I enjoy a nice spring day. I find this city to be rather pleasant this time of year. I did not expect to be here, however the necessities of business require it. I will not have much time to take in the atmosphere, as my purpose is strictly functional. I do admire the culture and architecture of the city, although I find Paris to be its superior in both categories. I remember sailing outside the city on a warm spring day in my youth. I remember how beautiful Paris is this time of year.
I find it amazing how loyalty is influenced by purpose. You give someone a purpose, a goal, an objective, and he or she will usually repay the commitment with loyalty. Ambitious people like having something that occupies their time in a meaningful manner. John was one of those people. I am one of those people.
John and I had a lot in common. I realize this now as I reflect upon the time I spent with him. He was quite the overachiever, as am I. He possessed many of the finer things in life, as do I. Our main difference was that he had no true loyalties to anything. I know the value of loyalty.
I find myself pleased at the choice of suit I am wearing this afternoon. It is Gucci, off of the new spring wardrobe line. The jacket and slacks are of a cream pastel color, which blend well with the white no-collar shirt, tan belt, and tan shoes. My hair is a nice shade of brown, and so everything blends well together.
I am slightly uncertain as to why I am so concerned with looking genial today, I reflect as I walk into the quaint bistro and request a table for two. Could it be because Danielle is joining me? It has been some time since I have seen her. I wonder when she will arrive.
Danielle and myself have known each other for quite a few years. Our acquaintance began due to the common needs of our business associates. We worked well together, and have kept in touch throughout the years. She maintains a residence in the city, and so I called her when I learned that I would be in the area. I do not know why I called her this time, or why we always call each other when we are near; we just do. I sit at the table, contemplating these strange feelings I have, and for the first time in my life, I realize that Danielle is someone I actually care about. She is close to me.
I see her walk through the door and towards my table. She smiles. I smile. Her hair is a dark black hue, her features are Slavic and pristine. I believe her family is originally from old Czech or Hungarian origins. She has a slender beauty that is captured in the fluid motion of the way she walks. I stand up and pull out the other chair for her.
"Hello." She says in a voice I will always remember.
"Hello, Danielle." I smile as I push her chair in. I sit and motion to the waiter for a wine list.
"Red or white?" She inquires, putting a cigarette to her lips.
"I’ve always been favorable to red wine." I reply as I light her cigarette.
"So I take it you’re here on business?" She inquires, exhaling smoke.
"Yes, our business associates have need of my services." I reply, noticing how youthful she still looks.
"It’s always business with you, Vincent, isn’t it?"
I shrug my shoulders slightly, not knowing how to respond. The waiter arrives with the wine list, and I select a favorable red wine for this time of year. We simply gaze at each other until the wine arrives. The waiter pours each of us a glass and I tilt my glass toward her in a toast.
"To you, Danielle."
We drink. She tilts her head slightly, as if pondering a question. I raise my eyebrows at her inquisitive look.
"Vincent, back in '44, why did you say no?"
"Because our business associates wouldn’t have approved."
"They don’t care what we do when we’re not working, Vincent. They probably would have never even known."
"I just had too many business matters to attend to at the time. You know that business has to come first with us."
"I know that, Vincent. It wouldn’t have taken that much of your time. It’s not like you would have had to actively been a father for our child. I would have been happy to raise our child on my own, and you knew that." Tears begin to cloud her eyes.
"I would have wanted to be there for our child, Danielle. I would have wanted to be a good father." I say in a soft tone as I lean forward slightly. I want to say more, but I find myself speechless under the strain of the emotions I feel. Is this compassion?
"You could have been there, Vincent. You could have been a good father, if only you didn’t put your loyalty to the business before everything else."
"I don’t have a choice, Danielle."
She begins to silently weep.
I place my hand on hers.
"Danielle, I’m... I’m sorry." I say as my vision becomes cloudy from something forming in my eyes.
I’m too busy during the next few days to try to talk to Danielle. My purpose here, which began as offering logistical support to some recon operatives, quickly turned into full-scale counter-measures against law-enforcement agencies. My operatives were inside a restaurant that evening. They had apparently been in some type of altercation that quickly escalated into a firefight with local police. Now they found themselves barricaded inside a restaurant with a dozen hostages, and about two dozen street cops forming a defense perimeter outside.
I was scheduled to meet the operatives here at 7:00 pm to discuss critical information they had discovered. One can imagine my surprise when I turned the corner at 6:45 pm to see the police perimeter. At least they’re punctual, I thought as I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white.
I take out my phone and call the restaurant’s phone number. One of the operatives answers.
"What do you want?" He says in a gruff voice.
"This is Mr. Parker. I need to know what you found out this evening."
"How do I know it’s you? How do I know this isn’t some kind of trick?"
"You’ll just have to trust me."
"Fuck you! If you’re really who you’re supposed to be, then you’ll have no problem coming in here and getting the info from us first hand, because you know this shit is big. Then you can figure out a way to get us out of here!"
"Fine. I’m coming in." I hang up.
I look around. A police officer if ushering a woman and her cradled infant away from the scene. His gun is in his holster. I decide upon a course of action and act upon it. In one fluid motion, I move behind the preoccupied officer, removing his handgun from its holster. During the moment of his initial confusion, I keep the gun trained on him while grabbing the infant. The mother screams and reaches out for her child. I kick downward upon her shin and she falls. Holding the infant against my chest with the barrel of the handgun pressed against its head, I make my way across the street and toward the restaurant.
The police officers all begin to shout ridiculous commands that I have no intention of obeying. None of them are going to take the chance with their pistols and shotguns. Fortunately for me, the SWAT team isn’t here yet, so that means no snipers. I reach the front door and kick backwards with my foot until one of the operatives removes the makeshift barricade from inside and lets me in.
I give the gun and the infant to a female operative without explanation as the door-man leads me back to the kitchen. The operative I spoke to on the phone, Duran, is pacing back and forth, while three of his companions look on. They look pretty beat up, and Duran looks paranoid.
"Hello Duran. Recognize me now?" I say, extending my arms slightly.
"Yeah, you fucking shit-heel. I recognize you." He says and spits blood in my face.
I produce a handkerchief from my pocket and begin to wipe the blood away. "Do you have the information, Duran?"
"Here’s your fucking info!" He tosses a manila envelope to me. I open it up and begin to look at the various pictures and notes. I am surprised to note that some of these individuals are the ones that recruited John.
"There’s a lot of fucking movement going on over on the island." Duran says, pointing at the pictures in my hands. "That was a pretty big fucking risk we took in going over there. Are these fucks going down soon? If they are, then we should be the first in line. It’s our right for bringing this info to you and your master."
I ignore his question. "Did you decide to have some fun on the way back?"
"Fuck you, you little bitch!" He yells from across the kitchen. "We were set up! They knew we were watching them! It’s like someone ratted us out and they started trailing us!"
"Or they were watching you the entire time..." I say under my breath as the reality of the situation begins to sink in. I hear helicopters outside as well as the voice of a man identifying himself as the SWAT team commander over a bull-horn. My phone rings.
Everything slows down. I reach for my cell phone. Duran is yelling something at me. The SWAT commander’s voice is a garbled slur in the background. My mind flashes through the events of the past few weeks. The money transfers John made. Redirecting of funds. Multiple intermediaries. Money eventually residing in bank accounts on the island, then disappearing. Various possibilities. Funds could go to bureaucrats, police chiefs, and SWAT team commanders. I recall every strange glance that I received, the sleazy motel night manager, the various strangers along the sidewalk, the salesman at Lord & Taylor, the waiter at the bistro. Enemy agents everywhere. Watching us. Watching my associates. Watching me. Over it all I can hear the slow, rhythmic beating of the helicopter blades.
I answer the phone.
"This is Mr. Parker."
"This is Mr. Longbaugh. We have a situation."
"I am aware of the situation, sir. I believe they are trying to take the city, sir."
"Trying is the key word. They haven’t taken it yet. But they may. They just gained another piece of the puzzle, though, which is why I need to make use of your services, and I need them now."
"Understand that I may not be able to bring back the information gained from our recon operatives if I abort my current task, sir." I reply, glancing at the manila envelope.
"Those worthless decadents informed me that one of their own has been captured and taken back to the island. The say this one knows a great deal about the city, and about us. Abort your mission and resolve this threat to our security, Mr. Parker."
"As you wish, sir." I hang up the phone. Mr. Longbaugh knows I’ll get the job done. He is aware of my long-standing service. He knows that I do not fail. Mr. Longbaugh must think, ‘he is loyal enough.’
Duran is coming dangerously close to me. The SWAT team breaks down the front door. Duran and the others rush toward the front of the restaurant. I run through the kitchen and into the storage pantry.
Getting out of the building wasn’t easy, but every old man has a few tricks up his sleeve. I smile at my tenacity as I walk toward their base of operations. I parked a block away from the high-rise office building that John’s recruiters congregate in. I wait and I watch. After an hour and a half, it appears that the last of the oily suits leaves the building. I make my move.
It was easy to subdue the two desk guards. As I begin to disable the security camera system, I notice that the camera in room A27 of the basement is purposely turned off. That must be where they have the decadent.
I take the elevator to the basement, and lodge my lighter in the door to keep it open and on this floor. I find the door to room A27 to be reinforced with no windows. It’s also locked. I remove the automatic handgun from my suit jacket and attach the silencer. I’m glad that I decided to stop by the hotel room and pick them up before coming here. Two well-placed shots at the lock and I am able to kick the door open. As the door flies open I raise my arm, leveling my gun at the center of the room.
Sitting in the center of the room, strapped to a chair, broken and bleeding, is the one person I did not want to see sitting there.
"VINCENT!" She cries out, struggling against her bonds.
I stand frozen in the doorway, unable to move. I hear the stairwell door slam open down the hall.
"VINCENT! HELP ME!" Blood runs out of her mouth as she begs me for help.
I hear shouts in the background. The ones who recruited John. There will be no stopping them.
"PLEASE VINCENT! I DIDN’T TELL THEM ANYTHING! PLEASE!" Tears stream down her face.
As tears run down my own face, my mind races with everything I want to tell her. I want to tell her that I wish I could have given her the child she wanted. I want to tell her that I wish I could have put her before business. I want to tell her how very sorry I am for being who I am.
"Please... Vincent..." Her voice is so soft. So beautiful.
"My name is Mr. Parker."
I pull the trigger.
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This story © 2002 Seth Horton
This page © 2002 anneke@scarywhitegirl.net