Inside, I take note of the marble flooring, expensive chandeliers, and heavy leather chairs around mahogany dining tables. It’s not necessary to translate the euro prices to know only the wealthy eat here.
A burly man in a dark suit hurries through the seating area. His smile is polite, but his tone is anything but. “We’re closed.”
“Door was open,” I point out, not sure why I feel the need to be a smart ass. I’m not a small man, standing nearly as tall as this dude, but he’s twice as wide as I am. Not to mention, his fists look pretty meaty.
I’m shocked when he chuckles. “So it was. What can I do to help you?”
Hands clasped in front of me, I flash a grin. I’m rocking a light gray suit with a pale pink tie and pocket kerchief. I make sure my Vacheron Constantin watch and Cartier cuff links are on display. Those were not purchased by the insurance consortium. Rather, they are plunder from my early days of robbing jewelry stores, long before I ever went into the Marine Corps. “I have an appointment with Mr. Mercier at nine.”
“Mr. Bellinger,” the man replies with a nod, affirming he’d expected me this morning. “I’m Cesar. If you’ll follow me, please.”
He leads me through the restaurant, the kitchen, and then down a hallway.
“Where are you from, Cesar?” I ask. His accent is not French, so I’m guessing he’s from Spain.
“Portugal,” he replies, but he offers no more. Instead, he pauses when we arrive at a door. Before opening it, he gives it three sharp raps.
When he motions for me to go before him, I find myself inside an ordinary office, which seems out of place with the grandeur of the restaurant. Wooden desk, two nondescript chairs, and substandard art on the walls.
I take everything in quickly, the ingrained training to check out my surroundings before the people kicking in.
I’m surprised to see William there, since I was under the impression he wouldn’t be. No matter, though.
William barely waits for Cesar to pull the door shut to give us privacy before he introduces me to the other man.
Julian Mercier has to be in his sixties at least, but he wears it well. He’s bald, although the pattern of stubble suggests it’s not from hair loss. But he wears his baldness like a crown. A toughened exterior with an air of cultured royalty. He sports a pearl-colored tailored silk suit with a burgundy-and-brown paisley tie. Not a combo I’d choose, but it works in Paris.
“Mr. Bellinger,” he says, his Parisienne accent elegant. Last night in my hotel room, I’d Googled him, discovering Mr. Mercier was born and raised in Paris. While well-traveled, he has never lived elsewhere. He’s a renowned businessman who owns several high-end restaurants, retail stores, and even a massive hotel. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I say as we shake hands.
“You come highly recommended by William.” With a gracious smile, he motions to a chair. I unbutton my suit jacket as I sit, crossing one leg over the other. He moves behind the desk, takes his seat, and steeples his hands before his face. William remains standing. “But you’ve been out of the game a long time.”
“True,” I answer with a careless shrug. “But the rust will fade once I get off the bench.”
Julian doesn’t crack a smile, but he does appraise me. “William says you have access to some of the best technology.”
“Also true,” I reply, keeping it vague.
Playing it cool. I don’t need you, but you need me.
“Why did you quit?” he asks. He keeps his questions elusive, too, but it’s obvious he means my life as a thief.
“Got pinched.” My answer is frank. “Didn’t have the goods on me, but they got me on obstruction charges. Enough to put me away for a couple years.”
Julian nods, but it’s obvious he already knew.
“Why not go straight?” he inquires. Casually, he crosses his arms on the desk.
“My mom died while I was in prison,” I say, still marveling at the pinch of pain I get when I allow myself to remember. “After I was released, I tried to go legit, but I realized… I can’t let go. I’m too good at what I do, and the rewards are better than the risks any day.”
“And if I brought you onto my team, what would you bring to the table?”
“Besides the most up-to-date tech, auto-dialers, spyware, and surveillance, you won’t find anyone with bigger balls than me.”
Julian’s eyes flash with mirth. He likes my answer. “But why not go out on your own? From what I heard, you weren’t much of a team player in the past.”
“And look where that got me.” I snicker, forcing my laugh to sound careless.
Julian and William chuckle, too, but I sober. “Look, with good financing and the best resources, getting caught is a minimal risk. I’m safer working with a team than without. Whatever you have going on, I want in.”
Julian’s brow creases as he studies me. Suddenly, he relaxes, giving William an imperceptible nod before appraising me once more. “Before I bring you on, I’d like to test you. We have a job lined up right now. You understand, no?”
“Absolutely,” I say, a small tingle going up my spine. I may want to go legit and leave my life of crime behind, but the prospect of stealing something still juices me up.
“Good,” Julian replies. He rises from behind the desk, then holds his hand out. When I do the same, we shake. Turning to William, he says, “Might as well introduce him to the team he’ll be working with.”
“Yes, sir.” William motions me toward the door. Once I give Julian a slight bow of gratitude, I exit.
As William escorts me through the kitchen area, I ask him, “Why does a wealthy businessman, especially one who seems to be doing well for himself, have to resort to heading a criminal enterprise?”
William chuckles. “It’s the criminal enterprise that enables him to do well.”
Nah… I don’t buy it. Julian Mercier’s legitimate businesses are worth a fortune. If I had to bet, I’d wager he’s in the game because he’s a thrill-seeker or a devoted collector.
Don’t get me wrong—I understand the appeal. While not the main reason, I did love the adrenaline high I’d get from successfully pulling off a heist.
It was almost as good as sex.
I assumed William would transport me elsewhere to meet the rest of the crew. Instead, he cuts through the dining room into a small alcove with a staircase. After plodding up one flight, we stop at a single wooden door, at the landing.
He opens it, walks in and I follow.
A quick scan shows thick emerald carpet, paneled walls, and chandeliers. Heavy leather furniture… couches, chairs, and ottomans. A horseshoe-shaped bar in the middle. Perhaps it’s a club room where patrons retire for brandy and cigars after dinner?
Regardless, I turn my attention to the people inside.
Not counting William and me, there are four others.
But their faces aren’t computing. Nothing registers after I let my eyes linger on the first person. A woman.
She’s tall and willowy with coffee-and-cream skin. Her exotically gorgeous hazel eyes widen in surprise.
William grins. “That’s right… you two know each other, don’t you?”