by Verner Jones
“You stupid cow. Do you realise what you have done? Henrick had that Mostel Star thing all ready to be sold. That money was going to be our new future together and you stole that from us. You know that all our families are dead. Killed at the hands of murderous soldiers and bigots. We were both left with nothing until we found each other.” She squeezed Celine’s jaw harder puckering up her lips. “Now you start telling us the truth or I swear Celine I’ll put a bullet in you and your son. So help me.” She flicked Celine’s jaw out of her hand; her stare never left her.
“ Truth now Celine.” Celine smoothed out her pinched jaw and fought back the tears in her eyes. Certain heads had turned to look at them. The barman came over to them enquiring. Celine pacified him and sent him away then dipped her forehead into her palms. Memories of the Rue de Nevers and her time in the Pigalle Quarter resurfaced. Teenage years where she’d learnt the hard way the wiles of deceitful men who promised you everything and gave you nothing only a broken heart and an evaporating dream. She’d learnt her craft well, bounced back from the exploitation, and with her killer good looks had woven herself into the hierarchy of the illicit sex trade. A class A call girl to the rich and powerful. It was one of those rich and powerful men that sprang to her memory who had the ability to deal with the situation she now faced.
Celine looked up from her reverie. “ I want an equal share of the sale. I know some one who will help. From past experience he’ll want the same: plus I’ll have to sleep with him as part of the deal, but I can manage that. It’s how I met Sebastian in the first place.”
“ Can you trust this guy?”
“He sold that Mostel Star thing for me so yea, we can trust him to a point.” Marta fought an urge to slap the lying bitch; only her eyes gave away her desire. “Yes Marta, I was lying,” said Celine gauging Marta’s expression. She turned to face Stipe. “I can arrange a meet with him and see what we can negotiate. It’s your only chance. This is the Red Light district home to crooks and gangsters, my old stomping ground. Try and go anywhere else you’ll be chewed up and spat out like spent gum, gun or no gun.” Stipe and Marta exchanged agreeing glances.
“ Set it up, Celine and don’t try anything stupid. Just to be sure we’ll babysit your son. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to him would we.
28
The Paris Gare du Nord was bristling with commuters. The rush and bustle of the passengers discharging on to the platform nudging past Zoran, the tannoy announcements, all served to compound his still throbbing head bringing on a spell of dizziness, his third in two days since the encounter with the shovel wielding bitch. He sought out a pharmacy and purchased the strongest painkillers they had and a bottle of water, then promptly swallowed four of the tablets. He left the gothic arched façade of the station only to enter onto a busy thoroughfare and a racetrack of early morning commuters, all vying to be the leader of the pack. Nausea closed in around him. The traffic noise melted into one continuous garble. He wobbled slightly catching hold of a lamppost to steady himself. A row of taxis was stationed in a holding bay. He made is way to the front one and ordered the cabbie to take him to a hotel in the St Germain-des -Pres’ area.
Zoran booked into the Hotel La Villa in a room overlooking the busy street below. His room adequate but sparse and in need of a coat of paint felt non descript and flavourless. He threw is bag onto the bed and flopped next to it. The pain was starting to subside; the dizziness was levelling out. Despite the urgency he felt in locating Celine’s apartment the need for sleep overtook him. He woke an hour later feeling less shaky but still not one hundred percent. He unzipped his bag and removed his CZ 99 checked the magazine and re inserted it into the butt, cursing Popovich for the loss of his arm. At least that score had been settled. Just the Moslem bitch and her sidekick left. That was going to be a meal to savour. He recollected the interrogation techniques he’d used in the past and how he was going to apply his mastered skills, ‘an art form in persuasion,’ his commanding officer had once said. Yea he would be an artist of the highest calibre with that shovel brandishing, bitch, Muslim girl. The thought went a long way in calming his anxiety and boosting his resolve. He took stock of the job in hand, located the pistol in his waistband, and re read the address the snivelling investigator had given him. Zoran left the room and enquired at the reception for directions to Celine’s apartment. It was a few blocks away. Zoran decided to walk and familiarize himself with the surroundings.
It took twenty minutes before he reached the address, an affluent area close to the river. You could smell the money oozing from the stonework. Two ladies sat at the park bench enjoying a cigarette and dressed in tracksuits. The bench looked to Zoran if it had been carved to look like an open book on two bookends. A man in a beret walked a poodle towards the park exit, a slight swagger in his gait. Another had an easel erected close to a nude statue, which looking at his proximity and the intensity of his gaze, was in the process of capturing her in oil or gouache. Altogether, Paris suburbia on the fringe of an artery, coming to life. A no threat location, thought Zoran. He closed the distance from the park to the apartment entrance. It was a buzzer entrance system. Celine’s apartment tag was empty. He pressed all three buzzers hoping for a response. No one replied. Cursing he turned back towards the park and decided to watch and wait.
The Crazy Girls cabaret looked nothing much from the outside, a black doorway with thick purple ropes, on fake gold barley twist poles, that offered a three-step walkway to the entrance. A domed vinyl canopy completed the entrance, and a pair of scantily clad neon ladies flicked from pouting cleavage, to an arms-spread welcome, wearing a garish smile and very little else, was positioned above the lintel. A red carpet completed the deception. No royalty having ever trodden on its threads, Celine was sure of that. A Maserati was parked in the private parking spot. Sebastian was home. She pressed the buzzer and a familiar voice asked who was there.
“It’s Celine darling. Open up you old fuck,” said Celine playfully. The latch buzzed and the door opened slightly. Celine pushed it a side and took the passageway that opened into the arena that had been her area of expertise, and the once love of her life owned. A well built, head shaven man, mid forties wearing a tee shirt which looked one size too small for him, stopped wiping down the bar and turned to face Celine as she entered the empty room. Celine took in her surroundings. A cleaning lady was pushing a Hoover in the far corner. The disco ball and lights all motionless waiting for the evening to return where once again they would set the scene for an erotic live show. The walls were painted garish shades of purple and red interspersed with strategically placed mirrored sections. The carpet was dark, showed the dirt up less and hid the stains of whiskey and baby oil. The room exhaled stale sex and cheap aftershave despite the floral floor wash, which the cleaner was now mopping over the dance floor. That underlying odour could never be sterilized away; it was in the fabric of the building.
An image of Henrick sitting at the bar, a bottle of champagne and two glasses, waiting for her to join him after her performance, loaded itself from the arsenal of her memories and fired point blank into her emotions. She winced from the recollection then smiled towards Pierre. Still wearing his gym outfit, Pierre headed towards Celine throwing the cloth onto the bar.
“Mon Petite. Why have you stayed away for so long?” said Pierre, gathering her up in his arms and swirling her around. Celine threw her head back laughing enjoying the twirl and embrace of her old friend.
“Ah well you know me, always busy, Pierre.”
“Not too busy to come and see an old pal now and then I hope.” He held her suspended looking for a kiss. She clasped his head in her hands and kissed him abruptly on the lips.
“Now put me down you big brute.” He lowered her gently to the floor.
“And don’t go calling me an old fuck every time I see you. You’re not to old to have your arse spanked you know.”
Now, now, Pierre you know I charge extra for that.” Pierre frowned at her pu
t his arm around her shoulder and walked her to the bar where she sat on a stool. Pierre took his usual position in front of the spirit bottles.
“You going to have your usual?”
“It’s a bit early for me. Give me a cold water.” Pierre glanced over his shoulder.
“You turned over a new leaf or something?”
“Maybe.” Pierre poured himself tonic water. No alcohol allowed for him whilst in strict training.
“So what do we owe this pleasure to?”
“I’ve come to see Sebastian. Is he alone?”
“For sure. Nobody comes here mid afternoon.” Celine already knew that, calculating at this time she would have time enough to accomplish her objective. She carried on her raillery with Pierre for another ten minutes actually enjoying his company, remembering him as her staunch protector in her early years when the centre pole on the podium belonged to her.
Her drink finished, Celine excused herself from her old friend and took the route past the bar to a private entrance and Sebastian’s personnel space. She knocked the door and entered without an invitation. He looked up from his desk surprised by the intrusion. His demeanour softened and his eyes sparkled as he saw the once love of his life breeze into the room.
“Celine, Celine!” He stood from behind his desk, arms outstretched, and approached her. His taught muscles and athletic physique unaltered since the years they had been parted, his ringlet black hair evocative of their time together. “Twice in as many months I get to see you. How lucky am I.” She forced a smile, shelving her memories and they hugged. As they parted Celine recognized the glint of desire emanating from Sebastian piercing blue eyes. “What is it this time, Jean Paul?” The reference was to her son, his child, the one he had declared that he had never wanted, fatherhood never being his forte. True he had helped to support her and the boy, but there was no parental kinship. It was why Celine had left him and why subliminally she had leverage on him to help her.
“No, Jean Paul is doing fine. I have him in a special needs school. They look after him well.” Celine cut to the chase. “Some friends of mine have a similar problem to the one I had with the Mostel Star. I’m going to need your help again.” Sebastian became pensive. He’d made serious money from disposing of Celine’s ill-gotten gains. That avenue for ‘jewel recycling’ appealed to his bank account and his connections were still strong in that field. He’d hosted a party only a few nights earlier for the two luminaries in that illicit trade. Thai women had been their preference as he remembered. A couple of calls would be all it would take to arrange a meeting. He’d make sure Lamai and Chuenchai were there when the gentlemen arrived.
“ What do your friends have to offer? How hot is it?”
“It’s some kind of jewelled globe. They told me nobody even knows it’s missing. You don’t have to worry about police shit there’s no one after them. It’s clear.” Sebastian relished her hourglass figure and the thought of the possibilities that were on offer.
“Ok Celine, I think I can help you. Same agreement as before I want twenty five percent.” His eyes locked into hers. He held her hands in his.
“ And this time I want you to stay all night not just a couple of hours.” Celine pouted her lips holding his gaze. A mixture of regrets and desire sweeping over her.
“That’s going to cost you a trip to rue Saint-Honore’.” He pulled her into his arms looking to explore her lips. She rested her head next to his avoiding his advance.
“Slowly.” she whispered in to his ear. “ It’s been some time.” Sebastian pulled back from her respecting her feelings.
“Come on. Lets go shopping.”
29
A Maserati pulled up outside the apartment and a high class looking piece of eye candy exited from the passenger side along with a suited man with black curly hair. Despite the car he looked below her pay grade. Zoran sat upright and took notice. From the description the private investigator had given him that had to be Celine. He watched as they approached her entrance. She keyed in a number and they disappeared into the lobby. Zoran calculated his next move. The man looked capable, fit, not someone he would be able to overcome without an advantage. He decided to wait and watch before taking any action.
Celine entered her apartment checking the time on her Cartier. A call from her had informed Stipe and Marta the night before that she wouldn’t be home that night and in their mutual interests they would have to babysit Jean Paul. After instructing them on his favourite TV programs, and what to give him for dinner, she’d reluctantly left Jean Paul in their care.
An excited voice resonated from the kitchen along with the patter of tiny feet as Jean Paul ran to see who had entered the apartment. “Mom, Mom, Mom, Momma, you’re back.” Celine scooped him up in her arms. “Yes darling I am. Have you been a good boy for Uncle Stipe?”
“ Ye yes, we played games an and e let me stay up till till late.” Stipe and Marta exited the kitchen close behind Jean Paul.
“Well that’s naughty of uncle Stipe to do that. Now you’re going to be tired at school and not be able to do your lessons are you?”
“ I, I, I , I will momma promise.” Jean Paul noticed the man standing behind Celine. He gave him a quizzical look.
“Hello. I’m Je---an Paul.” Celine turned to face Sebastian gauging his response. The gangster element in him melted away replaced with a boyish, caring look that Celine hadn’t seen before.
“I’m Sebastian. Very pleased to meet you young man.” He offered him his hand. Jean Paul looked at it then back to his mother.
“Can uncle Stipe take me to school today?”
“No sweetheart he can’t, but you can have one of the chocolate bars out of your special tin and I’ll let you watch a DVD for twenty minutes then we have to leave, ok?” She turned to Sebastian. He looked rebuffed. For a moment Celine felt encouraged then turned to the task in hand.
“These are my two friends I was telling you about, Stipe, Marta, this is Sebastian. Chat out here a while until I get him settled at the TV.” Celine left them feeling awkward. Sebastian lightened the atmosphere.
“Celine, some character isn’t she. Told me about you two how you lifted that Mostel Star. Very impressive.”
“Yea. Did she tell you that she fucked us over and left us high and dry?” replied Marta.
“I don’t know what went on between you three and I’m not interested. He directed his attention towards Stipe taking a direct approach he said, “ I CAN help with your current situation, straight up, clean, profitable for us all. That’s how I work. You got the globe with you?” They shared uneasy glances. Marta stiffened. She stood akimbo feeling the pistol next to her tucked in the back of her waistband. Loaded or unloaded he wouldn’t know, pulled and pointed, it would still be a deterrent. Stipe took the lead.
“Come into the lounge.” Sebastian followed Stipe side-glancing Marta as he passed. He felt uneasy about her. The feeling was mutual. Stipe took the globe from out of his rucksack and placed it on the coffee table. Marta leant against the fireplace and pulled the gun from her waistband and folded both arms cross her chest bandolier style. Sebastian caught her actions.
“Insurance policy.” spat Marta.
“Yea, well if you ain't prepared to cash it in you best put that thing away. Looks like you might do yourself some damage with it or blow a hole in the ceiling.” Sebastian took a chair and sat with his back towards Marta. Marta holstered the pistol back into her waistband. Sebastian picked up the globe admiring the craftsmanship. “This is something special. Never seen anything like this before.” Stipe sat opposite. Marta joined them, as did Celine having settled Jean Paul in front of the TV. Sebastian spoke discarding Marta’s bravado as inexperience he included her with his expression into the conversation. “Have any idea what its worth?”
“Henrick told us it was a cool two million.”
“Well that’s as may be but we not going to get nothing like that. Going to have to be dismantled and sold individually. No oth
er way around it. Shame though it is a beautiful piece.” Stipe agreed.
“So how are we going to move forward?”
“I’m going to call my associates and have them come over tonight. I have a couple of friends I’m sure they would like to see again, and after they have been warmed up a little, I’m sure we can do some business. Bring the globe with you tonight at my club. They’ll appraise it and we’ll see what we can get out of them. My cuts gong to be twenty five percent, no arguing. When you get to the club be cool. None of that gun shit and let me do the talking. I’ll make sure we get the best deal possible, trust me.”
“What time do you want us there?”
“Come about ten before things get too lively, Celine will show you the way.” Sebastian stood to leave. They all followed suit. Sebastian leaned forward and kissed Celine. She didn’t try to stop him this time, but welcomed his advance. “Ten o clock then. Don’t be late. I don’t like unpunctuality.” He turned to Celine, “Say good bye to Jean Paul for me.” There was sadness in his voice as he spoke. He started to say something else then refrained. He turned to leave with the muffled sound of the TV in the background, wondering about his son in the other room.
30
Zoran was debating his options. The girl was in the apartment. The shovel wielding bitch and her sidekick were probably in there too for all he knew. The globe, his diamonds, that Henrick guy, he wasn’t sure how it all glued together, but he knew that it did. They had a couple of day’s head start on him. More than enough time for them to locate the girl and make contact. The curly haired guy, solid build, athletic, he could handle himself, no mistake. Where did he fit in to it all?
The curly haired man leaving the apartment interrupted Zoran’s perusal. He fired up the Maserati and drove away. Zoran flicked his gaze over the façade looking for any movement in the windows that might give him a clue to the apartment. He saw none.