by Seeley James
I said, You were the one who told me the guys in coats were terrorists.
Mercury said, Public opinion has changed. What can I say? But if you pull this off for Ames, you might be redeemed. Or you could die. Redeemed or die. Either is better than being the puppy-killer you are now.
I said, Why would I die?
Don’t underestimate the evil behind racists, boy. Mercury thought for a moment. Once you figure out what they’re doing, it’ll be as dangerous as saying, ‘Gimme a match, I gotta check out this here dynamite.’ However. If you live through it, you might be Caesar material.
I said, But, teaching racists how to kill?
Mercury said, Don’t worry about that part, bro. All y’all mortals kill each other all the time. It’s what we gods bet on when we’re bored. Who’s gonna kill who?
I said, Don’t tell me stuff like that. I should go back on my meds.
I said to Lugh, “Heard something about IDC. Not much, though. What’re you paying?”
The question took Lugh by surprise. Nema too. She looked at him, then at me. Lugh said, “We’re paying the others five hundred euros for the week.”
I gathered my thoughts. I needed a way to determine their game. If I turned them down flat, I would never know their motivations. If these people were legit in wanting my expertise, they would bargain when I named a ridiculous price. If they said yes without dickering, then I would know they were my enemies.
“You get what you pay for.” I crossed my arms. “Ten thousand—cash.”
Nema’s eyes bugged out, then returned to normal.
Lugh choked and swallowed. “That’s far too much.”
“Twenty times the yahoos you hired because I’m twenty times as good.”
Lugh blinked. “Well, we could go as high as two thousand.”
“No deal.”
He watched me for a long moment. He looked worried. As if someone told him to come back with my expertise but never expected it to cost that much. “How about three?”
He was negotiating. Which helped me believe their story about my expertise. But now I had to get out of it. Spending a few days with a bunch of neo-Nazis was lower on my list than a root canal. I opted for keeping my price too high. They clearly didn’t have that much money. “Ten thousand euros. I’m not haggling.”
Lugh took a long, deep breath. “I need to check on that.”
“You do that, Lugh. When are you planning on leaving?”
“In the morning.”
“I’ll be at the Café de la Mairie at dawn.” I walked away at a good clip.
I made it nearly ten yards before he called out to me. I stopped and faced him. Lugh rocked up on his toes. Weak guys do that. They think it makes them look bigger, more imposing. Nema still had her arms crossed as if she were cold.
“Take Nema with you. She … enjoys your company.” He gave her a push in my direction. Then he turned and quickly walked away.
“What did I say about respect, Lugh?” I called after him.
He pretended not to hear me.
Nema stood there with her face down. After a long moment, she took a peek to see if I’d left. I crooked my finger. She slow-walked to me and stared at my shoes.
After a long silence, I put a finger under her chin and lifted it. “I promise you this, Nema: I’m going to break his arm for pimping you out like that.”
“He wasn’t … he’s just awkward with people is all. He doesn’t hear how it sounds. It’s not—”
“Shh.”
We walked in silence for a while. Past the Senate building and on through narrow cobblestone streets. We turned up a large boulevard and into a more familiar part of town. We crossed the plaza in front of Saint-Sulpice and passed my new favorite café.
“I thought of you as a protector,” Nema said. “But I can look after myself with men. I know how they are. They think everything’s a transaction. They think if I want something, I have to pay for it with sex. Well. When I said I thought you could protect me, I didn’t mean like that.”
“Nema.” I stopped and stared at her. “We’re not all animals. Some men actually have enough confidence to think of women as equals. I’m not interested in you sexually. I’m just …”
My voice trailed off. I didn’t want to say it. I started walking.
“You’re lonely,” she said. “I get it. Sorry.”
We walked another couple blocks in silence. Then I remembered something that could take my mind off Jenny.
I turned to her. “Have you ever been to the Moulin Rouge?”
CHAPTER 11
Nema watched me instead of the street and almost walked into a lamppost. “Isn’t that a titty bar?”
“Is it?” I asked. “I thought it was a musical, like on Broadway. I don’t know; a friend gave me tickets.”
Mercury leaned over the top of a car. It’s both homie. Like Vegas. Wives can’t get their husbands to watch two hours of singing and dancing unless there’s half-naked women involved.
I said, Why would Ms. Sabel give me tickets to a show like that?
Mercury said, Maybe she’s not as uptight about sex and nudity as most Americans and figured you’d have fun. And since you have this handy young lady who claims she isn’t gay, maybe you will.
I said, She’s not Jenny.
“If you want to.” She sounded as if she’d been sentenced to hard labor. “What’s the dress code?”
I checked my phone. “The e-ticket says, ‘Elegant eveningwear, tie not required. No sportswear.’”
We looked ourselves over. Without a fashion sense between us, I was pretty sure we qualified as inelegant sportswear.
“I don’t have anything like that,” she said.
“You don’t have to wear a dress.”
“I can wear a dress if I want to.” She stuck her chin out. Then pulled back. “I didn’t bring any to Paris, that’s all.”
“I’ll buy you an outfit.” I tugged Nema’s elbow until she met my gaze. “No strings attached. I don’t know what Lugh told you to do, but I’m not ready for a new girlfriend—straight, gay, bi, or uncertain. I’m not buying favors. I want the company. That’s all.”
I let her search my eyes for sincerity. We held a long, deep stare. She decided I was for real.
She pulled away and walked up the street. “I hate shopping.”
“We’re going to get along fine, then.”
I texted the helpdesk at Sabel Security. They answer all my questions. If I ask something they don’t know, they make up a convincing answer. They recommended The Kooples for edgy fashions. It wasn’t far. We went.
The saleslady took one look at us and—in stereotypical French fashion—rolled her eyes and said, “Ugh.”
I whipped out the American Express Centurion card entrusted to me by Ms. Sabel. You can’t apply for one; they give it only to the uber-wealthy. It’s jet black, made of titanium and is recognized by salespeople the world over as held by a customer with more money than brains. Nema watched in silence as the saleslady changed her tune fast. The saleslady turned me over to a guy and led Nema by the arm into the women’s section. They disappeared into a mass of brightly colored, flowery prints.
A few thousand of Ms. Sabel’s euros later, I wore new slacks, boots, shirt, and blazer. While I waited for Nema, the unmistakable silhouette of a large Navajo caught my eye.
My best friend, Miguel Rodriguez, stood on the sidewalk outside. At six-four and built like a prizefighter, he’s easy to spot. He wouldn’t stand there by accident. It was a clandestine contact, or he would’ve come inside. After letting the saleslady know I’d be right back, I wandered outside and eased up next to him.
“Pia sent me.” He wasn’t a big talker.
“And?”
“You’re needed in Úbeda tomorrow. That’s in Spain.”
Mercury stood on the other side of the big guy and leaned around him. Guess where they gonna be holding the IDC gathering, bro.
I said, He can’t be serious. I’m not
going there.
Mercury nodded in Nema’s direction, You already took the bait.
I said, I did not … leave her out of this.
Mercury said, And Lugh’s busy raising the cash you demanded. In twelve hours, you’ll be committed to this trip.
“I got your six.” Miguel nodded across the street at a hooded figure sitting in a café window. “Tania’s with me. We’re going down there tonight.”
“No freaking way.” I let my frustration raise my voice. “Ms. Sabel told me I could take all the time I needed.”
“You took it. It’s been a couple hours.” He kept his voice low. “The new president, Charles Williams, reinstated Shikowitz as FBI Director yesterday. He called Pia a few hours ago. They lost an undercover agent this morning. Part of that church attack you unraveled. Oh, by the way—” he turned his stoic Navajo face to me for a second “—nice work. You made us proud of you for a change.”
“Thanks.”
“Shikowitz wants to know who killed his man Brady. He’s short on resources in Europe at the moment. Doesn’t have anyone in Paris at all. And the Euros don’t know about Brady being undercover. It would complicate things. ’S why he wants us.”
“The IDC deal is a CIA operation. Zack Ames is running it. I turned him down.”
Miguel snapped a surprised look at me before resuming his cool. “Nuristan Zack?”
“The same.”
“That complicates matters.” He watched the cars go by. “You’ll have to be careful this time.”
Mercury said, Nice friend you have there, dawg. Monster Slayer tells you your next mission is to fight the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and his advice is to be careful? Ha! Well, this works out for you then. You’re definitely going.
I said, We don’t even know if there’s a connection between the church attack and those groups at IDC. All we know is that Nuristan Zack thought there was. Since when do we think the CIA knows anything? They didn’t even sound like terrorist groups. What were they called?
Mercury patted my shoulder. Free Origins, Birth Right, and Fair Heritage. Try to keep up here, homie. They ain’t gonna call themselves the Minority Hunters Club.
I said, I’m calling Ms. Sabel. If she knew Nuristan Zack was—
Mercury said, Oh, no you don’t. You’re not calling Pia-Caesar-Sabel and telling her you’re gonna chicken out on her. Jupiter will smite you with a lightning bolt for crossing a real-life Caesar.
I stared hard at my discarded god while I retrieved my phone and picked Ms. Sabel’s number from my contact list. Just before my thumb pressed dial, an explosion rocked a building three doors down. The electrical lines that ran down the outside to the streetlight fastened to the wall buzzed and zapped and fell to the ground in flames. Sparks showered down from the third floor.
Mercury shrugged. No storm clouds, so he popped the nearest transformer.
You never know if the gods are messing with you for going against them or taking credit for some random event, but I didn’t see any need to test my faith at that particular moment. I eased the phone back into my pocket.
I said, No harm in going down to southern Spain for a looksee, I suppose.
“What’s the mission?” I asked Miguel.
“The FBI’s man was inside a violent group that’s plotting a terrorist attack. The guy was so deep undercover they lost contact. He went off the grid in Atlanta, and they didn’t hear from him until four this morning. Europol found his body in a hotel near here. Throat sliced with a razor.”
“Europol?” The Paris police would handle a murder. Unless Zack got Hugo and the GIGN to step in. But then, pedestrian murders are beneath Hugo’s operation. He might call Europol, a group with more resources to handle mundane tasks like handing a body over to the FBI. I said, “Tell Ms. Sabel I’m already on it. I managed an invitation to the big shindig. I’ll be going silent on the phone from here on in.”
Miguel nodded. “Your girlfriend in there. Bianca ID’d her as Joan Vanrijn, Minneapolis. Don’t ask me how to pronounce it, it’s way too Anglo for me. Anyway, she dropped out high school. Some kind of trouble that never landed her in jail but cut her relationship with her parents. Her brother went missing six months ago. Hasn’t turned up yet. Is she your way into the conference or the reason Jenny dumped you?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” I sighed. “Jenny went home before I met Nema. Joan. Whatever.”
“Understood. We’ll have eyes on you. Any sign of trouble, give us the black power sign.” He referred to a raised fist with full arm extension and a slight forward angle. No doubt Tania’s idea. With her Latin-African heritage, she’d been leaning toward black-and-proud lately.
“I’m on it. I’m meeting one of their guys at the Café—”
“Lugh. Like the Celtic god. We know. We heard the whole thing from across the street. Long-range directional microphones. We gotcha covered, brother. And if he coughs up the ten grand—” Miguel felt the fabric of my new jacket “—I want new threads.”
“Wait a sec,” I said. “You and Tania can’t go. No way. It’s too dangerous. Zack told me they were violent racists.”
“Why do you think we want to go?” Miguel asked. “We leave it to you, hell, you’ll put it all through the white-man-filter and see nothing wrong.”
CHAPTER 12
I quizzed Nema on the way to the cabaret. Reticent at first, she told me Lugh treated her badly because he had Asperger Syndrome. I didn’t see that. In my estimation, it was a case of asshole excused as Asperger.
Nema never said thank-you for the little black wrap-around dress with black cowboy boots accessorized with a tiny red purse. But she rocked the look. If she ever smiled, she would be a knockout.
When we arrived at the Moulin Rouge, they shuffled us aside, out of the scrum. The manager collected us to give us a grand tour in perfect English. We skipped the pat-down line, standard procedure throughout Paris since the 2015 terrorist attacks. The regular tourists had to give up any large purses and backpacks. I was glad for the royal treatment. I got to keep my Glock.
Backstage, performers wore street clothes and chatted in makeup rooms. The manager showed off the ponies used in one of the acts and the feather-maker’s room. Nema and I were both bored by the tour but the manager was so enthusiastic, we feigned interest.
As the manager went on about the shoemaker, Nema whispered, “Are you some kind of rich guy?”
“Not exactly.”
Luckily for us, the costume maker kicked us out. There were too many repairs in progress. The manager took us to our seats. The main room was bathed in red light. Really red. As in, hard-to-see-anything red.
A round table for two waited a few inches from the stage, draped in white linen and topped with red roses and an ornate candle. “Our VIP tables are in the balcony, but for friends of Ms. Sabel, we have cleared the front row. I do hope she comes to see us in person sometime.”
We glanced around the waist-high stage when we sat. They’d left a small buffer of space between us and the other tables. When the manager left, waiters brought champagne, caviar, and cheese.
“Who is Ms. Sabel?” Nema asked.
“Tell me about your gang, Free Origins. Why do they treat you so badly and yet you stay?”
The regular ticket holders began filing in. Seating was unassigned. They rushed to grab tables near the stage. We were quickly surrounded.
“It’s normally a nice bunch of guys.” Nema admired her glass of champagne. “We go to shooting ranges and have parties. Paladin is a lot of fun. Those things Lugh said about him are true.”
“Who or what is Paladin?” I asked.
“The guy Lugh’s in love with.” She cracked her real first smile since we’d met, fleeting as it was. “You were right about him in a way. They’re not gay, but Lugh worships the ground Paladin walks on.”
“Is that the guy’s real name or is he named after Charlemagne’s twelve paladins? The ones named after Palatine Hill in Rome, where the she-wolf Lun
a found Romulus and Remus.”
“It’s just a nickname.” Nema stared at me as if I’d grown horns. “How do you know all that stuff?”
“Oh, uh. I was forced to memorize a lot of Roman history.”
Waiters appeared with the first course, tiger prawns in basil pesto with caponata, chives and pine nuts.
“You said Free Origins guys were normally nice. What happened?”
“A few months ago,” she said, “some of the guys got in arguments, and they’ve been fighting ever since. Too much testosterone. It makes everyone tense at a time when we’re competing with other groups like ours.”
“You took the wrong side in the fight?” I asked.
I struck a nerve. Her eyes met mine and grew wide with fear. She sipped champagne to avoid the question.
I said, “And that’s why Lugh pimped you out.”
“It’s not like that.” Her fear turned to anger. “You’ve got me all wrong. I’m not Lugh’s bitch. I’m not gay. I’m not anything you think.”
“Then what’s your story?”
“You did something amazing and I’m in awe.” She batted her eyelashes. “Those guys had machine guns. Why would you tackle them unarmed?”
“Someone had to.”
For some reason, she didn’t like that answer. She frowned as if saving lives regardless of the danger was a foreign concept to her. I guess it is for some people.
The show started with a thunderclap of music and dancing and sequins and sparkles. They kicked and twirled right over our heads. I grabbed my champagne glass to keep it from becoming a casualty. For a long time, we were both spellbound by the spectacle. I’ve never been a fan of musicals, but when you’re close enough to see the dancers’ chests heaving to retain enough air for the exertion while maintaining a brilliant smile, you appreciate the effort. It was nothing short of astonishing.
Pace and variety had clearly been perfected over the cabaret’s century of operation. The acts came and went, funny ones, loud ones, soft ones, romantic and frenetic in an endless chain of wonder.
