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#5
FEB 09 |
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“Downtime”
Remy LeBeau gently swung down from the fire escape and landed on the ground. He smiled as he flexed his leg muscles. “Doing better?” a voice asked from behind him. He turned and smiled as he recognized the woman known as Tante Mattie, the Guild’s healer.
“Much,” he replied. “You still do great work.” Tante Mattie smiled. “Merci,” she said. “Looks like it’s all taken care of.” Remy gently kissed Mattie on the forehead. “T’anks to you.” He turned to look back at the brownstone that served as home to the Thieves’ Guild. “But I gotta get back to work.” Remy leaped back to the fire escape and was gone.
A moment later the fog that filled Tante Mattie’s mind dissipated. “Wait!” she called after him. “I have to tell you something!”
Now was the time. Marcel, wearing a gas mask, strode through the old plantation house, dodging unconscious Assassins as he went. He smirked. It had been too easy. Attack his former comrades here, where they felt safest, and they went down like dominoes. He strode toward the door and kicked it open. He stood there in the doorway and gazed at his prize lying on her throne. He purposefully walked forward, lifted Bella Donna Boudreaux, and was gone.
Remy landed on the roof of the brownstone. He smiled as he inspected a small jeweled cross he’d just “liberated” from its previous owner. He frowned as he realized that he was not alone. Remy slid the cross back into his overcoat and snapped out his bo staff.
“Put dat away,” another man said. He stepped out from the shadows, revealing himself as Jean-Luc LeBeau, Remy’s adoptive father. “You know, if I’d been an enemy, dat would be mine and you’d be dyin’ right now.”
Remy smiled. “If you was an enemy, you wouldn’ have gotten de chance. I had de whole place scouted before I landed.”
Jean-Luc took a step forward and stopped. “Dere’s trouble,” he said.
“Who?” Remy asked. “De Assassins stirrin’ up de pot again?”
Jean-Luc shook his head. “Come wit’ me,” he said.
Remy scowled. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he followed his father into the building.
Remy frowned as he knelt in the throne room. “How did dis happen?” he asked.
Gris-Gris, the Assassins’ healer stood beside him. “We were betrayed,” he said.
Remy clutched Bella Donna’s cloak in his hands and brought it to his face. As he inhaled, he was filled again with the scent that still haunted his memories. “Who?” he asked.
“This is a matter for the Assassins,” Gris-Gris said. “We will deal with this.”
In a flash Remy was on his feet. He grabbed Gris-Gris by the collar and shoved him back against the wall. “Who?” he demanded. “Tell me or I’ll be de next dat de Assassins are huntin’!”
Jean-Luc quietly stepped up to Gris-Gris. “He does have a right,” he said softly. “Bella Donna is his wife.”
Gris-Gris scowled and finally nodded. Remy released him and took a step back. “His name is Marcel. He was a failure in our field. He was always at the outside of our circles. He had no talent.”
“Musta had some talent to put de snatch on Belle like he did,” Remy observed.
“Dis is not de time,” Jean-Luc said to his son. “Please continue,” he said to Gris-Gris.
Gris-Gris nodded once, taking Jean-Luc’s statement as an apology for the interruption. “Apparently he is working for someone. We have been unable to discover his master’s name but we are still working on it.”
“Where would he go?” Remy asked. “Any particular spots he liked?”
Gris-Gris shook his head. “None that we have been able to discover. We never bothered to search before. I fully expected him to be dead by now.”
“Monsieur, you may be proved right shortly,” Remy said. “Merci.” He stormed out of the mansion with Jean-Luc behind him.
“What’re you t’inkin?” Jean-Luc asked.
“Dat’s pathetic!” Remy said after making sure no one was within earshot. “All dese years I’d t’ought dat de Assassins knew ever’ting bout everbody and de one time we need somet’in, dey ain’t got it.”
Jean-Luc turned to his son. “What’s your plan?” he asked.
“Simple,” Remy said as they neared the car that had brought them to the mansion. “Dere’s only one t’ing I can do. Find her myself.” Jean-Luc said nothing as his son climbed in.
Marcel smiled as he studied his sleeping captive. He had decided that Bella Donna’s consciousness would only cause problems, so he’d decided to keep her drugged. He reached out with a finger and ran it along her soft, smooth cheek. He smiled again as he continued waiting for more orders.
Remy crouched on top of a building. He’d dispatched his usual spies across the city and knew that soon he’d have word on Bella Donna’s whereabouts. “Belle,” he whispered. Above, the moon continued its slow crawl across the sky.
After an eternity, Remy tensed as he heard huffing from behind him. A satisfied smile spread across his lips as he heard gravel crunching in a familiar pattern, as well as a familiar voice cursing the climb.
“Souris,” he greeted. “What have you found out?”
Souris wiped the sweat off his forehead. “I’ve f-f-found out I don’t l-l-like climbing buildings,” he said.
“Didn’t call you to hear you whine,” Remy said with a cold look.
“D-d-don’t worry,” Souris said. “Here.” He handed Remy a piece of paper. “That’s the address I f-f-found.”
Remy took the paper and memorized the address. “Good work,” he said. He reached into his pocket and handed a thin stack of bills to Souris, who accepted them eagerly. “Now scram. I got work to do.” Remy took off across the rooftops as Souris cursed again, not looking forward to the climb back down to the street.
Baron LeVeau sipped a glass of chardonnay as he listened to his music. He frowned when it stopped. “Over so soon?” he asked. He picked up the needle and walked into the adjacent room to see what was wrong.
LeVeau stopped inside the room. Bloodscourge was shackled to the wall. LeVeau studied the floor, careful not to get any of the human waste on his leather Italian shoes. “Please, master,” Bloodscourge croaked. His voice was nearly gone from the screaming.
LeVeau smiled and held up the needle. Bloodscourge licked his lips as he saw it. “So, you think you deserve this?” LeVeau asked.
“Please, master, the pain!” Bloodscourge gasped before the abdominal cramps proved too much and he doubled over again. More waste flowed out of Bloodscourge and splattered on the floor.
LeVeau scrunched his nose in disgust at the sight before him. ‘Do not presume to speak to me of pain,” he said in a voice that was colder than ice. “Due to your incompetence LeBeau and the Thieves know what was going on here. He knows of my need for sacrifices. And he defiled my ancestor!” LeVeau’s voice, which had been rising, finally erupted in a scream when he spoke of his ancestor. He looked at the needle in his hand. “Pray to whatever gods you believe in that I ever give this to you again.” LeVeau dropped the needle on the floor and watched Bloodscourge. The bigger man couldn’t believe his eyes as LeVeau crushed the needle under his heel. He turned and walked out as Bloodscourge stared at the shattered syringe with tears in his eyes.
LeVeau returned to his opulent study and laughed. “So much fun from a simple saline solution,” he said as he sat down. As Bloodscourge started screaming again, LeVeau smiled. His music was playing again. He closed his eyes, took another sip of his chardonnay, and enjoyed.
Remy crouched and peered in the window of the abandoned warehouse. “Well, well, well,” he murmured. “No guards. Looks like de little guy’s gonna try and do dis himself.” A crooked grin pulled one side of Remy’s mouth upward. “Should be a piece o’ cake.” Remy silently opened the window and slipped inside.
Marcel paced back and forth. A cell phone lay on a rickety wooden table in front of him. “Ring,” he whispered, staring at it. The phone defiantly remained silent.
Marcel’s eyes widened as a voice cut through the stillness. “Time’s up, grenouille,” Remy said in a cold voice. “Time t’ pay de piper.”
“Not yet,” Marcel yelled, whipping out a pistol and firing it toward the voice.
Remy ducked down as bullets tore into the front of the cabinet he was behind. Remy kept quiet count of the number of shots that were fired. He smiled when he reached the number he’d been hoping for. He stood and slipped through the shadows behind the would-be Assassin. “Outta bullets,” he whispered into Marcel’s ear. His hand reached out and grabbed the barrel of the gun. Marcel screamed and started to run as the gun glowed with pink energy. He threw it too late to avoid the full effect of the explosion. A piece of shrapnel tore into his leg and he went down.
“Now, den,” Remy said as he slowly walked forward. “Where is she?” he asked as Marcel sat up.
“Right here,” a soft voice said as Marcel’s face suddenly began wearing a look of shock. The would-be Assassin fell to the ground as Bella Donna stepped out of the shadows with blood still glistening on her knife. She confidently wiped the blade on Marcel’s coat. “Fool,” she said. “You never could tie knots. And putting that much confidence in pharmaceuticals?” She contemptuously walked toward Remy.
“Looks like you didn’t need much rescuin’ after all,” Remy observed as Bella Donna stepped forward and put her arms around Remy’s neck.
“My hero,” she whispered as her lips met his. Before he knew what he was doing, Remy had his arms around her. The next thing he realized was that Bella Donna was pulling his chest armor off. And then Remy thought no more.
Remy’s eyes opened as he felt cold metal on his throat. Bella Donna, also still naked, stood above him with her dagger to his neck. “Looks like you got me at a disadvantage, chere,” he said.
Bella Donna smiled at the look on Remy’s face as he realized where her other knife was. “Ain’t nothin’ down there needs cuttin’, chere,” he said.
Belle smiled wider. “Never at a loss for words, are you?” she asked. “Remember this,” she said as she leaned into his ear. “You have violated the truce.” Remy gasped in pain as Bella Donna slowly drew her knife across his flesh. Laughing, she vanished.
Remy looked down and saw that she’d simply dragged the knife across his skin, leaving nothing more than a paper cut. He sighed in relief that she’d cut his stomach - a couple of inches higher than he’d feared. “Dat woulda been a disaster,” he said. He put his hand over the cut to try and stop the blood flow before pulling his clothes on. “Remy, why you always got to pick de bad girls?” he asked himself. “And she didn’t even need rescuin’ after all.”
Later, when the Assassins arrived to dispose of Marcel’s body, Remy was long gone.
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To Be Continued...
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