Fidelio.
As I navigated Boulevard Saint-Denis, clumsily avoiding the early morning Smarts Cars and delivery trucks, I thought back to last April.
I was strolling through the Place Vendome, window-shopping the diamond stores. Chaumet, Van Cleef & Arpels, Cartier….
All the shiny neckwear, trophies for some mistress, some wet-nurse who was tending to the needs of more than just the infant in her charge.
I felt myself being approached by a small man, rotund, in a seer-sucker suit that neither suited his frame nor the times.
His hair was slicked back with a pomade; I guess you could say I smelled him before I saw him. He sidled up beside me.
“Mr. Armstrong.”
I pretended not to hear him and, turning towards him, brushed his body back a step as I passed. I paused in front of Dubail.
He approached me again. “Moses Armstrong. 28 Rue Bergère. You like Thai Cuisine. Can’t say as I blame you. Clears out the sinuses.”
I glanced at him sideways.
“We know all about you, Mr. Armstrong. About Madeleine,. About Jonas. You prefer Barclay’s over bilge water. Blondes over redheads.”
I decided I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, turned away and starting walking in earnest toward the Rue Saint-Honoré outlet.
He fell into step beside me, although my pace forced him to walk a bit faster than his portliness comfortably allowed.
“I’ll come right to the point, Mr. Armstrong. You have come to our attention. You interest us. We seek a partnership.”
“I’ll send you a check,” I offered, quickening my pace.
“You don’t understand. We wish to pay you. For your services.”
Moses Armstrong. Agent provocateur. I work alone. Some may say I'm a mercenary, but that would imply I care... I am an agent of fortune, a spy, an undercover intelligence office. My past is checkered. I had a wife named Madeilene, a son names Jonas. They were killed. I take lovers, prostitutes, women, blonds, into my bed for succor. I drink heavily, scotch whiskey, alcohol. Some would say I'm an alcoholic. They'd be right, but it's only self-medication. Some have called me Jack Bauer, 24, James Bond, but they have more scruples than me. I'm more like the Joker, Batman and his Dark Knight. I fight against both governments and criminals; against terrorists, terrorism, Muslim fanatics, pirates (Somalis, African, Kenyan, doesn't matter), enemies of justice. I have no friends, excpt the bottle and my cigarettes. I live by night, sleep by day, visit the underbelly of Paris, my current landing place. I am American, lived in London. My fees are high, because I only deal in bodies: blonds and corpses.
No comments:
Post a Comment