The Little Burgundy: A Jeanne Dark Adventure

by Bill Jones Jr.

  “You told me you and her were just partners.”

  “That’s what I thought at the time.”

  Rosie eyed me for a long time before joining me on the only piece of furniture in the tiny flat besides a small table and two wooden chairs. She sighed and slumped onto the bed. “It’s okay. I’ve not been overly sexual since Danni died anyway.”

  “You loved him, huh?”

  She nodded. “I wasn’t in love, you know? Danni was a bit of a nutter, too much for my liking, but he was always there for me.”

  “Did he hit you?”

  She nodded. “I’m not the type to back down, not anymore. I did too much backing down when I was a kid. So when Danni would push, I’d push back. He didn’t like it.”

  “Then why all the pretense when I was with you? Why not just ask for help?”

  “I was trying to.”

  “You were playing mind games—sex games. By the time you got serious your partner showed up.”

  Rosie flinched like I cut her. “I just used what I know, okay? I figured you’d be like any other bloke.” She glanced at me over her shoulder. “I was wrong. I guess Arjun trained me good.” That made me feel like crap, and I stopped poking at her. She relaxed once I eased off the attack. “I got in this business because Danni convinced me we could save a little bit of the world.” She looked at me. “You don’t think that’s a laugh?”

  “The last thing Danni’s brother said to us was to save the kids. Said he’d promised you he would.”

  She ran her hands through her hair. “Yeah, that was a joke. Save the kids. Danni’s dead, Weasel’s dead from some terrorist attack, and I’m hiding out in the shithole that used to be my prison. Some Mother Theresa I turned out to be.” To my surprise, tough-as-nails Rosie was crying. She wasn’t bawling, and it didn’t feel weak. She was crying the noiseless tears women leak just before they punch you in the face. It reminded me a lot of my mother. “Foster, I don’t know why you should believe me, but I never had sex with my clients. I didn’t lie to you about that.”

  I patted her knee. “I never thought you were lying.”

  She sniffled at me and blew her nose. “Why are you always so sweet to me?”

  “Because it’s time someone was.”

  The room she’d retreated to was little more than a cave without an ounce of life in it. There were no paintings, no feminine touches, nothing. The only difference I could see from some of the cells in Gitmo was the insufficiency of locks on the door. She wasn’t hiding; she was imprisoned.

  “He raped you, every time, didn’t he?” Her crying abandoned its silent restraint. “All of that talk, the parts where it was your decision, that was a lie.”

  “I never stopped fighting him. Never.”

  I waited for her waves to subside, for her great, gushing gales to weaken and the storm inside her tormented mind to fade. Once it had, she spoke, though the words were hardly the sunrise I’d have wished for her. “The first time, the last time, and all the times in between. He said no one would believe me and then he’d kill me and Mum.” She blew her nose again. “I should have let him.” She dropped her head nearly into her lap. When she spoke, it was a dry-heaving whisper. “Mum told you where I was, didn’t she? She knew about this place, right?”

  Rosie wanted a lie, but it wasn’t what she deserved. “Yeah,” was all I could choke out.

  I put my arm around her while she shuddered in more soul-racking tears. It took every execrable, urine-soaked drop of my training not to cry with her. For the first time, I understood why she’d run from Rao to a closet psychotic like Danni. It wasn’t the normal pattern where the victim of abuse seeks another abuser to continue the cycle of self-hatred and penance. She’d been strong enough to meet Rao here in her personal hell to protect her mom and then spend each episode of sexual torment fighting him to the death for her honor. I could only imagine the little pedophile shit must have enjoyed the fights as much as the sex. Rosie picked Danni precisely because she knew about the violent jealous streak her partner harbored. Danni never knew, but he’d been selected not as a lover, but as a weapon. I let her cry it out and then went to work.

  “You set it all up, Rosie.”

  She looked at me, red-eyed, but said nothing.

  “Not the polonium, that was just a lovely coincidence. But you knew that Danni would kill your stepfather if he ever touched you again. So you made sure that you worked alone with him, just one last time.”

  Her jaw latched hard enough that I could hear her teeth gnashing. I wanted to jam a pencil in-between to keep them from cracking. She said, “A shark is always a shark. Bait is always bait.” She looked at me. There were no tears left, not for Rao’s crimes, never more. I could see it in her eyes. “My skin crawled just being in the same building with him, but I couldn’t just let it go. I made sure Mum and everyone else were gone … all I had to do was be alone.”

  “You knew he’d force himself on you if he got the chance.” She nodded. “And you knew what Danni would do if he found out.” No response. “Two abusers, one stone.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” she said, shaking her head. “I told you. I loved Danni, just not that way.”

  “Then tell me how it was, Rosie.”

  It took a long time, but the words finally came out. “Fuck. I guess it was like that.” She gave me a pained look that would have broken my partner’s heart. I was glad she didn’t come. “I’m so sorry. I really am. I—I was just …”

  I pulled her to me just to shut her up. I wasn’t the one whose forgiveness she needed, and Danni was in no position to give it. When she’d gathered herself, she straightened her hair and wiped her eyes. She seemed younger than before—not innocent, but definitely not the adult she should have been at her age.

  “What are you going to tell the police?” she asked.

  “Me? Not a damn thing.”

  “I … I won’t confess, Foster, I won’t.”

  Her eyes searched mine for truth, so I gave her some. “Good. Fuck rapists.” In my worldview, Rao’s Miranda rights consisted of you have the right to be dead. Case closed. I had important things on my mind, and the death of a pedophile wasn’t one of them. “Rosie, I need your help. I’ve got government people trying to kill me. They did kill Weasel, and they could very well try to kill you too. I can protect you, but only if you help me put these people away.”

  “What do you need?”

  “I need names of clients, money transfers, anything you can provide. We’ve tried to get some of your escorts to talk, but nothing doing.”

  “They’ll never talk to you,” she said. Rosie stood up, crossed the room, and lit a cigarette. She inhaled and blew a long, poisonous stream out of the cracked window. “The whole appeal of the setup is that we attract people who aren’t prostitutes. No druggies, no slags, no diseases. Most of them go to university—where we recruit them—or do volunteer work with kids.”

  “Volunteer work?”

  “Yeah.” She took another drag. “We tell them that one-half of the profits goes to a charitable group that the top guy has organized.”

  “This top guy, is his name by any chance Otto Mitad? That’s the name Weasel gave us.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know that name.”

  “What does this charity do?” To say I was skeptical there was such an organization was an understatement. Still, she’d told me more than during our previous meetings, so this was something of a breakthrough.

  Rosie walked over to the bed and slid a laptop from underneath. She flipped it open and began working it for a few minutes. “Here,” she said.

  No Child Abandoned, the website read. I spent over an hour crawling through the site and then a second hour going through links to all the group’s press releases, which were collaborated by news articles. It was a legitimate charity, sanctioned by the U.S. and most EU countries. Their major work was finding permanent homes for abandoned children. I found legitimate stories about their helping refugees fro
m wars, impoverished inner city youth, girls undervalued by misguided countries who thought oppressing half their population was the formula for success, and African youth who were orphaned by the AIDS epidemic. Whoever was behind this group, they were doing remarkable work.

  “NCA’s operating budget is a hundred million Euros,” Rosie said, “of which fifty percent comes from us.”

  I sat back. “Well that complicates the hell outta things.”

  “I’m glad you think so. If you break up the escort ring, a lot of kids starve to death.”

  “Fuck, Rosie, couldn’t you find a legitimate way to raise money?

  “Legitimate, sure. As effective, hell no. Half the places we operate in, prostitution isn’t even illegal.”

  “No, but being a pimp is.”

  “That’s only to keep drugged-out girls from being exploited. Look, half of the money goes to the kids, another fourth to the escorts, and the rest goes to keeping things running.”

  “Meaning into the top guy’s pockets.”

  “You don’t know that,” she said, folding her arms.

  “In legitimate charities, around ninety percent of the money goes to the program.”

  “This isn’t just a charity, it’s also a business.”

  I stood, headed for the window, and forced it all the way open. Her smoke was killing me, as was the oppression in that dank little dungeon of a flat. “Look, we can debate how your little Whores Save the World group is doing God’s work ad infinitum, and it won’t change a thing. What’s important here is that whoever’s behind this service of yours has high-grade polonium.” I took her by the shoulders. “They ain’t using it to save the children.” Rosie wouldn’t meet my eyes. There was something more. “Talk to me,” I said holding her chin. “What are you not telling me?”

  She closed and reopened her eyes, like she was resetting her brain’s computer. “You are so gentle,” she said. “It’s sexy as hell. Don’t let Dark sell you short. You are some kind of man.”

  “Thank you, and the feeling is mutual, so how’s about you stop playing Queen of All the Pimps and let’s figure out how you can help those kids without turning other, older kids into hookers.”

  She shook her head at me. “Just when I was starting to like you again.” She pulled away from me, but this time, to help. “I found this when I was cleaning out Danni’s things,” she said reaching under the bed again.

  I took a manila folder from her. There were news clippings of mysterious deaths, some unsolved murders, and a few police reports that Danni shouldn’t have had access to. Under those was a jackpot—a thick notebook with a list of names, times, escorts, preferences, and most importantly, bank transaction numbers.

  “Danni kept the books for Weasel. They didn’t trust computers or each other, so Danni did it all by hand.”

  I let that sink into my thick skull for a moment. “Which means the police and the government don’t have this list.”

  She shook her head. “No one has it for the UK operations but you, now.”

  “Wait a minute. Our UK contact told us she had the client list, taken from Danni’s computer.”

  “She has a client list, but not the real one. Danni was smart enough to have a fake list with a few troublesome clients on it that we wanted the police to get. The rest of the names were phonies—celebrities, judges, and the like.”

  I started smiling. I decided to risk spoiling my mood with one more question. “You sure you don’t know the name Mitad, never came across it in the files?” She began shaking her head again. “He’s supposed to be Slovakian. Dark says it may be an alias.”

  “I told you I’d never … hold on, you said Slovakian?” I said that I did. “Mitad is Spanish, Foster. It means half. If he’s Slovakian, that’s got to be a fake name. But there is a name in the file there, Kovac. I don’t know it, but maybe that’s Weasel’s contact. Danni scribbled a note about a Slovakian named Kovac with a big, red circle around the name and a question mark.”

  I was so excited I kissed her. She tasted like an ashtray. “I owe you big, Rosie.”

  “You’re bloody right you owe me big, and you’re going to pay, too.”

  My good mood had lasted all of six seconds. “How exactly am I going to pay?”

  A devilish grin came across her face. “I’ve always wanted to see Fiji.” She took a step closer and pulled her top over her head, spilling creamy breasts all over the room. I turned away and the shorts came off next, dropping with a clink of her belt against the vinyl floor. Some unseen entity turned me back around to stare at her.

  “Oh my damn.”

  She grinned. “Don’t you think I’d look good in a bikini?”

  “Depends on who’s buying the bikini.”

  “You are, of course.”

  “No way I’m sending you to Fiji.”

  “Then the pants come off.” She grabbed the elastic. “You know Dark’s going to know I was naked with you.”

  I raised my hands. “Okay, okay, Fiji—coach.”

  “I like to fly business class,” she said.

  “What makes you think I’m sending you to Fiji on fucking business class? You just copped to half a dozen major felonies: prostitution, money laundering, possibly conspiracy to commit murder … I’ll think up more.”

  “We’re mates and you love me.” I grumbled something obscene and Rosie gave me an air kiss and pulled her shorts back on. When she reached for her top, I snatched it from her.

  “I’m still using those,” I said. Ten wiggly seconds later, I gave it back to her. “Okay,” I said, sighing with all of my being, “now I’m ready for marriage.”

  Rosie kissed my cheek. “Give the boss my congratulations.”

  I pushed her onto the bed with an almost-gentle shove of my hand to her giggling face. “I hope you get sunburned,” I said. “Don’t answer the door for anyone but me. Dark and I will be back to talk to you later.” I turned the knob, opened the door, and peeked out.

  “Bring dinner,” Rosie called. “I’m sick of my cooking.”

  I took Danni’s notebook and left, closing the door behind me and heading toward the street. I was as jittery as a cocaine-addled cat. It wasn’t that I feared being spotted. It was cold enough in London that I could bundle myself up and not be recognized. I was more afraid that Dark’s radar was turned on and I’d have to explain why I was with a nearly naked Rosie. Hell, I wondered that myself, given the risk involved. The CIA could only kill you once. Dark could make my life miserable for decades. I’d never cheat on her, but hell, Rosie was good for about the next five years’ worth of fantasies. Dark should have thanked her, in my opinion.

  20 - Sex, Money, Power

  I was impressed that Foss agreed to hide Rosie in Fiji given how closely he normally held his cash. I still hadn’t told him the extent of my wealth above the Luberon property, not because I didn’t trust him, but because money had never been part of the equation for me. Grand-père left me his estate, which I will in turn leave to my niece and nephew. However, he also left both Jette and me with a sizeable interest in a trust fund, which, according to the terms of his will, could not be disclosed to my future husband until after he signed a prenuptial agreement. I would not have such a fence between my partner and me, and so I’d neither tell him about the thirty million Euros I’d amassed nor allow it to become a wedge between us. Marriage is for love, or of what use is it, no?

  However, I must admit, when he walked in smelling of Rosie’s desire and bare flesh, I almost hit him with the papers and my fists. I didn’t care about the silly girl’s breast implants or her lovely figure. Neither did I mind the fact he finds her so attractive. Foss is a man and free to look at naked girls all he wants, provided I am the only one he wishes to touch. I was mad because he thought me so stupide I would not know. Once the girl was on a plane and safely hidden away, Foss did confess, telling me, “I think she was hitting on me, but she could have just been messing with me again.” I said nothing. My revenge would be his s
pending months wondering if the girl really liked him or was using him.

  She would’ve run me over in order to have his babies, but he would never hear it from me.

  ***

  The files Rosie gave us proved to be invaluable. In only a few weeks, we learned more about the operations than we had the entire time since we left America. Rob was quite familiar with the UK’s political structure, and he brought in a partner, Ms. Leanne Gillenwater, a reporter who covered London’s financial district. The initial spark was the presence of several names that Rob knew immediately as being highly placed members of the banking community. There were just as many names in important political circles, including five sitting members of Parliament and one department Minister. In order to deflect attention, we allowed Rob and Leanne to do the direct interviewing, however guided by myself via a control room we set up in our flat.

  By this time we had five or six crew members in and out of the place and were beginning to draw attention. Around the time that Rob got his first break, we had a visit from the landlord, owing to suspicions that we were operating a drug ring from the flat. Foss handled it. I wasn’t not sure what he said, but the landlord disappeared within ten minutes with his tail between his legs. After, I questioned Foss on what he said.

  “I told him we’re running a news investigation on prostitution, and informed him his name is in our files.”

  I was dumbstruck. “Is it?” I asked, laughing.

  “It is now. I wrote it in myself.”

  “That is tampering with evidence, Monsieur Foss.”

  “Yeah, well it turns out he’s more afraid of the missus than he is drug dealers. I’m pretty sure he’ll leave us alone.”

  We’d escaped that issue, but we were concerned we’d begun to draw unwanted attention in the weeks we’d been running through our list. Foss thought we should move before the police intervened and took all of our evidence. I was more worried about CIA death squads. Foss told me there was no such thing, but I didn’t believe him. In any case, I had a different strategy in mind. On a Wednesday afternoon in January, the four of us met to discuss what we had learned. I had a surprise of my own, which I knew they wouldn’t like. Rob started us off by detailing his investigations. He ran through an extensive list of meetings, interviews, facts and figures which tied the political figures definitively to the escort ring.