Narc by Marc Olden

Author:Marc Olden [Olden, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-6061-6
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2012-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

PERAY SAT UP IN his hospital bed, listening to his interpreter. Silverstein the lawyer had come along too, and as usual sat calmly through the French conversation, asking no question, volunteering no information. The lawyer kept his eyes on his own fingernails, first the right hand, then the left hand. He did this the whole time he was in the room.

His face expressionless, his mouth grim and unsmiling, Antoine Georges Peray listened to his interpreter.

Peray’s hands, however, betrayed his anxiety and concern. His hands gripped the sheet until his knuckles were white. Line was all he loved or cared for in this world. He would bring in the load, all of it, and after it was in, and his daughter was free, he would settle his account with St. James Livingston.

That part was not to be passed on to St. James. Merely give him the message about the load, and ask that Line contact Peray to let him know she was alive. After hearing from his daughter, Peray would then signal his men in Cuba to send the heroin in. Not before.

When the interpreter finished, he stood up. Before Silverstein could ask a question or bring up the matter of Peray’s forthcoming arraignment, the Frenchman waved his hands in dismissal. Tonight he was in no mood to discuss anything.

His interpreter had brought him nothing but bad news. Bad news about Line and bad news about his killers getting shot up trying to kill John Bolt.

Peray had asked St. James to help set Bolt up. So St. James had contacted Sanchez, telling him to arrange a hurried press conference.

The trap seemed a good one—first the woman in danger, then the narc coming to her rescue and getting his eyes shot out. But something had gone wrong.

Peray would try again. He would definitely try again. Bolt must die.

First, however, there was Line’s safety and getting the load on board the planes leaving Havana for America. Then, he would take care of Bolt. He would also take care of St. James Livingston. In the same way he would take care of Bolt.

In the dimly lit, deserted hospital basement, the lawyer and interpreter waited, looking at the elevator indicator as it swung over to the left.

When the elevator stopped the doors slid apart and Bickel stepped out. Looking nervously left and right, he then walked over to the two men and said, “Well?”

The interpreter looked at Silverstein, who took his cue and said, “I’ll see you upstairs. I’ll be out front in my car.” Bickel and the interpreter watched the gray-haired man step into the elevator. Only after the doors slid together and the indicator showed the elevator was rising did the two talk.

“He says OK,” said the interpreter. “But he wants proof his daughter is still alive. Take me to see her. I will then report back to him.”

Damn! Still a messenger boy. Bickel knew he’d be running messages between the dealers because no one else could get close to Peray. They’d hold his money back, he knew it.

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