Dutch III: International Gangster

by Teri Woods

  After wrapping everything up back in Newark, Craze landed in Paris’s Charles de Gaulle Airport and took a taxi to the hotel. He opened the double doors to his presidential suite. He dropped his carry-on next to the bed. He couldn’t believe it, all the planning and scheming had paid off. How they did it put a smile on his face. He opened the French doors to the balcony. He looked out into the Paris sky, the city twinkling below him. The balcony he stood on had been occupied by kings and queens, who had once reigned from it. It made him think back to how it all started. They had dared to do the impossible and they had made it look easy. They had taken on any and all, meeting every challenge and winning them all. He held up an issue of Don Diva magazine. “Is Dutch Really Dead” was the caption. He stared at a photograph of Roc as the door to the suite opened and closed. He walked back into the room to greet the three surviving Charlies, accompanied by the man he had walked through hell with and emerged on the other side with, unscathed.

  Dutch.

  Craze handed Dutch the magazine. He looked at the picture of Roc on the cover.

  “Even Roc thinks you’re dead,” Craze said as he pulled out a cigarette and checked his pockets for a light. Dutch pulled out the lighter he had taken from Mrs. Piazza. It was the same lighter he used to signal the Charlies at the trial.

  He held it up while Craze lit his cigarette from it. Craze blew out a smoke ring as Dutch replied. “They can’t stop what they can’t see.”

  “Shit, these motherfuckers can’t stop what they can see. Can’t stop, won’t stop, baby,” said Craze, giving Dutch a pound and a manly embrace. They were together at last, their plan a success. After all they had been through, it was now a new day.

  “It’s good to see you, fam. Welcome to Paris,” Dutch said, hugging his best man in the entire world.

  “Good to see you, too. It’s good to see all of you,” Craze said, embracing the three remaining Charlies. “I wish we would have all made it though,” he added, thinking about all the Charlies lost in the courtroom.

  “Yeah, me, too. They died for me and they will always be in my memory. They would want our mission to continue.”

  “So what’s next for us?” Craze asked.

  “The president of Nigeria doesn’t arrive here for another week, but he’s next on our agenda.”

  “Well, what do we do until then?”

  “We act normal as possible. We simply blend in.”

  “Well, if we’re going to do that I need to see what Paris is all about. I think it’s time we did something to celebrate your escape.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  Craze gave a devilish smile, letting Dutch know he need not ask but merely enjoy the ride.

  Of course, Craze had them in what one might call a brothel, full of beautiful, full-bodied French women. They were there to never say no, whatever you wanted, whatever you desired, whatever you craved, you would be sexually satisfied, orally, anally, two women, one woman, S&M, whatever you wanted, even costumes, rooms complete with ropes, dancing poles, and everything one needed to really get one’s freak on.

  “Damn, you see them, I don’t know who to pick, they all look so amazing,” said Craze, greedily picking five to have his way with. “I’m fucking all of them.”

  But not Dutch. Dutch picked but one, beautiful, petite, perfectly shaped, sexy, with long dark brown hair, possibly Venezuelan, maybe Portuguese, olive-toned, soft, and willing to do what he commanded, anything he commanded. And when he was finished having her, she would be dismissed and he would pick another, if he wished, but never the same chick twice. No, he wanted to pick and discard, to have the next one in line, and the others waiting for his return, waiting to be chosen by him again. For him this was much more satisfying, and to have them all be willing participants in his escapade made it an even better ride, no secrets, no games. That’s how he liked it. He would enjoy Paris, and the women in it.

  Besides doing women, they did the streets, every night and every day, until they learned Paris and the cities surrounding it. He loved Paris, the city of love. It was where romance blossomed, and he enjoyed the energy, the fondling, kissing, groping, and constant display of affection, wherever or whenever. He enjoyed watching the people, their romance and their love on open display. Craze couldn’t stay out of the night clubs. They became an aphrodisiac and he partied like a rock star. Sex, drugs, lights, camera, action, Paris had it all, and Craze devoured everything the city had to offer.

  The only thing missing in Paris was Nina. Every now and then for a split second she would creep into the depths of Dutch’s memory bank. Her beautiful, soft, brown skin, and long silky hair, he never let go, not completely. She was the one who got away, the one he deeply desired. She was the one who refused him. The one he couldn’t control, put in line, and she wasn’t the one waiting. He thought about her, wondering if she thought he was dead, wondering if she yearned for him or had put her feelings to rest and moved on. He thought of her quite often. He often wondered if he had made a mistake not including her or telling her his plan to escape. But he knew he had done the right thing. The level of trust that it would take for him to confide in a woman was something he often wondered if he’d ever find. For him, trust outweighed love, likewise respect. Had he shared one detail of his plans to escape with her he would never have slept at night. He simply decided to do what needed to be done, still keeping a distant eye until it was the right time and the right place for them to reunite. At the same time, he was working on a way to contact his mother. He figured the police had to know by now that he was alive, that he had survived and somehow gotten away, despite the funeral held for him or whoever his mother had signed for. He wondered if his mother knew he was okay. She knows I’m good. She has to know that wasn’t me; she’s my mother. If she don’t know, who else would? It was too hard to contact her at the present, but the time would soon come when he would beckon her as well.

  GROOVE LINE

  President Tita walked into Kelsin Borvalo’s extravagant gala heavily guarded by his loyal officers. Tita stepped through double doors and entered the dining hall and dance floor wearing a custom-made Bohemian suit draped with the finest of twenty-four-karat gold accessories. Tita was a short man, but he had the ego of a giant. He walked into the party head held high, knowing he would be the center of attention—partly because of his large entourage.

  Mr. Odouwo had figured Tita would be hard to get close to as he was surrounded by his small army at all times. So plan number one was to use one of the Charlies in hopes of getting the president’s attention. The president was known for having a weakness for beautiful American women, and any of the Charlies would surely qualify, as desirable as they were, but especially Dutch’s favorite, Clair.

  Clair was beautiful and enchanting and had glamour and appeal that lured men to her. Yet her desire wasn’t for men; it was for women. However, if Dutch needed her to play that role, it would be done. Clair turned up at the function wearing a Lagerfeld strapless gown with Louboutin sandals. She strolled through the double doors and entered the dining hall and dance floor, her eyes casing everything and everyone until she found her counterparts, the two other Charlies there to back her up. Once she made contact with her people, she set her sights on Tita and began to search for him through the crowd.

  Mr. Odouwo made his appearance shortly after Clair did, with a mob of henchmen in tow. Mr. Odouwo was also an acquaintance of Kelsin Borvalo, through ties he had in the oil-exporting business. Those ties were the ones who had made sure Tita was invited to tonight’s gala.

  “Clair, how are you?” said Odouwo, leaning forward in a greeting.

  “Oh, I’m fine. I’m just looking around—never know who you will find,” she joked, still not spotting Tita.

  “He’s right behind you. Actually he’s looking straight at us, so hopefully he’ll catch the bait,” Mr. Odouwo said, whispering into her ear.

  “Oh, he’s going to catch more than that,” Clair responded, sweeping her hair fro
m her face. They both laughed and sipped from their champagne glasses.

  Moments later, one of the president’s guards wearing a formal uniform approached Mr. Odouwo.

  “Excusez-moi, monsieur. Le Président Tita aimerait parler avec vous,” the guard informed him.

  “Thank you very much,” Mr. Odouwo said, nodding to him as he turned and smiled at Clair. Mr. Odouwo followed the guard back over to the Tita, the wheels beginning to turn.

  “Mr. President, how are you?” Mr. Odouwo asked, smiling a radiant and exuberant smile. He did more than that; he turned on the big C—charm.

  “I’m watching this lovely woman you have with you this evening.” He smiled, knowing damn well she wasn’t no Mrs. Odouwo. “Do you mind telling me who she is?”

  Mr. Odouwo smiled, knowing that he was about to have Tita eating out of the palm of his hand.

  “I would be delighted to make your introduction. Her name is Clair Washington. She’s American, but is over in Dubai working for the Nations Trust financial institution based in Cape Town. She’s brokered a few deals for me, actually. She’s a very smart woman.”

  “Yes, I’d love to meet her,” said Tita, smiling like an old man with new dentures as he looked across the room where Odouwo had asked Clair to wait.

  Mr. Odouwo leaned over to Tita and put a bug in his ear.

  “Mr. President. I have to warn you. Ms. Washington is a very aggressive woman, attracted to very powerful men,” Mr. Odouwo said, giving him a wink.

  “Oh, you don’t say?” Tita said, becoming even more interested in her, knowing his influential stature fit the bill.

  “Would you mind asking her if she would like to join me for a drink?” Tita asked.

  “It would be my pleasure, Mr. President.”

  “Thank you. I owe you many favors for this,” Tita said, showing his gratitude.

  Mr. Odouwo smiled and quickly walked over to where Clair was standing.

  “It worked. He wants to have a drink with you.” Odouwo smiled.

  Clair made eye contact with the president, smiled willingly, and nodded at him across the floor.

  “I will make the introduction and signal Dutch that everything is going as planned.”

  He walked over and made the introduction, then quickly looked at his cell phone as if there were trouble.

  “Is everything all right?” asked Tita.

  “Oh, yes, Mr. President, I just need to step away for one second. Please forgive me for being so rude.”

  “No, no, your manners have been most appropriate. Go ahead, make your call, I will take care of Ms. Washington,” he said as he turned his attention to Clair.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. President,” Clair said, smiling from ear to ear.

  “No, please. Call me Taji, and the pleasure is mine. What are you drinking tonight?”

  “Champagne, thank you.”

  “Coming right up,” Tita said, turning to one of his guards and asking for two glasses of the Cristal that the servers were carrying around on sterling silver trays.

  “Here you are,” Tita said, handing her a glass.

  “Thank you.”

  “And a toast?”

  “Why of course. What would we be toasting to?”

  “How about to a glorious evening of the two of us making each other’s acquaintance,” Tita said, raising his glass and watching closely for her response.

  “Yes, to us… getting,” she said smoothly batting her eyelashes at him, “shall we say… acquainted,” she added shifting her weight from side to side before touching his flute with hers.

  They each took a sip, as Tita imagined her naked body. He was at a loss for words and unable to take his eyes off her.

  “You know, Taji? You have a seductive smile, very, very, sexy. I’m sure all you do is smile and women are attracted to you like bees to honey.”

  “Thank you, but I think you are the more seductive and sexy of the two of us,” he said, starting to get his composure back.

  She looked at him, sipped champagne, parted her mouth half open and licked her lips with her tongue seductively.

  “Would you like to go somewhere private, where we could be alone and I could really make your acquaintance?” he asked, already knowing she’d say yes.

  “Yes, of course, how can I refuse?”

  “Follow my security. I will make a few more greetings and meet you on the top floor. There is a conference room next to the penthouse suite.”

  She willingly followed two of Tita’s security officers, who led her out the double doors of the dining area and down the hall to the elevators. She watched carefully as the officer to her right pressed the P button on the elevator, indicating that they were going to the penthouse suite. Perfect, she thought to herself. Everything is going just like Dutch planned it. The elevator doors opened and Clair could see the double doors of the penthouse suite a few feet down the hall.

  “This way,” said one of the security officers, leading Clair away from the penthouse.

  “But… I, um, I thought I was waiting for Tita in his suite?” she questioned, wondering why they were leading her in the opposite direction.

  “The president has requested that you wait for him in the conference lounge,” answered the officer as he opened the door to the conference hall. There was a private conference room the president could hold formal meetings in. A sitting area, equipped with flat-screen TV, sofas, and chairs. On the other side of the room was a bar where a waiter could order anything from alcoholic beverages to chicken paninis. It was in itself a clubhouse of sorts where the president could entertain. After the guards made a clean sweep of the conference hall rooms, the waiter, and finally Clair to make sure she wasn’t concealing any weapons, Tita was escorted into the conference room alongside two other security officers.

  “Tout va bien ici?” he questioned.

  “Oui, monsieur, nous avons vérifié chaque pouce carrée.”

  “Merveilleux. Quittez-nous,” he ordered, watching as the four security officers walked out of the room, closing the door behind them.

  This was nothing new for the guards, to find places for Tita to have sex with women. They would just wait outside the conference room door until Tita was finished.

  Inside, Tita watched as Clair lay on top of the conference table and spread her legs slightly. She watched as Tita loosened his tie, unbuttoned a few buttons of his Loro Piana dress shirt and walked over to her, bent down on top of her, and began kissing her as she finished unbuttoning his shirt. Tita rolled on top of her, pressing his package firmly against her. She could feel his rock-hard penis through his clothing as his hand slid up her dress.

  “What are you waiting for?” she moaned as she removed his tie, pulling it over his head.

  Excited, Tita got up and dropped his pants. He pulled her body across the conference table, pulled her dress above her waist, and adjusted himself, ready to penetrate her. It was more than the excitement of the moment; it was her curvy frame, her luscious breasts, and the wet mound between her legs. He was captivated. Outside the door, the two security officers had stepped away for a second and walked down the hall.

  “J’ai entendu du bruit venant de la salle de conférence,” said one of the guards.

  “Êtes-vous sûr? Je n’ai rien entendu,” the other countered.

  “Allons voir,” the taller of the two said as he peeked around the corner at the conference lounge.

  “J’ai pensé que cette porte était fermée,” said the shorter guard.

  “Peut-être le vent,” said the guard, feeling more secure as he tucked his Ruger into his pants and walked toward the balcony to close the French doors.

  Out of nowhere, Dutch dropped from the sky, his foot held in place by the rope he had used to drop himself from the roof of the building.

  “What the fuck?” the guard said, just as Dutch let off a round, shooting him in the chest at point-blank range as the other guard pulled his gun from his holster. Dutch shot him in the hea
d, the silencer muffling the gunfire.

  He opened the door to the conference room, where Tita was hammering away at Dutch’s Charlie. He grabbed Tita around his neck, his penis still penetrating Clair, her legs in midair as she watched Tita’s eyes pop out of his startled head.

  “Wha . . .” He could speak no more as Dutch tightened his grip.

  “This isn’t personal, Mr. President,” Dutch said, before he slit the man’s throat like a pig’s.

  Blood squirted all over Clair’s gown, but she didn’t mind. She was just glad the escapade was over. As Dutch pulled Tita’s body off her, his penis slid from between her legs as well.

  “Thank God. What took you so long?”

  “Hanging, baby, hanging in midair,” he said, smiling as she got off the table and adjusted her gown, then her hair.

  Clair watched as Dutch carefully let Tita’s body slither to the floor beneath him. He then grabbed her arm and the two of them tiptoed back into the conference lounge and to the balcony where the cable and rope were waiting. He attached the cable and rope to a paling, then connected himself to Clair. They slid down the side of the building from the twentieth floor to the concrete sidewalk. Craze was conveniently waiting for them in a black bulletproof Hummer when they touched down.

  Dutch and Clair walked hand in hand as if they were two lovers spending a night on the town. He opened the door to the bulletproof truck and waited for her to take the backseat. Then he too got into the truck and closed the door. Craze sped off down the street. Dutch reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, dialing a number.

  Odouwo answered and smiled his notorious smile as he hung up and put the phone back in his jacket pocket. Still in the ballroom, he walked over to the other Charlies.

  “It’s time we go. Let’s move quickly,” he said. They all calmly left the party one by one and got into the limousine waiting outside for them along with Odouwo’s men. The hit had been successful.

  An hour later, Tita’s two other officers returned from their dinner break. It was then that they discovered the two dead security guards lying on the balcony of the conference lounge. One of the men opened the door to the conference room and called for the president but there was no response. The guard drew his gun, as did the other guard, as they went inside, where they found Tita in a pool of blood.