by JB Sanders
As always, their bodyguards had taken up station around them. It was kind of amusing to Glen how well the big, dangerous-looking guys blended into a police station waiting room.
Tyler's tired and suspicious face cleared and he offered his hand. "Ah! The lawyers! Welcome."
Henri shook. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to meet you, but I was at a party outside Paris when I got the call."
"No problem. How soon do you think you can see Lance?"
"Oh! No, I'm not senior enough to consult directly with the accused."
At this, everyone looked confused and Glen stood up.
Henri put up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Our senior partners are already inside with him. I'm here just for you, to answer questions and take care of things for you. I really am sorry I'm late. Très désolé."
"Merci, Henri." Tyler replied in French. "Ne vous inquiétez pas à ce sujet."
Henri blinked and smiled. He kept to his accented English. "Wow, I expected ... " He cleared his throat. "Well, uh, less articulate Americans."
"Yeah, we get that a lot. Grab a seat and fill us in on what you know."
They sat, Henri more nonchalant than Glen would have been wearing that nice a tuxedo on those chairs.
"Mr. Roth and Mr. Rousseau, my Uncle Mr. Rousseau that is, met with Lance about an hour ago, and now they're going over the police file. From what they've seen, the police have extensive circumstantial evidence, but nothing direct. Lance has been ... I think you call it arraigned. He will be detained for the duration of the investigation." Henri made an apologetic shrug.
"Is that normal?" Glen let slip a lot more worry into his voice than he'd meant to.
Henri shook his head. "No. Most definitely not normal. Nothing has been normal about this. It's good you retained us. First, for the investigating judge to have arrested someone so soon after the crime, it is most speedy for crimes of this sort. Second, for a suspect to be detained this early and indefinitely on scant evidence? Almost without precedent."
"Uh, investigating judge? What's that?" Tyler looked curious, but Glen thought there was an undercurrent of tightly controlled anger there.
"Hmmm. You do not have these in the States. It is a judge who runs the investigation, issues warrants, gathers witnesses. Once he builds a case, then it goes to another judge for trial."
"That's ... weird." Tyler made a gesture with his finger next to his head.
Henri shrugged. He was quite good at those. Glen understood that Henri thought Tyler was pretty weird, too, and that everything he was explaining was just ... French.
"So, when can we see Lance?" Glen asked, leaning forward.
Henri leaned back just slightly, biting his lip. "I'm not sure you'll be able to see him. It's not normally allowed for family. Not this early after the arrest. Let me call Uncle and see if they can arrange it."
Henri stood up, took out his cell phone, walked apart from them and started talking softly in rapid-fire French.
Another man came in the main door. He shook off his trench coat and ran a hand through his damp hair. He was rosy-cheeked and looked about sixteen, though that might have been made worse by how drenched he was. He looked around the lobby of the police station and then walked over to the desk sergeant.
He held out some kind of identification, and in English said: "Hi, I'm from the US Embassy to see Lance Merriwether. I understand he's detained here?"
Tyler and Glen were across the room almost before their bodyguards.
"Um, excuse me?" Tyler tapped the man on the shoulder.
"Yes?"
"Did you say that you're here to see Lance Merriwether?"
"Yes."
"This is Glen Merriwether, Lance's brother." Tyler put a hand on Glen's back protectively. "And I'm Tyler Conrad, Glen's husband."
"Hi!" The man offered his hand to Glen, and Glen shook. "I'm Craig Daniels. I'm one of the legal attachés from the US embassy. I'm here to help with whatever is going on with your brother. Were you with Lance when he was arrested?"
"No. We were in London until a few hours ago."
"Golly! You got here quick." Daniels looked back and forth between Glen and Tyler.
Tyler shot Glen a look which passed silent judgement on men who used the word "golly!" sincerely. Glen almost laughed.
"Hold on." Daniels looked closer at Tyler. "Aren't you Tyler Conrad, the uh ...g-- billionaire?"
The international press had saddled Tyler with the epithet "gay billionaire", and in true Tyler style, he was grabbing the name and riding it hard.
"Go ahead, just say it." Tyler sounded amused and resigned.
"The, uh, gay billionaire?" Daniels stammered.
"Yup. Guilty as charged."
"Uh, wow." Daniels put out a hand to Tyler, who shook. "Uh, um, I should probably call this in."
"Oh? Would we get special treatment because we're rich?"
Glen nudged Tyler gently. "Hey, be nice."
"Well, I want to know."
Daniels blushed, and looked even younger. "It's just, you know, you're important and this could be some kind of ... uh, thing?"
"You mean, I'm a big enough fish that this will be reported in the international press, and that means it could be a diplomatic incident if not handled correctly?" Tyler kept his voice even, but even Glen felt a little chill at his tone.
Daniels gulped. "Yessir."
Tyler made a shooing gesture. Daniels hastily pulled out a cell phone, dialed and walked over near to where Henri was concluding his call.
Henri came over, glancing back at Daniels. "Embassy guy?"
Tyler nodded. "Yup. First responder, I guess."
"The police always notify the Embassy, and then they send a, uh, laquais to talk to them."
"Yup, lackey."
Henri shrugged his shoulders, involving his arms. "Not very useful, for legal things. For getting money from the family to the arrestee, sure."
"What did the senior partners say?"
"They are arranging a few minutes with you and Lance. No bodyguards." Henri nodded to the large men standing behind Glen and Tyler. James nodded solemnly.
Daniels walked back over to them, his expression somewhat shell-shocked. He held out his cell phone like it was a live thing about to bite him.
"The uh, Ambassador wants to talk to you, Mr. Conrad."
Tyler took the phone, glanced at the back of it, and then talked. "Mr. Ricketts, nice to talk to you. How are things?"
There was a murmur from the phone.
"No, this has nothing to do with that State Department request you got an hour ago. Besides, even if it did, I'm not talking to you about it on a cut-rate security phone."
Daniels goggled at Tyler. There was another murmur from the phone.
"No, thanks for the offer though. Our lawyers got the meeting arranged a few minutes ago. Could you see to it that there aren't any shenanigans going on with Lance's arrest? He's already being held without bail on what my lawyers say is scant evidence."
There was more murmuring from the phone. Henri, though obviously more urbane than Daniels, had a slightly surprised expression on his face.
"Thanks, Mr. Ricketts. We'll have to have dinner before I leave town. Say hi to the President when you talk to him."
Tyler snapped the phone shut and handed it to Daniels, who looked close to fainting.
Tyler looked over at Henri. "Ok, let's go see Lance."
***
Lance didn't look that great. His head was down. He was wearing some kind of orange coverall, and it didn't look that clean. When they brought him in, he didn't even look up, he just shuffled to the chair and sat. The guards locked his cuffed hands to the table. Glen nearly went around and hugged him, but the guard was right there, and they'd been told no touching except across the table.
Lance finally looked up.
"Glen!" Lance's whole face had brightened, and Glen swallowed.
"Hey, Lance." Glen said.
"How did you get here so fast?" Lance said.
&n
bsp; Tyler snorted. "That's a story." He pulled out his smartphone and started to record. "Why don't you tell us what's going on?"
"I don't know! They woke me up in my apartment, cuffed me and brought me here. The detective judge guy said that I'd stolen some paintings, but that's crazy. They even took my passport."
"That's routine." Glen said.
"The lawyers sounded like there's something fishy going on. They seemed kind of angry about it all." Lance looked anguished. "Do you know what's going on?"
"No. Not yet." Tyler put his phone away. "But we're going to take care of it, Lance. I swear."
"Are you being treated ok? You don't look so great." Glen slid a glance at the guard in the room, who didn't acknowledge them.
"I'm ok. I feel like I'm in the smallest, grimiest cell, though. But it's nothing like the jails in Buffalo -- those were nasty." Lance wrinkled his nose.
"When the hell were you in jail?" Glen gave his younger brother a stern look.
Lance gave Glen a smile that made Glen think things weren't all that bad. If Lance could look mischievous here...
"I did some time at the Occupy Buffalo thing. Thankfully they arrested us later that day."
"Thankfully?" Tyler raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah, you ever do an outdoor protest in Buffalo? In January?" Lance shivered. "Man, that was stupid."
"So how was Paris up until now?" Glen said.
Lance sighed, and slumped. "That's what makes this all so horrible -- it was perfect! The food, the museums, the river..."
Glen half-grinned. "Why do I think you need to add 'the men' to the end of that?"
Lance blushed. "Still not used to that."
"Me knowing or me agreeing with you?" Glen said.
"Both. Either. And it wasn't, uh, men, uh..." Lance dipped his head to brush his hair back with his hand.
Glen stopped grinning and nodded. "You met someone."
"Oh, man, did I!" Lance shook his head. "Shit, Glen, if I'd had another week or two, I'd have probably invited him back to meet Mom and Dad."
Tyler raised his eyebrows. Lance had not really shown any signs of settling down with anyone -- he was barely nineteen, nobody really expected him to.
"Wow, serious. So, is he French?" Glen said.
"Oh so French -- man, is that a sexy language." Lance beamed, and shifted his handcuffs a little. The guard behind him had a vaguely amused expression on his face.
"And I'm guessing he's ... hot?" Glen smiled. He was trying to needle his brother a little, but it was obvious Lance was immune.
"Sweet mother of god, he's incandescently hot." Lance leaned more forward and blushed some more. He lowered his voice. "And the things he can do with his--"
Glen put his hands up and leaned back. "Too much! I'm your brother, remember?"
Tyler grinned, leaned over the table and stage whispered. "You can give me the blow-by-blow later."
Lance looked at Tyler in a mixture of laughter and horror. At one time, Lance had harbored an unrequited crush on Tyler, and now the guy was asking for lurid details of Lance's sex life. It was a strange world.
Glen glanced up at the clock. "Ok, not much time left. What's the boyfriend's name? And do you think he had anything to do with this?"
"No! How could he? His name's Antoine Chevalier." Lance rattled off his cell phone number, which Glen typed into his own phone. "Can you talk to him, and let him know that I'm ok?"
"Sure. Plus I want to meet him." Glen said.
Lance looked concerned. "Uh, don't scare him off, ok?"
"Me?" Glen said dismissively. "I'm a pussy cat."
Tyler smirked. "Yeah, Glen's a real kitten now. Especially when you scratch him on his belly..."
Lance put up his hands, and made the chains clank. "Too much sharing! Don't need to know!"
Glen and Tyler both chuckled.
The buzzer went off and Lance stood up. "Thanks, Glen, Tyler. You guys being here means a lot to me."
Glen and Tyler stood up. The guard unlocked the cuffs from the table.
"Where else would we be?" Glen smiled.
Chapter Three
You're So Damned Hot
Sunday night, after 1am
On the street, cars whizzed by. It was night time in Paris, just after a heavy rain. The roads were damp and vividly black; the street lamps made everything glow slightly. It was like walking around inside a piece of modern art.
Tyler turned to Tim. "So, is our room ready?"
Tim looked harried. He'd been outside the entire time -- on the phone, from the looks of things. He'd hung up just as they stepped outside. "Uh, there might be a problem with that. They booked someone else in your room. And even if you wanted to go somewhere else, everything in Paris -- well, everything the right size and with the right security features -- is completely booked. This Billionaire's Club thing is a royal pain."
Tyler sighed. "It's the middle of the night. Great. Ok, give me a second." He closed his eyes, touched his thumb to his fingertips and turned his body left and right. His eyes snapped open. "Sat phone, please."
Tim handed the blocky phone to him.
Tyler dialed a number from his phenomenal memory. "Hi, can I speak to Mr Fitzroy please?" There was a pause. "Mr Fitzroy, this is Tyler Conrad. Can you let the staff of the Grande Plaisance know that I'll be arriving there in ten minutes, and I'll need my suite?" There was a low murmur from the phone. "I realize it's short notice, Mr Fitzroy, but I was very clear that a suite was to be reserved for me in every one of my hotels, in every city where I have one, and available at any moment. Will there be a problem?" There was another murmur. "Excellent. Nice to talk to you. Say hello to Emille for me."
Tyler handed back the phone.
***
In the large rental car, Glen dialed the number for Antoine, while Tyler fiddled around on his laptop.
"Oui?" Answered a male voice, deep and masculine. Deep from smoking, Glen guessed. He could hear it in his voice.
In French, Glen said: "Hello, this is Glen Merriwether, Lance's brother. Lance is in some trouble, and wanted me to let you know that he's ok."
There was a strange noise on the phone, maybe a door closing, and running feet. "Trouble? What kind of trouble could he be in?"
"He's been arrested for stealing some paintings."
"Merde!" There were more noises on Antoine's end, and another door slamming. Then quiet. "That's stupid, he didn't steal anything. Has he got a lawyer?"
"Yes, no worries about that. I'm in town and we're taking care of it, but he wanted you to know he didn't just disappear on you."
"Ah, ok. Um, look, can I come meet you?"
"I was going to suggest that myself. Where should we meet?"
"Can I come to your hotel?"
"Sure, we're at the Grande Plaisance, or we will be in a few minutes."
"See you there." Antoine hung up.
Tyler looked at Glen, his curiosity practically shouting.
"Well, he has a sexy voice, that's for sure. He'll be meeting us at our hotel." Glen paused. "It is our hotel, isn't it?"
Tyler smiled. "Oh yeah, it's ours. We own a whole chain of luxury hotels across Europe. And we're bouncing one of our fellow billionaires."
***
"This is unacceptable!" The shrill woman shouted.
There was a cluster of people, fellow Americans by accent, near the front desk of the hotel when they got there. Several of them were large men with attentive expressions, obviously the bodyguards. One was vaguely well dressed and ignored everyone while looking at his phone -- the rich guy. The woman was loudly proclaiming that all of France was involved in a conspiracy to defraud her boss -- so she was the assistant.
"You can't toss us out! We prepaid for those rooms! This is complete shit. You get the manager -- no, you get the owner on the phone right now or I'm calling the police!"
The night manager looked torn. Obviously, since he was Parisian, he wanted to talk down to the obnoxious American in the worst possible way
. But he had years of ingrained graciousness to the rich engraved on his personality.
"Madame, I cannot change what has happened. We have excellent rooms--"
"--Rooms! We didn't pay for rooms! We paid for the Grand Suite. It's the best room in the hotel -- the best room in Paris."
"Oui, madame, but--"
"STOP. Calling. Me. Madam!"
Tyler ran his finger down his nose at Glen, and smiled. Then he wiped the smile from his face. Like he was leading an attack, Tyler walked forward, followed closely by Glen, Tim and the security guys.
"Can I help?"
The night manager, in a nice suit with no name tag, looked relieved. The woman turned on Tyler.
"Look, pal, unless you own this hotel, back off. We're getting shitty service, but we're getting it ahead of you, ok?"
Glen guessed she was from New York City, maybe Brooklyn.
"Well, as it happens, I do own this hotel." Tyler flicked some imaginary lint from his sleeve.
The night manager looked surprised. The woman narrowed her eyes like she'd found a new target. The young man in the center of the bodyguards looked up from his smartphone, suddenly interested. Now that they were closer, Glen thought he recognized him, but couldn't place his face.
She looked Tyler up and down. Tyler wasn't dressed in his usual killer fashion, and it hurt his believability. They both had on whatever had been handy -- jeans and t-shirts under light-weight jackets.
"Really." Doubt dripped from her.
"Tyler Conrad, pleased to meet you." He put out his hand to shake. She just frowned.
"Look, buddy, I'm not kidding. We were here first."
"And I'm not kidding, I really am Tyler Conrad." Tyler put his hand down and looked over at the night manager, speaking in French. "Claude, could you open up the restaurant? I think we should take this discussion some place less public."
Claude looked pole-axed for a moment, then pulled out keys and began to quietly dispense orders to other staff nearby in rapid-fire French. There was a flurry of activity, and some noise from the kitchens in the back.
"You're the Gay Billionaire? I thought you guys dressed in million-dollar suits?" She looked exasperated and waved a hand at their clothes. "Not whatever was on the dorm-room floor."
