Contract: Sicko (Sei Assassin Thriller Book 2)

by Ty Hutchinson

  “Pardon, Dr. Delacroix, but this envelope was left at the front for you.”

  “By who?”

  “I don’t know. I found it sitting on the counter when I returned from a delivery.”

  Delacroix thanked Gaston and slipped him a few euros before closing and locking the door. He then walked over to his study, retrieved the brass letter opener he kept on his desk, and ripped the top of the envelope open. Inside was a folded piece of legal-pad paper. What’s this? Delacroix reached for his reading glasses before removing the note. A single word was scribbled on the paper. It read, “Sorry.”

  And then the floor creaked behind him.

  Chapter 14

  When I returned to the B&B, I called the service number for Kostas. The line always rang three times before a woman’s voice answered.

  “Yes.”

  “My ID number is 1968, and I can be reached at 33-6-56-29-76-32.”

  Click. Dial tone.

  That’s how it was with each call. No goodbye. No thank you. No acknowledgement. The protocol certainly didn’t confirm or deny who was on the other end. I thought it rude, but I understood. It took Kostas a few minutes to call me.

  “Hey, so what’s the latest?” He sounded chipper.

  “The latest is that I have a name for the tattooed man, but his ex-girlfriend doesn’t know where he is. Or so she says. I’m hoping your vast CIA resources can help.”

  “Sure, but you understand what that means, right?”

  “I know. Favor for a favor.”

  “It’s the only way I can give you information without getting in trouble.”

  “Why? Will your superiors put you in the corner for a timeout?”

  “Come on, Sei. We’re helping each other.”

  “The Abbandonato job has to count for at least three or four favors.”

  “You ignored one of the directives.”

  “‘Ignore’ is a strong word.”

  “Okay, how about side-stepped?”

  “I already explained to you why I did what I did.”

  “Relax, I’m just playing with you.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “But you’re fun.”

  “I can also be dangerous.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Keep playing if you’re curious to find out.”

  We had a moment of silence as Kostas thought about our exchange. I’m sure he was only ninety-nine-percent convinced it was nothing more than playful banter.

  “His name is Akil Badash,” I said. “He’s Tunisian.”

  “Anything else you can tell me? Last known address? Is he still in France?”

  “He lived in La Cite on and off with the girlfriend until he disappeared. She said she hasn’t seen him in three months. If he has fled the country, can you still track him through his passport?”

  “Theoretically, yes. It depends where he exited the country. If he traveled over land, the immigration officers don’t scan every passport or have the capability to. If he flew out of Charles de Gaul, yeah, there’ll be a record, and I can request passenger manifests from the airlines on that day.”

  “So we’ll know where he went.”

  “We’ll know the destination of the plane. Once he debarks, he can travel over land into another country.”

  “I’ll be waiting for good news.”

  “Okay, but you know how this works. I’ll dig around, but I can’t promise I’ll find anything on this guy or get a hit on his passport, but—”

  “I know, I know. The fact that you’re looking into it commits me to owing you another favor.”

  “Yup.”

  “You should know that this arrangement works the other way too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if you ask me to steal something, and I try but fail, that still counts as a favor.”

  “You’re too good to fail.”

  Chapter 15

  My cell phone woke me a little after three in the morning. It was Kostas.

  “I’ve got information for you.”

  “That was fast.”

  “I got a hit on Akil’s passport. He left the country three months ago on an Emirates flight to Vietnam.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Did the girlfriend mention anything about that?”

  “No, but I can pay her another visit and ask if he ever spoke of traveling there. What city did he go to?”

  “Ho Chi Minh City.”

  “As in Saigon?”

  “That’s right. Remember, this only confirms that he was on the flight. Once there, he could have made his way to one of the surrounding countries. He could be anywhere. Laos, Cambodia, China, Thailand—the immigration officials at those border posts usually don’t bother to log every single passport they touch. I mean, this guy could be in Pakistan by now.”

  “Great,” I said with annoyance.

  “Don’t listen to me. Until you chase the lead down, there’s hope. Akil might have mentioned Vietnam to his ex. If that’s the case, he’s most likely still there.” Kostas must have sensed the spinning wheels in my head. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “Well, I find it odd that a North African immigrant living in France would suddenly pack up and fly halfway around the world to Vietnam.”

  “He doesn’t strike you as a travelholic?”

  “Far from it. Somehow I get the feeling that he’s on the run or at least not wanting to be found.”

  “And you’re absolutely sure the ex-girlfriend has no idea where he is?”

  “When I speak with her again, I’ll press harder.”

  “I thought you would have done that the first time around.”

  “Something about Akil still had her on edge. I thought keeping the visit gracious would be more productive.”

  “Probably an abusive a-hole. It’s safe to say she doesn’t want to give him a chance to come back.”

  “Maybe, but I think it’s something more than that.”

  “Speaking of—”

  “That’s your segue? Speaking of? You really do need to work on those transitions.”

  “Yeah, well good or bad, you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

  “What?”

  “I’m guessing since you haven’t mentioned it, you haven’t heard about Delacroix.”

  “Stop running your mouth and get to the point.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “How? When?”

  “Earlier in the evening. Jumped from his balcony, only he had a rope tied around his neck when he did. When the rope snapped tight, it severed his head. His body fell to the pavement below and left his head swinging in the breeze. It’s all over the local news. Spectacular way to die if that’s what he was shooting for.”

  “That doesn’t sound like him.”

  “The spectacular part?”

  “No, the killing-himself part. He always struck me as a coward. People like that don’t have the will to take their life.”

  “The police are ruling it a suicide. He left a note saying he was sorry—Sei, I’m sorry for you. I know he was a connection to your daughter, and you thought he could still be helpful in finding her.”

  “I did.” Delacroix was helpful only when I had new information that I might jog his memory. I had planned on paying him another visit and discussing Akil with him. It was always one step forward and two steps back.

  Chapter 16

  The following morning, I took a taxi back to La Cite. Same procedure as the day before: the taxi dropped me off at the entrance to the complex, and I walked in on foot. I hoped my second visit with Akil’s ex wouldn’t end with a door slamming in my face.

  I double-stepped it up the stairs to the seventh floor. The elevator worked but I hadn’t had a decent workout in a week and my body needed the exercise. I could feel a stronger beat inside my chest, and my breaths were more forceful than usual. It felt great to feel that type of adrenaline coursing through my veins as opposed to the fight-for-
my-life type.

  I was dressed in the same outfit as the day before and kept my sheathed knife tucked into my waistband. I knocked on the door to apartment 718. There was movement in the peephole, and I expected to hear the sound of two deadbolts unlatching. Instead, I heard nothing. After waiting a few seconds and concluding that I was being ignored, I knocked again.

  “I found him,” I said through the door.

  A few seconds later, the deadbolts were unlocked, and Akil’s ex-girlfriend shoved her face into the crack. “What do you want from me? Should I be happy?”

  “No, but I do need your help again.”

  “Why? You just told me you found him.”

  “Did Akil ever talk about Southeast Asia?”

  She crinkled her brow. “Is that where he is?”

  “It’s a strong possibility. Do you remember him mentioning it?”

  She thought for a second. “He talked about Cambodia.”

  “Did he ever mention Vietnam?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure. I always get those countries mixed up. Did he go to Vietnam?”

  “Yes. I’m trying to find out if he remained there or traveled to another country. Maybe he flew to Vietnam and then traveled to Cambodia.”

  She shrugged.

  I thought more about what might have her so frightened that she continued to hold back. And then an inkling bubbled up in my head. “Did Akil hurt your daughters?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Look, I’m here to help you. Akil is a bad man. That’s why I need to find him.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip and shook her head slowly. She let out a breath and then opened the door wide enough so she could slip out. She shut it behind her and then proceeded to tell me that Akil had molested her oldest daughter.

  “She was only twelve.” Her eyes welled up, and she used the back of her hands to wipe them dry. She was unable to look me in the face as she elaborated on what Akil had done.

  “Did you report him to the police?”

  “Yes, but they didn’t do anything,” she said, staring at the stained floor in the hall. “I kicked him out and changed the locks.”

  “I think I know why he talked about Cambodia then. It’s a hotbed for men who like sex with underage girls, especially children.”

  “But you said he went to Vietnam.”

  “It happens there too, but not to the degree that it does in Cambodia. Maybe he flew to Vietnam and then traveled to Cambodia. He could be in either country, but knowing this about him, that he’s a sicko, it’ll help me track him down.”

  She looked up at me. For the first time since we met, I saw hope in her eyes instead of despair.

  “Promise if you find him, you make him pay,” she said.

  I nodded, and she then threw her arms around me. I hugged her back. Which was highly unusual for me, but I felt a connection to this woman. Someone had hurt the person that meant the most to her in the world, her daughter. Someone had stolen the one thing that meant the most to me, my daughter. Even after I felt her grip loosen, I hugged her a little longer, and then I released her.

  “Yesmine Mami,” she said softly. “That’s my name.”

  “My name is Sei.”

  I thanked her for her time and watched her close the door before turning and heading for the stairs. When I exited the building, I removed my cell phone to start the process of getting in touch with Kostas. I wanted to see what he thought of the new information I had gained.

  After I hung up, I thought about the promise I made to Yesmine. It was one I would keep. Akil would pay for what he did to her daughter and for his role in my daughter’s kidnapping.

  Just as I took another step forward, I heard a woman shriek. I looked up and saw Yesmine falling from her seventh-floor balcony. She landed with a loud thud a few feet away from me. I couldn’t believe what I had just witnessed. I looked back at her balcony just in time to see a man’s head vanish from my view.

  Chapter 17

  Nooooo!

  I raced back into the building. My brain scrambled to make sense of what had just taken place; it was only a minute ago I stood in the hall hugging Yesmine. Was that really her on the pavement? Of course it was. I didn’t need to turn the body over. I recognized the clothing.

  I had a strong suspicion that the man I saw on the balcony was the same person who attacked me and Feki. Who else could it be? But why would he kill Yesmine? Wasn’t I the target a few nights ago? None of it made sense.

  On my way up, I could hear his shoes clomping down against the stairs, and then the sound stopped. I looked up the middle of the stairwell and saw him peeking at me. Our eyes met; he grinned and then reversed course. I continued up the stairs to the floor where I had seen him.

  At the end of the hall I spotted an open window. An old sofa blocked the middle of the hallway, but I cleared it easily with a one-handed vault. When I reached the window, I stuck my head out and saw him sliding down a drainpipe anchored to the side of the building.

  I threw a leg over the windowsill and climbed out. With both hands gripping the pipe, I pressed my feet against the wall and then hand over hand, I lowered myself down the pipe. By the time my feet hit the ground, the killer had run to the front of the building and rounded the corner. When I got there, I saw him running across the field toward the abandoned building he had used as a sniper’s nest the previous night. A crowd had already gathered around Yesmine’s body.

  I crossed the field, sprinting as fast as I could. He ran straight into the building, which I couldn’t understand, unless he knew something I didn’t. I could hear his footsteps in the stairwell. I looked up through the middle and saw flashes of his hand holding the railing.

  At the fourteenth floor, the stairwell to the next floor had collapsed, so I ran into the hall, the only direction he could have gone. The far end of the hallway opened into nothing, as the entire wall was missing due to the partial demolition of the building. I watched the last of him leap out of view.

  When I reached the opening, there was a narrow space about eight-feet wide that split the building in half. On each side were small, decorative window balconies. He was jumping back and forth between them as he made his way down the building.

  I leapt to the window balcony opposite me. My hands gripped the railing and the balls of my feet landed against the wall. I looked at the balcony that was one floor down, opposite me, and pushed off, twisting my body around and landing on it. I repeated the same move floor by floor until I reached the ninth floor.

  That was where I saw him enter the building again through an open window. Before he disappeared from my sight, he laughed out loud and shouted with a French accent, “Catch me if you can!”

  He was obviously skilled in parkour, but so was I. I entered the building and faced a hall filled with broken concrete columns positioned at various angles. I hand-vaulted over the first one and then ran along the wall to get around a second beam.

  Up ahead, two slabs of concrete were leaning against each like the letter A, but there was no opening below the arch, just a tiny triangle at the top. I dove forward, arms straight ahead, head tucked between them, body straight as an arrow and hoping the jagged concrete wouldn’t snag my knapsack. I threaded the opening perfectly. As soon as I cleared it, I tucked in and performed a shoulder roll, rising up to my feet.

  The man stood twenty-five feet away with his hands resting on his hips. I suspected he had thought I would take longer to crawl through that opening. He laughed again and then yelled something in French that I was unable to comprehend before disappearing around a corner.

  I rounded the same corner, and the hall ended a short five feet away. There was an open window. I looked out and saw him directly below me, dropping from one windowsill to another. I swung my body out, hanging on to the windowsill by my fingers. Here we go. I released my grip and caught myself on the windowsill directly below. He was moving fast. Faster than I felt I could. Mistime a move and the drop to the pavement below woul
d be my last.

  When he reached the fifth floor, instead of dropping to the fourth-floor window, he jumped backward into a somersault and landed on a flat slab of concrete. The top floors of the adjacent building had completely collapsed, the building folding upon itself like an accordion.

  I performed the same reverse somersault maneuver when I reached the fifth floor windowsill. I crossed the wide expanse of uneven concrete, jumping over large holes and skirting jagged columns.

  He started taking bigger risks with his jumps, landing on one foot, pushing off and landing on the other foot. I stuck with two-footed landings and that allowed him to pull further away from me. It was reckless, even if he were familiar with the terrain. He could wrongly estimate the distance between steps and come up short.

  And he did.

  He jumped diagonally over a large opening in the concrete and fell short. His chest hit the edge, and both arms slapped down hard, but he had nothing to grab hold of. The momentum from the jump carried his legs up and under the ledge, and he slipped right off.

  When I reached the opening, he had just started to leap across, I looked down and saw him lying on his back. The fall wasn’t that high, maybe six feet at the most. Enough to tweak an ankle if he landed wrong but not necessarily kill him. He was still alive as his chest was heaving up and down, but he wasn’t moving. I climbed down, and as I got closer to him, I realized why.

  He had impaled himself on a piece of rebar. It had punctured his body on the right side of the torso, just below the ribcage in the fleshy area. About three inches of rusted steel stuck out of his body. Even though he still had that silly grin on his face, it wasn’t enough to mask the obvious pain he was experiencing.

  I knelt next to him. “Who sent you after me?”

  He laughed forcefully and then resumed his labored breathing. “No one.”

  I placed my knee on his torso and leaned forward, forcing the steel to penetrate him more.