C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series) Read online

“If you say so.”

  “Shut it.”

  Lieutenant Brevard came out the front door.

  “Gotta go,” said Raja, ending the call.

  “I’ve been looking for you, Monsieur Williams. Time to go. Come with me.”

  Raja rode with Brevard and one other junior officer who was assigned to watch Raja and keep him out of trouble. They arrived a couple blocks from the warehouse where Brevard went over the last minute instructions with the two assault squad leaders and set the exact timetable for the raid.

  “You are going to stay here,” he said to Raja. Despite the urge to object, Raja simply nodded in agreement. The next thirty minutes were excruciating for Raja. He liked to be in the action, front and center. He heard no gunshots, so either the raid was extremely effective, or it was a complete bust.

  Raja heard Brevard’s voice on the radio to his babysitter.

  “Okay, you can come up now. And bring Monsieur Williams.” He gave no indication as to what had happened.

  The officer drove around to the warehouse entrance and Raja jumped out. Lieutenant Brevard was already outside the building.

  “What happened?” asked Raja.

  “See for yourself.”

  Raja went inside and stopped in his tracks. The warehouse was empty. There were several officers following their drug sniffing dogs through the building, but there was no manufacturing equipment, no raw materials or finished drugs, and certainly no people to be found.

  Brevard walked up behind Raja. “There was something here. See the bolts on the floor and the fresh scratches in the concrete. Some heavy equipment was moved very recently.”

  “I can’t believe it,” said Raja.

  “Don’t feel bad. It happens sometimes. Bad information.”

  Raja didn’t think that Andre the Giant had given him bad information, at least not deliberately. Someone had warned the drug lab, and Raja was convinced there were cops involved.

  “We’ll have our forensic team go over the place,” said Lieutenant Brevard. “We still may find out something useful. Otherwise, we might as well go. Come on.” Brevard put his hand on Raja’s shoulder. The drive back to the police station was a quiet one.

  Raja didn’t know what to say to Captain Rochefort. “I’m really sorry. I thought—”

  “We all thought, or we wouldn’t have tried the raid. Don’t get me wrong, I’m mad as hell. But, the trouble with tracking down drug dealers is that wherever there are dealers, there are just too many drug users. Like dogs and their fleas. On the positive side, there are always addicts willing to snitch on dealers to keep themselves out of jail. On the negative side, there are just as many who snitch on the police to the dealers to curry favor with and get extra drugs from them. Add to that mix the fact that narcotics police officers have to be rotated often due to the corrupting influence of readily available drugs and large amounts of cash, and it is a lot to expect any organized drug bust to come off as planned. So, Monsieur Williams, it was no shock to me to hear that you burst into an empty warehouse. It comes with the territory. Lieutenant Brevard reported that there were signs that some sort of drug operation had been there, but the who and what were long gone. We are determined to find them.”

  The captain’s words, kind as they were, didn’t make Raja feel any better. He didn’t know who yet, but he knew someone was having themselves a good laugh at his expense. He never minded having to do the police’s job for them. He understood that when he stepped on someone’s toes, they resented and resisted his interference. But when the police, entrusted to protect the citizens and their freedom, used their position to help the criminals commit more crime, Raja took it as a personal affront. Since this whole goose chase had started with Inspector Gilliard, Raja decided he would start there. He called Vinny.

  “So, am I talking to the new French hero?” she asked.

  “Not exactly. The warehouse was empty.”

  “No freaking way.”

  “Yep. I’m so far from hero that I doubt I’ll get any further help from the police.”

  “That so totally sucks,” said Vinny. “What do you think happened?”

  “Dirty cops happened.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “I have an idea. Give me everything you have on Gilliard.”

  “Here are the deets: Pierre Gilliard, age fifty-one, married fourteen years. One child, Lucien, age twelve. He is an inspector with the National Police working in the major crimes division. He has approximately twelve thousand euros in his personal account in Paris. However, I traced small amounts he transferred to a bank account in Luxembourg. That account has over two hundred thousand euros in it under the name Margot Cheroux. So far I haven’t found the connection, but the money he transferred came from an old personal account in his home town. The account in Luxembourg has grown considerably in the past year. There is no way the money is coming from an inspector’s salary.”

  “So he’s dirty?”

  “I can’t say for sure. It does look that way. He certainly is hiding something.”

  “Good enough.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to thank him for the leads.”

  “Raja.” Vinny knew how Raja felt about crooked cops.

  “Don’t worry, mom. I’ll be well behaved and keep my manners in. It would help a lot if you could find out more about the internal affairs investigation.”

  A trip to the police station where Inspector Gilliard worked gave Raja time to cool off and analyze his position. If Gilliard was dirty and trying to throw him off, he could turn that to his advantage. A little detective Aikido might be called for. That’s what Raja called backtracking the compulsive attempts by criminals to misdirect attention in order to find what they are hiding.

  While Raja was in route to “the 36,” as the National police headquarters at 36 Quai des Orfèvres was known, Inspector Gilliard was on another private call.

  “I did as you asked ... Yes, the warehouse was empty ... I don’t think Monsieur Williams will be getting more help from the Paris police any time soon ... I don’t see why we can’t get rid of him now. He’s more trouble than he’s worth ... Okay, if you say so.” The inspector ended the call, but was clearly unhappy.

  When Raja arrived at the station, he asked for Inspector Gilliard. He was sent back into the inspector’s area.

  Claude, the inspector’s assistant met him. “Bonjour, Monsieur Williams. I’m afraid the inspector is not here.”

  “Perhaps that isn’t a bad thing today.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you hear about the so-called bust?”

  “Yes, it was unfortunate.”

  “Unfortunate. An interesting choice of words. Unfortunate for whom?” Raja could not hide his contempt.

  “If you are implying what it seems, I can assure you the inspector is a very good and very honest policeman.”

  “I hope so.” Raja left the police station unsatisfied. This case was beginning to feel like a tar baby. The harder he pushed the more he got stuck. The problem was finding someone he could trust. A change in tactics might be required. The Samurai were a noble warrior class in Japan who, because they adhered so strictly to a code of conduct, gained power and respect among the people. So much so, that when out in the countryside, a single Samurai was the law, and his decisions and actions were unquestioned and final. While Raja usually liked working with the local police, maybe it was time to go Samurai.

  Chapter Fourteen: The Czechoslovakian Brothers

  While Raja was occupied tracking down the drug trade in Paris, Vinny continued to work the club, observing more of the routine. There were the Czech Brothers, at least that is what Vinny called Marcelo and Luc, the two twenty-something macho men she had encountered on her first visit to the club. The pair reminded her of an old Saturday Night Live comedy video in Raja’s collection that featured two foreign brothers who thought they were God’s gift to American women. It was one of Vinny’s favori
tes. “We are two wild and crazy guys,” they would always say. The slick hair and tight pants made Marcelo and Luc look the part. They even wore the over-the-top gold bling, and spent half their time at the club wagging their tongues and other body parts at the girls.

  However, both also had specific duties in the hierarchy of the club. Marcelo was Bruno’s watchdog, reporting on the courtesans’ activities to him. Bruno was a control freak when it came to the women. He had a long list of things the girls must and must not do. Marcelo used that fact to get laid by blackmailing the girls who were unfortunate enough to get caught violating Bruno’s rules.

  Luc kept track of certain key customers, including any VIPs who frequented the third floor, whether they were there for sex, drugs, or both. Unbeknownst to the clients, he maintained a logbook and collected pictures and other incriminating evidence to be used for extortion or, in the case of government officials, securing protection for their criminal operations. In the short time she had been working at the cabaret, Vinny noted and covertly photoed many significant patrons. Among those were several men she later identified as mid-level bureaucrats in the government, and a handful of wealthy Middle Eastern men.

  After meeting most of the waitresses, dancers and courtesans, Vinny concluded that the girls appeared to be willing or unwilling, knowing or unknowing, but relatively minor players in any illegal activities going on at the club. Bruno was the big dog, and he ruled with sadistic intimidation.

  Well after midnight Vinny watched Luc go into the room behind the dressing area with his logbook and come out empty-handed. Later she sneaked into the room on her break and with some thorough searching located a floor safe in the back corner under a table and rug. Seeing she would need the right equipment to get into the safe, she replaced the rug and table.

  “I see you have discovered our true value here at the club,” said Yvette, when Vinny emerged from the back room.

  “Luc’s logbook?” asked Vinny.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Chère, I have been a star in that little book for some time. Once, when Luc came to my room to collect a piece of clothing left behind by a particular politician I had been servicing, I saw him writing in his little book. I followed him down here and watched, as you must have done. I never saw that particular politician in the club again after that night, but I’m certain he heard from someone at the club. Did you know we have never been raided by the police? That isn’t due to clean living. There are hidden closed circuit TV cameras in all the third floor rooms. Only video, no sound, but pictures tell all the story Bruno needs. But, not to worry, he couldn’t have anything on you. Not yet anyway.”

  Vinny wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t afford to blow her cover. “I—really—”

  Yvette assumed Vinny was afraid of getting caught. “Don’t worry. I won’t rat on you for snooping around. No reason for me to make trouble. Besides, I’m not sticking around this place that much longer. I met someone.”

  “That’s great,” said Vinny, eager to change the subject. “Anyone I know?”

  “Doubtful.” Yvette smiled. “Mon poire.”

  “Pear?”

  “He calls me his peach, I call him my pear. As soon as his divorce is final, we are going to get out of Paris and move to a small farm north of Marseille. I know that sounds naive, but it is for real. We are very much in love.”

  “No doubt.”

  “So, do what you will, Vinny. But please, don’t get caught. Bruno is very unforgiving.”

  “No one seems to like him much.”

  “For good reason. He is a bastard.”

  “I understand he can be rough—”

  “He is that—but that’s not what I’m talking about. He—”

  Marcelo walked into the dressing area and Yvette dropped the conversation topic.

  “How was your shift?” she asked Vinny, trying to sound casual. Once Marcelo was out of earshot, Yvette said, “Bruno is pure evil. I’ll tell you more when we can be sure we are alone.” With that Yvette left the room.

  When Vinny went out for her next shift on the floor, there were two groups of Arab men seated in private booths. Luc saw Vinny looking, and approached.

  “You see, there is where you could be making some real money. You know how much of a tip that group gives in one night? Why don’t you let me help you, chérie?”

  “Help is good. It’s the price of your help that I’m not willing to pay.”

  “Too bad,” said Luc, already eyeballing another waitress. He approached her and made the same offer, but apparently with better results.

  Vinny watched as he fondled the girl’s bottom and sent her to work one of the private booths. One woman’s disgusting pig is another woman’s sugar daddy. C’est la vie.

  Chapter Fifteen: The Hunt for Mrs. Browning

  Despite her picture being plastered all over the Paris news broadcasts, and the combined efforts of two police departments to find her, Margaret Browning had not been located. There had been no ransom demand, no indication of where she had been taken or why. Even Raja and Vinny had as yet found no good leads that directly pointed to her location or to whoever took her.

  The sizable reward being offered by the British Embassy got plenty of response, but no results. The police had received the usual overload of sightings, many of them ridiculous, like the man who claimed she was abducted by an alien spaceship that landed on top of the Arc de Triomphe, or the woman who said she looked out her front window one morning and saw the earth simply open up and swallow the missing woman whole. While some reports sounded credible, none had gotten the police any closer to finding the missing woman.

  However, the police departments were not the only ones looking for her. The word on the street was that a much larger sum of money than that posted by the British Embassy was being offered in cash to anyone who had information on Mrs. Browning’s whereabouts, no questions asked. Despite all the attention, no one had found her.

  When the weaselly drug dealer Jules Masson arrived back home after making a drug delivery to one of the clubs in his district, there were two men he didn’t expect waiting in the living room of his flat. He recognized Baston and Revel, two French policemen who Jules knew were on the take and working with Bruno. Despite knowing that, Jules didn’t like or trust cops, especially these two. He looked around in a panic, but his own two men were nowhere to be seen.

  “What are you doing here, Baston? You can’t just—”

  “We can do whatever we want, Jules. You ought to know that by now. We are the police. Come in. Sit down.” Revel dragged Jules over to a chair and roughly forced him to sit.

  “Hey, I’m going to tell Bruno. I don’t think he will appreciate you coming here to beat me up.”

  Baston smiled. “Maybe it hasn’t gotten through your drug-addled brain yet, but we don’t take orders from Bruno. Besides, we aren’t going to beat you up. We just want to know what you told Raja Williams.”

  “Who?” asked Jules.

  Revel, who held Jules by the top of the shoulders, dug his fingers into the soft tissue where the nerves ran.

  Jules winced in pain. “Revel, please.”

  “Yes, Revel, don’t hurt him,” said Baston. “He wants to tell us what he knows. Isn’t that right, Jules?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” said the terrified drug dealer, nodding vigorously. “Let me think. You must be talking about the American. I did see him. But I didn’t tell him anything.”

  “Jules, you do not want to make Revel angry,” said Baston.

  “Okay, okay. He wanted to know where the drugs were made. But I gave him nothing, I swear. I told him to get lost.”

  Baston knew that Jules Masson was too scared of his own shadow to play tough with anyone, but he let it go. “What did the American say about the British woman?”

  “What woman?”

  “Jules,” Baston said threateningly. “Do we have to play like this?”

  “
I don’t know where she is.”

  “If I find out you are lying.” Baston looked up at Revel who squeezed Jules again.

  “I’m not lying. The American said he was looking for her, that’s all. I don’t know anything but what I seen on TV. She’s missing, that’s all I know. Why the hell do you care anyway?”

  “We just need to find her.”

  “I don’t know nothing about her,” insisted Jules.

  “Okay, okay,” said Baston, patting Jules gently on the face. “If you hear anything, I better be the first person you call. And you better go easy on the drugs, man. You’ll eat up all your profits.” The two policemen laughed out loud. After opening the closet and showing Jules where they had stashed his missing henchmen, Baston and Revel left the flat.

  It took two hours for Jules to calm down, partly due to realizing he had escaped serious damage, and partly due to the third, or was it the fifth, line of coke he had snorted. Jules had lost track. He was beginning to feel pretty lucky when, from the back room where he sat, he heard a loud knock at the front door. One of his men opened the door for Bruno Laurent. Bruno whispered something to the man who then motioned for his partner to follow, and the two walked out leaving Bruno and Jules alone in the flat.

  Jules heard the door shut. “Who was it?” he asked, from the next room.

  Bruno stood silently, putting on his black leather gloves.

  “I said who—” Jules stopped in his tracks and in mid-sentence when he saw Bruno.

  “Bonsoir, Jules. I understand you had some visitors earlier today?”

  Jules’ first impulse was to run, but there was nowhere for him to go. He sighed heavily, knowing his luck had suddenly turned for the worse.

  “Where is the woman?” asked Bruno.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where is the woman?” By the time Bruno was done, Jules had spilled everything he knew. He even made some stuff up, but it did him little good. Despite having much greater powers of persuasion, Bruno left having learned little more about the whereabouts of Mrs. Browning than the two cops. He did confirm that Baston and Revel, two of the cops who were supposed to be working for him, were instead working behind his back. He also came to realize that Jules Masson was a weak link in his organization that he could no longer afford. Not one to waste efforts, Bruno decided to make an example of him. It was always good to put a head on a pike once in a while to keep the rest of his people in line. Two days later, the police found Jules Masson behind a bright green dumpster in the alley where his own men had dumped his battered body.