by Samson Weld
Nick nodded. “I understand.”
He got out of the vehicle after the driver gave the apartment number and Anne-Marie followed him. They looked at each other, neither sure that this was the right thing to do, and yet knowing that there was no alternative. They went into the building, found the door, and knocked.
The woman who opened the door was pushing thirty. She had a fuller body than the cropped pictures he had seen of Suzy, but they had the same lower face and bone structure. He believed she truly was Suzy’s sister.
“Chantal Nadon?” Nick asked, using the name the driver had provided.
“Oui.”
He understood what that meant, but turned to Anne-Marie anyway. She would be his interpreter.
“Tell her who I am.”
“It’s all right, I speak English,” she said without a hint of French in her voice.
Nick was relieved and it also fit in the narrative. According to his notes, Suzy had been supposed to speak English flawlessly.
“Oh, great,” he said. We were wondering if we could have a word with you about your sister, Martine.”
“Uh, sure,” she replied without much enthusiasm. “Come in.”
She stepped aside and let her guests in. Nick followed Anne-Marie to the living room. The place was small, but well decorated. There were fashionable sconces, stained glass vases, and stylish furniture. An accent wall was painted canary yellow. Chantal joined them and pointed to the couch. Everyone sat down.
“I hope we didn’t come at a bad time.”
The woman snorted. “This entire week is a bad time. Who are you exactly?”
“I’m a private investigator from New York,” Nick fibbed, having come up with this explanation before he had even left the hotel. “This is Anne-Marie, my interpreter.”
“Hi.”
“I was hired by the man who might have been your sister’s last client.”
There was a long pause as Chantal considered this statement. “Is your client the murderer? Is that why you were hired?”
“No,” Nick shot back, not having seen this one coming. “It’s not like that.”
“That’s what it looks like. Nobody hires a private detective if they’re innocent.”
At that, Anne-Marie glanced at the American, clearly wondering the same thing for the first time. Nick suddenly decided that coming here had been a terrible idea, but it was too late to turn back.
He said, “My client is wealthy. He doesn’t want his name dragged through the mud, that’s all. Once the police get involved, things can do sideways pretty fast.”
“You don’t trust the police?” Chantal asked.
“I go where they send me, ma’am. Say, your English is phenomenal. Are you from around here?”
“My father was in the Army, I lived all over the country growing up. Your client killed Martine, yes or no?”
Nick shook his head. “He assures me he didn’t. But I’m not here to prove that. Like I tell all my clients, I’m paid to find what I find. I look for the truth, no matter what turns out.”
This seemed to reassure both Chantal and Anne-Marie. Nick relaxed a bit for the first time. Being on the defensive was exhausting.
The woman shifted and sighed. “I guess you’re gonna ask me about what I already told the police.”
“I want to know everything there is to know about your sister.”
Chantal nodded solemnly and wiped burgeoning tears away from her eyes. “What you want to know is about the drugs.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ever since she was sixteen, Martine has been doing drugs. Weed, cocaine, crack, she’s done it all at one time or another.”
“That’s why she became an escort?”
It was an open secret that many got into prostitution for the money involved. It was a cliché, in fact. On the other hand, men liked to believe they were doing it because of their insatiable sexual appetite. It was all part of the fantasy and playing along was part of the job.
“It’s easy money if you don’t mind the workload,” Chantal confirmed with a cynical shrug.
“And she worked for the Champagne Wishes agency, is that correct?”
“Yes, officially that’s where she was affiliated.”
“Officially? You mean she worked for another agency too?”
“About a month ago, her regular dealer was busted. She was in a bind. She didn’t know where to find a replacement for her needs. So she went to these… thugs.”
This was a major development. Nick pulled out a notepad he’d stolen from his hotel room and scribbled.
“Like mob guys?”
“More like a street gang. Anyway, her tab ran high and she went to work for their agency to pay off her debts.”
“And this agency is…”
“You want the name?” Chantal inquired.
“Please.
“It’s called Désirs Érotiques, I don’t have the phone number.”
“That’s okay,” Nick replied, knowing it would be easy to track down between the discussion boards and websites he was familiar with.
“You’re gonna find out who did this to my sister, right?”
“Yes, even if it kills me.”
He certainly wasn’t lying about that.
~ ~ ~ ~
With the agency driver gone, they took a taxi back to the city. They fetched Anne-Marie’s Mercedes at his hotel and then got sandwiches from Au Pain Doré for lunch.
They brought the food back to her car and ate while they prepared the next plan of attack. Nick was browsing the Internet on his phone, trying not to get any mayonnaise on it.
“Do you have anything?” Anne-Marie inquired.
“Hold on… yes I got it.”
He folded his panini back inside the cellophane wrapper, put it aside, and dialed a phone number once he had found the number of the mysterious agency.
“Allo,” a young-sounding man said in greeting.
It wasn’t lost on Nick that they never said the company name like another business would.
“Yeah, hi. Who do you have working today?” He looked outside the window as he talked, knowing that if he met Anne-Marie’s eyes it would be very awkward.
The agency operator had no trouble transitioning to English. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Some petite blonde maybe, not older than twenty-five. Can that be arranged?”
The man rattled off a few choices, listing physical attributes as well as his personal comments as if he was a waiter letting you know that the veal was especially good tonight. Nick nodded at one of the answers.
“Okay, I’ll take this last one. You’re an incall, right? How do I get there?”
He wrote down the instructions as the agency guy gave him an address and confirmed the appointment.
“Great, I’ll be there at five.”
“So?” Anne-Marie asked as he hung up.
“I’m booked to see Shana at five.”
“Lucky you.”
Under normal circumstances, Nick would have agreed. Hell, he would’ve been quaking with anticipation. That was his favorite part, the time between the call and the appointment itself. During that time, anything was possible. It was like waiting for Christmas.
So he wouldn’t start thinking along these lines he said, “They operate out of a motel in the East End.”
He put away his phone and reclaimed his sandwich, not really hungry but knowing that it would keep his mind busy. And that’s when his eyes caught a familiar face through the windshield.
Standing across the street was Xavier the pimp. He was staring right back at Nick. Slowly, he ran a finger across his throat.
The gesture was as mundane as it was threatening. Nick found himself squirming in his seat. It was a death threat.
Chapter 16
Motel Désirs was a relic from the fifties when the height of sophistication involved parking your car in front of your room.
The clapboard siding was
crooked, the paint was peeling off, and there were some graffiti every few feet. They weren’t even good graffiti, more like gang tags. It was certainly not a family destination.
Anne-Marie parked her Mercedes and she followed Nick out. They instinctively looked around and spotted five other cars in the lot, none of them fancy. At least they weren’t alone which was immediately less frightening.
As they walked toward the entrance, two black men in baggy clothes pushed off from the wall, emerging from the shadows they hadn’t noticed before, and they planted themselves in front of the visitors.
“Wassup, man?” the taller of the two said in greeting with a starting-to-fade Haitian twang mixed with excellent English.
“Hi.”
“What’re you doing here?”
“We drove all day, we’re getting a room to get some rest.”
The two guys started laughing.
“This ain’t no Holiday Inn,” said the shorter one. “Go someplace else, yo.”
Nick looked down for a moment, searching for another approach. He couldn’t afford turning back. This was his only lead. Finally, he decided that the truth was the best option. Most of the truth anyway.
“All right, you want the facts? My wife and I, we have an appointment to see Shana in a few minutes.”
~ ~ ~ ~
What no one knew was that there was a fifth party to this conversation.
On the other side of the parking lot stood a lanky young man in threadbare clothing. He had trouble remaining upright and had the gaunt features of a habitual drug user. He needed food, he needed crack, and he needed sleep.
He was fidgeting, swinging from one foot to the other. He absentmindedly scratched his left forearm.
Still, he strained to listen to the exchange.
~ ~ ~ ~
“I can’t wait to see Shana,” Nick added, laying it on thick for the benefit of the two men who appeared to be gatekeepers.
At the same time, he caught sight of the stranger on the other side of the parking lot. Still, he thought nothing of it. This was Montreal’s East End, after all. Although it was quickly being gentrified, the area remained an eclectic mosaic of all sorts of people.
“No, you’re not. You’re not meeting Shana or anyone else.”
“What?!” Nick asked, his head spinning toward the menacing men again.
“Turn around and get lost. You’re not seeing nobody here today.”
Nick was beginning to get desperate. He looked at Anne-Marie, asking advice with his eyes, but also making her understand that he needed help.
She straightened up. “Look, this is our first threesome and we’re a little nervous.”
This amused the two young guys. One of them said, “We don’t want any cops around here.”
“We’re not cops!” Anne-Marie protested.
“You look like cops.” He turned to his colleague. “Don’t they look like cops, Makenson?”
The other man nodded, once more entertained by this. “They look like cops, Wilky.”
“See?”
“We’re not cops and our money is just as good as anybody else’s.”
“We don’t need your money.”
“Or we can take their money anyway?”
That made the two guys laugh.
“Get lost, yo.”
Dumbfounded, Anne-Marie and Nick remained where they were. It was impossible not to notice the black pistols shoved into the men’s waistbands when they purposely opened their jackets. Nevertheless, Nick needed to make progress.
“Suzy used to work here, right?”
“I said get lost, motherfucker!” Makenson shouted as he took a step forward.
“Okay, fine.”
Nick raised his hands in defeat. Adrenaline surged through his body. It wasn’t unlike yesterday when the cop had announced that he was essentially a murder suspect. He felt so helpless.
Even worse, there was no arguing with these guys. They had guns and they had the type of attitude that meant they weren’t afraid of using them.
Not bothering to hide his disappointment, Nick headed back toward the car with Anne-Marie in tow. She got behind the wheel and less than a minute later they were heading out of the parking lot.
“Well, that was interesting.”
Anne-Marie asked, “What are we going to do then?”
“At least now we know these guys aren’t altar boys.”
“What, did you have any doubts?”
They shared a halfhearted chuckle when suddenly a figure leapt in front of her car. She stomped on the brakes.
“Jesus Christ!”
The man was the junkie who had spied on them, Nick realized this at once. He held up his hands so the car didn’t drive away and then moved to Nick’s side. The New Yorker cracked open his window.
“You guys are asking questions about Suzy, aren’t you?”
“How do you know that?”
“I was there. I heard you.”
“Do you know anything?” Nick promptly inquired, his heart beating fast as hope soared.
“I’m Charlie. Suzy… she sort of was my girlfriend.”
“You know things we might want to know then, right?”
He nodded and Anne-Marie shifted the car into park, recognizing the urgency of the situation. This could be their big break. This man might be the key to understanding everything that was happening to Nick.
He wanted to invite the guy into the car, maybe even go to a quiet restaurant so they could talk. And yet he was in such a hurry to hear the truth that he couldn’t wait that long. He therefore didn’t invite him in. Maybe after, once he had more information.
“Talk to me, man. Please.”
“I know everything,” Charlie began, his words coming so fast that it was almost like he was stuttering. “I know it all!”
“What do you know?” Nick asked
“I know about the scandal this would make if things got out, I know about shit you never even dreamed of.”
Anne-Marie leaned sideways to join the conversation. “You know why she was killed?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Nick’s voice died in his throat. He couldn’t breathe.
“It goes like this. This agency, they’re fucking evil, man. The way they work is that…”
Before he could finish his sentence, gunshots rang out.
Blood exploded against the windshield.
Chapter 17
The gunshots kept coming.
Charlie’s body thrashed as the bullets riddled his torso. A scream died in Nick’s throat. He wanted to cower, to sink down on the seat to avoid getting shot himself, but he was paralyzed by fear. He didn’t look at Anne-Marie, but he sensed that the same was true of her.
He was witness to unspeakable horror as the young man was getting shot right before their eyes. Worse, there was nothing they could do about it.
A final round ripped through Charlie’s head and he dropped to the ground. There was no doubt that he was dead.
“Oh, shit,” Nick finally said. “Go, go, go!”
He swiveled on his seat and spotted Wilky and Makenson through the rear window. They were at the end of the lot. Their guns were drawn and aimed their way. They squeezed off more rounds, but this time missed them.
“Oh, god,” Anne-Marie whispered, struggling to shift into drive.
She tore her eyes away from the rearview mirror and at long last found the right gear. She punched the gas pedal and they sped out of the parking lot.
~ ~ ~ ~
Nick might have grown up in crime-ridden Hell’s Kitchen, but he had never witnessed much violence, certainly not murder.
There had been talk of so-and-so having been shot the night before, or vandalism which had left some serious damage behind. But it had always been second- or third-hand information. He had never seen it with his own eyes.
Until today.
Christ, what was happening to this city? Montreal had always been a safe place, especially compared
to its American counterparts.
But there was no denying what was happening. A dead prostitute. Dead junkie. The pimp threatening him.
What if it was all related?
“Where are we going?” Anne-Marie asked.
“Just drive,” he said to cover up the fact that he had no idea what the next step was.
And so they drove around for the next several hours.
Their hearts pumped adrenaline through their veins and for the longest time neither of them said anything. When the sun started to go down, Anne-Marie rode Côte-des-Neiges all the way downtown and returned to Hozalex Solutions, like it was their homeport.
They parked in the underground garage. Nick followed her upstairs. The company floor was empty, reminding him that he had completely forgotten about Stanley. He had abandoned him and there certainly would be hell to pay. Then again, there were more important matters at hand than bruised egos. He would deal with it later.
“This way,” Anne-Marie said.
He walked behind her until they stepped into Helmbold’s private office. It took up an entire corner. It was plush, filled with every knickknack from the corporate catalogue designed to make one feel superior. Obviously, there was a Newton’s cradle—those fancy pendulum balls—on the desk. The sleek furniture was one-upped by the fantastic view of the Montreal skyline.
“Everybody is away for the night,” she said. “We’ll be safe here. Helmbold has the most comfortable couch.”
“Good, I don’t want to go back to the hotel now.”
They both sat on the overstuffed leather couch which leaned against one wall. It was indeed quite comfortable. Or maybe it was that he was exhausted, Nick thought.
It was several minutes until Anne-Marie spoke. “We should call the police.”
“If we do that, they’ll arrest me for sure.”
They debated the merits of going to the police. After all, they had just witnessed a murder. These Wilky and Makenson individuals were obviously the culprits. Telling the authorities was the proper thing to do. Right?
That said, it wasn’t the right thing to do in these circumstances.
He tried to make sense of it all. What would happen if he did go to the police? There would be physical evidence that he hadn’t killed Charlie. Hell, maybe there were surveillance cameras somewhere that had captured the whole episode, although Nick doubted it.
