No Good Deed

by Matthews, Susanne

  “Jones works for him as an orderly at his west end clinic,” Al said. “We’re right, Mike. I know we are. Plus, Fields looks more and more like Interpol’s nip and tuck man, and if he’s that, then he’s the magician, too. There’s no ignoring his mob contacts. I’ve got someone sifting through every transaction the man’s made in the ten year’s he’s been here. Right now, he thinks he’s safe, but he’s not, and if he tries to leave the country, we’ll stop him. His days are numbered.”

  Someone knocked on the door and one of the half-dozen armed men working for Andy went over to check the peephole.

  “Henri’s here, and Lamoille is back, too,” the man said opening the door.

  Mike glanced over. The Interpol agent was as tall and thin as Henri was short and fat, reminding him of the old comedy duo of Laurel and Hardy, but having listened to Andy and Lamoille, Mike knew the man wasn’t to be taken lightly.

  “Gustav, just in time. Did you get your messages sent?” Andy asked.

  “Yes. They’ll pick up Al Nori’s lookalike tonight and take him to a safe house for questioning. They may have located that fifty some kilos of C-4, too. There was a shipment of building supplies that arrived in Turkey yesterday from Cremorne Developments. That’s one of Zabat’s companies, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  “The authorities have impounded the shipment. You know how antsy those regimes are about potential coups and terrorists. Agents will check every item to make sure it’s what it’s supposed to be. If they find C-4, it’ll be interesting to hear what Al Nori has to say.”

  “Good.” Andy nodded. “Now, we wait and see.”

  “Not me,” said Mike. “I’ve got a mole to catch. Hopefully, she’ll lead me to a rat. Let’s go, Henri. It’s time to set a trap.”

  It was just after four when he and Henri walked through the doorway of Chief Inspector Doucet’s office. Henri fell all over himself apologizing in French, talking a mile a minute, while Mike took on the persona of an angry, obnoxious drunk. He shoved Henri away from the desk and glared at Doucet’s personal assistant.

  “You aren’t making any sense, sir,” she said to Henri, her disdain clear on her face. “How can a man be dead and not dead? You’ve seen too many zombie movies, and get him away from me. He stinks.” She wrinkled her nose.

  Mike had poured half a bottle of scotch on his clothes and gargled with some of the rest before taking three strong belts of the stuff.

  “I want to see Chief Inspector Doucet,” Mike bellowed loudly, slurring his words and knocking a container filled with pens and pencils off her desk. The objects clattered loudly as they landed. Mike dropped the bug Colette had given him into the container and returned the pens and pencils, grabbing the one she’d been using and pocketing it as he replaced the container.

  As expected, the noise attracted Doucet, who came out of his office to investigate. The moment he laid eyes on Mike, he made the sign of the cross.

  “Mon Dieu,” the man said. “Delorme. You’re alive.” Doucet looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

  Mike watched the color leave the receptionist’s face.

  Leaning toward him, Mike made sure the chief inspector got a good whiff of the liquor he’d swallowed.

  “You know that, Chief Inspector, and I know that. Right now, my best friend’s not sure whether he should shove a wooden stake into my heart or welcome me home, and my bank says I’m definitely dead, and apparently you’re the one who told them I was.” His voice rose as he carried on with his tirade. Teetering forward, he pressed an accusatory finger on his superior’s chest. “You sent me to do a job. I do it, and this is what I come back to?”

  Doucet frowned. “I didn’t do it personally, Mike. I don’t know what happened. My RCMP contacts went to the chalet when they didn’t hear from you. There was a body in the debris and the woman was gone. They assumed you’d failed to do your job and had been killed or committed suicide. They’d heard you were in disgrace, after all . . . ” He pointed to Henri. “Your partner identified the ring found on the body. It will take some time to straighten this out, but I will get to the bottom of it. Who did you kill?”

  The man looked old and confused and Mike almost felt sorry for him—almost. A quick glance over his shoulder showed the personal assistant looking more and more like a deer caught in the headlights. Time to spring the trap.

  “If they found a body, I didn’t put it there. Fine thing when a man does his job and comes back to find out he’s been declared dead and his assets frozen,” he grumbled.

  Doucet’s ears perked up. “You have the woman?”

  Mike looked at him as if he was the fool he believed him to be.

  “Of course I have the woman,” he bluffed. “Wasn’t that what I was supposed to do? Find her and hide her. That’s what I’ve done. I can guarantee you that she’s as safe as a baby in his mother’s arms.”

  “Lieutenant, you’re drunk,” Doucet said, regaining some of his poise. “Where is she?”

  Mike put his left index finger up to cover his mouth. “It’s a secret. If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?” He winked at Florence. The woman was chomping at the bit to escape.

  “Go home and sleep it off, Lieutenant, and be here first thing in the morning. We’ll talk about your insubordination then.” Doucet was beet red, probably ready to blow a heart valve, but Mike didn’t care. He was enjoying this.

  “I would go home, if I had a home to go home to,” he said, enunciating every word. “It seems when you’re dead, the landlord voids your lease and empties your apartment. I’ve lost everything I had.” He allowed his eyes to brighten with tears and let his lower lip tremble. “The bastard threw out everything I had of Thea’s, everything I had of my beautiful wife.”

  Doucet, obviously having trouble with this unexpected turn of events, rapidly told Florence to give him a key to one of the various safe houses the force had in the city. He handed him a hundred dollars out of his own pocket.

  “Go to the safe house for tonight. Get yourself something to eat. I’ll see you in the morning. You’re sure the woman is safe?”

  “Yup. She’s with friends I trust. By the way, she drew those sketches again, you know, the ones that were stolen. I’ve got them in my car.”

  Doucet nodded, his ruddy face now a paler version of itself as his blood pressure no doubt stabilized. He turned to Henri.

  “Get him to that house,” he said with finality before returning to his office and slamming the door shut.

  “Here,” Florence handed Henri a set of keys. “59 rue Beauchemin. You can’t miss it. If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a call.”

  She waited until they were almost out of the office before picking up the phone.

  It looked as if the plan had worked. Now, all they had to do was land the bastard.

  • • •

  “I win again,” Henri said, pegging the last of his cards. “Your heart really isn’t in this, is it?”

  Mike shook his head and laid his hand on the table. “I can’t focus. I’m sorry.” He shrugged.

  The last time he’d played cribbage had been with Alexa. Like Henri, she’d trounced him, but that didn’t matter. He would gladly lose a thousand games to have her sitting across from him, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she counted her points. He still owed her twenty-seven dollars, a debt he wanted to pay off more than he’d ever wanted anything. Doing so would mean she was safe.

  He stood, unable to curb his fear and frustration. “What if we’re wrong and Florence didn’t take the bait?” He paced the small kitchen whose walls seemed to be shrinking.

  “Stop worrying. You saw her. She couldn’t wait to make that call.” Henri collected the cards. “Besides, if she hadn’t, the captain would’ve pulled the plug. There are two dozen men watching your back right now. No doubt the lovely lady is already behind bars.”

  “If you say so. I just wish—”

  The blinking of the silent alarm they’d in
stalled stopped him from finishing his statement.

  “It’s game time,” Henri said, dropping the cards and the miniature cribbage board into the pocket of his jacket. “Let’s hope a big fish came to do the honors. It’ll take one to catch the whale.”

  Henri hid behind the door, while Mike poured more scotch into his glass and sat at the table. He took a deep breath. His head said they’d covered all the bases, but his gut burned. He was wired, wearing a vest, holding his Glock on his lap, and the place was surrounded, but he still felt exposed. They were counting on Zabat sending his two main enforcers to pick him up and drag him back to the boss. If the men decided to take him out, come in with guns blazing, things might not turn out so well. He dropped his head onto his left arm, his right one still under the table holding the gun, and closed his eyes. If there was a God up there, Mike sure as hell hoped he was on his side.

  “How the mighty have fallen.”

  He would recognize that voice anywhere. Mike raised his head, barely able to hide his excitement. It looked as if the devil himself had come to close the deal. Richard Fields might be able to alter a man’s face, but no one could duplicate that voice.

  “What the hell do you want?” he asked Zabat, his voice slurred. “Come to gloat? That is, if it’s really you and not your stand-in.”

  Zabat chuckled. “So you figured that out. I’m not surprised. You seemed a touch brighter than the rest, but brighter isn’t smarter, is it? You’ve been a pain in my ass long enough, but that ends tonight. If I want something done right, I have to do it myself.”

  “Aren’t you afraid they’ll figure out you’re good for this?”

  “Why would they? At the moment, I’m sitting in my seat at Place Des Arts. The entire who’s who of Montreal can see me.”

  “Clever trick, but isn’t one Nicoli Zabat enough?” As angry as he was, it was essential he keep the bastard talking. Don’t blow your cover. Let him hang himself.

  “I find having a twin strangely liberating. I can come and go as I please because I make sure my alter ego is always highly visible. After I get rid of you once and for all, I’ll show up at the mayor’s party. No one will ever know I wasn’t there all evening long. I’ve missed being personally involved and getting my hands dirty, and now thanks to a friend, I can do whatever I want.”

  “Like you did in Dorion when Alexa saw you or three years ago when you murdered my wife?” Mike gripped his gun so tightly his hand ached.

  Zabat chuckled. “You’re just like my dog, Delorme. When he gets something in his teeth, you practically have to break his neck to get him to release it.” He shook his head, the diamond stud in his ear flashing in the light. “Your wife begged for her life. Claimed she was pregnant. Was she? I don’t think that detail was made public. And Alexa? She was in the wrong place at the right time. I’ll take those drawings when I leave. She won’t be needing them, and neither will you.” He sneered. “You poor, drunken bastard. You don’t have much luck with women, do you?”

  Mike wanted to jump up and rip Zabat’s throat open, not like a dog, but like a wolf, showing no mercy. The only thing keeping him seated was the knowledge that he had the son of a bitch. He’d always known the man had ordered the theft, but until now he hadn’t realized he’d been the one to actually murder his wife.

  “I don’t know what horseshit you were feeding Doucet or what you thought you would get out of it, but we both know you don’t have her.”

  He felt strangely calm. Everything the bastard was saying was on tape, and all of it would be admissible in court. Killing Zabat himself would serve no purpose, and it sure as hell wouldn’t get Alexa back. This bastard obviously knew where she was. Mike raised his head slowly, every ounce of hatred coming to the surface. He fisted his left hand and gazed into Zabat’s eyes.

  “What makes you so sure I don’t?” he asked coldly.

  Zabat’s eyes narrowed. “Not quite as drunk as you would have me believe.” He grinned. “You think I have her. Sorry to piss on your parade, but I don’t. The magician does, and he’s prepared to make her and her testimony disappear forever.”

  Mike stood, his gun now pointed at Zabat.

  The mafia boss laughed. “What is this? You think you can shoot me before I shoot you? Do you think I was stupid enough to come here alone?”

  “Did you think I was?”

  Henri pushed the door closed and pressed his gun into Zabat’s lower back.

  “Drop it, you piece of garbage,” he said.

  Zabat complied and chuckled. “You’ll never get out of here alive. My men—”

  “Are all in custody,” Luc Beaudoin said, coming into the kitchen. “And we have you on tape confessing to murdering Lieutenant Delorme’s wife and unborn child, which means we can probably put the other two murders at your feet as well. They’ve picked up your double and your wife at the theater. They looked mighty cozy. Has he been doubling between the sheets for you, too?”

  Zabat glared at Luc and spit.

  “Be careful. I wouldn’t try that again.” Luc turned to Mike. “Nice to have you back. Susan Knowles, the woman impersonating Florence, is in custody and singing like a canary. She’s implicated this asshole in the plot to take down Doucet and the SQ. If we find Flo’s body before the FBI files the papers, she’ll be held here. Otherwise, she’ll be extradited to the United States where she’s wanted for treason in connection with a major cyber hack, as well as four murders. She’s looking at the death penalty. Her new face isn’t going to help her there one damn bit.” He turned to Zabat. “As for you, well, let’s see: racketeering, trafficking, conspiracy, unlawful confinement, attempted murder of a police officer, and multiple murder charges for starters—Canada doesn’t have the death penalty, but you’re going away for a very long time. Oh, and I think I heard something about treason, too. It seems you’ve been linked to selling explosives to terrorists. Mon vieux, you might be serving two or three lifetimes.”

  “I want my lawyer,” Zabat said, his eyes filled with hatred. “None of this will stick. I’ll be out by morning.”

  “You think so? Not this time. You’re going to enjoy gen pop. I’ll make sure to suggest it.” Luc turned to the officer beside him. “Get this piece of shit out of here.”

  Mike stepped around the table. He still held his gun, his grip so tight he could probably leave impressions in the metal. He should be happy. Even if Zabat somehow managed to obfuscate the charges for murdering Thea and the others, he wouldn’t skate on the attempted murder of a police officer or those deaths in Dorion. They might not have Alexa’s testimony, but they had her second sketches.

  Why then did he feel as if he’d failed once more? He’d taken down the man he’d vowed to get three years ago, but the void inside him was still there, growing larger by the minute.

  Zabat’s words echoed inside his head. “ . . . he’s prepared to make her and her testimony disappear forever.”

  The longer it took Jean-Louis to find Alexa, the more time the magician had to make good on his threat. Mike had thought losing Thea hurt, but that paled in comparison to never seeing the woman who held his heart again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The following afternoon, Mike was reviewing the information on the murders in Dorion and the drug bust he’d orchestrated, specifically reading about the two kilos of C-4 found in the convenience store and the fifty kilos found at the drug raid. Knowing Zabat had sold it to some terrorist should make him feel safer, but the fact a mobster could legitimately get his hands on the stuff through his construction company was daunting. Zabat had lawyered up, furious when his request for bail had been denied. What had he expected? You couldn’t take on the SQ and expect to walk away unscathed.

  “I’ve found her,” Jean-Louis cried.

  Mike exploded out of his chair and rushed over to the computer specialist. Andy was there within seconds.

  “Are you sure?” Mike asked.

  “Yes. I can’t bring up the video for fear of letting whoever�
�s monitoring the feed know I’ve hacked in, but I can listen to the audio. She’s been humming the same tune for a while now.”

  Jean-Louis removed his headphones and turned up the sound. In the background, Mike could hear Alexa trying to sing “Burning Bridges.”

  “Mrs. Fields, Karen is here for your physio,” a woman said. “That’s very good. What is it?”

  “It’s a bunting, a small, fruit-eating bird,” Alexa answered.

  Mike’s heart expanded in his chest, filling him with joy. She was alive.

  “Am I right?” Jean-Louis asked, turning down the volume, although Mike could’ve stood there and listened to the sweet sound of her voice all day.

  “Yes. It’s definitely her,” he said, fighting to contain his excitement. “Where is she?”

  “On a small island off the coast of Belize. Caye Para is on the edge of the reef. The island is privately owned and is famous for the exclusive rehab center on it that caters to the rich and famous. It won’t be easy finding out who’s in residence. From what I can see, the place is a bloody fortress. The owners don’t want anyone bothering their clientele. The only way onto the island is by helicopter.”

  Mike nodded. “So when do we go get her and how?”

  Andy shook his head. “Patience, Mike. We can’t invade a foreign country and attack what’s essentially a hospital. This has to be done right.” He turned to Jean-Louis. “You said the device could send as well as receive?”

  “It can, but if we send a message, it’ll have to be a short one. Otherwise, it’ll expose us, and if Fields is monitoring her, you don’t want him to know we’re onto him until we have a plan to extract her.”

  Andy nodded. “You work at your end, and I’ll work at mine. The first thing is to find out who actually owns the place and who’s staying there.”

  “What can I do?” Mike asked.

  “Listen to her. See if anyone says anything that might help us. I’ll come get you as soon as I know more.”

  Mike smiled. “That’s one task I won’t mind at all.”