“Are you leaving?”
“Yeah, but no sweat. I’ll be back.”
“Please don’t go.” Maggie was panicking.
“I have to work.”
“Couldn’t you call in sick or something? I’m too scared to be alone. Please.” Vinny knew what that felt like. She called in to the bartender at the Cabaret d’Artois, and had him relay to the head waitress that she was too sick to work.
“Bam shizzaam. I’m in for the night.”
“Thank you, so much.”
Vinny set Maggie up in her room. It didn’t take long for Maggie to fall asleep. Vinny went out to the living room and called Yvette.
“Maggie is too freaked out for me to leave her alone tonight ... Yes, I already called in sick. Okay if I keep the car until tomorrow? ... Thanks.” Vinny didn’t know when yet, or exactly how, but she knew there would be retribution for Bruno. Crimes like his do not go unpunished forever. She would see to that herself, if necessary. And enjoy it. First, she had to find out more about the human trafficking operation. There might be more Maggies when there should not be any.
Chapter Twenty: Single White Females
Raja had stayed at Corinne’s until mid the next morning. When he got back to the flat, Vinny and he sat down to compare notes and plan their next moves. There was still no discussion of Raja’s now flowering romance with Corinne, other than the most cursory comments. Vinny brought up what she found on the mysterious Scorpion.
“Besides being mentioned in the French police files, I found more on the Scorpion at Interpol. He even has a file in the CIA. For years, there were rumors that one man controlled several major crime activities that ran through Paris but touched many parts of the world. No one knew for sure who he was, or even whether he was a Frenchman. When spoken of, he was called simply the Scorpion. He got the name because, like scorpions who are photophobic and hunt primarily at night, the Scorpion had not been seen or photographed by anyone. Certainly no one has seen him and lived to tell. Additionally, any competitors who came along to challenge him had a habit of turning up dead with no clues as to who killed them.”
“Sounds like a fitting name.”
“The police have no specifics on his identity, not even a nationality. After years of trying, most police organizations have decided, at least officially, that the Scorpion is nothing more than a bogeyman conjured up somewhere along the way by some small time hood to frighten his rivals.”
“How far back is he mentioned?”
“The first police report was nearly twenty years ago. There have been less in recent years. However, in the criminal underworld, the idea the Scorpion exists has never completely faded. Whenever one of their kind died under even slightly mysterious circumstances, the legend of the Scorpion rises again. I found numerous reports to that effect in police interviews. Foolishly ambitious criminals dreamed of finding and killing him, hoping to take his place as a kingpin crime boss. Those died under mysterious circumstances. Most others pray they will never have to face him.”
“So you’re telling me that the French police and the National Gendarmerie, not to mention Interpol and the CIA all have files on this guy and yet they have decided he really doesn’t exist?” said Raja. “I don’t think so.”
Vinny knew Raja would be intrigued. “There are rumors, of course, and there are theories, but not one picture or shred of evidence exists, and not one witness who is alive can testify as to who the Scorpion is or whether he is for real. He’s like the anti-celebrity celebrity. A man who is famous, or infamous, as it were, but who doesn’t want to get his picture taken or be seen in public.”
“That would be refreshing if he weren’t reputed to be responsible for more crime and misery than nearly any other man in the last twenty years.”
“True dat. I wasn’t trying to romanticize him. Well, maybe a little.” Vinny had a major rebel streak in her.
“What else?”
This was Vinny’s chance to tell Raja about Maggie, who was still sleeping in Vinny’s room.
“Last night at the club I came across a girl named Maggie. She was brutally raped by Bruno Laurent.”
“Did you report it to the police?”
“I will, in due time.”
“Vinny, it’s not safe for her to stay there.”
“I knew you would agree.”
“Vinny. What did you do?”
“Like you said, I couldn’t leave her there.”
“Vinny.”
Just then Vinny’s bedroom door opened and a teenage girl in a bra and panties staggered out yawning, and walked into the bathroom across the hall, shutting the door behind her.
“I take it that’s your Maggie?” said Raja.
“Yes. I knew you would understand.”
“I understand you better get her into some clothes before she sees me and freaks out.”
“Right away, boss.” Vinny grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt from her room and after knocking on the bathroom door, took them inside.
When the two came out Raja was pouring a second cup of coffee from the kitchen. It looked like they were going to have a busy day.
Maggie felt compelled to repeat her story to Raja, and he listened patiently. As much as he wanted to get Maggie justice for what had happened to her, he knew Vinny had something else in mind. When Maggie had talked through the whole incident twice and was much less agitated, Raja suggested that she look for something to eat. When Maggie went into the kitchen, Raja looked at Vinny.
“Okay, so there is much more to the story,” Vinny said. “Apparently the club is selling girls to foreign men who are looking for wives—slaves really. Like for harems. Because Maggie refused to sleep with one of the buyers, Bruno beat her up. Bad for business, and all that crap. The point is, this is a human trafficking operation run right out of the club. And the girls are young. Maggie is only sixteen. It’s white slavery, Raj.”
Raja had been on enough crusades of his own to know when Vinny was on one. It is damn hard not to throw yourself full tilt at a problem when human rights are being so grossly violated. In fact, it was a principle Raja tried to follow. One of Raja’s Rules, as Vinny called them. “Which rule would apply here, Vinny?”
“That would be number six: If you see a bad situation, don’t ignore it. Do something about it.”
“Ah yes, good old number six. So, what do we do about it?”
“I have already done some research on the men I have identified from the club. I also crosschecked for other Arabs who have visited Paris more than once over the past year. Two names popped up. One is an elderly man who has a daughter and her family here and who has been coming here for over a decade. I ruled him out. The other one has some sort of import export business run out of Dubai. His name is Yarif Assad.”
“That would give him the means. What about opportunity?”
“Assad has been in Paris every other month bringing a shipment of oriental rugs. I have found no filing indicating that he is shipping anything out of Paris.”
“Good work Vinny. Is he here now?”
“The customs record shows he brought a shipment in last week. According to the French customs official website, the estimate is about three days to clear a shipment through customs this time of year.”
“Where?”
“His company owns a commercial riverboat for the leg between Rouen and Paris. The Alhambra is moored upstream on the north side of the Seine near the Port de la Concorde. Three containers were unloaded at Dock 21 for inspection.”
Raja had already decided he would look into the trafficking. But he liked to tease Vinny. “So, I suppose you want me to go all the way down there just to check it out,” he said, dramatically.
“Thanks for volunteering,” said Vinny, cheerfully. “I’ll stay here and do some more research. Maggie can help me.”
“Help you what?” asked Maggie, coming out of the kitchen with a plate full of grapes and cheese.
“I’ll show you later. That looks good. C
an we share?”
“It’s your food, Vinny,” said Maggie.
“Actually it’s mine,” said Raja.
Maggie looked nervously at Vinny.
“He’s just kidding. Eat all you want. It comes with the flat, anyway.”
“Do you have any wine?” asked Maggie.
Raja frowned before he remembered where he was. Wine was like Coke to a Paris teenager. You could even buy wine in France at the age of sixteen. “In the pantry.”
“Bam shizzaam. We’ll have a party. After Raja leaves.” Vinny looked at Raja.
“Yes, I was just going,” he said. He knew Vinny was right. After the nightmare Maggie had been through, a little girls-only fun was just what the doctor ordered.
Chapter Twenty-one: Raja and the Rookie
Raja took the details on Assad and his shipment, and drove to the police station. Despite the problems he was having with the police, he wanted to keep them in the loop, if only to find out anything they knew about Assad or white slavery.
The officer at the front desk recognized him. “Bonjour, Monsieur Williams. Are you here to see Inspector Gilliard?”
“I’m looking for whoever would handle a human trafficking case.”
“One moment.” The officer made a call. “Someone will be out shortly.”
Raja sat down to wait. He hoped he could find someone more cooperative to help him. That hope evaporated when Inspector Gilliard came out to meet him. He was sure Gilliard wouldn’t normally handle this type of case, but the inspector must have left instructions with the front desk to call him if Raja showed up.
It was clear Gilliard was anything but happy to see Raja. “You are a very determined investigator, Monsieur Williams. Perhaps we should have you on our payroll.”
“I am just trying to help where I can.”
“Come on. Let’s talk in my office,” said Gilliard.
Once in the privacy of the inspector’s office, Raja laid out the details of the ordeal that Maggie had been through.
“How did you get this information?”
Raja wasn’t going to tell anyone about Vinny yet. “It was reported by one of the courtesans at the club. I believe her name is Yvette.” Raja knew that would impinge on the inspector.
Gilliard sat up and got interested. “Where is this young girl now?”
“Not at the club. She is safe, for now, recuperating. However, the situation is much bigger than one girl. What I have stumbled across is an underground slave trade, specializing in finding young women to become wives for wealthy men. I would like help from the police department.”
“What is it you expect us to do?”
“First I’d like any information you have on one Yarif Assad. He is a Dubai businessman who comes here regularly.”
“Is he involved?”
“That’s what I am trying to determine. Have you heard of him?”
“No.” The inspector made a call. “Claude, can you get me anything we have in the files on Yarif Assad? He’s a Middle Eastern businessman.”
“I also may need your help with surveillance.”
“What makes you think he is involved?”
“He comes to the club regularly. He imports rugs to Paris monthly. That gives him opportunity. Call it an educated guess based on facts.” Actually it was a probability algorithm Vinny had done, but he couldn’t mention that.
“Pretty vague facts. I can’t give you many resources based on that. And we won’t be doing any searches, I can assure you. We have our privacy laws here, as well.”
“I’m glad to hear it. At this point, I was only planning to do some observation.”
“From what I have seen of you so far, Monsieur Williams, I’m not sure you are capable of ONLY observing anything.”
“That’s why I was hoping you could spare an officer. Someone who could keep an eye on me. Make sure I don’t overstep my bounds.”
“That is the smartest thing you have said so far.” When Claude brought the files on Assad, Gilliard said, “Is Officer Montagne in the station?”
“Yes sir, I just saw him at his desk.”
“Send him in here. Okay, let’s see what this Assad has been up to.” The inspector looked through the file. “He has a clean record personally, although I can’t say the same for his ship’s captain and some of the crew. That’s not unusual for sailors. They don’t seem to be able to stay out of trouble. Our terrorist division did flag him and check him out, but he’s not currently under watch.”
A young officer with short wavy brown hair and blue eyes knocked on the open doorway. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, Remy, come in,” said Gilliard. “This is Raja Williams, a private investigator from America. He has a lead he is following on a human trafficking operation. If you are not in the middle of another case, I was hoping you could go with him and help.”
“He wants you to babysit me,” said Raja. “Keep me out of trouble.”
“Yes, as you say, babysit. Knowing our laws, Officer Montagne can make sure you do not endanger yourself by violating them.”
“I’m going to the docks in east Paris,”said Raja.
“I know the area. Sure, I could take you,” said Officer Montagne.
“Take this file. It doesn’t have much, but it’s a start.” Gilliard handed the file to the officer. “You can go over it here. I have to go out for a few minutes. I’ll be back.”
Raja looked through the file. Other than showing dates of entry into Paris, which Vinny already had, there wasn’t much. This would have to be an on-the-ground, seat-of-the-pants operation all the way. Raja’s favorite kind.
While Raja and the officer discussed a plan, Gilliard went outside to make a short phone call on his private cell phone. “The American is here again ... No, nothing about the woman. Now he is chasing down a lead on a human trafficking operation. He knows about Assad ... But, he is the bull in the china shop. I don’t know if letting him go is such a good idea. I could stop him ... As you wish.”
When Gilliard returned to his office, Raja was ready to go.
“I’ll have to keep that,” said Gilliard, putting his hand out for the file.
Raja handed it over. “One other thing. Does he have to be dressed like that? We are doing covert observation.”
“Remy, do you have civilian clothes here?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll go change immediately.” Officer Montagne returned quickly, looking more the university student than policeman.
“Okay, Monsieur Williams, let’s get going,” said Montagne, unable to contain his excitement.
“Call me with an update, Remy,” said Gilliard. “Regularly.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer was young, and Raja figured he had not had much chance to work in the field. Although Officer Montagne might not bring much experience, there was a lot to be said for plain old enthusiasm. Raja liked him already.
Chapter Twenty-two: On the Waterfront
“Do you want me to drive?” asked Montagne, as Raja and he walked down the sidewalk outside the police station.
“I’d prefer to take my car, Officer. This way.”
“Please, call me Remy.”
“Okay, Remy. Call me Raja.”
“Great, Raja. Where is your car?”
“Right up here.” Raja pointed to the classic orange Porsche parked ahead of them.
“Magnifique!” Remy walked around the sports car, admiring it.
“Remy, meet Napoleon, my 1969 Porsche 911S.”
“Bonjour, Napoleon.” Remy bowed his head.
Raja and Remy drove east across Paris.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come to have a car named Napoleon?”
“That’s a fair question. I love old sports cars and keep them in different cities around the world. Los Angeles, New York, London, Hong Kong.”
“How many do you own?” asked Remy.
“Quite a few. Actually, I’ve lost count. Anyway, I keep this one garaged just outside Paris near the a
irport. Napoleon was a small but powerful man who conquered much of the world. This is a small but powerful car that can conquer almost any road. I guess Napoleon seemed appropriate.”
“Works for me,” said Remy. Something about the officer’s enthusiasm reminded Raja of Vinny. He had a feeling she would like this Remy.
“I have a friend I want you to meet,” said Raja. “Remind me—later.”
“Sure. You are going to want to turn soon. It’s coming up—right—there.” Remy thought they had missed the entrance, but Raja downshifted and made the turn easily.
“You were right about naming this car. I would love to drive such a vehicle, just once.”
Raja smiled. He loved the feel of the road you got from these old sports cars. A half hour of driving got them into an industrial area of the city where the commercial riverboats docked to unload their shipments. Raja drove across a bridge to get onto the north side of the Seine. Looking down from the bridge, he could see hundreds of containers peppered along the docks. It was not inconceivable that a container of women slipped in without being noticed.
“We need to find Dock 21,” said Remy, looking at the paper Raja had given him.
“Piece of cake,” said Raja. They cruised slowly along the access road checking numbers.
“There,” said Remy, pointing.
Raja pulled over and turned off the car. “Now what?” he asked. “How do we get in?”
“We need to find a customs agent,” said Remy. “They have full jurisdiction on the docks. There.” He pointed to a man cradling a machine gun who looked like military.
“That’s a customs agent?” asked Raja.
“Yes. The unfortunate byproduct of terrorist activity. Many of the agents carry automatic weapons.”
“Good thing I didn’t try to sneak in.”
“I think that is why I’m here. Come on.” They walked up to the agent and Remy showed him his badge. “We were tracking a fugitive who may have come down here. We just want to take a quick look.”
“Good thinking, Remy.”
“I hate lying, but that was the only way we could get onto the dock short of them finding a dead body.”
C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series) Page 11
