Femme Fatale

by Claude Bouchard

  “Wait a minute,” said Leslie. “Let’s try something first. It’ll take half a minute and may safe us a lot of time.”

  “What do you suggest?” asked Morel.

  “First, we should each stand in the centre of our quarter,” Leslie instructed, walking to her suggested position.

  She waited until the other three were in place and said, “Now, listen.”

  Raising her phone still strapped to her forearm, she tapped the screen a few times and closed her eyes in hope.

  “Over here,” Officer Dupont spoke for the first time since they had entered the building.

  Moving quickly, he followed the ring tone which suddenly stopped.

  “Call again,” he requested.

  Leslie cut the connection and redialled and the second call was sufficient to lead Dupont to the missing phone which was tucked between the wall and a seat cushion in a corner booth. He pulled a plastic evidence bag from a pocket, turned it inside out over his hand then grasped the phone and pulled the bag over it. Returning to the others, he handed the phone to his partner as he winked at Leslie.

  “Superbe idée,” he praised.

  Heading back to the entrance where Hassan stood scowling, Morel stopped before him and held up the phone. “We found it so we’ll stop disturbing your customers. And by the way, those women were here. We may have to return to talk again if we don’t find them soon.”

  Back onto the sidewalk, Morel explained that they would keep the phone as evidence for the time being and have it checked for prints and any suspicious use. He also informed them that the prefect had requested a report following their visit to the night club and was confident further police involvement would be forthcoming sooner rather than later. Henri thanked him and the two officers headed back to their car parked further down across the street.

  “So, we know my girls were here,” said Henri, staring back at the club a few doors away.

  His mobile rang before Leslie could comment. As he answered the call, a voice called out, “Pardon, mademoiselle.”

  Leslie turned to see Rémi, the bartender, standing a few feet to one side of Femme Fatale’s open terrace, gesturing her to join him before nervously glancing inside his place of employment. She hurried over, sensing he might have something of interest for her.

  “Oui?” she said as she reached him.

  “I only have a minute,” Rémi said in hushed and hurried French. “Hassan must not see me speaking with you. One of those women, the one on the left in the photo. She was here late one afternoon last week.”

  “Are you certain?” asked Leslie.

  “Yes, absolutely,” Rémi replied, glancing over his shoulder once again. “She was here with another woman and a man. This man comes in once in a while and knows Hassan. In fact, Hassan chatted with them last week.”

  “Do you know who this man is?” Leslie questioned.

  “I don’t know his name,” said Rémi, shaking his head. “He’s twenty to thirty, tall and thin with long hair and several piercings.”

  “Rémi,” Hassan’s voice shouted from within the club.

  “I must go,” Rémi whispered before rushing onto the terrace and back inside replying, “Oui, oui, j’arrive.”

  Leslie hurried back to Henri who was just finishing on the phone and not looking pleased.

  “That was Rachel, one of Corinne’s studio partners,” he announced.

  “Louie lied to us,” Leslie stated.

  “Yes,” replied a surprised Henri. “How did you know?”

  “I just had a little chat with Rémi, the barman,” Leslie explained. “Corinne was here last week with a man and a woman. Based on the description Rémi gave me, the man was Louie.”

  “It was,” Henri confirmed. “The woman was Rachel and Louie is the one who suggested they come here. He seems to get along rather well with our friend, Hassan.”

  “That’s Rémi’s impression as well,” said Leslie. “We’re going to have to visit Louie again, like now.”

  They headed to where they had parked further across the street under the watchful eye of Hassan who now stood just inside past the terrace.

  Leaning over to a lone man who sat at a table just ahead of him, he said, “See what they’re up to, Maurice. I’ll find Armand and have him join you as soon as possible. Should they split up before he gets there, stick with her. I’ll try to find out who the all important monsieur Petit is but I’d like to know more about the young lady.”

  Maurice nodded and commented as he rose. “She’s a very attractive woman.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Hassan replied with a smile.

  * * * *

  With much effort, Dominique managed to open her eyes, only to be met with darkness the likes of which she had never seen. She turned her head to look at the clock radio only to be rewarded with blackness and a wave of dizzying nausea. Closing her eyes, she let the heaviness pull her back in and the unusual discomfort subsided.

  Floating through a haze, she tried to organize her thoughts and wondered where her clock radio had gone. Perhaps Leslie had brought it to the Eiffel Tower from the airport. No, that didn’t make sense, but why was her bed so hard and was that someone snoring? That must be Corinne dancing. The stupid chains on her left wrist and ankle kept her from turning over but Leslie would arrive from Montreal. At least she had hidden her phone but where was her purse? She would have to speak to the concierge in the morning as the room was stuffy. She was still so very tired so perhaps she should sleep some more.

  As she drifted off again, her final thought was of that strange man. She hoped she had seen the last of him because she hated needles.

  * * * *

  “How do you want to handle this?” asked Henri as they approached the side door to the studio.

  “I’ll work my womanly charm on him,” Leslie replied, “But feel free to step in at any time.”

  They reached the door and Leslie opened it, not bothering to knock.

  “Bonjour, Louie,” she called out as they entered, heading directly to where the young artist had been working earlier.

  “Aw, pas encore,” Louie groaned, confirming his presence and location. “I am trying to work. Leave me alone and get out of here.”

  “We just have a few questions,” said Leslie as they once again joined him.

  “I have answered your questions. Now leave,” Louie snapped, raising his arm and pointing towards the exit with his brush.

  In a blur, Leslie snatched the brush with one hand and grasped his wrist with the other, pulling him towards her as she spun one hundred eighty degrees and flipped him over her. He landed flat on his back, hard, the wind knocked out of him from the impact. Leslie crouched down, pressing a knee against his throat while bringing the pointed tip of the paint brush up against his eyelid.

  “I strongly urge you to not make any sudden moves,” she warned. “Taking my advice reduces the chances of getting your throat crushed, losing an eye or both. Nod twice if you understand.”

  Louie slowly moved his head up and down.

  “Très bien,” Leslie approved. “Now, just to make things easier for you, I’ll tell you we know that you lied to us. Don’t bother trying to deny it because that would only make me angry. Got it?”

  Again Louie nodded.

  “Good,” Leslie continued. “I want to be sure you’re not just agreeing to humour me so I’d like you to tell us what you lied about.”

  “I’m not sure,” Louie rasped then his eyes widened as Henri pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the painter’s groin.

  “Think a little harder,” said Henri.

  “The nightclubs?” said Louie.

  “Why don’t you get a bit more comfortable?” Leslie suggested as she stood. “Sit up but stay on the floor. Now, what about the nightclubs?”

  “I did know where Corinne was planning to go last night,” Louie admitted. “I heard her telling Rachel she was going to some place called Femme Fatale somewhere around here.” />
  “Go on,” Leslie prodded. “What else?”

  “What else is there?” Louie muttered. “I knew where she had gone and I should have told you. That’s all.”

  Standing behind Louie, Leslie bent over and clapped her hands to his ears then kneed him in the back of the head, knocking him over.

  “No, that’s not all,” said Leslie as he lay on the floor, clasping his head and whimpering. “Tell us more.”

  “Like what?” Louie cried.

  “Like you’re the one who told Corinne about Femme Fatale,” Leslie replied. “You actually brought her there the first time.”

  “Who told you this?” Louie sobbed. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Shut up, I’m not done,” Leslie snapped. “You can also tell us how you became friends with Hassan, where you know him from, that kind of thing.”

  “Who is this Hassan?” Louie argued though the fear in his eyes showed through.

  “I’ve had it with this little bastard,” said Leslie, punctuating her statement with the click of her opening switchblade. “If he doesn’t want to talk, I’m going to cut his tongue out.”

  “You are crazy,” Louie shrieked, scrambling backwards on his hands and feet into an easel which toppled onto him.

  Henri took two quick steps forward and brought his foot down onto the easel’s frame, pinning Louie under it to the floor.

  “You are starting to piss me off now, my friend,” he said, pointing his pistol at Louie’s face. “My two daughters have disappeared, probably kidnapped and I believe this Hassan and his nightclub are involved. You will tell us what you know without wasting any more of our time or you will get hurt. Talk.”

  “I will tell you what I know,” Louie surrendered. “Can I get up?”

  Henri kicked the easel aside and gestured with the gun while Leslie swung a chair into the centre of the space.

  “I’ve known Hassan for a year or two,” Louie began, “Not as a friend, more as an acquaintance. He was a bouncer and then a manager at Les Dames en Rose, a strip club nearby on Boulevard de Clichy. Then he got together with a couple of partners and about two months ago, they opened up Femme Fatale.”

  “Who are his partners?” asked Henri.

  “I don’t know,” Louie replied. “I swear. Hassan is the one who manages the place. I’ve never met his partners.”

  “Why did you follow Hassan to his new club if he’s only an acquaintance?” asked Leslie.

  “I didn’t follow him,” Louie retorted. “I still go to Les Dames en Rose and other clubs as well. Hassan was still working at the strip club while they were renovating to open Femme Fatale. He told me about the new club and suggested I might get some free drinks and food on occasion if I brought him some clients once the place was open. He repeated this to me a few times and I took him up on it. He has been true to his word. When I show up with a lady or two, Hassan joins us for a short while to chat and treats us to a couple of complimentary rounds.”

  “And this is why you brought Corinne and Rachel there?” Henri enquired.

  “Uh, yes,” Louie replied, somewhat embarrassed, “But I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “These clients you’ve been bringing,” said Leslie, “They were female?”

  “Uh, yes they were,” Louie stared at the floor. “Hassan had told me I should bring ladies only in exchange for VIP treatment.”

  “And, of past lady friends you brought to the club,” Leslie pressed on, “Have you noticed if any others have disappeared?”

  “Uh, I, uh, really don’t know,” Louie stammered. “Besides Corinne and Rachel, the others were women I had just met in, uh, other clubs. I didn’t really know them so I didn’t see them afterwards.”

  “Did they leave the club with you when you brought them there?” asked Henri.

  “Uh, no, no they didn’t,” Louie was becoming flustered. “I-I lost track of them once at the club.”

  “How many women did you bring there, Louie?” Leslie demanded, getting angry.

  “I-I don’t know,” Louie whined. “A few, several.”

  Leslie slapped him on the back of the head. “Give me a number, idiot.”

  “Uh, twelve, maybe fifteen,” Louie mumbled, “Besides when I went with Corinne and Rachel last week.”

  “You brought as many as fifteen women there in two months?” Henri asked, his tone rising, “And lost track of all of them once at the club?”

  “That’s what Hassan wanted,” Louie cried, wincing as if expecting to get hit again.

  The wincing was not wasted. Henri slapped him on the side of the head with sufficient force to knock him from his chair.

  “You are going to tell us exactly what the agreement you have with Hassan is,” said Henri. “My daughters may be getting tortured during each minute you waste. Don’t hold anything back because if you do, I will kill you.”

  From where he lay on the floor, Louie began reciting. “I was to bring one or two women, as attractive as possible, once a week on Friday or Saturday night when it’s the busiest. Once Hassan joined us, I was to leave them as soon as possible. He paid me fifty Euros per girl and my drinks were free. Really, that’s all it is.”

  Henri kicked him in the stomach in response then added, “I’m not done with you. Because of you, my daughters have disappeared and we must find them but I will visit you again to make sure you pay for whatever suffering they might have gone through. I hope, for your sake, that it was none at all. In the meantime, you would be very prudent to stay the hell away from Hassan and his club.”

  Louie remained on the floor for a few minutes once the door had slammed behind his departing visitors. He then slowly got to his feet and retrieved his mobile phone from a work table. It was in his best interest to warn Hassan about the trouble coming ahead.

  * * * *

  Leslie and Henri made their way back to the sidewalk in front of the studio.

  “So, what now?” asked Leslie.

  Henri looked at her with fear, despair and anger in his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

  “You’ll be calling the police,” Leslie stated rather than asked.

  Henri was silent for a moment before replying. “I don’t know. I mean, yes, I guess I must but I need some time to think.”

  “Can you be more specific?” Leslie urged. “You can’t shut me out on this, Henri.”

  “I’m just not certain how quickly or effectively the police will move on this,” Henri verbalized his fragmented thoughts. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure if I relay our conversation with Louie to Prefect Dubois, he will have him picked up and interrogated. From there, he will do likewise with Hassan.”

  “But Hassan will simply admit he was paying Louie to draw clientele to the new club,” said Leslie, nodding in comprehension. “Nothing illegal about that. He would also simply deny anything relating to the women Louie brought in. There’s no evidence, no identification, nothing.”

  “Exactly,” Henri replied. “If Hassan has in fact been abducting women, which is what I fear, he’ll simply stop his activities for a while or move them somewhere else. As for dealing with the police, all he has to do is keep quiet. They certainly won’t beat anything out of him. This is what I have to think about.”

  “Please promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” said Leslie, “At least not without talking to me about it first.”

  “What might you consider stupid?” asked Henri, allowing a smile.

  “For one, going to Femme Fatale by yourself to take on Hassan,” replied Leslie. “We know little about him, nothing about his partners or what the club is actually involved with. This could be part of a much larger organization. I don’t want you to disappear too.”

  “My main concern is finding my girls, Leslie,” Henri affirmed. “You must understand I will do whatever is required to succeed.”

  “I want the same thing, Henri,” Leslie argued. “Listen to me. I lost my partner less than two years ago. She was shot to death before my eyes. I’ve
found in Dominique what I never thought I would have again. I will also do whatever it takes to bring her home safely.” She hesitated a moment and added, “My line of work involves dealing with criminals, sometimes with, uh, unconventional methods. I can even get us some experienced help if needed. Please don’t do anything without keeping me in the loop.”

  Henri granted her another smile before hugging her and kissing her cheek. “I solemnly swear to keep you aware and involved in my plans, dear Leslie. Now, I will return home to think and to make some calls. As you said, we definitely need to know more about Rashid Hassan and his colleagues. You are welcome to come along with me if you like.”

  “I think I’ll go back to the apartment,” said Leslie. “I’ll do some thinking myself and I could call the colleagues I mentioned, just to alert them in case we do ask for their help.”

  “These are people you absolutely trust?” Henri asked.

  “Literally with my life, mon cher Henri. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  * * * *

  No sooner had he ended one call that Hassan’s mobile rang again.

  “Oui, Maurice,” he answered, having glanced at the call display.

  “The couple had a discussion outside for a few minutes but they are preparing to leave now,” said Maurice. “Do you want us to see who they were visiting?”

  “No,” Hassan replied. “They were visiting that little idiot, Louie. That’s his studio. He just called me. I’m heading over there now to find out what they wanted with him. Armand is with you?”

  “Yes, he is here.”

  “Good. Stick with those two and keep me posted.” Hassan ordered. “I want to know where they go, what they do, where they live. From what my little friend told me, they are armed and able to handle themselves so they may turn out to be more of a problem than I thought.”

  Maurice chuckled then replied. “Perhaps they impressed the skinny painter, but when the time comes, we will handle the problem.”

  * * * *

  Louie peered through the small, grimy window set in the now locked door to the studio and was relieved to note that his latest visitor was indeed Hassan. He unlocked and opened the door, closing it and turning the bolt as soon as his guest had entered.