The Cathari Treasure (Cameron Kincaid) (7 page)

On the other side of the
vestibule, a large black man in a turtleneck and dark sport coat spread open a
beaded curtain with one meaty hand and waived them through with the other.

The sparsely crowded La Sirène
Bleue had been decorated in the fifties or sixties.  Patina and shadows
accented the brown wood and brass detailing the room.  The namesake, a
topless mermaid with a blue tail, orange hair, and perky smile, was depicted on
a mural that ran the length of the sidewall.  The blue mermaid rested on a
rock outcropping surrounded by a turbulent seascape.  A martini glass in
her hand held an obligatory olive compliment.

On the other side of the room
huge aquariums, their algae crusted backs painted cerulean blue, sat above the
shelves of liquor on the wall behind a long bar.  The aquariums may have
held salt-water fish at one time, now old oversized cichlids, mostly blood bellied
Oscars, inhabited them.

In the back of the room a double
bass, baby grand, and small drum kit were being put to use by three leathery
faced musicians.  The bass player sported a goatee that ran pencil thin on
the sides and a tall porkpie hat high on his forehead.  His elongated face
paralleled the neck of the double bass he was gently plucking.  The piano
player and drummer each moved in slow time to the lament of the torch song
crooned by the beautiful caramel colored mezzo-soprano.

 Glenda Johnson stood in
low blue light on a small corner stage.  Her song of love and lovers was
sweet and slow and Glenda sang the ballad deeply.  Like the trio playing
with her, Glenda performed with her eyes closed.  Her head tilted slightly
to the side as she sang, a passionate appeal that true love is unstoppable.

Cameron could not help being
mesmerized.  He did not immediately notice the woman in the blue cocktail
dress and menu cards in her hand, sidled next to them.  When he did, she
gestured Cameron and the women to follow her.  The woman led them to a
small round table near the stage, and placed the menu cards on the table when
they sat.

“Trois vins rouges, s'il vous
plait,” said Cameron.

“Oui, un instant,” said the
woman in the blue dress.

The three quietly listened to
the performance as the woman went to get the drinks from the bartender. 
She quickly returned with wine and a small crystal bowl of assorted nuts.

When the song finished the
audience applauded and only then did Glenda open her eyes.  She nodded her
head to the crowd, if as sparse a group could be called a crowd, and placed her
hands together, graciously thanking the room.

The bass player took a long draw
from a rock glass, and then, refueled, began a driving rhythm.  The piano
player and drummer bobbed their heads in time and launched into an upbeat
standard.  Glenda looked over to the band with a full open smile, said
something Cameron did not make out, and then turned back to the microphone and
belted out the verse.

Glenda engaged the room and at one
point in the song, locked eyes with Marie.  Cameron sensed a recognition
that was confirmed when the singer’s eyes trailed to Nicole, in a brief gesture
Glenda lowered her head to the young woman.

The light shined in Marie’s
eyes.  Her hand lightly tapped the table in time with the bass.

“Glenda, we’re here to meet
Glenda Johnson?” asked Cameron.  Marie nodded.

* * *
* *

Montreal

Cameron felt relief, maybe
because they had arrived at their destination, maybe because of the wine, perhaps
both.  He eased back in his chair and lifted his glass.  When
Glenda’s eyes met their table again, Cameron tilted his glass toward her, and
she responded with a smile.

When Glenda finished the song
the room applauded again and she excused herself from the stage.  She
stepped over to the musicians, said something, and then joined the three at the
table.  Marie stood and the two embraced tightly.

“Mon ami, tant de temps,” said
Glenda.  The two traded kisses on each cheek.

“It has been too long,” said Marie,
holding Glenda close to her.

When the two let go, they
stepped far enough away from each other to trade an inspection.  “Si
belle,” said Glenda.

“Et vous,” said Marie.  She
gestured toward the table, “Glenda, you remember Nicole.”

“Of course, what a lovely woman
you have become.”

“Merci,” said Nicole.

“And this is Mister Kincaid.”

Cameron stood and held out his
hand.  Glenda placed her hand on his.

“How do you do Monsieur?”

“I’m well, thank you.  Your
singing is lovely.”

“Merci, I am glad you enjoyed
it.”

Glenda’s brow furrowed, very
slightly, subtly.  “Mister Kincaid, are you a good man?”

“Excuse me?” asked Cameron,
unsure what Glenda meant.

“She is asking if you are one of
us,” Marie said to Cameron, and then turned back to Glenda, “No, he is
not.  But he has gone out of his way to help us.”

Glenda’s face lost expression.

“He can be trusted,” said
Nicole.  With that, the smile returned to Glenda’s face and she gestured
Cameron to return to his seat.

“After you,” said Cameron.

All were seated, Glenda taking
the seat between Marie and Cameron.

“I am sorry Mister
Kincaid.  It seems I, we all, owe you a debt.  In these times it is
hard to know who to trust.”

“I understand,” said Cameron.

Glenda placed her hand on
Cameron’s and gazed into his eyes.

“Glenda and I grew up together,”
said Marie.

“Really,” said Cameron.

“Yes,” said Glenda, “hard to
believe that so many years have passed.”  She looked across the table at
Nicole, “The Perfect will be glad to see you.”

“Is she near?” asked Marie.

“She is not.  The Rex Mundi
has been close, too close.  It was not safe for her here any longer. 
I know you have had some trials of your own, but it is not safe for you
either.”  Glenda raised her head and scanned the room.  “They watch
us even now.”

Cameron faced the length of the
room from his side of the table.  He could see two men in leather jackets
at the bar, conversing amongst themselves, and stealing glances between Glenda
and the table.  Under the mural, a man and a woman shared an iced bottle
of champagne from a bucket next to their table.  They too traded glances
at the table.  He had not thought about anyone in the club being an
assassin before Glenda said they were being watched.  Now every patron
looked suspect.

“Who is it?” asked Cameron.

“Any of them, all of them. 
Hard to know,” said Glenda.

As Glenda and Marie talked
amongst themselves, Cameron continued to size up the patrons.  When his
eyes got back to the large man at the door, three men entered the club. 
The three men were young, their hair close to their scalps and all were leather
clad.  The leather jackets were not out of the ordinary, many of the men
Cameron had seen on the streets of Montreal as well as a few here in La Sirène
Bleue sported them.  Dark leather jackets were always in fashion in
northern cities.  Something about these three men stood out to Cameron,
made them different than the others around them.  Their grooming, trained
physique, the way they postured at the door, three together, not one with his
back to the room.  These men were military, that Cameron was sure
of.  Two of the three conversed with the doorman, while the third, the
tallest of the three, scanned the room, ultimately locking eyes on
Glenda.  The tall man placed his hand on the shoulder of the man standing
next to him and whispered into his ear.  This one then looked to the
length of the room, passed the table where the four were sitting, and then back
to the tall man and nodded his head and began to walk toward the table.

Cameron was sure something was
up.  He leaned into the table to casually slide a hand beneath so that he
could secure the P226 tucked into his waist.

“Excuse me,” Cameron interrupted
Marie and Glenda, “this guy coming up behind you and his buddies at the door
don’t settle right with me.”

Glenda did not turn toward the
door.  She looked passed Cameron to the bass player.  The player
acknowledged Glenda’s concern with a nod.  “It seems Tom agrees with you
Mister Kincaid,” said Glenda.

As the young man approached the
table Cameron’s hand tightened on the P226 grips.  The young man walked
past without a glance down to the table or anyone sitting at its side.

“He is going to the men’s WC,”
said Marie.

At the edge of Cameron’s
peripheral he saw that was so.  Marie turned around to look at the two men
standing sentry at the front door.  “They are only waiting for their
friend,” said Marie. “They will be leaving soon.”

Cameron wanted to believe
Marie.  Though the two at the door no longer scanned the room something
was still not right with them.  Cameron knew he was correct that they were
military, that was not what stuck out though.  What bothered Cameron was
the way they stood.  The music the Jazz trio played was infectious with a
solid backbeat and everyone in the club was bobbing their head, tapping their
fingers or feet, or all of the above.  Not the two at the door.  They
stood poised.  Only one other person in the club was still, set for
recoil, unaffected by the music, and that was Cameron himself.

A moment later, the young man
exited the men’s room and walked back by the table as he had the first time,
without a glance to any of the four.  Cameron gripped the P226
firmly.  When the man got back to the front door where the other two were
waiting, all three left the club.

Marie watched the door close
behind the last.  “You see,” said Marie, “only using the WC.”

Cameron was still unsure about
the three and Glenda confirmed his suspicion, “They have been here before.”

“That was a sweep,” said
Cameron.  “They were casing the room.  They’ll come back and when
they do they’ll mean business.”

“Mister Kincaid is right. 
It will not be safe to leave through the front.  Come,” Glenda stood,
“follow me to the back.  You can leave that way.”

The
three
followed
Glenda through a door behind the stage to a small musty back
room used for storage.  Cases of liquor lined one wall and a large metal
washtub with a mop set inside was on the other.  Cameron decided the musty
smell was coming from the mop.  At the back of the room was metal door.

Glenda reached behind a box of
candles on a low shelf and brought out a black handbag.  She removed an
envelope, “Take this,” Glenda said to Marie.  “The Perfect is in
Toronto.  The address is here along with some cash.”

Glenda took hold of Marie again
and the two held each other in another tight embrace.

“When this is over I will be
back to see you, Mon ami,” said Marie.

“It will be like the old days,”
said Glenda.  She then hugged Nicole, wished her well, and lastly turned
to Cameron and took his hand between both of hers.  “Please be safe Mister
Kincaid.  We all thank you for this.”

Cameron did not know what to
say.  He had thought his journey over until a few moments before.  “I
will,” was all Cameron said.

Glenda unlocked the metal door.

“Au Revoir,” said Glenda, and
closed the door behind the three as they stepped out into the night.

* * *
* *

Montreal

“We should move quickly,” said
Cameron.  He led Marie and Nicole into the parking lot behind La Sirène
Bleue.  “We can go back to the hotel and plan our next steps from there.”

From a tall pole, two halide
lamps rained down on the almost vacant lot.  Cameron peered into the far
shadowy corners.  He saw no signs of life.  If the three young men
were waiting for them, they were on the main street in front of the club.

“This way,” said Cameron. 
He lifted his hand toward the side street that ran along parking lot.  “We
can circle around the block.”

The three passed the few cars in
the rear of the parking lot and were stepping onto the sidewalk when a
concussion lifted them into the air and thrust them forward.  For a split
second, thunder surrounded them and then silence.  Bright yellow light
flooded the dark side street.  Cameron scrambled to find and shield the
two bodies on the curb.  Nicole squeezed her head between her hands, her
eyes pinched closed.  Marie was yelling something at Nicole that Cameron
could not immediately make out.  A ringing came into his ears and he began
to hear Marie’s pleas, at first muted then, as quickly as sound had escaped
him, he could here what she was yelling, “Nicole!  Are you ok?  Are
you ok?”

Cameron brought himself up to
his knees and ran his eyes across each of the women, head to toe.  They
were ok.  The corner of the building had shielded them from the worst of
the blast.