle in time to see Gilliard disappear into the garden grounds behind a row of hedges. The exertion had taken its toll on Raja, blurring his vision, and starting a dull ache in his temples. Nonetheless, he followed Gilliard, who turned left crossing the grounds in the open. Raja hung back moving along a row of sculpted trees, a common sight in Paris. Gilliard was moving toward the south side of the grounds, near the Seine river. He turned right onto the last walkway along the row of tall hedges that edged the grounds. The area was open and Raja was forced to cross to the hedge and then move slowly losing sight of Gilliard as he rounded a curve where the path circled a large concrete pedestal topped with a statue of a sphinx. Resisting the urge to race ahead, Raja maintained his pace. When Raja reached the statue, he peered around it and saw a park bench ahead of Gilliard where a man sat alone. With his vision still blurry Raja could not identify the man. Gilliard sat down next to him. It was the perfect spot for a clandestine meeting. The open area made it impossible to get close enough to monitor the conversation without being seen. Raja ducked behind the statue and called Vinny.

  “Hey, Raj. How’s your relaxation going?”

  “Very nicely. I’m taking a stroll in the Tuileries Garden. It’s a beautiful place.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “No. I’m following Inspector Gilliard. He is meeting with someone.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t get close enough to see. That’s why I’m calling. Any chance you have access to surveillance cameras?”

  “Let me check.” Vinny diddled on her computer while Raja checked to make sure the men were still there. “No go. Nothing other than the entrance on the Louvre side.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Can you get a picture?”

  “I didn’t bring a camera,” said Raja.

  “And you call yourself a detective. How about your phone? I could use my face recognition software and we might get lucky.”

  “That might work. How close do I need to be?”

  “Under sixty feet. Forty would be a lot better.”

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Stay tuned.”

  Raja estimated that the distance from the statue to the bench was easily over one hundred feet away. He couldn’t approach in the open, and the hedge was too thick to get through, at least where he was. Working back about fifty feet, he found a gap in the hedge that he could get through. The backside of the hedge was close to a metal railing on a small wall overlooking a busy road. He would have to squeeze along between the hedge and rail. Then he would need to get lucky and find another opening in the hedge closer to the bench where the two men sat.

  Raja moved as quickly as he could, knowing he might not have much time. Once he had gotten nearer to the bench, he stopped and strained to hear voices. The traffic noise behind him made it hard to hear. He needed to be closer. He would have to take a chance when he found a hole in the hedge. As luck would have it, there was a sizable gap just ahead. He made it to the gap and eased his way to the front side of the hedge. He was less than ten feet away from the two men on the bench. He listened through the traffic noise and could only make out the unknown man say that someone is dead. Pulling out his phone he leaned forward to attempt a shot. His blurred vision made aiming the phone difficult and while he tried to adjust to a better position, he accidentally hit the button. The phone camera feature made a loud, recognizable clicking sound. Damn gadgets.

  “Did you hear that?” said the voice Raja still didn’t know.

  Raja scooted back from the front of the hedge.

  “It came from over there,” said Gilliard. The men stood up.

  Raja backed up against the railing. He had no time to squeeze along the hedge. He made a snap decision and vaulted over the railing onto the narrow sidewalk below. The impact hurt his head and his eyes blurred. Staggering back he stepped off the curb into traffic. A large tour bus rushed by inches away from Raja, the driver standing on the horn the whole way. Raja reacted and jumped back onto the sidewalk, pressing his body up against the wall just as Gilliard poked his head through the hedge. Raja held his breath with the inspector right above him.

  “I don’t see anyone,” said Gilliard, looking both ways along the railing. “It must have been a bird.” Then he disappeared back into the hedge.

  Raja waited a few seconds more and breathed a sigh of relief. He followed the wall until he reached a place where he could climb back up. By that time Gilliard was long gone and so was the mystery man he met at the bench. Raja checked his phone but all he had taken was a picture of the grass. So much for an ID. Inspector Gilliard was up to something all right, however, Raja had no idea what it was.

  Raja felt sick to his stomach and decided to can the surveillance. Vinny was right. He needed to rest. He walked back to his car and drove off. He was too stressed to notice the little blue Peugeot that pulled out behind him.

  After driving home Raja poured himself a glass of scotch and sat down. Before he could finish the drink he fell asleep on the couch.

  Chapter Thirty-one: Meet the New Boss

  Vinny arrived back at the club and went to the third floor to find Yvette. “I wanted to thank you for the use of your car.”

  “I was glad to help. Did you hear what happened?” asked Yvette.

  “To Bruno? Oh yeah. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

  Yvette looked confused over Vinny’s phrasing and use of sarcasm.

  “I mean good riddance to that bastard.”

  “That I understand. And I agree.”

  “So, what’s going to happen at the cabaret now that Bruno is gone?” asked Vinny.

  “Marcelo is taking over as the manager. Henri says the word came in from the owner this morning.”

  “By the way, who is the owner?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve never seen him,” said Yvette. “Rumor is he’s some rich guy from Rome.”

  Vinny had been having trouble tracking down the owner through the maze of corporation she had run into during her research. There was a deliberate attempt to hide the owner, and so far it was working.

  “Marcelo may not be much improvement in my opinion,” said Vinny. “Of course, not beating and raping underage girls would be an excellent start.”r />
  “Marcelo is a cad, but he’s no Bruno.”

  “I guess we will see.”

  “Well, you can see. I’m not going to be here much longer,” said Yvette.

  “No?”

  “My Pierre says he has things just about handled. Then we are gone for good.”

  “Oh yeah, your Pierre.” Vinny thought about what she and Raja had found out regarding Inspector Gilliard. Yvette might be in for more trouble than she could handle, especially if he turned out to be the Scorpion. Vinny decided that when the time was right she would make sure Yvette got out safely. Now wasn’t that time.

  Vinny went back downstairs to the dressing room to get ready for her night on the floor. The little accountant came in while she was changing, but turned around and waited respectfully until she was dressed.

  “Bonsoir, Vinny. It is good to see you again. I heard about what happened to that young girl—and that you helped her—what was her name?”

  “Maggie.”

  “Yes, Maggie, poor thing. Is she okay?”

  “She will be. She is home with her parents in Dijon.”

  “I suppose, with Bruno now dead, there will be no further liability to the cabaret. I mean legally and financially.”

  Vinny stared at the little man. Leave it to an accountant to worry about lawsuits and money when a young girl’s life has been shattered. “Maggie has not even told her parents. I don’t know if that girl will ever recover from what Bruno did to her,” said Vinny, ignoring Henri’s insensitive comment. “As far as I’m concerned, his death couldn’t have come soon enough.”

  “You are right, of course. It is terrible what some men are compelled to do. On a better note, it is my understanding that Marcelo is taking over as manager of the cabaret. Perhaps he will be a better boss.”

  “Don’t count on it, Henri. Here comes the new boss, same as the old boss.”

  “I suppose, ma chère. Then again, one can always hope for improvement.”

  Vinny didn’t see hope as the agent that was needed, but she wasn’t going to argue. She smiled, and Henri went about his business. Now that Bruno was gone, Vinny was determined to make sure things would be different.