Chapter 1: Assignations and assassinations

“This jungle has more predators, more diseases, and more poisonous inhabitants than any we encountered in French Guiana, Philippe,” the Chevalier said. We were seated in the quiet out of the way bistro/bar we often frequented when serving at Quartier Vienot Aubagne. “I confess I underestimated the difficulty of merging into civilian life and found in the main civilians to be untrustworthy, undisciplined and selfish,” he continued after taking a long pull at the pilsner beer he favoured when not consuming an Armagnac or a Rhone Valley red. “I thought I could use civilians in my work but found the several young men I have employed so far to be unreliable and unable to carry out a simple order. However I know that with you as a partner my plans for my life after the legion will be successful.”

He then made me a proposition – not that sort of proposition – and I recall if not the exact words then the main points of the conversation.

“Before I left French Guiana I advised you to continue practising your card skills, especially bridge and poker,” he began. “I hope you took my advice as I want you to join me in visiting casinos; there is money to be had playing vingt et un, where casino money is wagered against customers’ money, although casino management keep a sharp eye out for card counting customers and others who try and win more often than the casino does. Casinos also host games of poker where the dealers are casino employees and the casino takes a percentage of the winnings. It is at these games we will spend most of our time. We will not venture any money on the roulette table as all casinos have rigged tables that, naturally, favour the casino. During the Season, bridge tournaments are held in many towns along the Cote d’Azur, my intended area of operation for this year. Competitors pay an entrance fee, the organisers take a percentage of the money accrued and the rest is prize money. I think we would be prize winners more often than not.”

I nodded my head. “Yes Chev –Maurice, I have kept my hand in with games of bridge and poker although I have not played vingt et un, but I believe it similar to Pontoon, a card game that Alfie Hinds introduced me to when in Djibouti.”

Maurice smiled. “Yes I believe the English call vingt et un ‘pontoon’ but what a card game has to do with crossing rivers defeats me.” He gave a slight chuckle before continuing. “As you are well aware, Philippe, another of my pursuits is entertaining young females – young as in barely legal. I know some think me a pervert to prey on innocent virginal girls but I can assure you the young females I snare, or rather who allow themselves to be snared, know a damn sight more about male genitalia than many fully trained nurses and are no more virginal than the Harlot of Babylon! The young girls I seek are the wards, daughters, nieces, or family friends, of older females. I once was able to entertain both age groups but unfortunately my years are beginning to tell on me and after satisfying the elder female sometimes I am unable to accomplish the same for the younger, or vice versa. I need a younger man to take care of the older female, and before you look askance the older females are always in prime condition and I know you have had older females when in French Guiana. Professor Blosson continues to sing your praises and if we ever visit Lyon no doubt she will welcome you with open arms ... and thighs. Time was I’d leave one female exhausted and sated and then hop into the bed of the other female and later leave her in an equal state but latterly that feat has too often been beyond me. I will therefore concentrate all my energy on the young female and you, Philippe, will keep the older one occupied.”

“So you want me to be a gigolo and take care of the older female while you ... attend to the young girl in her care?”

He nodded his head. “That’s it in a nutshell, Philippe. We will stay at the best hotels and enjoy the best cuisine. We will spend the days seeing the sights, the evenings playing cards and the nights entertaining females. A life well lived I would think. However there is one stipulation I must insist on, and I need you to give me your solemn oath you will abide by it.”

“That sounds rather serious, Maurice.”

.”Yes, and it is something I do not ask lightly, Philippe. When we are interacting with the females met during the season...”

“When you say ‘interacting’ do you mean when we are screwing them?”

“I think ‘entertaining’ is probably a more fitting term but I take your point. When we are entertaining the females we will not be using condoms. All females now take a pill to prevent conception but another reason for wearing condoms is protection against sexual infections. I assure you that all the females we will be entertaining will be infection free. The first thing ascertained between me and any mature female who is willing for me to entertain her ward while my associate entertains her is that all parties have certification of good sexual health. You and I will be medically examined before the start of the Season and our partners will also be fully certificated. However, you will probably pick up young women for sex when not entertaining mature females and I need your word of honour that you will always wear protection when consorting with casual pickups, unless they can prove they are free from any sexual disease by showing a certificate of good sexual health. I need your promise on this, Philippe, else we cannot work together.”

It seemed a fair request and I gave Maurice my word of honour that I would always use a condom when engaging with females other than those chosen by him. We shook hands on the deal and that was that and I entered the world of a part time gigolo and full time gambler.

It was later that evening when we were seated in the lounge of the Grand Hôtel in Marseille, where Maurice had booked us adjoining rooms, relaxing with an Armagnac each after a particularly good dinner that Maurice introduced me to another role I would play in the partnership.

“Although we have left active service and are no longer serving legionnaires we may be called on by the Republic to assist in Legion Business,” he said.

“What sort of legion business?”

“The sort of business that in the Legion was usually given to Away Teams,” he replied, and I realised where this conversation was headed.

“You mean we will be carrying out assassinations?”

“We don’t use that term, Philippe, and refer to the procedure as a reassignment. ‘Accidents’ are arranged to reassign someone from being active and dangerous to being de-active and mourned, and I would like you to join my reassignment team.”

I was shocked and amazed that the Legion carried out killings on behalf of the Republic, but when Maurice explained the whys and wherefores it made a sort of sense.

“There are some well-known people – in politics, religion, business, entertainment and sport – that are looked up to by the general public who think them as pillars of respectability and role models. However beneath their facade of propriety they are unwholesome in various ways: criminals engaged in drug and people trafficking (sex trade and slavery), bankers and accountants ripping off the public and private purses by so called white collar crime making billions of francs and not paying a cent in tax, sexual deviants and degenerates preying on the young and vulnerable, traitors who sell our secrets to our enemies, and people who know too much about unseemly actions of the government and resort to blackmail,” said Maurice. “They all consider themselves above the law; in fact they are so elevated in their sphere of influence that should their criminal activity be brought to public attention the damage to the fabric of society would be immense. These people rely on that to keep from being arrested and tried in open court.”

“So the Legion arranges for them to be ‘reassigned’ and...”

“Not serving members,” Maurice interrupted me. “Former legionnaires, allowing the powers that be plausible deniability should anything untoward in a reassignment be discovered.”

“And what happens to the former legionnaires if they are discovered to be involved?”

“I imagine, in the parlance of today, they would be thrown under a bus!” He smiled at the alarm that suffused my face. “However, so far all reassignments have been executed without any suspicion being aroused and with no evidence of criminal activity discovered. I have plenty of experience in reassigning evildoers!”

I have lost count of the numbers of mature females I ‘entertained’ during the five years I partnered Maurice Champignon. Their faces, bodies, names, and the locations where the entertaining took place have merged into one amorphous mass yet every ‘reassignment’ I attended is a vivid memory of person, place, and method.

That being said I still recall the first pair of females Maurice and I ‘entertained’ during the Season, ie April to August inclusive, of my first year of leaving the legion as we worked our way West to East along the Côte d’Azure. We first spent a week In Cannes where Maurice made a tidy sum of money playing vingt et un in the casinos. Not wishing to draw the attention of the casinos’ security to his winning ways, and with no likely quarry sighted, we moved further east. I can’t remember where we eventually picked up the two females; probably Antibes but it might have been Nice. Whatever, Maurice spotted a likely prospect walking along the promenade accompanied by an older woman; both females were flaxen haired, blue eyed, and bonny.

“Dutch,” Maurice said with a certitude built on experience. “They are extremely friendly people and thanks to all the cycling they do the females have firm thighs and powerful muscles, and are always most appreciative after being entertained.” He accosted the mature female who I estimated to be in her mid-forties and she and Maurice were soon chatting away as if they were old friends. The pair of Dutch females, Maurice had correctly identified their nationality, were from Bergen op Zoom; Julianna was the aunt of Beatrix and the pair were in France to improve Beatrix’s French. They both spoke better French than Maurice or I spoke Dutch, and Julianna was obviously flattered to be accosted by such a charming Frenchman as Maurice, although she shot me surreptitious glances as if measuring me up. Beatrix I estimated to be no older than fifteen, if that, and displayed the bored expression only the young can maintain in the face of Maurice’s charm offensive. Even so she gave me and Maurice speculative looks as if assessing our bank balances as well as the size of our equipment.

That evening, after dinner in the casino’s restaurant and a twirl around the dance floor for Julianna and me, I was assiduously plugging Julianna’s overflowing dike with fingers, tongue, and penis in the hotel suite Maurice and I shared. Maurice was engaged in a similar activity in his bedroom with a vocalising Beatrix, who used a mixture of French, Dutch, and Anglo Saxon to express her delight at his expertise. We continued entertaining the two Dutch females energetically and enthusiastically for a week before they returned to the Netherlands after having their dikes well and truly plugged. Maurice and I continued eastward along the coast, weary but well pleased with ourselves. Before departing for Bergen op Zoom Julianna gave me a gift of a pair of silver cufflinks inset with sardonyx, which she said was my birth stone although I don’t recall telling her my birth month. I still have the cufflinks although the gifts given me by other grateful women who I had entertained were soon sold.

We arrived at Menton in the middle of August, the final stop along the Cote d’Azure, and stayed at the Hotel Imperial where Maurice booked a suite consisting of two en-suite bedrooms and a central lounge. Each bedroom could be entered from the corridor and each bedroom opened onto the central lounge. We spent our days walking the town scanning for likely pairs of females while visiting casinos for Maurice to relieve them of money via vingt et un. Unfortunately there didn’t appear to be many, if any, pairs of young and mature females aboutas it was the nub end of the season and most such pairings would now be returning to their homes and humdrum lives. There were plenty of young women in eye catching clothing wandering between town and beach, several of whom gave me the eye, but I had to remain female free should any mature female guardian suddenly appear and need to be taken care of while Maurice entertained her young ward.

Maurice was on a winning streak at the casino and even with the paucity of young girls he decided to remain in Menton until the season ended at the end of the month. Needless to say there were several establishments in the area catering for older men who sought young females, and no doubt when the spirit took him, or his winning streak ended, Maurice would spend time and money at such a house of pleasure.

I knew of Maurice’s predilection for young girls and looked on it as something of a weakness in him but in Menton he added to the insight I had received in French Guiana for his ‘addiction, when he revealed that he had lost the love of his life when not much older than fourteen and had spent the rest of his life searching for signs of his lost love in the young girls he screwed. (Although he would never use such crude term and substituted ‘entertained’).

“Many people, perhaps at first even you, Philippe, regard me little better than a paedophile for my attraction to young girls.” I opened my mouth ready to deny the accusation but he held up his hand to silence me. “I know what people think but they are wrong. There are men who prey on young, innocent girls to debauch, debase, and drag down to their level of degeneracy but I am not and never was that sort of man. I admit I have taken the virginity of young girls but only when offered to me as a gift, which I treasured. The type of young girl who attracts me and whom I take to bed are not the innocents they appear; they may well look virginal and pure but beneath that chaste exterior is a lascivious, even lecherous, spirit that they are well aware of and know how to use, as did Clothilde. She was at least two years younger than me but had the knowledge of Eve and seduced me, teaching me sexual practises I doubt many married women knew of. Clothilde was a fascinating mixture of virgin and Jezebel. I know now she was a one off but nevertheless continue searching for someone like her. Occasionally I find a girl with some of her sensuality and I will go on searching until I die, when hopefully Clothilde and I will be joined together for eternity!”

The Season ends on the last day of August and we were contemplating moving on to pastures new during the following two months engaging in bridge competitions with no entertaining of females to spoil our concentration, although if any willing female came my way I was ready to take advantage, suitably garbed in a condom of course. However Maurice had taken a liking to Menton and the Hotel Imperial and decided to remain in the town and hotel until he left for Morocco at the beginning of November. It transpired the Cote d’Azure area was a bridge playing hotspot and we enrolled in a competition being held eight kilometres (5 miles) to the east of Menton at Ventimiglia in Italy. The tournament was held over two days and we took the second prize of 200,000 lire, but before you think we were fabulously rich that was worth about 900 francs, which is roughly $130! Fortunately another tournament was being held in Monte Carlo the following week. This time we claimed first prize of 2500 francs ($350). It was when we were celebrating our Monte Carlo victory in the lounge bar of the Hotel Imperial that I first saw Yolande Faucher. A tall woman, at least 175cm (5 ft 9 in) and with the poise and elegance of a Contessa entered the room. There was something about her that reminded me of Rosa from the Hotel Kaliphornika in Marseilles, although this female was not as voluptuously full figured as Rosa and wore her light brown hair in a braid. I watched her swaying hips with pleasure as she walked to the bar and exchanged a few words with the barman before leaving with a bottle of absinthe in her hand. The woman was dressed in a plain black, through buttoned, knee length dress that had the Hotel Imperial logo on the collar so obviously she was an employee but not one I had seen before. I noted how the buttons of the dress strained over what was obviously a fine pair of breasts beneath the black dress. Our eyes met as she passed by my table; I had admiration in mine but hers were unfathomable. I beckoned over a waiter and ordered another Armagnac apiece for Maurice and me and then casually asked who the woman was.

“That was Madame Yolande Faucher, M’sieu. She is the hotel’s housekeeper.”

“Housekeeper?”

“Yes, she is in charge of the cleaners and chambermaids and is responsible for the cleanliness of the guests’ rooms and the bed linen and towels. She has her own apartment in the hotel.”

I promised myself I would get to know the Housekeeper more intimately. Maurice and I would be staying at the hotel until the end of October before he flew off to Morocco, returning to France in March the following year. I, well, I wasn’t sure what I would be doing after Maurice left for North Africa, but before then I hoped Madame Faucher and I would be bosom pals!

Through the months of September and October Maurice and I entered the many bridge tournaments in the region. We won several first and second prizes and our winnings more than covered our outlay in entrance fees. Overall, we had experienced a good season, and what with my split of the bridge tournaments’ winnings, my monthly legion pension, money from the sale of the gifts given me by grateful ‘customers’, and my savings I was content to remain in the hotel until Maurice left for Morocco and then I would travel to Marseille and find some cheap lodgings and a stop gap job until the start of the next season in April.

It was the middle of October before I again encountered Madame Faucher. Maurice was not at breakfast that morning as he had been at an all-night poker game and was still asleep in his room. I therefore had a solitary breakfast and went for our regular constitutional walk along the promenade alone. There were still plenty of attractive young women in skimpy dresses passing by catching my attention, although the summer heat had waned now we were well into autumn. On my return to the Imperial, I was surprised but pleased to see Madame Yolande Faucher behind the reception desk.

“Good morning, Madame Faucher,” I said with what I hoped was a friendly tone of voice. “I didn’t know you were also the receptionist.”

She gave the practised smile of a frequently accosted attractive woman. “I stand in when required, M’sieu,” she paused, searching her memory bank “Soissons.”

I was impressed that she knew my name but even more impressed with her now I that I viewed her up close. She wore a white, smooth satin, blouse that was peaked by her breasts, and although I noted the buttons of the blouse went up to the neck of the garment the top two were unfastened indicating a deep cleavage beneath. Her eyes were remarkable; large, almond shaped with light grey irises, and had an Asian slant to them. She had drawn attention to her amazing eyes with mascaraed eyelashes and kohl eye shadow. There were laugh lines around the mouth and eyes of her oval shaped face, her lips were full and glistening, and her complexion was the local, Mediterranean, light olive pigmentation. She was older than I had first thought, being at least as old, possibly older, as Rosa in Marseille, but nevertheless Yolande Faucher was a handsome, well-presented female. She had been studying me as I was appraising her, although she showed no sign of what she thought of me whereas I was certain my admiration for her was obvious.