The Blue Ring (A Creasy novel Book 3) Page 3

  She lowered her head in thought for a long time, then looked up at him and quietly said, ‘Those people that you seek. Those people who forced your mother to abandon you. Those people who are the dregs of the earth. They have been around a long time. Many decades. They are very powerful and well-connected, both politically and financially, in several countries.’

  ‘You know these people, Blondie?’

  ‘I know of them. They have tried to do business with me in the past, but I don’t deal with that filth. I don’t need to. My girls work for me because they want to. I look after them. I take care of their money and when the time comes I make sure they leave the business in a better condition than when they joined it.’

  He smiled and asked, ‘Like Nicole?’

  She nodded solemnly. ‘Exactly like Nicole. You will see her, of course . . . and Maxie.’ She smiled. ‘And that young sister of hers.’

  Michael smiled in return.

  ‘Of course. I’ll go there for dinner tomorrow night. Why not come with me?’

  Sadly she shook her head.

  ‘It’s not a good time for me to be away from the Pappagal.’

  ‘You have problems?’

  ‘Only small ones, but I have to be here.’

  ‘Anything I can do?’

  She shook her head, reached out and touched his cheek. ‘You have problems of your own. These people you seek are dangerous. They kill without thought and they protect their interests with cunning and ferocity.’

  “Who are they, Blondie?’

  ‘They come and go. Different faces but from the same area. They work in southern Europe, the Middle East and northern Africa. I’ve heard a name, but I’m not sure whether it means anything.’

  ‘What name?’

  ‘I have heard that they are called “The Blue Ring”.’

  ‘Are they Mafia?’

  She shook her head. ‘They are worse than Mafia.’

  Michael swirled the wine in his glass. ‘Where would I start to look?’

  She considered the question for a long time, then stood up and said, ‘Wait.’

  She came back five minutes later, holding a white business card. She put it on the table between them, saying, ‘About six months ago a man came here and hired one of my girls. It turned out that he did not want to make love. He wanted to talk. Such things happen, even at three hundred dollars a session. Some want to talk about their fantasies without doing anything, some want to talk about themselves.’ She tapped the card. ‘This man did not want to talk about any of those things. He wanted to ask questions. He was curious about the modern white slave trade. My girl thought he was a nice man and sympathetic. He told her he was a writer researching a book. At the end of his hour she suggested he talk to me. We talked in the bar for a couple of hours and we became friendly. During the conversation he mentioned “The Blue Ring”. At the end he admitted he was not a writer.’ She tapped the card again. ‘Perhaps you and Creasy should start by talking to this man.’

  Michael picked up the card and read, ‘Jens Jensen, CID (Missing Persons Bureau) Copenhagen, Denmark.’

  Chapter 4

  Michael was woken just after midnight by a gentle tap on the door. He pulled himself out of bed, padded across, unlocked the door and opened it. Raoul stood there with a silver tray in his hand. On it was a bottle of Hennessy Extra brandy and two glasses.

  He said, ‘I thought we might have a drink. I hope I didn’t wake you.’

  Michael yawned, smiled and said, ‘You did, but let’s have a drink anyway.’

  He was puzzled because Raoul was a taciturn man, not given to conversation, conviviality or socialising. They sat at the small table and Raoul poured two large measures. Michael studied him. He was a man in his mid-forties, blessed with a face to frighten small children, old ladies and clients who got out of line. He had worked for Blondie for over ten years and was a combination of bartender, bouncer, handyman and silent companion. Blondie was the only person in his life that meant anything to him. He opened the conversation, ‘How is Creasy?’

  ‘Creasy’s just fine,’ Michael answered, ‘That surgeon really is good. He mined a great deal of metal from Creasy’s body.’ Michael smiled at the recollection. ‘He also filled him full of morphine . . . It’s one very happy Creasy lying in bed there, and he probably weighs half a kilo less.’

  ‘How long will he have to stay there?’ Raoul asked.

  Michael shrugged. ‘The doctor says ten days . . . but knowing Creasy he’ll discharge himself the minute he can walk . . . I’d guess four to six days.’

  Raoul nodded solemnly and said. ‘Then I guess it has to wait a couple of weeks or more until he’s fully recovered.’

  ‘What has to wait?’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  Raoul was looking puzzled. He asked, ‘You are here because Blondie called you?’

  Michael shook his head.

  ‘She never called us . . . What’s happening?’

  Raoul was confused. He rubbed the palms of his hands down his face, sighed and said, ‘Blondie has problems, I thought she might have written to Creasy. In fact I suggested it, but obviously she didn’t.’

  ‘Not that I know of. Tell me about her problems.”

  Raoul thought for a moment and then said, ‘We don’t have the Mafia here in Belgium, but we do have something similar. We call them Les hommes de la nuit. There are several gangs, but one has recently become predominant. It takes its name from their leader, Lamonte. They deal in drugs, prostitution, illegal gambling, protection rackets and coercion. Blondie has no affiliation with any criminal group or with any pimps. You know she treats her girls well.’

  Michael’s voice indicated his interest. ‘So tell me.’

  Raoul’s face went gloomy. ‘Recently, Lamonte’s gang has been targeting up-market brothels for protection money. There are many such brothels in Brussels. They cater to the huge amount of civil servants who work for the EC and also for the businessmen who need those civil servants, and often invite them to places like Pappagal. Most of the brothel owners have buckled under and now pay protection money. But not Blondie. She refuses.’

  ‘So what have they done?’

  Raoul shrugged. ‘They are very clever. They don’t plant bombs or start fires or anything so obvious. But every night Lamonte has his men waiting on the street outside. They threaten our customers with blackmail and violence and, like common touts, they give them the cards of other brothels over which they have control.’

  ‘And the results?’

  Raoul spread his hands. ‘Business is down by more than half. Blondie cannot even cover her costs. She is paying the girls minimum wages from her own pocket.’

  For more than a minute there was a silence while Michael thought. Then he said, ‘She should have told Creasy. She should have followed your advice.’

  Raoul nodded. ‘But she will not. She has her pride.’ His dark face turned apologetic and his voice took on a different tone. ‘You have to understand, Michael, I want to do something. Blondie is like a mother to me. But I am not like you or Creasy. Sure I look tough, and I can frighten people just by a look.’ He tapped his suit under the armpit. ‘And, yes, I carry a gun, but it has no bullets. It’s an understanding we have with the police. It’s just to frighten unruly clients.’ He shrugged again. ‘I am no match for Lamonte or his “soldiers”. So we must wait for Creasy to come out of hospital . . . I hope it will be in time.’

  Michael shook his head.

  ‘We will wait for nothing. I will have a gentle word with Lamonte myself.’

  Raoul looked slightly startled and murmured, ‘Maybe you should wait for Creasy.’

  Again, Michael shook his head.

  ‘I will do it myself . . . Don’t worry, Raoul. I am capable.’

  Raoul looked into the young man’s face and into his stone-cold eyes. ‘If you want, I will watch your back . . . I will get bullets for my gun and fuck the police.’

&nb
sp; Michael smiled and shook his head.

  ‘I would be honoured for you to watch my back, but your place is here, watching over Blondie. And, yes, do get bullets for your gun and fuck the police.’

  ‘So who will watch your back?’

  Michael’s smile widened, ‘Maxie MacDonald will watch my back. I’m having dinner at his bistro tomorrow night. He knows the city and will know all about Lamonte.’

  Raoul grinned back, ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘Maxie will enjoy the action. He’s been out to pasture for too long . . . And Blondie will know nothing?’

  ‘Blondie will know nothing. But later, when business returns to normal, she may guess.’

  Raoul smiled again. ‘Let her guess.’

  Chapter 5

  Michael ate moules marinières followed by coq au vin, and drank half a bottle of the house wine. While he ate, Maxie made several phone calls. After most of the other guests had left, Maxie brought over an old unmarked bottle of Cognac and two glasses. The square ex-mercenary explained that Jacques Lamonte was in his mid-forties. He had muscled his way up to the top of the pile in the Belgian crime hierarchy. He was daring and ruthless. He was also gay, and owned several nightclubs which purveyed to the gay community in Brussels. He lived in a grand house in a prime suburb on the outskirts of the city. His home was extremely well-guarded and he never moved anywhere without very hard bodyguards, all well-armed. Diffidently Maxie suggested that Michael should wait until Creasy was out of hospital and fully fit.

  Michael shook his head and explained. ‘Maxie, you know how close Creasy is to Blondie. I have a feeling he will get so mad that someone like that pimp is threatening her that he’ll kill him. That could be complicated. So I’ll just give the guy a hell of a fright and Creasy needn’t know anything about it.’

  Maxie looked into the young man’s eyes and said, ‘My sister-in-law loves you, but sometimes, Michael, you can be a prick. You want to do this for Blondie while Creasy is indisposed. You’re being a macho young guy.’

  Michael started out on a retort, but Maxie held up a hand, smiled and said, ‘That’s OK. It’s no problem. I understand. You need to make your own moves and come out from under Creasy’s shadow. I’m sure you can take care of it.’

  ‘I will take care of it. Where does Lamonte go at night?’

  ‘He is almost always in one of his clubs, usually The Black Cat. It’s on Rue Lafitte. He goes there to pick up young men.’

  Lucette came and sat with them. She smiled at Michael and asked, ‘Are you going to take me out tonight?’

  ‘Yes, with your sister’s permission. I want to enjoy tonight, because tomorrow I’m going to become gay.’

  There were a few customers that always lingered late. At eleven o’clock Nicole saw the impatience in her sister’s eyes and said, ‘Go on, then. Don’t wake us up when you come home.’

  Lucette smiled and said demurely, ‘I will not wake you up when I come home.’

  First they went to a small bar around the corner. They sat in a dimly lit banquette. Michael ordered champagne and they drank it, holding hands.

  ‘Do you want to go to a disco?’ he asked.

  She squeezed his hand and shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want to go home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘I want to go to a big warm bed. I want to stay in that bed the whole night and I want to watch your eyes open in the morning. I want to see the pleasure in them because the moment they open I will be doing something very beautiful to you.’

  The big bed was in a small luxury hotel just around another corner. A hotel that catered for such assignations. They had only made love once before, about a year earlier, but he remembered how physically sensitive she was.

  Very slowly he undressed her as she stood by the bed. First the pale green mohair sweater then the white cotton blouse. She wore no bra. Her breasts were small and high and made a triangle with the soft point of her chin. He loosened the belt of her black woollen skirt and it dropped to the carpet. She was left wearing only very brief white panties. He lifted her up and laid her on the bed.

  She smiled up at him and asked quietly, ‘Do you remember?’

  He nodded as he took off his clothes. He did remember. He remembered virtually every word she had spoken to him the first night he had made love to her.

  In the beginning it had been a disaster. Like many young men he had assumed a woman took pleasure from the pure physical act of sex, and that the harder he went and the longer he went, so much the better. She had stopped him after five minutes, pulled herself away from him, and then whispered in his ear in a humorous voice, ‘Perhaps I’m not like your other girlfriends. Have you ever had a Belgian girlfriend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then maybe we are different. Maybe we are the aristocracy of girlfriends. We are nervous like race horses. However, there are ways to handle us.’ She had gone on to tell him in great detail how to handle her.

  So he remembered. He made love to her very slowly, very carefully and very tenderly. At the end she lay with her head in the crook of his arm, her hand across his chest. In a voice as low as the purr of a cat she said, ‘I love you because of your memory. I love you because you think you are so tough and so mean and so hard . . . But you are just a little boy.’

  He stared up at the canopy of the four-poster bed and then asked, ‘Do you really see me as a boy?’

  She moved up until her head rested against his shoulder and her lips were near to his ear. ‘Oh, yes. You think that your youth has passed you by. Everybody thinks that. My mother and Maxie say that you have the mind of a forty-year-old . . . It is not true.’

  ‘No?”

  ‘No. You are nineteen years old, but for me you are even younger. I don’t talk of your mind or your body. I only feel the essence of you in my arms . . . I feel a young boy.’ Both her arms had now circled him and pulled him close. She waited for an answer, but he was silent. She lifted her head and in the dim light looked at his face and into his eyes. They were infinitely sad.

  He murmured, ‘You must be the only one to see me as a boy. Sometimes I feel a thousand years old.’ His smile was half bitter and half humorous. He kissed her and said, ‘But you are so wise. I am a boy, but I badly need to become a man. I need to stand alone.’

  He saw the concern in her eyes. She said, ‘That’s why you go after Lamonte on your own?’

  Slowly he nodded. ‘And more. I told you about “The Blue Ring” . . . I will go after them myself while Creasy recovers. At least, I will start the journey and plot my course.’

  She wanted to tell him to be careful and to be cautious and to be patient, but she had the wisdom to kiss him and keep silent. She ran a hand down his body and felt the scar which she had not seen before.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘Someone shot me.’

  ‘Did you kill him?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  She smiled and said, ‘That’s what Maxie always says about his past.’ She moved and kissed the scar and then his lips. ‘Are you really going to go gay tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, but only temporarily.’

  She looked down at him, her blonde hair falling across his face. ‘Afterwards,’ she murmured, ‘come back to me. I will straighten out your genes.’

  Chapter 6

  The Black Cat was dark and dangerous, a mixture of discreet spotlights, chrome and black leather. The two bouncers at the door were gay and mean. Michael paid his fifty francs entrance fee and walked into the bar. He was wearing frayed denim jeans with a metal-studded belt, an olive green silk shirt and a gold earring in his left ear.

  He ordered a crème de menthe frappé and studied the room. About sixty men, ranging in age from fifty to seventeen. Not a woman in sight. The bartender had a purple hair-do down to his shoulders,

  Lamonte was sitting at a corner table with two men. Michael recognised him from Maxie’s description. He was in h
is mid-forties, a tanned, handsome man wearing a sober business suit. Michael gazed into his eyes and then turned away and talked to the bartender about the weather. When he ordered his third crème de menthe frappé and tried to pay for it the bartender gave him the drink and waved away his money. With a wink he said, ‘It’s on the boss,’ and gestured at Lamonte’s table.

  Five minutes later Lamonte eased himself onto the stool next to Michael, smiled disarmingly and said, ‘I haven’t seen you in here before.’

  Michael answered, ‘It must be Christmas.’

  They left an hour later. Lamonte had a Mercedes 600 complete with mini-bar, telephone and miniature TV. He and Michael sat in the back. One of the bodyguards drove, the other sat silently next to him. Lamonte opened the tiny fridge in the mini-bar, took out a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, popped the cork and poured two glasses. They toasted each other. With his free hand Lamonte felt for Michael’s penis.

  ‘It takes time,’ Michael said with a smile. ‘But when it stands up, it stays up.’

  Lamonte grinned, leaned across and kissed him on the mouth, his tongue probing. Michael played his part.

  There were two other bodyguards waiting at the house. One at the main gate and one inside the front door, who let them in. They proceeded straight up the stairs to the bedroom, both carrying their glasses of champagne, and Lamonte carrying the half-empty bottle.