C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series) Page 5

  Raja took the list and left. He had the distinct impression the inspector was sending him on a wild goose chase. But he had another rule he liked to follow: Go wherever the investigation takes you. There is always a reason. Perhaps one day it would get him killed, but so far, following that philosophy had given him a near perfect record of solving cases. Of course, it helps a lot if the person sending you on your way is actually trying to help, not get you killed. In that regard, the verdict on Inspector Gilliard was still out. Regardless of his doubts, Raja punched the first address into the Porsche’s GPS.

  The picture of the private detective hunched down inconspicuously in his car watching a location with a camera or binoculars might seem cliche, but it was something every detective had to do at some point on nearly every case. The increase in security cameras posted in public areas made it less necessary, provided you could hack the system, but thank God there were still places out of the reach of cameras. Those places required a personal presence.

  Surveillance can tell you a lot. Who was coming to a location, with whom. Who was leaving, when and with what. In most investigations, these are vital bits of data used in solving the case.

  Because his bright orange Porsche didn’t make the best surveillance vehicle, Raja parked around the corner from the first address on the list, and took up a spot across the street from the building near the entrance to a small city park. His small but powerful 100x camera scope fit into his palm, drawing little attention.

  It didn’t take long for his target to show up. Vinny had sent pictures of the dealers to Raja’s phone for use in identification. Raja confirmed that the man walking up the opposite side of the street was Jules Masson, a small time hood with a penchant for sampling the drugs he sold. Jules called it maintaining product quality, but everyone else knew he was a hop head. Dealers like him did not last long. It made him vulnerable, something that Raja was counting on. Because it also made him paranoid and unpredictable, Raja would have to be smart. He watched as Jules crossed the street a block away, his head and eyes darting around suspiciously in a way that made him obvious to everyone but himself. Raja had to approach him without startling him into a fight or flight reaction.

  As Jules neared his door, Raja walked up slowly, “Bonjour, s’il vous plaît. Do you speak English?”

  Jules spun around, his eyes flashing feral fear.

  Raja smiled innocently. “I’m a little lost,” he said, trying to sound like an American tourist.

  Jules relaxed and his eyes shifted to resentment. “Americans. Yes, I speak English. Where are you going?”

  By this point Raja was only a few feet away. He decided it was time to tell him the truth.

  “Listen. I know you are Jules Masson. I am not here to cause any trouble. I am not the police. I am here to ask a couple of simple questions.” Raja kept his hand in his pocket, feigning he had a gun.

  Jules stared at Raja’s pocket. “Questions about what?”

  “I’m trying to find out where the club drugs come from.”

  Jules laughed. “And I would know this how?”

  “I don’t want to sell or buy drugs. I’m not trying to compete.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing?” The dealer was getting angry.

  “I’m looking for someone. An innocent woman who is missing. And I need to know who supplies those drugs. In fact, who knows, helping me may increase your business.”

  “It may also get me dead.”

  “If you are referring to Bruno—”

  “If you know him, then you don’t need me. And you never spoke to me. Right?” Jules dropped into fear at the very mention of Bruno.

  “I want to know where he gets the drugs.”

  “That I don’t know. He controls the supply, but the rumor is it’s a local lab. If I knew I could buy direct.” Jules started getting an idea but thought better of it. “No, I don’t want to know. Who did you say you are?”

  “I didn’t,” said Raja.

  Jules looked over his shoulder. Two rough characters were approaching. They looked like enforcer types who weren’t interested in making a new friend. Jules sneered. “I think I’m done talking to you.”

  Raja turned and walked away. The uncertainty of Raja’s identity kept any of the three men from following, giving him time to turn the corner, get in his car and drive away. He crossed off the first name on his list, and looked at the rest. The idea he was chasing a wild goose came back. Assuming the drugs were manufactured in Paris, he needed some way to narrow the search. He needed Vinny.

  He pressed Vinny on the speed dial. “Vinny?”

  “Yeah, boss.”

  “I met with our first suspect on the drug dealer list. Swell guy. I didn’t get much, but he says the designer drugs are manufactured somewhere in Paris. Do we have any way to locate the place? It is most likely a warehouse.”

  “I’ll input some parameters on the ingredients and equipment needed and do a search. Give me thirty minutes.”

  “No problem there. I’m heading to the next name on the list. It’s near the Seine River, off the Champs-Elysées.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I have any data on the location of the drug factory.”

  Raja drove south for ten minutes, and after circling the Arc de Triomphe he swung onto the Champs-Elysées going toward the river. The arch was an impressive symbol of French pride representing important military leaders and victorious battles from France’s history, and Raja could feel the rich history as he tooled along the axis that eventually arrived at the Louvre Museum complex. Raja loved the Louvre. It was a magnificent place where the creations of a thousand of the greatest artists in man’s history lived on.

  As he exited from the Champs-Elysées and headed to his next address, reality set in. Unfortunately, where he was going the only culture he would run into was the one based on developing and selling an ever-widening variety of chemical highs, that dark underbelly that exists in every large city, where drugs and death are far too common companions.

  Raja found the second address easily. It was located across from a popular bakery, Poppa Maseau’s. As Raja walked from a discreet parking spot around the corner, the delectable smell of sweet croissants and other pastries overwhelmed his nose. Realizing the distraction would be too great, he walked into the bakery to buy something to eat. There were shelves covered with pastries of all shapes and colors. Clearly, there was an artist at work. Sure enough, he spotted a small man outfitted in chef gear who was intensely absorbed in his work in the rear. Raja asked the girl behind the counter if he was the baker, but she didn’t understand, being light on English. Instead he pointed to a croissant and held up two fingers.

  The girl smiled and nodded, and after sprinkling both with powdered sugar, placed two of the indicated pastries in a bag. After paying, Raja began eating one of the croissants while watching through the plate glass window for the dealer to show his face. With so little intelligence on this dealer’s patterns, he had no idea when to expect him to arrive. Raja preferred catching him outside on the street. Going up directly and knocking at a door, especially where illegal activities were involved, was an invitation to get shot. An encounter on the street out in the open was usually less provoking, and most criminals were severely allergic to attracting attention to themselves in public.

  Raja practiced his fledgling French on the cute counter girl while he waited and watched.

  Within half an hour Raja had eaten both his croissants, and had bought and started on a third. They were amazingly light and delectable. He established that the counter girl’s name was Nicole, and his attempts at conversation were successful enough to move their relationship into that awkwardly flirtatious and blushing stage. She was amazingly light and delectable, as well. Things had heated up to the point where Raja was efforting to dial it back to simple friendly conversation when he spotted a large hulking man walking on the opposite side of the street. Andre Golette was an unusually tall Frenchman with a classic Charles de Gaulle
nose that stuck out like a hawk’s beak from the front of his face. He loped along with a purposeful stride, his open full-length overcoat floating in the breeze he created.

  Raja reluctantly dropped his half-eaten croissant into the trash bin and tossed a quick au revoir to Nicole, bringing a quizzical frown to her face. The door to the shop opened and closed behind Raja with a bang before she had thought of something to say.

  Andre was followed by two smaller men who strained to keep up, like two baby ducks waddling behind a parent. Raja had a bad feeling about accosting this group on the street, preferring to watch and follow discreetly. The three men turned down a small alley in the middle of the block, presumably to reach a rear entrance to the flat.

  Raja waited until they were out of sight, then raced across the street and pressed up against the building, staying out of the line of sight from the second floor windows.

  Raja decided on a risky ploy. He would pretend to be sent by Jules Masson, the dealer he had already met with, to discuss joining forces with Andre in order to squeeze out some of the other dealers. He would especially mention Leon Julian. Vinny’s intel showed that Andre hated Leon over some perceived insult involving Andre’s sister. Raja hoped Andre’s greed and hate for Leon would get him over the hurdle of too many questions, and establish enough favor to get information on the location of the drug-making lab. Of course, any number of random factors, such as Jules and Andre having had a recent falling out, could blow the plan up in Raja’s face.

  Raja approached the front door, not wanting Andre to think he had been watching his arrival. He knocked three times slowly, and stood back, thinking calm thoughts.

  The peep hole opened for a couple seconds, then snapped shut.

  “I am here to see Andre,” said Raja, through the door. “I have a proposal from Jules Masson.”

  The door opened to a taut chain. “What do you want?” asked half a face peeking out from behind the door.

  “I want to see Andre. I have a message from Jules. A business proposal.”

  The face disappeared for a moment and the door closed. There were muted voices. Then the door reopened wider. “Come in,” said the man who now had a whole face and a large gun pointed at Raja’s chest. It was one of the ducklings who had arrived with Andre.

  Raja stepped through the door without hesitation, thinking I’m all in. It was number five of Raja’s Rules: Go all in. He knew that once you commit to a course of action, you must follow through one hundred percent. Doubt or hesitation will get you killed.

  Once Raja was inside, the man closed the door behind him, never turning the gun away. Without a word, he pressed the barrel against Raja’s back and padded him down for weapons. “Straight ahead,” he said, pushing with his gun. Although Raja did not carry a weapon, he was skilled at using them. He had discovered that while guns were a decided advantage in a shootout or an all-out battle, in up close and personal situations, having a gun often gave the holder a false sense of security that was a tactical disadvantage. Raja was very proficient at taking a weapon away from someone else if push came to shove. Today he hoped there would be no shoving.

  Raja walked into the back room where the man known as Andre the Giant sat alone on a couch. Despite being grossly large, Raja noticed his face had an almost angelic quality that was enhanced by the high tenor voice that should never have come out of such a large body. The effect was weird, like Andre was channeling the lead in the Vienna Boys’ Choir. It didn’t help to know that Andre’s other nickname was the Angel of Death.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur—” He waited for Raja to fill in the blank.

  “Williams. Raja Williams.”

  “You say you have a proposal from Jules. How is that possible?”

  Raja felt the ice under his feet cracking. All in, he thought again. “I have recently begun working for Jules. He would like to strike an alliance with you in the hopes that together you might squeeze out competitors like Leon Julian.”

  The flash of hatred on Andre’s face was obvious, but strangely softened by the angelic voice. “Go on.”

  “Perhaps together we could even move up the supply chain.”

  Andre laughed heartily, sounding like a weird combination of man and child. “Take out Bruno? Jules has been sampling too much of his own product.”

  Raja thought he might have pushed too far. He had to think quickly. “We heard there are investigations ongoing that may put an end to Bruno’s reign.”

  Again the weird laugh. “Police investigations? I think your boss underestimates Bruno and the support he has from the police themselves. That could prove fatal.”

  Raja was walking farther out on the already thin ice. “Not if we get control of the manufacturing line. Do you know where the drugs are made?”

  “Of course. But that does one little good if the police are protecting the operation.”

  “Would not the police protect the operation if you ran it?”

  “I suppose.” The hook was set. It was now or never.

  “In any event, we would like to do some observation. Call it idle dreaming. Where is the lab?” Raja waited.

  “It’s the warehouse on Rue Guillot in Montrouge, just outside the city proper. But, you better tell Jules to be careful or Bruno will make your dreams permanent.” Andre laughed fiendishly at his own joke until he began coughing and waved Raja out of the room.

  Raja wasn’t going to argue and left. He had the data he needed and no bullet holes. It’s what he called a good day.

  Chapter Eight: Showtime

  Vinny took a taxi to the club just after dark on Friday night to start her new waitress job. Cabaret d’Artois was already filling up with customers. She made her way to the dressing room behind the stage. It was a large open room with lots of mirrors, makeup counters and chairs that didn’t afford much privacy. Vinny squeezed into the French maid outfit consisting of a low-cut stretch midriff blouse that didn’t hide much, and a much too short black skirt. The gartered black stockings were all that kept her from feeling naked. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror and adjusted the outfit as best as she could. She felt like she should be in a low budget porn film.

  “Bonsoir,” said a brunette dancer who had come in and was putting on her costume nearby. “You’ve got a great pair of legs, honey. Bruno is going to want you up on the stage.”

  “I’m only a waitress.”

  “Sure you are. My name is Coco.”

  “Livinia—Vinny.”

  “Which is it?”

  “Vinny.”

  “Vinny it is,” said Coco, laughing. “You just wait, honey. You’ve got the legs. But, be careful with Bruno. That is between you and me. Do not tell him I warned you.”

  “My lips are sealed. He’s trouble, you say?” asked Vinny, fishing for more.

  Coco looked around, making sure they were alone. “Mean is more like it. Whatever you do, do not try to make nice with him. Believe me, you don’t want his kinda rough.”

  “You’re up,” said a short redheaded waitress who had just come in and plopped heavily into a chair nearby. She looked at Vinny. “I hope you are ready. They love to pinch.”

  Vinny had never been prudish about her body, but one hour into her shift and she felt like she needed a shower. The only time she got any relief from the groping customers was during the floor shows that played every two hours. The first show was at ten o’clock, featuring male and female dancers who performed a variety of mesmerizing choreography set to loud, pulsing music. The finale of each set, always the popular can-can performed by a topless chorus line, held nearly all eyes in the club. Even during the floor show, with everyone else watching the girls on stage, the occasional creep was drunk enough or emboldened enough to make a grab for a waitress’s girl parts. Vinny handled most of it like the professional she was, although there were more than a few men in the club that first night who never knew how close they came to having their heads handed to them by one pissed off blond French maid.

 
The action in the club was too crazy for Vinny to do much investigation while she was on the floor serving drinks. However, Vinny had a break just after the midnight show, giving her time to snoop around. She had noticed waitresses dropping small packets onto tables or into customers hands when serving drinks. That had to be how the drugs were being distributed. She had to find a way to get a few samples. She identified two particular waitresses, Oceane and Freda, and waited until one of them headed to the back on a break. Freda, an athletic brunette who looked like she might have done some bodybuilding, turned in her receipts and headed to the dressing room. Vinny followed and sat down next to her. Vinny began rubbing her head.

  Freda took the bait. “What’s the matter, chère, rough night?”

  “My head is killing me, and my feet aren’t doing much better,” said Vinny. “I don’t think I got enough sleep last night. I’m dead tired already.”

  Freda reached into her apron pocket and tossed a small packet on the table in front of Vinny. “Take one of those. It’ll give you the boost you need. But only one, you hear?”

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing dangerous. You heard of drone?”

  “No.” Vinny had in fact heard of it. Drone was short for Mephedrone, a nasty variation in the amphetamine class that was popular as a club drug.

  “It’s a mild form of speed. Just what a girl needs to get through a long night.”

  Vinny held up the square plastic packet and looked at the contents. There were two pale blue tablets inside. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Never mind. Just keep it to yourself, okay?”

  “Sure, thanks.” Vinny got up and went into the bathroom. She pocketed the pills and came out a minute later.

  “Remember, only one until you get used to them. Give it a little time,” said Freda, “and you’ll be feeling a lot better.”

  Vinny nodded and, after adjusting her outfit in the mirror, went back out onto the floor to waitress. Just after one in the morning Bruno sneaked up behind her. “How is your first night, chérie?” he whispered intimately in her ear.