Finally Filing
Dieter Schwarz
Day 43 in Las Vegas,
an eternity.
The divorce documents were filled out, signed, examined by Joachim Blanchard via email and a secure VOIP facilitated by Dieter’s tame hackerBlaise, notarized by Flicka’s boss Prissy who glared at the unfamiliar names at the top but did not deign to ask, copied, and bundled in an envelope to depositwith the court.
“But how will we serve Pierre the court documents?” Flicka asked him. “You can’t do it. It has to be a ‘disinterested’ person.”
“And I don’t want to leave you here alone,” Dieter said.
“Hiring a process server to go all the way to Monaco would be exorbitant,” she fretted, “at least a month’s salary, and we don’t have that. And Pierre would just refuse to take them, anyway.”
Dieter said, “I have just the guy. I’ll bet he’ll even let us watch through a body cam.”
Three days later, after a furtive dead-drop in the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area outside the city, Flicka and Dieter watched on his phone screen while Alina played with tiny plastic pans on the coffee table where they rested their feet. She muttered in her baby voice, “T’sheshe-uncle cook.”
Their take-out Chinese bags sat on the dining table, cooling and forgotten when they’d gotten the message that it was go-time.
On Dieter’s phone, the screen was blank. Slivers of light glimmered on the edges. The top corner of his phone read 6:19 PM, the local, Las Vegas time.
Dieter did the calculation in his head.Perfect.It was after three in the morning in Monaco.
Flicka asked, “Are yourecording it?”
Dieter tried not to grin too gleefully. Aiden Grier hadn’t told Dieter what he’d planned, but Aiden had a flair for the overly dramatic covert op. “Oh, yes. Blaise has a feed that he’s recording, too.”
They needed proof Pierre had received the documents. In a perfect world, Pierre would sign a receipt for them, but the whole point of a process server was so that a witness couldtestify Pierre had received the divorce notice if he wouldn’t sign for it.
And they were recording it.
On the phone’s screen, a white circle appeared in the darkness.
In the circle of blinding white light, Pierre Grimaldi rubbed his eyes and squinted. White cloth covered him, a bed sheet. He shouted, “What the hell!”
The view was not from the side of the bed. Aiden Grier must be suspendedfrom the ceiling, hovering over the bed and staring straight down at Pierre.
Dieter bit down on his molars to keep from cracking up.
Something rectangular fell from off-screen into the circle of light and landed on Pierre’s stomach with a sharp slap.
On the phone, a man’s voice shouted with a Scottish burr, “Pierre Grimaldi, you’ve been served!” The R’s rolled on for days.
Pierre roared, “Guards!”and fumbled for the nightstand to ring the security alarm installed there.
With a click, the white light vanished. Though the screen was dark, they could hear a whirring and a man’s raucous laughter.
Dieter couldn’t help chuckling. “Aiden does enjoy his work.”
Flicka was staring wide-eyed at the screen, though she was grinning, too. “I can’t believe he did that!”
“Pierre has been served,”Dieter said. “He has twenty days to respond. Let’s eat that Chinese food before it gets cold.”
Later that night, Dieter breathed slowly, feigning sleep as always.
Flicka’s hand stole through the sheets to his shoulder, and then her arm slithered across his chest.
He didn’t let his respiration change, breathing as deeply and slowly as a sniper in a nice, dark hide.
A rustle and a shimmy ofthe mattress, and her soft body curved against his side.
Dieter slept.
