BACK TO FRASER'S FRACTURED FICTION
Adventures in Decorating, part 7
by A. Fraser and J. Hontz
Part 7
© Copyright 2005 A. Fraser and J. Hontz. All rights reserved.
Meanwhile, upstairs in the suite, Mabel had finally gotten Julian to leave
off begging her to marry him, and tiptoed away as he was finally asleep. She
went to the bathroom to check on Mickey. As she entered, frying-pan at the
ready, the door suddenly slammed shut behind her. She whirled but it was
too late.
"Just stay there. I'll be back soon," her employer instructed her.
"You don't want to marry me?" she asked with a sigh.
"I drink, I lie, I steal, I like men. I don't think it would work," Julian
responded through the closed door.
"Probably not," Mabel muttered as she took a seat on the commode. She swung
her frying-pan in Mickey's direction. "Not one word," she said to the monk.
He sank down a bit further into the corner of the tub.
With the breath of a breeze, Julian was gone. "No doubt to meet Armando,"
Mabel muttered dejectedly. "I never get to have any fun."
---------
Fortified by some magic elixir ginned (probably it included that beverage)
up by the imaginative and helpful bartender, our young heroes set forth from
the bar to rescue the fair damsel. They were also fortified by croissants
liberated from a passing cart in the lobby.
The three piled into Spencer's car, Adele in the back. They all knew the
plan. Mitch and Spencer would enter through the servants entry. Spencer,
having been seen in that general area before (Julian had been a regular
patron until just recently when he'd decided to open his own house), would
attempt to cause a minor distraction so Mitch, more lithe and quick, could
find a uniform for Adele, who would be waiting in the car. They'd all
synched their watches, and Adele and Spencer had cell phones. Adele wished
she had another to give to Mitch, but had been reluctant to go upstairs.
She didn't want to have to confront Julian who'd probably have a fit if he
found out what they were planning. Not to mention Mabel.
Mitch, of course, did own a cell phone--Gideon stinted him nothing when it
came to gadgets--but he had foolishly not thought he would need it on this
trip and had left it in Maine. Well, international rates on cells were
rather high.
The car sped through the mostly empty streets. It was early by Paris
standards. The staff at the George changed at 7am, so by the time they got
there a lot of extra people would be milling around in the staff area. No
one ought to notice a couple of extra people.
-----
At the same time, Julian, Fred in tow, was getting into the rented car and
heading toward a certain narrow alleyway not far from the Eiffel Tower. He
and Armando had shared a flat there for a time. Armando, Julian suspected,
thought evoking old memories might slow his old lover down a bit.
Alternatively, maybe he couldn't afford anything nicer, what with prices at
the George to keep Gabrielle secure.
Julian's plans ran more to throwing a curve ball or two. Instead of
patiently waiting until 9am and meeting Armando where he expected, at the
warehouse they'd scoped out earlier, he planned on surprising Armando a tad
bit earlier. With luck, Armando might even be in flagrante. Julian
grinned.
Fred was giving Julian a run-down on the monks Armando was most likely to
have with him. His inner circle, as it were. Julian listened intensely,
plans dancing in his head. If he'd read Adele right... He'd noticed
Spencer's car pull away with all of them in it, but had been careful not to
react since Fred was with him. With luck they'd be planning to hit the
George the same time he was hitting Armando's bedroom.
"Why did you wish to make everyone think we were having sex," Fred suddenly
asked.
"Oh, call it a whim," Julian replied. "I've got to keep up my rep as bad
motherfucker."
Fred frowned wondering just how having sex with another man might make
others think he had sex with his mother. Fred's command of English was
vernacularly limited.
Julian parked the car around the corner from the flat. He and Fred slipped
into a nearby patissiere. From there Julian could watch the flat.
"All right, tell me," Julian said.
"Two entries, of course. And a secret method of escape across the rooftops.
There's a skylight window in the bathroom that is easily large enough to
slip out of."
"Then it will be delightfully easy to slip in through."
Fred laid a hand on Julian's arm. "Be careful."
Julian looked at Fred. "And you think you're just going to sit here and eat
tasty morsels (hmm, pleasant thought there) whilst I risk life and limb?
Come on."
______
The Rescue Rangers... er, Mitch, Adele and Spencer... duly arrived at the
George. With all the people milling about -- guests, staff coming and
going, deliveries -- their car went unnoticed. Adele bit her lip when the
two gallant young men hopped, or in Mitch's case, squeezed, out of the car
and headed for the service entrance.
Excellent, there was a uniform service truck wheeling in clean ensembles for
the hotel staff. Spencer stepped forward to talk to the man pushing the
bundle. While his back was turned, engaged in gossip with Spencer, Mitch
rifled through the cart and procured something that looked like it would
more or less fit Adele. He withdrew into the milling staff; a few of the
maids were eyeing him speculatively, wondering where this prime bit of man
had appeared from.
Spencer finally let the laundry man go about his business, completely
unaware that he was missing one uniform from his shipment. Both he and
Mitch had had a pretty good look around the staff entrance and changing
rooms. No sign of Armando's armed guards _here_. The George didn't want
its staff upset by guns.
The two men went back out to the car. Mitch held out the uniform he'd
obtained. Alas for the libidos present, it looked nothing like what was
commonly thought of as a French maid's uniform. It was about as sexy as a
lab coat.
"So much for Parisian fashions," Adele sniffed.
The boys did get a nice view of lacy underthings as Adele slipped out of her
own clothes and into the maid's uniform. Alas it was too short - both the
view of lacy underthings, and the uniform dress. Curvaceous legs and
thighs protruded. Mitch licked his lips, Spencer might have groaned.
Adele smiled and sashayed toward the entry, leaving a wake of quaking
male-flesh behind her - and that not merely belonging to a researcher/
librarian and a werewolf.
She had no trouble at all. Who was looking at her face? Certainly not the
men who had all the higher-paying supervisory jobs. She got in line behind
a bunch of other maids, most of whom were chatting away in Urdu or Japanese
or possibly Lithuanian. Adele just smiled. Eventually she got to the front
of the line, was handed a card with which to punch in, and a serious-looking
linen cart. She smiled at the fellow, not that he noticed - his eyes were on
her legs. So instead she pretended to drop the card and bent over to pick
it up. She nearly cracked heads with two bellhops who were eager to get a
closer view too.
Adele giggled, fanned her poor embarrassed face, and sashayed off toward the
floor she'd been told to clean. Alas, it was the 45th. But to get to it
she had to pass through the servants hall just off the main lobby. She
turned on her search lights (not those...- the mental ones) and quickly
found Gabby. She'd been crying, Adele thought. If she could only let Gabby
know that they were here to rescue her! Gabby hardly knew Julian, after
all. She might think he was the typical millionaire (Adele idily wondered
just how much money he did have) who paid less attention to his servants
than to his socks. (She'd remember this thought in the future. Fidelius.).
She followed the corridor intently trying to triangulate (quadrangulate? She
_was_ after all, attempting to figure out which floor as well) on just
exactly where Gabby was. Ah! She reached for her cell phone and.....
Spencer answered. "Excellent, Adele. Any sign of the guards? Of course,
we don't know how many are in the room. Okay, I'll go cause the distraction
and Shaggy here can break into the room."
"Shaggy?" Mitch snorted. "Once a month, I'm Scooby, too."
"Well, Fred is with Julian and Daphne is playing the maid, so I'm having to
be Velma. You think I'm happy about that? Come on, get going."
"You didn't even offer me a Scooby Snack."
They ventured back into the hotel. Mitch could move as furtively as a
vampire when he chose; and although he couldn't do the mind control thing,
he could avoid drawing undue notice. That was Spencer's job. And due
notice, too, while he was at it.
Spence strode in and said hello to several acquaitances he'd made when he
and Julian had been staying here. Those acquaintances relaxed once Spence
assured them Mabel wasn't with him. She carried a mean rolling pin, did
Mabel. Hotel staff trembled in her presence. On the other hand, Spence was
innocuous. Sweet, granted American, but they could forgive him that small
failing, and he generally had a lot of interesting gossip to impart.
He began imparting it.
They nodded as they listened. Yes, they had noted the armed guards on the
second floor, who wouldn't? Oh, they hadn't heard who it was they were
guarding. They'd thought perhaps it was some Arab sheik with too much money
and a penchant for blondes - they all did.
Spence explained, oh no, not at all. "You have to faithfully promise me you
will not reveal what I tell you," Spence warned.
Heads leaned in closer. "I'm serious. MI5 well, you know what they're like.
Monsieur Vaurien would never be able to return to London if .. Well, the
Ambassador was squiffed and he and Monsieur Vaurien were, well, I mean, it
is so hard for those poor boys to get a break, you know? Your every move
photographed by those disgusting paparazzi - pay very well for info I hear.
Anyway, how can they just get away long enough to meet some beautiful French
lady what with the security and the endless pomp and circumstance that
surrounds a roy... Oh!" Spence said with a gulp. "I've said too much.
Remember, not a word!"
Spence moved away and went about his business.
Meanwhile Mitch was hanging out in the lobby awaiting word from Spence that
the distraction was about to happen. As it happened, he hardly needed to be
told. The lobby had been quietly efficient. Small groups of people talking,
passing through, that sort of thing. But gradually at first, then more
quickly, the number of people in the lobby began to grow. Men with cameras
slung across their chests suddenly appeared. The noise level increased. A
satellite news truck screeched to a stop at the front doors and, cameras
rolling, a woman came in, broadcasting live even as she walked.
"We're here at the George. Her name is Gabrielle Deville. And it's a
fairytale romance, how this former chauffeur met her royal prince!" The
surge toward the elevators, with the TV personality in the lead, was as
irresistable as the turning of the tides. Individuals not even interested
found themselves swept up into the mob that surged toward the elevators.
Obviously, Mitch snorted, this was his cue.
_____
Two hours yet before he had to meet Julian. Armando had no illusions that
he had killed the other mage. Julian was as hard to kill as a cockroach.
He kept coming back. He would be at the rendezvous, the romantic fool.
Armando was surrounded by fools. Those monks--really. The Worm
Ourobourous. What a scam! His inner circle was different, of course; they
knew why he really wanted all those magical artefacts and trinkets.
He frowned. He didn't like mistakes, and too many of his silly monks with
their silly sigils had made mistakes. Too many were missing. The two he
had sent out to the Loire Valley to steal the ring from that vampire bitch
had not returned; two more sent to investigate had returned to report
increased security around the chateau and winery but no sign of the owner or
her ring; or the missing monks, for that matter. Of the group of eight sent
to Julian's hotel, two had not returned, either, and the others flatly
refused to set foot anywhere near the place again. Another monk had been
injured causing the car accident with Julian's Volvo... from which the
passengers had vanished.
He hadn't counted on vampires. The monks sent to the Loire had been ordered
to stake the owner; no other vampire was supposed to be involved. Where had
the others come from? And what was that strange young man they'd reported,
the one with the strength and speed of a wolf? Julian's little toerag of a
girl groupie had apparently also fought more viciously than expected.
Well, two more hours and it would no longer matter. Once Julian was dead,
the others would evaporate, leaderless. They could be picked off one by
one--of course, they could not be allowed to live.
So Armando relaxed in the best way he knew. This involved champagne and a
fetching young acolyte named Denis.
They were halfway through the champagne, Denis was proving quite distracting
in the terrified sort of way Armando liked it, when his private cell phone
rang.
Armando all but screamed, Denis took the opportunity to scoot away.
Armando, cursing a blue (lapis lazuli blue?) streak, knew he'd best answer
it. Too many plans were in the works, and that bastard Julian was around
somewhere. Surely he couldn't have...
He answered the phone.
As he did, there was a moment of startled frozen inaction. Then bodies,
glass, wooden framing and not a few startled pigeons, crashed through the
ceiling onto Armando, Denis (who yelped), and the bed. The remainder of the
champagne, alas, spilled.
_______
In the melee outside a certain hotel room, nobody noticed one more young
man. Oddly, though, he had no camera or mic, and he seemed to move through
the crowd with insolent ease.
The guards who opened the door to the insistent knocking were stunned to be
confronted by dozens of paparazzi demanding interviews with the prince's
French mistress. They moved back from the door, weapons down because
shooting journalists got you bad press, and wondered what the hell to do.
One of them went for his cell phone and quickly dialled Armando.
Neither of them noticed a lithe young man, who rather badly needed a shave
and a haircut, slip past the throng at the door and go straight to the girl.
They didn't have her bound, fortunately, because they were relying on their
weapons and brute force to keep her in place.
"Mitch!" she exclaimed, startled.
"Ssh," he winked at her. "They're still distracted. Stick close to me, and
be prepared to run like blazes."
She followed him to the door, while he good-naturedly shoved a
too-inquisitive paparazzi out of the way.
"Sorry, urgent appointment with his Highness," he said gruffly. "Later."
He grabbed Gabby's hand and all but yanked her out of the room, ignoring the
startled exclamations of her guards.
"This running like blazes?" Gabby asked. "Is now a good time?"
"Now is an excellent time," Mitch agreed, and they ran. Like blazes.
_________
Denis stared from his corner as two men--surely that was Fred?--dropped down
on Armando. Fred, a non-combatant, was fairly quickly out of commission,
but Julian and Armando rolled on the floor together in a no-holds-barred
wrestling match. The two men were intent on not giving the other one a
chance to pull some magical trick.
Meanwhile Denis was curled up in the corner nearly catatonic with fear.
Fred came to consciousness. He wasn't quite sure how he'd lost it, but once
he found it he yelled, "Denis, hit him!!!"
Denis liked Fred so grabbed the champagne bottle and did hit him with all
the strength he could. CRACK!
Fred yelled, too late, "Not him, you idiot! Armando!"
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