Chapter 24: Eyeful Tower

Tuesday, August 29th, 2006, Paris, France

Blinding sunlight woke me as it streamed in through the wide-open curtains. They were made of white lace, and they lazily danced around like gossamer-thin butterfly wings as a breeze chose that instant to come sighing through. For a moment, I was disoriented and struggled to remember where I was. Then it all came back to me. We were in France. Across from the Eiffel Tower. And there was another ring hidden somewhere in the Louvre of all places.

Then I remembered more than I wanted to.

Maria was gone.

It hit me all over again, and my heart lurched with the realization. Without a doubt, I’d wake up like this for a long, long time. A conversation I’d had with my Mom about three years ago suddenly flashed through my head. I’d caught her crying in the kitchen one morning and had asked what was wrong as I’d given her a hug, trying my best to comfort her. She’d sobbed that it had been one of those particularly hard mornings and explained that in the foggy confusion between waking up and being aware, that she’d automatically turned over, reaching out to feel for our Dad on his side of the bed, only to realize that she couldn’t because he was gone. That was roughly a year or so after our Dad had been lost to cancer. I imagine that a part of me will always feel the same way—as if there was a ghost in the bed where my Maria should be.

My heart panged again; her mother would be holding an all-night wake tonight, and the funeral was set for tomorrow. I should be there, but I wasn’t because wherever I went, death followed. Fuck did that last thought hurt. I kissed Maria’s necklace, prayed that wherever she was that it was better than here, and then pushed my sorrow and longing from my head, it was a brand new day, and there was a ton of stuff to organize. Violet was right, I couldn’t hold my grief inside to fester, but I also knew that I couldn’t let it consume my day either. I’d need to find a balance and let my women comfort me as I comforted them in return.

My sigh turned into a yawn as I struggled to sit up from between Stacy and Heather, whose naked bodies were pressed up against me on either side. I was face to face with Stacy, and Abby was cuddled tight to her back, both their visages looking serene and beautiful in their slumber. Which reminded me, I needed to address my sister’s guilt and her possible desire to turn sadistic at some point today. What Malachar had told me was disturbing—that she wanted to learn how to torture.

Disentangling myself from Heather’s arm, I slipped out of bed, doing my best not to jostle my shoulder, which was already throbbing like a son-of-a-bitch. It was cute how Heather immediately scooted over, blindly looking for the warm body that was suddenly missing. She found Stacy and snuggled into her without waking up. With a burst of affection flowing through me, I looked over at the digital alarm clock, one of the few things in this place that was modern; it was 7:35. Damn. We had only managed to fall asleep about four hours ago. Apparently, my need for less sleep was back.

I shuffled our mound of suitcases and bags around until I was able to dig mine out. Man, this room was cramped for a master bedroom. Well, more like cramped because I was in here with six women and a toddler, I chuckled ruefully to myself. With a snort, I realized that I’d already gotten so used to living in such relative luxury, and in so short a time, that I was quickly becoming jaded towards anything less than magnificence. This apartment was probably worth a small fortune, but I was already so picky that it failed to meet the numerous requirements that I had developed over the last month. I’d have to watch that, I couldn’t stand snobbery, and if I turned into one, I’d kick my own ass.

I pulled on a pair of shorts, slipped on my sling, checked that my bandages were still secure on my shoulder, and grabbed a morphine pill from my bag. Hopefully, there would be some coffee I could make to wash it down with. Before leaving the room, I glanced over at the bed, and next to it, the mattress on the floor. My heart swelled with love for Billy and my sleeping beauties even as it ached for the one that was missing. They definitely needed the sleep; I hoped they didn’t get up until much later. I had to protect them; I couldn’t lose anyone else.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, I closed the door behind me and stumbled my way to the washroom. I took my morning piss and splashed cold water on my face, washing away any last vestiges of sleep from my eyes. Then I wandered down the long hallway peeking into the library and sitting room, seeing David, Lurch, number Three, and Fourteen sleeping on a couple of couches and a settee within. Sharif and Alan were on the two chesterfields in the living room, and they both cracked their eyes as soon as I entered, closing them again after recognizing that it was me. And here I thought that I was being as quiet as a mouse; soldiers training and instinct, I guess.

I tip-toed my way to the kitchen, where I rummaged through cupboards looking for coffee, which I finally discovered after a few minutes. I groaned when I saw that it was next to a French press. Sure enough, as I scoured the rest of the room, there was no coffee maker. I vaguely knew what a press was but had never used one before and wasn’t quite sure how to do it. Figures they’d be all fancy over here, even about something as simple as making a cup of joe. I located the kettle, put some water on to boil, and then went to find wherever Jaques had crawled off to. He had a job that was way more important than anything the CIA had ever set him to task on—he had to help get me caffeinated.

I stealthily searched each room, even the spare bedrooms, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found. Unexpectedly, I did get a good view of one of Violet’s tits. She was sound asleep facing me when I opened one of the spare bedroom doors, and the light sheet that she and Aimee had used as a blanket had ended up bunched down at their waists. They were back to back, and Violet’s loose nightshirt had pulled up to her armpit underneath her. Her well-rounded, perfect handful of a breast lay wholly exposed, her shirt running diagonally across her body to her hip. God, was it sublime, her nipple was a light dusky-rose, and the smattering of freckles that ran across the top of it and into her cleavage was mouth-watering. I got an instant hardon, and it took every ounce of willpower that I possessed to pull my gaze away while closing the door, preserving her privacy.

Fuck, I wanted her so badly—even though I was mourning. I also wanted to bang the shit out of Angie too. With her, I could get as aggressive as I wanted, and I was feeling mighty aggressive the past few days. She liked rough sex, and I wanted to take my frustration, hurt, anger, and pain out on someone by having a mind-numbing fuck-a-thon. I couldn’t do that with any of the others. Who was I kidding—I couldn’t do that right now either, not with the shape that I was in. Sex with Ang would probably put me straight into the morgue at this point. I sighed in frustration. Maybe I could get her to ride me hard with her ass. Fuck, even just entertaining that thought made me realize that I was delusional.

In my desperation for caffeine, I was just about to go back to the kitchen—intending to try and figure out how to use the press on my own—when Jaques came bustling into the apartment, humming quietly to himself. He was carrying a half dozen boxes; they smelled like fresh baked goods. Whatever it was, it smelled fantastic, and my stomach growled in anticipation.

“Bonjour! Good morning! I’m an early riser and thought that you’d appreciate some fresh croissants when you woke up,” he chattered away amiably as he made his way towards the kitchen. “These are simply to die for. I go out most mornings to get a box from the first batch they make. Did you know that some of the more prestigious bakeries have such a high demand that they are flown into New York daily just in time for the morning rush hour?” Jaques said jovially as he started to putter around, automatically beginning to make the coffee.

“No, I didn’t,” I replied, bemused as he flitted about. I had a feeling that this guy was batting for the other team; his mannerisms were definitely swinging that way, not that I cared. “Those must be some pretty fast jets!”

<I think Jaques likes cock just like you, you knob gobbler.> I laughed in my head.

Sometimes, I lament to myself that you’re my host. It is tragic that the potential freedom from my curse rests in the hands of such an immature boy who possesses less knowledge than a gnat.

<Yeah, yeah, and that coming from a horny old goat of a ghost who’s always spewing dirty limericks about fucking assholes. I’d say that we’re on the same level.> I laughed at him, amused with our bantering.

Hummph! Tourettes is no joke, m’boy!

<You sure about that? You’re awfully funny sometimes.>

The impertinence of youth these days!

I chuckled inwardly when I heard his exaggerated sigh fill my head.

“It used to be Concordes,” Jaques said with a smile. I watched eagerly as he opened the container marked coffee and poured some beans into a grinder that he snagged from a different cupboard. After a pause to grind, he continued as soon as he was done, “They retired the fleet three years ago; now it’s all Airbus, Gulfstreams, and Bombardiers. They are nowhere near as fast, but they still make the crossing from here to New York in six and a half hours. Bakers around here start at midnight,” he added as he carefully measured out grounds into the press and then danced across to the stove, grabbing the kettle.

I grunted noncommittally. I really couldn’t care less about what the bakeries did or didn’t do or what time they opened. I just wanted coffee. Taking a deep whiff, I almost growled in anticipation; the smell of the freshly ground beans was heavenly.

“Open the box, eat one; they’re still warm,” he said as he nodded at the counter. “I hope you like your coffee strong. Do you take sugar and cream?”

“Yes, I do, and I use both, please,” I muttered as I watched him stir the grounds while pouring in the boiled water.

I took a croissant from the top box, and it was still warm as he’d claimed. It smelled delicious. I took a bite and the damn thing nearly melted in my mouth, and oh man, was it ever good!

“Damn, Jaques! You were right; these things are awesome,” I said with my mouth full while stuffing it with another bite of the buttery, flaky goodness.

“Told you,” he said with a grin, “Coffee needs to steep for a few minutes, and then it’ll be ready.”

“So you have a French name and live here, yet you have almost no accent? How come?” I asked curiously between bites as I wolfed down the rest of the first and then a second croissant.

“I was born in Vermont and grew up there,” he shrugged, giving just that vague explanation. “What’re your plans for today?”

“Research, reconnaissance, and acquisition,” I said with all seriousness.

“Anything that I can help with?”

“Yep, lots actually. As soon as I have a second coffee in my hands, I’m gonna hop onto my laptop—speaking of which, I’ll need the password to the internet. Then I’m going to find a couple of necklaces for two of my lovers, learn as much as I can about the Louvre and when Violet gets up, look for whatever items she’s after. Then at some point this afternoon, I want you to drive Sharif and me around the city so that we can learn a variety of routes from here to the museum. We’ll also need to know quick ways out of the city or to the airport.”

“Sure, I can do that, and yeah, that’ll keep you busy for most of the day. I uh ... I can type the password in for you whenever you need—”

“Nah, just tell me. I don’t want to fuss around whenever I need to sign in. Plus, I’m sure that my girls will wanna be logged on too,” I said firmly while I reached for a third croissant.

He turned his back and started pressing down on the plunger, slowly compressing the grounds in the press. Damn, the coffee smelled even better now that it was brewed.

“It’s Tinkerbell underscore 1963 with a capital T,” he mumbled.

“Tinkerbell? As in the fairie from Peter Pan?”

“Yeah,” he murmured quietly, sounding embarrassed.

“So I take it that you’re gay? And 1963 is the year of your birth?”

Looking askance, he simply nodded as he grabbed a couple of cups from where they hung neatly on little hooks.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. No one here will care. As long as you’re not hitting on them at least,” I said with a chuckle.

He got a creamer from the fridge and then turned to face me while setting a sugar bowl in front of me; he looked relieved.

“Thanks, that makes me feel a little better. Here in France, no one much cares what someone’s sexuality is, but in the US ... Well, let’s just say that I’ve faced my share of prejudice over there. Even from within the agency, and that was from before they knew for sure. I didn’t come out until I was assigned here. I was afraid that maybe you’d hold it against me. Sorry for doubting you,” he replied as he looked relaxed once more.

“No worries,” I said with a grunt as I took a sip of the best damn coffee I’d ever had. “Damn! Is everything better over here!? This is the greatest tasting cup of joe I’ve ever had!” I exclaimed right before greedily downing half my cup in one shot.

“What can I say? The French love their coffee and are quite snobby about it. This is an Arabic blend, and is quite good, although I switch between various beans often, never buying the same twice in a row,” Jaques told me, sounding a bit smug. “So how did you get to be a part of the CIA? You seem awfully young to be out on assignment. And if you don’t mind me asking, how and why are you traveling with so many beautiful women? Are they honey trap agents?”

<I almost forgot that this was what it’s like when I use my power subtly, and they don’t know that they’re under my control. They question things and are curious little worker bees. Other than Brock and his buddies, everyone else I’ve just run roughshod over, and when it wears off, they’ll all know what happened to them. I almost like that method better; it saves the tediousness of dealing with them like they actually have a say in things. Oh well, at least this way, I’ll minimize the trail we’ll leave behind when we head to Switzerland.>

This way is much better. Besides, it makes you think on your toes, and even though you’re pretty good at that, practice keeps you sharp.

<Shit! Another compliment!?! Two within twenty-four hours!? Do you have a fever? Can ghosts get sick? Are you getting soft on me?>

What? Are you surprised that I don’t find you to be a completely useless prick all the time? Most of the people the rings pick are above average in something, so don’t let it go to your head, m’boy. If you want, I can start listing all of the qualities you’re severely lacking in, but I warn you that it will take a better part of the morning to relay.

<Ahh! Whew! That’s better! For a second there, I thought that I’d woken up in a strange dimension or something!>

I picked up my cup and walked over to the large corner window, looking out on the majestic view of the Seine and the Eiffel Tower. It was even more spectacular in the daylight because you could properly see the age and magnificence of the buildings around us and the rows of trees growing along both sides of the river banks. Somehow the tower looked even taller than it did at night, though it certainly was a sight when it was all lit up. What I hadn’t noticed last night was all of the pleasure craft and tour boats, many that were docked on the far side. I wasn’t used to seeing so many on a river like that, mainly just on the coast.

“This place definitely has its perks; being eight floors up grants an amazing view,” I commented benignly before answering his questions. “No, they aren’t honey traps. They are my girlfriends, well, except for Violet; she’s the red-head, but I’m working on that. And Aimee, the part Asian looking hotty, is just a friend. As far as what I’m doing here and my apparent youth, it’s above your pay grade. What I can tell you is that we discovered something of great intellectual value and that it has been sitting in the Louvre unnoticed for a very long time. It was miscategorized and completely overlooked for what it was, and it has come to the attention of not only us but the Russians as well. I’m here to sneak it out from right underneath everyone’s nose. Trust me, that’s all I can say on the subject unless your clearance gets elevated a couple of levels.”

Tingle.

“Really? I haven’t heard of any Russian activity outside of the norm across any of the regular channels. Fascinating. Now I’m curious about what it might be, but I understand that you can’t tell me. I’ll certainly assist in any capacity that I can; just let me know what you or Mr. Jacobson need from me.”

“Mr. Jacobson’s undercover as my butler at the moment, I’ve taken to calling him Lurch because not all of my women know what we’re really doing here, and they think it’s funny. They think I’m rich, and that provides me with great cover. Having so many gorgeous women around can be a great distraction to a target when the situation calls for it, especially when they are unaware of the role they’re playing,” I smirked. “Do me a favor—whatever you may hear outside of what I talk about with you personally, just let it go in one ear and out the other. Not everything is as it seems, so don’t bother trying to understand more than I tell you that you need to know,” I commanded firmly.

Tingle.

“Yes, Sir. Not a problem,” he answered respectfully. “Another coffee, Jake?”

“Yes, and keep them coming, please. I could drink these all day,” I commented after emptying my mug and sighing in contentment.

“Since you seem to be pretty open to questions...” he left unfinished while eyeing the bandages on my side, shoulder, and arm while gesturing curiously.

“Lemme guess, you’re wondering about my injuries?”

“Yes, but if it’s too personal...”

“Nah, it’s alright. If I cared, I would have put on a shirt,” I replied while shrugging my good shoulder. “I got them while fucking Angie—she’s the gorgeous one with the deep chocolate-colored eyes and the rich chestnut brown hair hanging halfway down her back,” I said while doing my best to keep a serious face.

“Oh! Um ... well,” he stammered at a loss for words.

“I’m joking with you! I was shot through my side, thankfully it didn’t do any real damage, and my arm was injured while trying to dodge the person who shot me’s pick-up truck as they tried to run me over. The side mirror caught me as I tried to dive out of the way, and it cut me up pretty good, but I’ll mend,” I said with a grin at his look of amazement.

“Damn! I hope they caught him! Other than for training, I’ve never had occasion to shoot my firearm in the line of duty. What I do for the CIA here is pretty tame and standard since the USSR fell apart. Number crunching, the receiving and passing of files, and keeping tabs on all the other spies—you know pretty much routine agency stuff nowadays. It sure isn’t like how the old-timers describe the seventies and eighties as being—that’s for sure. No cold war Berlin for us!”

“No, we didn’t catch him because he never escaped; he’s dead. Now tell me more about your neighbor across the way,” I asked, changing the subject. “I was thinking of introducing myself in case I need a local contact who’s female to escort me around,” I asked as he took my cup and made me another coffee. He was observant; he put precisely the right amount of sugar and cream.

You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.

<A bit yes, I won’t lie. I used to fantasize about what it would be like to be James Bond when I was a kid, and this CIA Frenchy is making it way too easy to play around a little. It’s almost hard to believe that he’s a real agent. He reminds me more of a bumbling accountant than any serious spy.>

James ... James ... Ahh, yes, a scoundrel type of good guy who fucks his way through tons of beautiful women and kills most of his enemies with cold calculation. Not far off from what you’re doing, is it, m’boy? Although, in your case, it’s your brains that are shaken, not stirred.

<Har de har har har. You’re a real comedian. You should stick with magic because when you tell a joke, the laughter seems to disappear.>

Ahh, so like the logic in the majority of your thought processes then!

< Dude! The fucking cackling, man! Jeez!>

“Certainly! She’s a wonderful lady, actually, and we’re pretty good friends. She moved in about a month after I did eight years ago, and we hit it off immediately. She was the first one to guess that I was gay. Anyway, she’s a high-profile investment manager for a local hedge fund company, single, no kids, mid-thirties, and I’m sure that you’d find her quite attractive. I’ve seen her date some, but it seems that her job takes up too much of her time. I keep telling her that she’s letting life pass her by ... but what can you do, eh?”

After getting the information I wanted, I politely cut him off; this Dude could jabber at me all day long if I let him. With a third cup of java, I grabbed my laptop from where we’d stacked them in the living room and perched myself in the same overstuffed highbacked chair that Violet had plopped into last night, and proceeded with my research.

After roughly thirty minutes, I’d found two necklaces that I knew would suit both Stacy and Angie. Stacy’s was a white gold chain with four dark emeralds forming a star outlined by little diamonds. It almost perfectly matched her eye color. Angie’s was ideal; it was a beautifully intricate rose made of rubies and platinum, also on a white gold chain, which was a bit thicker than the delicate ones the other’s had, but by no means was it manly. Appropriately it had tiny little thorns; I hoped she appreciated the symbolism even if she rejected the gesture. I still figured she’d spit on me and throw it away as far as she could—guess, we’ll see.

After being assured that the jeweler would take American, I gave Jaques a whack of cash from one of my duffle bags and sent him to pick them up. Maybe they’d even be here before they woke up. I also told him to think of a few decent places for delivery for both lunch and diner. Sheila was a fantastic cook, but there was no way in Hell that she was going to cook for everyone today and Lurch was as yet untested on his cooking capabilities. Fuck that, he probably couldn’t even make cereal, and I wasn’t in the mood to be his guinea pig!

A selfish part of me wished that I’d taken Alejandra as a lover slash cook. Her food was amazing. Plus, she could efficiently serve as many people as we had, and she was undeniably hot enough to get my mojo going. Ahh, well, she was definitely better off far from me. I really liked her and her two sexy friends, which was why I’d sent them away in the first place. I hoped that they’d all made it to California, safe with their families and new identities.

I spent the next hour reading about the Louvre and its three wings; the Sully, Denon, and the Richelieu. What caught my eye was that they allowed private tours with a guide if you had big bucks to spend. Well, I had megabucks, and the more I read, the better it sounded. According to the statistics that I found, over twenty-three thousand people visited the place daily. Fuck that, I wasn’t going to be stuck rubber-necking in a crowd of sweaty, noisy tourists when I could rent it out for thirty grand or so.

I just hoped that my girls would understand when I only took Violet. I knew that they would end up being jealous, but short of using my power on them, I didn’t know how to prevent that. I definitely wasn’t about to expose them just so they could have some fun, and I planned on using elaborate disguises when we went as a fake tourist couple to make things as safe as I could. I’d have to make it up to them later somehow.

I had just made myself yet another cup of coffee and was in the process of searching for Angie when Violet staggered past me in the hallway, giving me a bleary hello. It was just after eleven, and she was the last to get out of bed; I imagine she stayed up way later than the rest of us while reading again. Heather and Stacy were taking a quick shower together, and my other women were in the kitchen, waiting for Jaques to finish making a fresh pot of his Godly brew. None of them had been awake for more than forty minutes.

Sharif and Alan had woken up a half-hour after I had and were currently sitting with Brock and Chayana in the living room. I’d spoken with them for a while and was glad to see that Brock was doing well so far and that his personality seemed no worse for wear. I felt guilty that I hadn’t really checked on him or his progress after discovering that he was still alive when I’d come out of my coma. Number Three and Fourteen were talking with Lurch as he showed them what parts of the city he was familiar with on a map in the library.

As I was mentally tracking where everyone was, I had the absurd notion that Mr. Plum did it in the bedroom with a pipe. I chuckled to myself at my insanity. Sometimes the oddest thoughts came crashing into my brain. Clue—I hadn’t played that in years, not since our Dad was alive. After Risk and Monopoly, that had been my favorite. Shit, if I wasn’t mourning Maria, I was getting nostalgic for the past. What the fuck was wrong with me.

I found Angie, she was with Aimee, and they were having a coffee and some croissants in the sitting room. Out of all the rooms in the apartment, in my opinion, this one was the stuffiest. It had three couches and five high-backed chairs, all made out of dark walnut and covered with the same pinkish flowery pattern on the cushions. It was all very feminine to me. A plush rug, what I assumed to be a Persian, filled with purples and browns, covered most of the floor, and dark smoky stained-glass lamps sat in all four corners. Heavily carved ornate wooden coffee tables, various gilded mirrors, and a multitude of antique framed oil paintings depicting landscapes covered the walls, completing the look.

“Angie, can I speak with you alone for a minute, please?” I asked, interrupting the conversation she was having. “Actually, I’d like to speak with Aimee first and then you,” I said, giving them both my best-disarming grin as I remembered what Malachar had told me about Aimee’s suffering.

“Sure,” Aimee replied a bit nervously as she gave me a weak smile, her pale blue, almond-shaped eyes flitting around the room, unable to stay on mine for longer than a quick glance. It seemed she was constantly looking around as if ready for something to jump out at her—the poor thing.

Angie just nodded her head in acquiescence as she took a sip, her face neutral and her eyes piercing, studying me like a hawk. She looked sexy wearing her loose boy shorts combined with a yellow t-shirt that was a bit too tight on her. I enjoyed seeing just the hint of her dark nipples poking through, as it was clear she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Come, I won’t bite, I promise,” I told Aimee as I walked to the far corner where the bay window faced out onto the street and river below.

Aimee put her coffee down and followed to where I’d gestured; I couldn’t help admiring her lithe form as she walked over. She was wearing a pair of black short shorts, white ankle socks, and a white wife-beater that draped loosely over an electric blue sports bra.

I took another sip of my coffee and looked down at the bustle below. The streets were crowded, and the riverboats were slowly moving up and down, lazily ferrying their passengers, most of which were clearly tourists who gawked up at the tower and the scenery around them.

“Pretty view, isn’t it?” I asked as I turned my gaze to her.

I’d almost forgotten how short she was until I was standing next to her; I was a good foot taller. She was even smaller than my little Pixiedoll Stacy, although not by much, maybe by five pounds and a couple of inches.

“Yes, it’s gorgeous ... I dreamed of coming here for many years,” she replied with a nervous titter while wringing her hands as she fidgeted.

“I’m sorry that you had to come here under such horrible circumstances, Aimee. I’m sorry that you had to see the nightmare that attacked us and ... and the deaths,” I said, letting out a heavy sigh.

Maria’s dying face flashed before me, and I quickly shook my head, banishing the unwelcome vision. God, I missed her.

“It’s ... it’s okay...” she stammered.

“No, no, it’s not. I got you into this mess, but I promise that I’ll take care of you. Trust me, I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Aimee,” I told her soothingly as she looked up at me with her naive, trusting eyes.

Tingle.

Something about her nature was almost childlike, and it brought out a deep desire within me; I wanted to scoop her up into my arms, to protect her from all evils. She was such a good person. Anyone could see that just from being around her for more than five minutes; it was probably what drew her to becoming a nurse in the first place. I meant well, but I didn’t know who I was lying to more, her or myself. If I couldn’t protect Maria, how could I be promising to do so for her? And if it came down to a choice between her life or the lives of my other girls, I knew that she’d come out on the short end of the stick.