Death Logs In (10 page)

Tonight he’d be alone in the privacy of his suite. He missed his brother.

___________

It was nearly midnight. Michael looked out the large living room window of the Park Hyatt at the Place Vendome. A few couples were strolling through the beautiful perfectly proportioned and intimately lit square. It was perhaps those perfect proportions, designed three hundred years ago, that always gave Michael a rare peace of mind.

He opened up his Apple MacBook and clicked on the Eastern Orthodox cross. As Alex appeared on the screen, Michael thought to himself that all the money he had spent on the computer consultants and new hardware was worth it. For the first time, he was able to see his brother without using Alex’s heavy old laptop or the big computer now in Michael’s wine cellar. Alex, though dead for over a year, was now not only virtual but web-enabled.

Michael was momentarily startled as Alex’s voice came through the laptop’s speakers. It seemed that no matter how often he summoned Alex, it still shocked him each time he heard his voice, even more than seeing his lifelike image and expressions on the computer screen.

“Michael, where are we now?”

Michael thought the question was curious yet funny, and he laughed, “We’re in Paris. The Place Vendome.”

“The place what? Never mind. Paris is close enough for me. Has our new office opened here yet?”

“You remembered. I knew I mentioned it when we spoke in Westport, but I wasn’t sure you’d retain it. Your memory is better than when you were alive. “

“Michael, I am alive. How the hell do you think we’re talking to each other?” Alex looked agitated. It was clear that his artificial intelligence programs were, as Alex himself had predicted, gaining strength and learning with each new encounter.

“I’m sorry, Alex. Anyway, I need to tell you some things that are going on.”

“Oh yeah, like what? Jesus, you’re always doing something or something’s happening. You know, as crazy as I was, my life—except for the broads—was pretty stable. Nothing seemed to happen. In fact, except for the night I was murdered, I was bored.”

Michael laughed, “Oh yeah, well I guess Sharkey and this Rizzo and all these guys are a figment of my imagination. Not to mention your three wives, one of whom tried to kill me.”

“I said except for the broads.”

Alex’s comment about his women hit a sensitive nerve for Michael. After all, he thought, until he had stepped into Alex’s life, he’d never cheated on Samantha. Sindy Steele had changed that. He hoped Alex would fail to point it out. Nevertheless, as he observed Alex on the computer screen, it was evident that Alex’s attention had moved on to another topic.

“Michael, you know both Lesters were my closest friends. They knew you from the time you were ten years old. I trust them both. Skinny Lester has the brains. His politics is all screwed up with his liberal garbage but he’s smart. Fat Lester’s not the brightest guy but he’s got a lot of heart. And remember, he had a problem. Once someone’s on heroin and whatever else he tried, they’re always vulnerable. He was sick for quite a while. It can always come back. You’ve got to watch over him.”

“I will, don’t worry. I liked them both, even as a kid, and I’m relying on them to run the business.”

Alex continued, “Also, I know she can be a pain in the ass, but don’t forget about Donna and George. I know I can trust you to take good care of them.”

Donna was Alex’s third and last wife and now his widow. Thirty-six, sexy, street smart and, like all Alex’s wives, highly manipulative. George, twenty-four, was Alex’s son from his marriage to Greta Garbone, his second wife. George was basically a good kid who loved both his parents, although he recognized, like his father had, that his mother was toxic.

“They’re both in good shape. Don’t worry, Alex. They pretty much split the three million I found that you had stashed away. Donna actually invested a few hundred thousand in the business. I didn’t really need her money, but it’ll probably get a better return for her than anything else right now.”

“And what about George? What’s he doing? Is he going to school or working? You didn’t just give him his share, did you? He’ll blow right through it.”

“Alex, you know George. He’s still young, but, no, he’s not doing much. He doesn’t look like he’ll ever go back to college and he’s certainly not working. I didn’t give him a lump sum, but he’ll get a hundred grand a year from me for the next ten years. So, that should be just enough to get him in some trouble. He’s a good kid; he’s just got no direction, especially now that you’re gone, so to speak. I think his life revolved around you.”

“Yeah, unfortunately, I think the kid got the short end of the stick when it came to a normal family. Anyway, what’s going on with you besides the office opening?”

Michael sighed, just thinking about the next day. “Well, tomorrow Samantha flies in and, two hours later, Sindy Steele. Then, at night, Sindy and I meet this guy Bertrand Rosen for dinner.”

Alex grimaced, “Who the hell is he? I don’t like his name.”

Michael chuckled. “He owns one of the largest investment funds in France. He’s very connected to a lot of money here.”

“Oh yeah?” Now Alex turned serious, focusing. “Wait a minute—you and your mistress are meeting him for dinner?”

“Who said anything about a mistress?”

“You certainly didn’t. I guess you’re the last to know you have one. And what about Samantha? What’s she going to do, waitress?”

“Samantha will be tired from her flight. She’s going to stay in her room and get room service. She knows I have a business dinner,” Michael said, hoping he’d put the issue to rest, knowing he didn’t.

“Wow, you’ve got some racket. I’m not sure I could have ever pulled that off.”

“Pulled what off? She doesn’t want to go.”

“Does she know Superwoman is going?”

“She knows she’s going, but I don’t think Samantha suspects anything, I mean, Sindy’s paid to be my bodyguard.” Michael said, although he now felt some apprehension building in his psyche. “Anyway, it all just rolled out that way. When I first set up the dinner with Rosen, I didn’t think Samantha would be here but she decided to come in a day early. But then I knew she wouldn’t want to go out to a business dinner the same night she arrives.”

“You may want to check and see if there’s an app you can buy with some emotional intelligence for yourself because I think you may need it. I can promise you, Samantha knows you’re screwing around even before you do.” Michael could feel his anxiety building.

“I don’t know how the fuck you’re going to pull off having your Steele and this Bernie guy out to dinner without your wife figuring it out.”

“It’s Bertrand, not Bernie,” Michael corrected.

“Whatever. Right there, it tells you something. He’s probably really a Bert trying to be a Bertrand. And what role are you playing at dinner—the head of Gibraltar and those legal crooks—or loan shark and bookie?

Chapter 22

Paris, France

M
ichael had reserved his usual table in the front bar room of Chez Dumonet. But as their taxi approached and he glanced down at Sindy’s long, stark white legs, fully exposed from under her short black skirt, he felt titillated yet nostalgic. He found himself torn between guilt over Samantha—and the attraction of the unusual Sindy. He wondered whether he should have selected a different venue for the evening’s dinner.

As he and Steele stepped into the restaurant, they were immediately greeted by Nono and Guillaume, the waiters who had greeted Michael and Samantha here for over ten years. Although Michael felt self-conscious, neither of them showed the slightest recognition that something was different. After all, this is France. In any case, he reasoned—or tried to—this was simply a business dinner, not a romantic interlude, despite the fact that all the other patrons—men and women—were following Sindy’s long legs with every step she took.

Chez Dumonet was buzzing with Parisians finishing their beef bourguignon or duck confit. The chef and owner, Jean-Christian Dumonet, dressed in his chef’s crisp, white jacket with his name embroidered on the front, was making the rounds to the tables filled with his regular customers. On the rue du Cherche-Midi in the sixth arrondissement, Dumonet could have been a Hollywood stage set for a French bistro: a large vase overflowing with fresh flowers, silver Champagne buckets and a dozen wine bottles sitting atop a dark mahogany and copper bar at the entrance, tin ceiling above, black-and white-checkered tiles on the floor, window panes fogged up from the kitchen’s heat, and tables fashionably covered with well-starched, white tablecloths and crystal-clean wine goblets. Michael enjoyed the atmosphere as much as the food.

He was surprised to see Rosen already seated at the table.

And even more surprised when he heard Nono, who was standing behind him, greeting a new arrival, Ah, Madame Nicholas, Bonsoir!”

Michael turned around and was immediately greeted with a kiss on the cheek. “I hope you don’t mind, dear. The room service menu looked dreadful.”

It was Samantha, looking stunning in a red, high-neck, open-back Stella McCartney dress.

“You look beautiful, Samantha. What a pleasant surprise,” Michael managed to say, his mind now spinning in a thousand directions.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind, I couldn’t resist the dress, I’m afraid I had to put it on your Black Card.” Samantha flashed Michael an apologetic smile that he recognized, knowing her, to signify anything but that.

The tension was immediate, at least for Michael, as the evening now promised to bring together a toxic combination of relationships, most of which, though invisible on the surface, were as real as the bistro’s hearty
boeuf bourguignon.
He now wondered why he hadn’t thought twice before arranging this evening and including Sindy with Samantha in town. And how could he have trusted her protestations about not wanting to go out tonight.

After the formalities of the introductions, Samantha seated herself between Rosen and Sindy. When the waiters promptly served the table’s complimentary Champagne, a momentary break in the conversation occurred. Michael cherished the silence, brief though he knew it would be.

Samantha didn’t wait long to break the spell.

“Michael, it was so considerate of you to choose our favorite restaurant here for tonight. She turned and looked directly at Steele. “As I’m sure you’ve discovered, my husband is very sensitive. I knew he wouldn’t feel right dining here tonight without me so I decided I just couldn’t let him down.”

Rosen seemingly slow to catch on to the situation smiled, raised his glass and proposed a toast, “To the most beautiful women in Paris.”

Michael wanted to strangle him right there. This is the stuff of chick-lit books, he thought to himself, as Samantha continued her attack.

“So, Sindy, Michael has told me a little about you and your role, and I must say, after all our family has been through this past year, it is comforting to know that he will have full-time security.”

Michael knew that, despite the apparent compliment, this was simply Samantha’s opening volley, designed to set the stage for the intense grilling that she excelled in, like a pitcher who sets up his fastball with a slower changeup just before.

Sindy smiled and began to respond but, although her lips moved, before she could utter a word, Samantha continued, cutting her off in mid-breath.

“Although I must say I’m surprised that Gibraltar would hire a female security person for this type of assignment. And such an attractive one at that.” Despite the fact that her remarks were directed at Steele, she actually looked at Rosen who seemed to be enjoying the show—and Samantha’s attention. After all, Michael repeated again to himself, this is France.

Now Sindy responded, her tone ice cold, “And what type of assignment are you referring to exactly?” She looked at Michael, but revealed nothing with her eyes. Michael looked away.

Samantha pressed deeper. Michael could see that she believed she had Sindy on the ropes. “Well, I’m surprised a company would hire a woman to travel all over the world to protect a male executive.”

Seeing the guillotine blade in slow motion beginning its descent, Michael jumped into the fray. “Samantha, it’s no different than other executives, men and women, who have to interact and travel together. Now, how’s the burgundy?” He smiled, held his glass of freshly poured white burgundy up to his lips and watched in the corner of his eyes while both Sindy and Samantha burned.

Not to be deterred from her interrogation, Samantha took a sip of her wine and resumed her water torture. “Have you ever lost anyone you were hired to protect?” she asked.

Sindy, turned, looked at Michael and said, “Not anyone I didn’t want to lose.”

All of this seemed to go over Rosen’s head. He appeared to be more interested in both Samantha’s and Sindy’s plunging necklines. Desperate to break the tension and realizing he needed to involve Rosen in the evening’s conversation, Michael directed his attention and his questions to the invited guest.

“Bertrand,” Michael began, “I hope we have not been ignoring you. We’re pleased you could join us this evening.”

“I have wanted to meet with you for some time, Michael. Many people have spoken so highly about you here in Paris.”

“Really? I’m surprised. I didn’t know that Gibraltar Financial was that well-known here.”

“It isn’t—but you are becoming well-known. Word has traveled throughout Paris that you have provided the financial backing of Catherine Saint Laurent’s latest film. I am a good friend of hers—and her beautiful American friend, Jennifer.”

“Yes, Ms. Laurent was a friend of my late brother. I simply carried through with a commitment that he had initially made to her.”

“I see.” He smiled, Michael observed, like someone who thinks they know something that they think no one else thinks they know.

“Bertrand, I understand that, despite the crisis here in France—and throughout the world—your fund continues to thrive. You must be very proud—and very smart.”

Rosen’s eyes—actually, slits—behind the thick, rimless glasses opened wider. “Yes, we are very pleased with our results and our returns. We have maintained a steady fifteen percent return to our investors regardless of the vagaries and difficulties of the markets. We have so many people trying to give us their funds to invest; we have to turn them down. It is a nice position to be in, yes?”