Nobody Dies For Free Read online

  ***

  Winter drove a black Jaguar. As they road along the streets of Boston, Monroe assured her more than once that the gun was still aimed at her even if it was hidden from her view. He had also taken her handbag and had it on the floor between his feet so she could not get at her phone or whatever else she had in there.

  They arrived at one of Boston’s most exclusive residential areas and navigated their way to the property of Cyril Benson. The construction emperor had a big, impressive mansion with a little guard shack on the narrow private road that led up to the house. Winter rolled down the window just enough to smile at the guard and the gate let up instantly.

  Having her along worked like a charm for Monroe. They parked, got out, and were easily let into the mansion by two armed men at the front door. Inside, there was even a butler.

  “Tell your master,” Winter said with authority, “that Mr. Monroe and I need to speak with him alone.”

  The butler went away and returned a minute later with a polite, “In Mr. Benson’s study, Ms. Willows. You know the way.”

  It was a big office, full of books and an assortment of awards and trophies given to Benson by the mayor, the governor, and various unions and organizations. Cyril Benson sat behind a desk with a scowl on his face as Monroe and Winter entered.

  The door closed behind the visitors and Monroe wasted no time showing the Glock now that they were out of sight of any guards or servants.

  “I want you out from behind that desk, Benson,” Monroe commanded. “Over there, to that couch! You too, Winter; sit next to him! And don’t even think about tripping any alarms; you’d be dead before the guards got here in any case.”

  Monroe had them seated in seconds. He grabbed a wheeled swivel chair and rolled it to a position six feet in front of them, where he could sit and keep the gun handy but be well out of their reach should they decide to do anything stupid.

  “You sent Ms. Willows to kill me tonight, Benson. I should put a bullet between your eyes right now…but I don’t think the hit was your idea. I think you’re just a puppet this time, so I’m going to do this a little differently. I’m going to show my hand, lay all my cards on the table, and give you a choice. In fact, you just might be happy with the result. Are you willing to listen?”

  “I don’t think I have any other options at the moment, do I, Mr. Monroe?” Benson asked with gravel and slime in his voice.

  “Only the option of death,” Monroe said coldly.

  “Then say what’s on your mind, you arrogant bastard!” Cyril Benson shouted.

  “You’ve got quite a nice operation going here in Boston, Benson,” Monroe said, “but don’t you wish you had a bit more independence? You might be king here, but it seems you still have to pay taxes to the emperor, isn’t that right?”

  Benson made a grumbling noise and Monroe kept talking.

  “I’m sure you know something about me by now, Benson, like the fact that I used to be CIA. Well I’m no longer with that agency. The fact is, I’ve been promoted and I’ve got ties to a lot of things now. In short, Mr. Benson, if I suddenly disappear, if you kill me or otherwise keep me from reporting to my superiors, certain movements will take place. The IRS will freeze all your legitimate assets. The FBI will come marching into town with a wad of warrants as thick as the phone book and take apart everything you own until all your not-so-legitimate businesses are just ashes scattered to the wind. Caesar the Car King will move into your territory and so will the heads of the Russian and Colombian drug cartels. Even if you manage to wiggle your way out of all the trouble my sudden disappearance puts you in, any room for you to breathe in this town will be quickly usurped by those others with similar interests since nature, after all, abhors a vacuum. Are we speaking the same language now?”

  Benson nodded.

  “Good,” Monroe said. “Now on the other hand, I want you to know that I really don’t give a damn what you do here in Boston or how you run your little businesses. In fact, I’d be content to let you keep things just as they are, but with one slight improvement. How would you like to never have to worry about paying your master his share of your profits again? I bet you’d just love that! It’s not you I’m after at all, but Garrett Khan. If you can point me in his direction, this silly little game between you and I will be at an end. Now what do you think of that?”

  Benson stared back at Monroe. His thick lips had begun to quiver in a mix of fear and anger.

  “You have my permission to speak now, Cyril,” Monroe said, tapping the barrel of the Glock on the arm of the swivel chair.

  “He’ll have me killed,” Benson said.

  “Not if I kill him first,” Monroe shot back. “Give me the information I’m asking for. Tell me everything you know about Khan’s current activities and whereabouts, and then you can slip out of Boston and go hide wherever you want like a scared kitten until I’ve done what I need to do. Give me my answers and let me borrow Ms. Willows for a while and you’re free to run for your life if you’re that afraid of Khan’s vengeance.”

  “Me?” Winter squealed. “Why do you want me?”

  “Because,” Monroe said with a frozen glare, “I’ve come to enjoy your company, even if you did try to kill me. At least you had the courtesy to try to do it in the best possible way. Now, Cyril, just nod if we’re in agreement.”

  Cyril Benson did nod. “Can I get up and go to my computer?” he asked.

  “Stand up slowly,” Monroe said, “keep those hands visible and don’t do anything that might tempt me to call off our deal and finish you. Sit down at the desk and I’ll stand behind you and watch over your shoulder. Winter, stay on that couch.”

  Monroe stood three feet behind Benson as the computer flashed into operation. It was not as much room between him and his target as Monroe would normally have given himself, but the desk was quite close to the rear wall of the room. Monroe was not worried, for he did not think Benson had the speed or the guts to try anything.

  Benson brought some information up on the screen as Monroe peered over his shoulder. There were numbers, email addresses.

  “I hope what I give you will be enough to keep that trigger from squeezing,” Benson said. “I swear I don’t know exactly where Khan is located now!”

  “Just give me what you have,” Monroe demanded.

  Benson punched a few more keys and the printer beside the desk came to life. It whirred and hummed for a moment and spat out a single sheet of paper. Monroe reached over with his free hand and grabbed it, looked it over.

  “Email addresses and bank account numbers: is that all?”

  “I’m sorry,” Benson said, “but men like Garrett Khan don’t just call you up and chat when they want something. The email is how I contact him if I really need to tell him something or if he really needs to get in touch with me. Otherwise, I just have the money he takes from me sent to that account on the fifteenth of each month. I’ve only met him in person a few times and it’s been years since the last time. I swear that’s all I know!”

  “Fine,” Monroe said. “If I were you, I’d pack and take a few of your most trusted lieutenants and leave Boston as soon as you can. And remember, if this backfires or if this information is false, you’ll have more to worry about than just Garrett Khan putting out a contract on you. Goodnight!”

  Benson said nothing, just slumped in his chair, pale and weary.

  Monroe made it to the door, began to open it, slipped his gun into his jacket to avoid alarming the butler or the guards, and called out, “Let’s go, Winter! I need a lift!”

  Chapter 12: Shades of White and Black

  Monroe took Winter back to his apartment, locked the door behind them after they entered, and motioned for her to sit down on his couch. He stood over her and spoke seriously and coldly.

  “You are not to leave this apartment unless I’m with you. You are not to try to call or otherwise contact anyone. If you try to injure me in any way, I will kill you. We can do this one of two ways, W
inter: you can be my guest here or you can be my prisoner. The choice is yours, but I need you to stick around because I intend for you to help me go after Garrett Khan once I find out where he is. Now stay there while I make a phone call.”

  ***

  “It’s late, Monroe,” Mr. Nine said as he answered. “Even ancient mariners and elderly soldiers need sleep.”

  “It’s not that late and you’re not that old, sir,” Monroe said. “I need some information. I have leads but no trails.”

  “What’ve you got for me?”

  “Email addresses and bank accounts. Should I text them to you?”

  “Go ahead,” Mr. Nine said. “We’re secure enough. I’ll get back to you when I get back to you.”

  Click.

  ***

  “So, Winter,” Monroe said, “what shall we do with the rest of our evening? Are we going to be friends, or bitter enemies?”

  “I’ll try to act civilized,” Winter answered, “if you don’t slap me again.” She glanced around the apartment from her seat. “I suppose we could watch TV, but sit on the opposite end of the couch and don’t touch me.”

  “Fine.” Monroe sat down after hanging his jacket on the back of a chair. He put the Glock down on the table. He picked up the remote, turned the television on, flipped through a dozen or so channels and then stopped. “Do you know what this is, Winter?”

  “That’s Cary Grant,” she said.

  “This, my dear,” Monroe said, “is To Catch a Thief, one of my absolute favorite movies. You know, when I first began to do what I do, years ago, I modeled my field persona, probably unconsciously at the time, on the character Grant plays in this film. Relax, this is a good one.”

  Neither spoke during the film. When it was over, as the credits rolled down the screen:

  “Richard?”

  “Yes?”

  “I really did enjoy our night together at the Crown. When I did what I did earlier this evening, I was only doing what I was told to do…and there may have been some regret had I succeeded.”

  “I know. We all have our jobs to do, Winter. For now at least, we can be on the same side. Are you ready for bed?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No, and I’m keeping you next to me for my own safety, but I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. Sleep is all I have planned for us…unless you have other ideas.”

  “We’ll see what happens,” Winter said.

  They rose from the couch. Monroe turned off the television and issued another stern warning to Winter to not do anything stupid. He went into the bathroom to ready himself for bed and emerged a few minutes later to find her standing there behaving like a child who knows the penalty for disobedience. He let her go next, telling her where to find a spare toothbrush. When she came out, she was as scantily clad as she had been the previous time she had come out of that bathroom. They went into the bedroom. Winter climbed into bed first, pulled the blankets over her body.

  “This friend of mine,” Monroe said, showing his gun one more time before slipping it under the pillow, “will be sleeping with us. Don’t think you can get to it before I do.”

  He undressed and climbed in beside her, leaving space between them, and shut off the light. He rolled onto his side, facing away from Winter, with his hand brushing the butt of the Glock under the pillow, just in case. He let his mind relax, knowing himself well enough to trust his ability to spring to wakefulness almost instantly if his bedmate made any move to injure him or escape. He had just about drifted off when Winter’s voice broke the silence.

  “Richard?”

  “Yes…” he said with a sigh behind the words. It was beginning to feel more like an old married couple’s routine than a pair of very ruthless people thrown together by dangerous circumstances.

  “This Garrett Khan business…”

  “What about it?”

  “This isn’t just one of your missions, is it? There’s something personal going on.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I’m good at reading men, it’s how I got where I am now. And I can tell you’re trying very hard to do this job professionally…but there’s something else in there, beneath the surface, a certain intensity about to boil over. You’re not just out to shut down an international criminal. You really want to kill this specific man.”

  “Yes…I do.”

  “Why?”

  “He killed my wife.”

  “Oh shit… Can I ask?”

  “Fine,” Monroe said. “I headed up a CIA operation in Paris which basically demolished everything Khan had going on in that city. In retaliation, after a long enough delay to make me feel safe, he sent a sniper to shoot her as we walked into the Paris Opera. She bled to death on the front steps of the place.”

  “I’m sorry,” Winter said, and she sounded like she meant it. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “It’s all right,” Monroe said. “You didn’t know.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Genevieve. She was born and raised in France. I met her when I was assigned to Paris. I was going to give up this stupid life of seeking and destroying, live like a normal man, live to be an old man with an old wife and not worry about nations destroying nations anymore. Khan took that away from me. That’s what’s different about this job, Winter. Understand now?”

  “Yeah,” Winter said quietly. “I think we should just go to sleep now.”

  Monroe said nothing else. He let the night take him away.

  ***

  Monroe woke to the smell of coffee, opened his eyes to see daylight coming in through the window, and heard the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He could still feel the gun under his pillow.

  He got up, pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, shuffled out of the bedroom to find Winter Willows pouring two mugs of steaming coffee. She was wearing one of his shirts and his sweatpants, which were too big for her and looked almost comical as all that half-filled fabric hung around her slim body and the tips of her toes stuck out from under the cuffs of the pants.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “Hello,” Monroe replied. “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

  “It really is a nice place, Richard, once it stops feeling like a cell. Why don’t you go shave and all the other stuff a man does to become presentable?”

  “In a second,” Monroe said, turning back toward the bedroom. “I’m taking my friend with me.”

  “That silly gun again?” Winter asked. “Is that really necessary?”

  “Yes,” Monroe said adamantly, and he walked away.

  He had just finished shaving when Winter began to pound on the bathroom door.

  “Richard, your phone is buzzing!”

  Monroe yanked the door open, rushed out, and grabbed the phone. Only one person could be calling. “Good morning, sir,” he said.

  “Are you ready for this, Monroe?” Mr. Nine asked. The way he said it made Monroe anxious.

  “Let me have it, sir.”

  “The bank account is South American, but that’s no real surprise. A lot of less scrupulous types funnel money through the countries down there. It’s that email account which I think you’ll find much more interesting. Unless the IP address is being run through some sort of loop—and the technical experts I had look into it for me don’t think it is—Garrett Khan is in Paris of all places.”

  “Paris…” Monroe had not wanted to hear that. “But why would he be there, sir? All his operations in France were shut down just as they were in London and New York, all in that one day’s work. Is he rebuilding in Paris?”

  “No,” Mr. Nine said. “Nobody’s seen any signs of him investing in the Parisian underworld again. But maybe that’s the reason why he’s chosen to live there for the time being. Remember the old saying about not shitting where you eat?”

  “Yes, sir. Who would think to look for him in a city where he’s not suspected of much activity?”

 
“Precisely, Monroe,” Mr. Nine agreed.

  “Can I go?” Monroe asked.

  “Can I stop you?”

  “Only with a bullet, sir, and maybe not even then.”

  “I’ll have a ticket sent over within the afternoon then, Monroe. You can fly out tonight.”

  “Make it two tickets, sir. I won’t be travelling alone.”

  “Fine, and good luck,” the chief said.

  Click.

  “Get dressed, Winter,” Monroe said as he put the phone down. “We’re going over to your place so you can pack and grab your passport.”

  “You know, Richard,” Winter Willows said, smiling, “I’ve never been to Paris, if you can believe that.”

  ***

  Mr. Nine had sent first-class tickets. Monroe and Winter were in the air by eight that evening, seated beside each other with Monroe at the window.

  “I suppose you still have friends in Paris,” Winter said.

  “Business friends,” Monroe specified. “I don’t intend to call on the social kind. They can stay in the land of memory.”

  “And you know the city well?”

  “I spent five years there, I should hope so.”

  Winter nodded. As she did so, she pulled forward a handful of strands of her long hair and held it in front of her eyes for a moment. She had changed. After stopping by her apartment to collect her things and before heading to the airport, Monroe had insisted that they make one other stop. Winter’s white hair was now a deep shade of almost-black and she hated it.

  “I still can’t believe you made me do this, you bastard,” she said in a whisper.

  “I’m sorry,” Monroe said, but added a chuckle. “Professional precaution: you can’t argue that you didn’t have a distinctive look, Winter. I don’t need you being recognized the moment we step off this plane.”