Page 59 of Double Shot
“This way,” he said and Conan fell into step beside him.
I only vaguely remember Kyle handing me off to Conan waiting in the back seat of the town car and I don’t remember anything but the sensation of floating after that. Blessedly, while I slept, I didn’t dream and wherever we were, the bed was much more comfortable.
Chapter Thirteen
Roan…
The news was buzzing when we finally settled into the borrowed apartment.
“In international news, German art collector, historian, and philanthropist Gustaf Malmaison was murdered in his home gallery, with the killers releasing a veritable cornucopia of stolen artwork, Nazi paraphernalia, and in a property associated with Malmaison, human remains put on display, some of the bodies dating back to 1944 and the Allied invasion of Europe during World War Two,”the male anchor in the off-the-rack suit said.
“Authorities in Germany and internationally are curious to find out how such a large amount of stolen art, some pieces documented as stolen during ‘Die Kristallnacht’, the violence against Jews in Germany prior to the outbreak of the war. Several state and local officials in Oberhausen and Dusseldorf have been detained for questioning, and at least two government officials have resigned prior to attempts to question them,”the blonde headed female anchor said, the buttons on her blouse pulled as tight as her hair.
“Oh, they’re right fit, now,” I said. Lach gave a small laugh. He was less distracted now, getting from Paris to NYC had been trying. Sadie had some of the worst emotional fuss I had seen, and couldn’t be placated. She had only stopped after we had landed, and she could lay in Lach’s lap while I drove the rental car to the apartment. It might have been the longest continuous bit of sleep she had since we left Germany.
“We’ll try to not make a mess, we’ve not rented this unit, the owner is out of town and said she didn’t mind if we crashed her,” I said.
“Her, who is this mystery woman?” Lach asked, helping himself to the refrigerator.
“She’s a driver,” I said. “And she doesn’t drink, so there’s no booze here for any of us.”
“Oh, that won’t do,” he said, closing the door.
“It will have to, unless you want to have it door dropped or walk down to one of the corner stores to get some.” I gave him a laugh. “But don’t think you’ll get anything but overpriced off-the-shelf juice.”
“I would kill for some of that black gin, or the Botanical shit you found me,” he said. “I missed those small touches while you were dead, I don’t even know where to look to find that shit.”
“Most of it is all online, mate,” I said, turning back to the television.
“State sources have tied Gustaf Malmaison with two organizations: the Deutschland arm of Atomwaffen, a known Neo-Nazi organization with roots in Germany, the United States, and many other countries, and the international heroin Cartel known only as the Escadrille,”the spunky female anchor was reporting. They droned on for a while about the sensational part of the story, a Neo-Nazi stabbed, images of Atomwaffen signs and retelling of terrorist attacks, and the rest.
Lach checked on Sadie again and then quieted himself on how to sort out ordering some gin to be delivered to the door. I could have done it in about three seconds, but he seemed intent on figuring it out himself, which basically meant asking me a question every few minutes;which app, which bank account, what’s the address? I waited, answering distractedly and automatically, absorbed by the news.
“Until recently, the Escadrille Cartel was largely only known to a handful of international anti-drug task forces, and it was assumed that it was a very small operation. The murder of Malmaison comes just a week and half after what French authorities call a pitched gun battle in the small township of Mont Saint Chauvignon, an ancestral estate remaining in said family’s hands for generations. The ‘patriarch’ of the estate is international fugitive and suspected terrorist Guillame Chauvignon, suspected to be either the actual leader of the Escadrille, or one of its founding members.”
“Oh, I bet the General is fit to be trussed and roasted with an apple in his mouth,” I laughed.
“Carrot up his ass,” Lach agreed. “You want anything?”
“Get me a fifth of Laphroaig, the regular bottle will do,” I added.
“Gotcha,” he said, “Do you tip in the app or in person?”
“The app, and give the twenty percent, they’ll bump you to the front of the line for that.”
* * *
The viewfrom the seventeenth floor was nice, not Central Park nice, but a good panorama of Queens. Our hostess did have tea, which was lovely. There was no coffee; so Lach opted to just go get some, rather than try to have it brought to the door. The booze last night had had him pacing like a little kid waiting for Santa to arrive. There were things that I could have told him about the apartment’s owner, but there was a reason that I had kept the two of them from meeting. Their skills overlapped, that was the main thing. She was a much better driver than him, and he hated not being the best at anything. The most important reason, she was attractive, and single, and I hated to think that a solid working relationship I had with a New York transportation specialist of her caliber be wrecked because of how cavalier he was with his smiles and how many relationships he left smoldering behind him.
The fact that he had not alienated or tossed Sadie to the side was simply stunning. A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed that Kyle Lachlan could maintain a relationship longer than a few encounters at the most. Not days, not weeks, just how many times could he be face to face with a woman before he was done with her? His relationships had never been marked by time but rather encounters, until Sadie…
He had grown so much, had changed so much, it was simply astounding when I stopped to really think about it.
Sadie was up before he got back, which I completely expected. I could almost set a clock by her nocturnal insecurities. When she walked into the lounge, overlooking the city, she wiped at her face and made a mumble of words that I took to be a general round of questioning.
“Fifty-three minutes, that might be a new record,” I said.
“Fifty what now?” She scratched the side of her head.
