Hmm…so the man was sent by the French leader to keep Nemours in line?
Placing a hand on each hip, Nemours glared at the oblivious man. “Connard,” Nemours said under his breath. Then he went to a table, opened a black leather case, and started to rummage through it. The briefcase was not an ordinary one. It seemed custom-made to transport drugs. One side of the case was complete glass, or something similar. The other side held vials of clear liquid strapped in tight, needles capped but their lengths still visible. Pill bottles were lined up in another section, and so were velvet pouches, which I assumed held more drugs.
I had had a taste of drugs before, thanks to Nemours, in Greece when he slipped them into my drink without my knowledge. It didn’t end well for me. Even when sick, I could only take half of the recommended dose of any medication. The reaction I had in Greece made me hallucinate, sending me into dark, stormy waters, then caused my mind to shut down against all I knew. It wasn’t until the next day that I even remembered who Brando was.
Not my finest moment.
If Nemours forced me to take drugs, I’d never be able to save Brando. I probably wouldn’t knowwhohe was, or why I was there in the first place.
Uncle Tito had told me stories of some of the girls he had to doctor on that private island. Full of high-powered mobsters, gangsters, and all sorts of menace, it was little wonder things happened from time to time, but it was Nemours who had a habit of giving his “girls” too strong of a dose, sending them into a comatose state. Or worse.
I’d have to fight both of these men before I took the drug. Otherwise, there was no way to survive this.
“Pick your poison,” Nemours said to me. His back was turned as he looked over his supplies. Which meant that Colette knew this was going to be the drill, yet she left it out. “I do not want you fucking this up for me. You move better when you are relaxed.”
I acted as casual as possible, stuffing down the rising panic that made me dizzy. To help ease my anxiety, I turned my back on him, not wanting him to see my face. Maybe I still had a chance to get out of this. He still hadn’t truly looked at me.
Don’t faint, don’t faint, don’t faint. I just might.
“Non,” I said, trying hard not to gulp in air, while at the same time trying to sound like Collette. “The new French leader will not want me drugged.”
I simply said it for something to say. I had no idea what the new French leader wanted. In fact, I didn’t even know his name, only that we had heard through the grapevine of less desirable people that he considered Nemours a pest and wanted him squashed. The only reason Nemours was still around was because his uncle had connections and had threatened to pull the arsenal of women Nemours had at the new leader’s disposal. No matter if Nemours was a pest or not, he produced money.
At this, things became quiet, much too still.
“Face me,” he said in French.
I refused, and the next time he said it, he shouted. I flinched, gulped in air, and did as he said, hoping by some miracle that he wouldn’t recognize me. That somehow he would believe I was Collette, but deep down, I knew it was useless to even hope. As soon as I faced him, his eyes narrowed before they relaxed, but only marginally.
“Is that so?” he said slowly, removing a syringe from the case. Then he decided better of it, put it back, and removed a velvet pouch. He poured its powdery contents along the mirror in thin lines. “You love what I am able to give you. All of a sudden you care what the French leader wants?” He ran his finger through the powder, making shapes that I couldn’t quite make out. “How do you know whathewants, hmm?”
I said nothing, preparing myself for the oncoming battle. Nemours was as clever as a rat, almost indestructible as one too. I knew the fight I had on my hands.And what about the other guy in the cabin?I’d have to worry about him later.
Nemours didn’t turn back to me but lifted the case, just enough that I could see what he had written in the snow-like substance.
Angel
He put the case down easy, not to disturb his precious cargo, and with swiftness that surprised the extra man in the cabin, attacked me. He wasn’t out to kill me—after all, he wanted me for his own purposes—but he was going to attempt to subdue me with his poison.
I was too slippery for him, and instead of lunging for something permanent on me, he went for my hair. The wig flew off, and once more, I was able to skirt around.
A dim awareness alerted me that the man was screaming in the background, about to reach for a radio on the dash, but then all became quiet. I felt the moment Nemours was going to go for me again, this time getting a good hold of my hair and shoving my face toward the glass.
When he lunged, his legs parted slightly, and my foot met his testicles with every ounce of power my muscles possessed. Years of training were deeply embedded.
Man turned into zombie. His mouth made an O, his hands, still reaching out, froze, and his legs gave out from underneath him, sending him to the floor in a heap. Bubbles of sweat formed over his dark eyebrows, above his lip, and his tight-fitting shirt had sweat stains pooling underneath the armpits. The O of his mouth turned into a fish gasping for air, a low whine whistling out.
It was a bad day for him to wear linen pants.
Startled out of the trance of staring at Nemours by a noise in the cabin, I put my hands up, ready to face off with the new man. Had he called it in? How long would it take for them to get to us?
Where the hell is my wig?
Instead of finding the unknown guy, I found Lev standing in his place, removing the guy’s shirt. No blood. No mess. Not a sound. Only a dead man on the floor. Lev stuffed him into a deep storage cabinet underneath the seat, before he started to remove his wetsuit, sticking it in with the dead guy. Lev threw on the man’s shirt and then took out a pair of pants from another storage compartment. I kept my eyes adverted as he took off his swim trunks.
“We have five minutes,” Lev informed me once his pants were on and I could look him in the eye. “I will tidy this mess while you fix yourself in the drug mirror. We will be ready when the boat comes to meet us.”
“Nemours? He wasn’t supposed to take me?” I asked, as I looked myself over in the clouded mirror. The wig was askew, but my makeup held on.
