The Great Beau

by O'Neil De Noux

  He looks up and smiles. “The Russians refuse to return the jewels. Such are the spoils of war.” He smiles, “It appears they have only replicas.” He looks around at the others. “While Germans and Russians spar over the loot, Helen of Troy’s wondrous treasure rested in an attic wall in New Orleans.

  “How Edna knew that, we do not know.”

  It’s Juanita who noticed a few minutes earlier, when Beau finished making note of the name from the journal, his right hand stiffened. He had to pry his pen away with his left hand and struggles to get out of the chair.

  The fuck’s happening to me?

  He’s been blowing this off but now, during the day, at work.

  Fuck.

  On their way out, Stan slaps Beau on the back.

  “Can you believe Leopold beat me to Claire?”

  Beau presses his right arm against his side.

  “You can’t get all the girls.”

  “You do know I saw Jessie before you did but she was a teenager and didn’t look like she does now.”

  Juanita’s next to Beau, along with Jordan. She shoves Stan out of the way.

  “How’s your wife, Jackass?”

  “She’s doing fine.” Stan puts a hand on Juanita’s shoulder. “Nice of you to ask.” He grins at her and she can’t even get her Spanish up to stop from almost smiling back at him. The man’s infuriating.

  Stan to Jordan – “I never made a pass at Juanita here. You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t pull on Superman’s cape. You don’t spit into the wind. And you don’t fuck with Juanita Cruz.”

  Stan moves over to Claire and Jordan and Juanita gives Beau a confused look.

  “He’s the king of clichés.”

  At least Beau’s arm is loosening up.

  Claire steps up to Beau, raises a small white box with a red bow.

  “For you, Mr. Beau.”

  He takes it reluctantly, opens it and lifts out the miniature from the Antique Shop. Crazy Horse with lance raised and riding his overo. He thanks her and she goes up on her toes and kisses his cheek.

  As she moves away, Jordan whispers, “Damn Leopold.”

  And Beau remembers the elaborate Battle of New Orleans display of miniatures. He’ll have to tell Jessie to mention it to Lizette. LaStanza’s wife wrote a book about the battle, an epic.

  They step outside and Beau says, “Speaking of not fucking with Juanita Cruz, how’s your romance with cruise man coming along?”

  She pokes Beau’s side. “It isn’t. He’s a Mama’s boy.”

  They climb in and she adds, “His mother cuts his steak for him.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” goes Beau.

  “He likes it.”

  In traffic now and Juanita asks what’s wrong with his arm.

  “Jessie makes me cut my own steak.”

  CHANGING FOR SUPPER, both in jeans, Jessie in a red blouse, Beau wearing a black shirt over a gray T-shirt, he says, “I still haven’t finished Lizette’s Battle of New Orleans book.” The book is over 700 pages.

  He’d just finished telling Jessie about the battle miniatures, knows Jessie read the entire book, so he asks about Rabiem.

  “Rabiem? Janvier Rabiem? I believe he’s the one they thought was a werewolf.

  “What?”

  “Got captured by the British, escaped, stayed in the swamp until the final battle. He had hair growing in the palms of his hand.” She laughs. “Some of the riflemen believed he was loup garou – werewolf. Others thought he was a professional masturbator.”

  Beau covers his eyes with a hand. “This fuckin’ case is the screwiest.”

  Stefi waits downstairs with her jeans with holes in both knees and wearing a pink T-shirt with white lettering – New Orleans, where the weak are killed and eaten.

  Jessie asks, “Where’d you get that?”

  “Dino gave it to me.”

  Cousin Dino LaStanza strikes again. And they were just talking about his wife Lizette.

  Beau taps Stefi’s head as he passes. “Couillon.”

  Stefi puts Scamp on the sofa and he scampers off. She’s been holding him too long.

  “So where are we eating?”

  “A little Italian place. Not far.”

  The wooden sign outside the place is painted green-white-red, the flag of Italy with a black bar atop with the name of the place in white – Vincente’s. A typical small neighborhood place in a two story wooden building. A little over a dozen tables covering in red and white checkered tablecloths.

  “Well, it smells good.” Stefi says.

  A young waitress with long corn rows and braces takes them to a small table and Beau asks for one which seats six. Jessie gives him a look.

  “Hope it has good Italian food,” Stefi says as she picks up her menu.

  “Dino LaStanza showed me this place.”

  Jessie turns as the door opens and her parents come in. Stefi doesn’t see them until they arrive at the table. Her head snaps toward Beau.

  “You ambushed me.”

  “I am Sioux.” Big grin. “We’re working this out tonight because Jessie and I are going to Paris in next week.”

  Jessie gives him a sexy smile.

  PARIS – THE CITY OF LIGHT

  The Chantal Building stands just off the Place de la Concorde, which, according to Jessie, was called the Place de la Revolution during the French Revolution, where King Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette and Robespierre and some of his crew were guillotined, along with a slew of others. It’s a pretty place with nice fountains and statues, a giant Egyptian obelisk of yellow granite and lots of old buildings surrounding it.

  Beau feels naked, as he has every day here in Paris without his Glock. He managed to sneak his obsidian knife through customs and has it in its sheath at the small of his back, hidden by the blue dress shirt he wears untucked over dark green 511s. Jessie’s long hair flows in the breeze, her lips glistening shiny crimson.

  She does have Brigitte Bardot lips. They both found pictures online of Bardot when she was young, lot of close-ups and Jessie has her lips. Bardot was beautiful but Jessie – Beau might be prejudiced but – Jessie’s stone-fuckin-gorgeous. Gotta be the Italian blood.

  She’s in a fitted charcoal gray dress, mid-thigh length with silver buttons along the front and black heels. The top three buttons are unbuttoned enough to make it interesting as are the bottom three buttons of the dress that flashes most of her long legs as she walks. Beau lets go of her hand and she steps in front of him to go up the six steps to a pair of tall doors.

  She draws eyes, men and women, as they cross a wide foyer, bright with afternoon daylight streaming through the tall windows. They step to the elevators and to go up to the third floor. Whatever scent Beau’s smelling is nice and flowery, the marble hall immaculate, the elevator pristine. Jessie knows the way and turns into an open doorway, a wide office with rows of chairs on either side and a lone desk where a prim woman sits. She sees Jessie and they talk in French.

  Beau looks into the office on the right, sees five men in suits inside and a long table with a coffee pot cups and a stack of pastries atop. This will be the climactic bankers meeting. Bankers from France, Switzerland, Luxembourg and Lichtenstein as Jessie explained. She’s be the only American, the only woman and Louvier Holdings, LLC could not be in better hands, according to Jessie and Alexandre Louvier.

  Sleeping in that morning, she didn’t sound a bit nervous explaining this meeting was a culmination of a process started by Alexandre Louvier – Lizette’s father and Dino LaStanza’s father-in-law – two years ago and she managed to bring everyone together in the end.

  “I know this all sounds boring and complicated,” she said over a leisurely breakfast in bed. “But I’m really good at this.”

  He was ready early and sat watching her pull on her stocking as she continued talking about the meeting and the last thing Beau was thinking was the word boring. Complicated, maybe, but nothing about this woman was bor
ing.

  She stood, eased up close.

  “Is that new perfume?”

  “New and Parisian. Like it?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Now, as she’s about to step into the meeting, he catches a whiff of her perfume again as she steps up for him to hand her the black leather satchel he carried for her. She pecks him on the lips and goes into the room. He nods to the lady behind the desk on his way out. As he approaches the door two men in all black step in.

  Bulky. Is that body armor?

  The first man raises a Beretta semiautomatic and shoot Beau point blank.

  Beau spins, feels the burn on his side and goes face down. He sees the men moving quickly across the room. He reaches for his side, looks and feels a burn but no blood. He’s up in a second, pulling out his knife, running after the men. As they reach the door, one of the men in conference room steps into the doorway and the first gunman shoots him twice and goes into the room.

  The second man pauses to jump over the man in the doorway and Beau launches himself high to bring the obsidian knife down into the back of the man’s neck, all the way to the hilt and the man collapses in the room.

  Gunshots reverberate and Beau shoves the man he just stabbed to find the Beretta.

  Screams echo.

  The first man shoots another man in a suit twice and the man crumbles.

  Beau’s hand finds the grip of the Beretta and he yanks it out from under the dead man as the first man turns, sees him and swings his gun around. Beau dives to the right and the man fires at him. Beau rolls under the long table, sees Jessie legs as she lies on the floor on the other side of the table. The first shooter jerks chairs away to fire under the table and Beau rolls back out from under the table and aims the Beretta. The man fires three quick shots under the table, looks up and Beau shoots him in the face and head.

  Someone’s still screaming and Beau scrambles over the table, slipping on the debris of pastries on top and crashes on chairs next to Jessie. Her face is covered in blood and he leaps toward her. She blinks at him and starts to get up and the blood is too bright.

  The screaming rises from a man and a woman.

  He tries to cradle Jessie’s head and she sits up, blinks again and reaches a hand up to the red goo on her face. There’s no visible wound.

  “You hit?”

  She shakes her head, touches the goo to her tongue.

  “Jelly.”

  The pastries atop the table.

  He pulls her down and turns to cover the door, the Beretta raised.

  “They’re may be more.”

  He tries to readjust himself but his legs won’t move and his left arm stiffens. The Beretta is held in his standard two-hand police grip. It waves as he points it at the door. The screaming stops and Jessie gasps in his ear. He turns to see another of the men in suits lying on his back with blood on his chest. He looks back at the open door, catching the scents now. Gunpowder and blood and sweat, probably his.

  Jessie presses herself behind him and he tells her to stay there, keep down. His right hand is like stone. Can he pull the trigger? He can barely move his left hand, uses it to pry the Beretta from his right hand, gives it to Jessie. She used to be a private eye.

  Manages to grunt out, “Muscles. Locked.”

  Jessie has the Beretta in the same two-handed grip, aims at the door and they wait. He keeps in front of her. They are mostly protected by the table and she has a clear line of fire. Beau slams his hands against his legs.

  Come on. Come out of it.

  The Beretta is heavy and Jessie re-grips it, her heart stammering and she must get control of her breathing. Beau keeps in front of her, shielding her. He pounds his hands again. He’s locked up again. Oh, God, what is it?

  Finally, long grueling minutes later, a strong voice calls out from beyond the doorway, “Police!”

  She tells them in French to come in. Jessie lowers the Beretta. Tells them the shooters are down. Come in. A moan to her right and she looks to see M. Jeanfreau from the Royal Luxembourg Bank is alive, his right hand presses against a wound in his left shoulder.

  A young gendarmerie peeks in, pointing his semi-automatic.

  She raises her left hand and waves at him, telling him to get EMTs there are wounded.

  “Where are the shooters?”

  “They are in all black,” Beau tells her to tell them. “Two. One knifed, the other shot in the head.”

  She tells them and the gendarme comes in followed by two more gendarmes each in pale blue shirts, dark blue trousers and dark blue kepi hats. Jessie puts the Beretta down. A gendarme comes around the table and Jessie points to the Beretta on the floor. She realizes she’s all splayed out, sitting open-legged and the Frenchman glances up her skirt. She climbs up, telling him Beau is an American police officer. The gendarme’s gaze moves from her legs to the Beretta.

  Beau feels light-headed now as the stiffness begins to fade. He tries to get up and everything goes black –

  Jessie catches Beau before his head hits the floor and she cradles his head, sees he’s breathing, tells the gendarmes to hurry the EMTs. She leans her face close and whispers in Beau’s ear – “I’m here, John. I’m with you.” She grabs his hand.

  Before the EMTs arrive, Beau’s eyes blink open and he tries to smile at her.

  “What happened?”

  “You blacked out.”

  “How the fuck that happen?”

  “You’re human.”

  He tries to get up. “No, I’m not. I’m – I’m.” He smiles weakly. “Shadow. Warrior.”

  She wipes the tear rolling down her cheek.

  JESSIE LOOKS AT the clock on the wall here in the hall outside the MRI unit where Beau is under examination. He’s not happy about it, tried to walk out of ICU until she stopped him, looked hard into his eyes and let her eyes tell him and he listened and now they’re scanning him from head to foot.

  It’s almost 2:30 p.m., which means it’s almost 8:30 a.m. in New Orleans. Her father’s at work. Her mother might be still home. Librarians don’t start early. She takes out her cell and calls home and Stefi answers after the second ring.

  “Mom or Dad there?”

  “No.”

  “I called to tell you John and I are all right.”

  “Why wouldn’t you be? Hey, stop that!”

  “You talking to me or Scamp?”

  “Both.”

  “Pay attention, Stef, this is important.”

  “OK. OK. Ow!”

  “There’s been a terrorist attack in Paris. At the meeting I’m attending. People were shot. John and I are all right. We weren’t hurt.”

  “What?”

  Jessie runs it by her again, adding, “It’ll be all over CNN and the networks. Get a hold of mom and dad and tell them, OK?”

  “OK. OK. Dammit Scamp!”

  “Quit with the kitten and call them. It’s important.”

  “OK. So your honeymoon was interrupted?”

  Jessie hangs up and calls Juanita. She’ll call Chief Féroce and Mystery, Inc., talk to Jodie or Fel. Damn, Jessie better call Alexandre Louvier.

  SCAMP GOES UNDER the sofa and Stefi moves to the TV, finds CNN, sees a pretty Asian lady reporter on –

  “ … no confirmation on the identity of the attackers.”

  The woman’s name is listed as Donna Vinson in the lower corner of the screen and she stands in front of an old building with tall windows. “Authorities confirm there were two attackers, both dead and three others wounded and taken to hospital.”

  They cut back to the CNN studio where that guy named Coyote or Wolf, guy with the beard, says, “Let us recap. Shortly after noon Paris time. Two men in all black and wearing bullet-proof vests walked into the Chantal Building on the Place de la Concorde.”

  A surveillance video from inside a building comes on now and two men are seen walking briskly across a lobby to the elevators. Elevator video shows they’re the only ones in the elevator as they each take out a black pis
tol and step out quickly. Video cuts to a hall where the men walk fast and turn into a room. The video blinks.

  “We see the men going into a meeting of international bank executives. The next video will be the police arriving some nine minutes later.”

  Three police officers in those funny French police caps, each carrying a pistol rush down the hall, stop at the door to peek in before going in one by one. The video blinks again and we see EMTs coming out with someone on a gurney. Blond haired man. More police and EMTs arrive and bring out two more men on gurneys. Another EMT gurney is taken in.

  The video blinks again and Jessie steps out carrying a black satchel and in front of EMTs and a gurney with a dark haired man on it.

  John. It’s John.

  More police go into the room.

  The video cuts to the exterior, looks like hand-held video now as the gurneys are taken to different ambulances. They focus on the victim with the light colored hair and get him in and Stefi sees Jessie pass with the other gurney to the other ambulance.

  “One of the survivors is a banker listed in critical condition. The other survivors are listed in serious condition.”

  Serious? Serious? John’s hurt.

  Stefi pulls out her cell and calls Jessie. It rings and goes to voice mail.

  “You lied! John’s hurt. Call me right away or I won’t call Mom and Dad.”

  Six minutes go by and she calls her parents to tell them what Jessie said.

  It isn’t until her parents come home before a French minister comes on the news, speaking French and the video cuts away to the White House where the president’s press secretary comes on, the French minister’s image reduced to a little box on the side of the screen.

  The press corps comes to order and the press secretary speaks.

  “This morning, the president was notified of the terrorist attack in Paris and our embassy was put on alert, as well as our consulates in France and embassies in adjoining countries. There has been no further attacks but we remain vigilant.

  “Our president spoke with the French president twenty minutes ago.”