See "An Introduction to Detective Monica" for Full Disclaimers.

Part Three

Yeah, I know -- don't faint!  It actually helped.  Especially since I left Jeremy behind, and headed off to one place where I know I could get relaxed and unwind a bit.  And yes, I did let Duncan know where I was going, what, you think I'm stupid?  He was busily searching for something on the Internet with the other computer, so he didn't even blink when I mentioned the jogging.  He just made an "uh-huh" noise and gave me an absent-minded peck good-bye.  Which was very unusual, but at the moment I didn't care; I was rather relieved, as a matter of fact.

Fortunately I'd learned my way around a bit more since my last inadvertent tour of Paris.  This time I knew where I was headed.  And while I am  definitely not one of your exercise nuts, and couldn't keep up the jog the entire distance, it didn't take long to get there at all.

Of course, as soon as the door closed behind me I went into a coughing fit.  Well, if you were gasping as much as I was from that jogging, then inhaled a massive amount of cigarette and pot smoke, you'd cough too.  However, it was a small price to pay for feeling like I was back in familiar surroundings.  I waved away the smoke in the immediate vicinity of my nose and looked for a familiar face, which only took a few seconds to find.  This hulking figure surged up from one of the tables and bellowed,  "La petite Americaine!"  And next thing I knew, I was a couple of feet in the air, being smacked on both cheeks and hugged with a force just short of rib-crushing.

Not that he crushed anything.  Jean-Pierre is very aware of how strong he is, and can be amazingly gentle when he wants to be.  With me, for instance.  He always handles me like I'm made of glass or something, just like Duncan does.  (Well, okay, sometimes I can make Duncan forget that, which leads to some  really good- ahh, yeah.  You know.  Anyway, that is  not something I do with Jean-Pierre, so it's neither here nor there.) So after his version of a careful hug, he plopped me down on the bar, which was becoming my reserved seat, so to speak.

Yeah, I'd been back a couple of times since the first time I stumbled into Hog Heaven.  (Which was the bar's real name, by the way.) Duncan had joined me a few times, and fit right in, a little to my surprise.  But it shouldn't have, looking back at it.  I mean, the guy has enough smarts and experience to fit in anywhere.  I'll bet he'd do just fine at a royal court, as well as he does in a biker bar.

Anyway, Tiny, the bartender, handed me an open bottle of beer along with a cheek-kiss about the time Jean-Pierre hoisted me to the bar.  Then he disappeared back into the kitchen to bring out a plateful of one of his wonderful messes; I never  can tell what the heck it is I'm eating there, but it all tastes magnificent, and I never turn it down.  (I may be small, but I burn it up somehow -- don't ask  me, I'm always surprised I'm not the size of a Volkswagen, considering how much I hate exercise.) Jean-Pierre dragged a table closer to the bar, a couple of the other guys joined us, along with a few of the women, and we settled down for a good ol' time of telling each other tall stories.  Boy can those guys lie!

So, I spent a couple of hours swapping lies, with an occasional truthful story thrown in, and drinking beer and inhaling more of Tiny's cooking -- then hopped on the back of Jean-Pierre's chopper for the ride back home.  Several of the guys wanted to come along (they hadn't all met Jeremy yet, not to mention Duncan) but Jean-Pierre shouted 'em down and pointed out that it was a bit late in the evening for an impromptu visit.  The guys kinda pouted, but Jean-Pierre glared, and everyone behaved.  (Man, he'd make a good officer, y'know?  I suggested it to him one time and he nearly fell off his chair, but then later I caught him looking thoughtful.  LOL!!  Of course, he might not fit in anywhere except with a mercenary company or the Foreign Legion, but still!  Leading only a biker gang is kind of a waste of a guy like Jean-Pierre.)

Fortunately it wasn't  too late when we rumbled up to the moorage.  Duncan was just giving Jeremy a flake of hay and came off the barge to shake hands with Jean-Pierre and thank him for getting me home safe.  This with a little quirk of a brow at me, to let me know that I  could maybe have called him to let him know I was staying longer than I'd planned.  I just dropped my eyes; y'know, in that apologetic way you do when you don't want to open a whole can of worms about something?  You know how guys are.  I mean, yeah, so we're madly in love, but it's not like we're married or anything.  I'm not used to checking in with someone if I decide to be out a few more hours.  Although it is nice to know that someone will be worrying about me if I'm late . . .

Anyway, Jean-Pierre took off, I said good night to Jeremy, and that was pretty much the evening.  Well, of course, there was a lot more evening to get through, but get real -- like I keep saying, that's  private.  Anyway, you don't want the whole spiel on Giving Me A Hint Of When You'll Be Home, like I got.  However, it wasn't that bad . . . and the timing is perfect, Duncan's just coming to bed and I've finished telling you about my mostly boring day, so I'll say goodnight!

****

Well of all the nerve!  I mean, really, when you consider what's going on -- Wups, sorry about that; not the way to start out, but I'm a bit upset.  Still worried, of course, and now, of all the excuses to hear -- !!

No, I'm not having a fight with Duncan.  It's those dratted friends of his!  And, more particularly, Rose.  Yeah.  My contact with the mysterious organization of professionals that's keeping track of Green Robe and wants my help in Doing Something.  This is the way their operatives work???  Is this any way to run some sort of secret group?  I ask you!

Okay, okay, I can hear  you asking "So what's the big problem, huh?" Well, it's a beaut, all right.  Just about the most . . . most . . . gaaaaahhhhhhh!!!  We were  supposed to be having lunch with all three of 'em.  Then it got pushed back to dinner.  Then, when we'd gotten all gussied up and were  just about ready to leave for the restaurant, guess what?  Another cancellation!  Try again tomorrow, if you please!!!

Yeah, so -- what's the big deal?  THAT WAS TWO DAYS AGO!!!

I am seriously ticked.  And Duncan, the idiot, not knowing about suspicious goings-on and other sundry reasons for worry, is laughing his fool head off.  Ooooohhhhhh!!!

Now, this would not be so bad, normally.  You know me -- I'm pretty easy-going about schedules.  That I can handle.  As my grandmother used to say, "Child, I could set my watch by you -- just add 15 minutes to the time you're  supposed to be somewhere and that's what time it will be when you get there." So, okay, I'll maybe miss my own funeral.  This is not a problem.

The  problem is the  reason that trio of lazy good-for-nothings haven't left the hotel since they got here!!!  Oh, no -- not even that.  The hotel, I mean.  It's worse than not leaving the actual hotel.  The real reason they can't get outside the hotel??  Because they've hardly left the  bed this entire time!!

That's right, you heard me.  B-E-D.  As in not for sleeping.  As in all three of them, not sleeping.

Well, really.  I'm not that shocked or anything -- although I still can't help dropping my jaw a bit at the thought of Richie  and Adam sharing a girlfriend.  That's the part that's unusual.  But the  real surprise is Rose!  I mean, that girl just looks waaaayyyyy too sweet and innocent to be mixed up with two guys at once!!  And not just playing 'em off each other, oh, no.  This is a full-fledged Troy goin' on here, folks.  As in she's not sending Adam off shopping while she's cavorting with Richie, or vice versa.

Okay, so, fine, great, let freedom ring and so forth.  No huhu.  And it's France, anyway.  But meanwhile, while they're exercising their libidos, I'm going nucking futs here!!!  I can't talk to Duncan until I've talked to Rose, and it's beginning to appear as if I won't be able to talk to Rose for the next month or so, at this rate!  And I dunno if I even want to talk to Duncan, anyway.  Besides, that organization of Red's may not  want me talking to Duncan -- and they seem pretty serious about things, I don't want to risk anything until I know more about them.

So here I am, jittering through the days, spending so much time with Jeremy that Duncan's beginning to act  really jealous, and at the same time I'm hardly getting  any sleep what with Duncan apparently being inspired by Richie, Rose and Adam's example.  Or his jealousy of Jeremy.  (Which is funny if you've had enough sleep; I mean, c'mon, jealous of a  horse?  I ain't that kinky!) I haven't the  faintest which it is, anyway -- all I know is I've barely closed my eyes the last couple of nights.

And they just called a while ago -- saying that  tonight they really will get out of the hotel -- oh, be still, my heart.  I told Duncan they'd damned well better get their little butts out of bed.  His reply?  A big wicked grin and the suggestion that he knew how to pass the time until they  did get out of there!

I whapped him one.

Which means now I'm getting dressed  again -- or rather I got dressed again, otherwise I wouldn't be writing you.  Apparently whapping Duncan is the equivalent of the female throwing down the gauntlet to the male, 'cause he immediately picked me up and carried me to  our bed.  Well, it has gotten me in a better mood, I'll say that.  And Duncan just stopped watching me with that lazy, smug smile of his and peered out the porthole, and Jeremy's whinnying, so I'd say our guests have arrived.  Which means I'll continue later tonight!  Or rather, after I've gotten some sleep.

****

Well,  that was interesting . . .  

The dinner, that is.  Not to mention the by-play between the two of Duncan's friends and Rose.  (Gee -- actually, since Duncan and I are an item, they are now my friends, too.  Not like it's never happened before, but for some reason it feels really strange this time!  I wonder why.  Maybe 'cause I was doing background searches on them for my class assignment, way back when?  Yeah.  All those two months or so ago!  Dang, amazing, isn't it?)

Anyway -- Duncan opened the door for all three of 'em to tumble in, looking like a bunch of kids giggling at Daddy.  He just kind of shooed 'em down the stairs and into the living room, with this really patient  look on his face, you know?  That was when I started to feel like giggling myself.  I mean, the poor guy can be so deadly serious sometimes!  

Adam and Richie both said hi to me, grinning like loons, and introduced Rose to me.  Who, by the way, is gorgeous.  A little taller than me, not quite so -- uh, zaftig -- and the most beautiful dark brown hair and eyes.  She's a perfect contrast to the two of them, too -- Richie being the pink kind of fair, and Adam the ivory, like me.  Her skin tone is like Duncan's, that beautiful olive.  And she still had a  tan, talk about instant jealousy!  (Well, you know me -- whatever tan I painfully and slowly acquire disappears in about one week.  Bam, gone, it's back to glow-in-the-dark white.)  But standing between the two of them, wow, was she a stunner!  

Fortunately, as I found out during dinner, she was awfully nice, too.  Although she giggled a lot -- well, they all three giggled a lot -- then I got started -- and  Duncan got started -- uh, where was I?  Oh, yeah.  You should have heard their comments on Jeremy before we left the barge.  Well, first thing out of Adam's mouth after they introduced Rose was, "MacLeod, a miniature  horse?  What, are you starting an Ark here?"  Richie exploded into guffaws, Adam followed, and Duncan gave both of 'em a nasty glare before he started laughing helplessly too.  No, I  don't know why that question was so deliciously funny.  Adam kept snickering  long after I thought they'd milked all the humor they could out of it.  Rose and I just exchanged a 'men' glance and kinda talked quietly amongst ourselves, you know, and let it go on until about the fourth horse joke; then I poked Duncan -- gently -- and said our reservations would be getting cold, and did they really wanna wait around in a French restaurant for another free table?  That got everyone going pretty fast.

Then at the restaurant, sometime between the meal and dessert, Rose and I did manage to do the traditional 'all ladies to the restroom at the same time' girl-thing and made more or less official contact.  (Y'know, I've never understood why men don't understand that habit; the women going together, that is.  All it takes is a little brains, guys.  After all, for centuries, one woman alone was simply asking for trouble.  As in get snatched, raped, robbed and possibly dead.  Probably the same thing clear on back to when we were still in Oog's time.  You know, the guy with the pointy rock tying the handle onto it?  Yeah, that guy.  You try living millennia like that and see what sort of instinctive behavior it gets you!  What, we're supposed to go get in a vulnerable position  alone?!!  When we're basically treated as semi-intelligent property for whoever can grab us?  What are you,  nuts?  At least in a group you've got a chance of fighting an attacker off!)

Oh.  Sorry.  Got off on a little rant there, didn't I?  Okay, onwards.  Once in the bathroom, we relaxed, and fortunately there was no one else there.  Too damn many French speak English, especially in Paris.  Rose told me more about the sort of thing Green Robe did, with the head-hunting bit.  It wasn't too surprising when she stopped hinting around delicately and came out with the admission that Green Robe was a renegade from their little group.  And that he was following in the footsteps of yet  another of their group that had gone bananas, a couple of years before.  They were still dealing with the fallout from all that, and doing their best to clean house, but was a long, slow process.  Plus of course they still had to keep up their regular, ah, work.  Yeah.  Right.  Whatever the hell their regular work was.  Rose was very forthcoming about the broad outlines, but awfully cagey on the detail-work.  I just gave her a sweet smile; the kind I get when I'm getting really determined inside.  Hey -- this was my One True Love here, I'm not supposed to play hardball?!  Get real.  

One bit of luck, Rose didn't seem to recognize me as the person who had fallen on top of her and knocked her out in that warehouse back home.  I didn't bring the subject up.  I just kept smiling and set up a little lunch date for tomorrow.  Today, that is.  As in I'm leaving for it in a bit, so this is a real shortie.  Yeah, I know, I'm sorry.  But I'll get back to you this afternoon, if I can, okay?  Laters!

****

Whooeeee, now that was a lunch!!  I was  so stuffed; I felt like the Christmas goose!  Or whatever, not that I've ever had goose for Christmas . . . but yegawds the expense account that woman must have!  Either that, or Adam makes a helluva lot more money than I thought most grad students did.  Which brings to mind a few questions I had about him, way back when -- but later for that, I've got enough on my mind now.

Although now I've had time to think it over; I took Jeremy for his exercise after I got back.  Duncan was clattering around back in the storage area, and humping stuff up and down from belowdecks -- which brought back horrid memories of Bilge Day, so I very carefully did  not get in the least curious.  I wasn't gonna do any more pumping!  Or humping.  Heavy lifting, I mean!  I just wanted to sit down and think about all this, and of course write to you -- you know how that helps me get things straightened out in my mind.

Rose was pretty open at lunch, amazingly enough.  Although she still skittered around what her group (aka mysterious bunch, Them, secret society, nutso cultists, or whatever comes to mind) actually does.  Or thinks it does.  Or tries to do.  Whatevers.  Although if I had to make a guess, I'd figure they're not used to mounting actual offensives, they tend more to gather information.  Which puzzled me for a bit . . . since that's what detectives do . . . so what does an information-gathering organization need with a detective?

Sorta redundant, no?  Well, after hemming and hawing all around the mulberry bush, Rose came out with the info that Red (her boss), in having studied me through the course of two cases --  even though I've never been  paid for all this work, mind you, and no one's actually  hired me yet for a real, live detective job, and one was supposedly a class assignment, the other was just something I purely stumbled into the middle of, plus how in the hell did they manage to study me anyway?  -- well, Red has come to the conclusion that I am a Woman of Action.  Either that, or around me, Things Happen.  I'm not sure which, that came out even more muddled than Rose intended, I think.  By the end of the explanation she was looking a little confused herself.  (I hate to think what I looked like . . . what, I'm a catalyst or something, in human form?  Oh really!  Ahh, do you read the National Enquirer regularly??  As for the Woman of Action bit -- ROFL!!  Can you see me running around playing James Bond???  Yeah.  Dream on.)

As to Green Robe -- now this was really odd.  Not to mention somewhat hilarious.  (I did mention that Rose managed to look awfully sweet and innocent, didn't I?  Turns out she's a few years younger than me . . . and had been kinda sheltered, which made it really odd the sort of job she's into.  On the other hand, if you need to spy-- uh, gather information on something, you'd hire people who can do sweet and innocent really, really well, wouldn't you?)

So, Green Robe, as I mentioned Red told me in her note, was smuggling luxury goods, right?  Well, the shipment they'd diverted (Red's organization -- aw, hell, Them or They, I dunno what to call 'em!!) . . . this shipment wasn't the first they'd lost for him, not by a long shot.  That's why the latest one Rose had managed to foul up was the last straw for Green Robe.  Most of the shipments had been really, really bad for him to lose, too; I could sympathize with him when Rose told me what they'd been concentrating on, that stuff is expensive!!  But then, good single-malt Scotch direct from Scotland has always been rather expensive.  Do you have any idea how much that stuff costs in Japan, for instance?  It would boggle your mind!  And Seacouver, being a NW city, is part of the Pacific Rim trading market, of course; perfect if you're sending stolen goods on to the Far East, people would normally think of going through the Suez from Europe . . .

What was hilarious, and got me thinking of Rose being so innocent-looking, was her choice of words while she told me about the shipments.  She mentioned that the merchandise they stole from him the most often was Glenmorangie -- then she added, "I don't know what the hell this Glenmorangie  is precisely, they haven't bothered to tell me; but apparently it can be used as a heavy sedative.  As well as cleaning fluid and petrol substitute."

I nearly choked on my wine.  I  did look goggle-eyed at her, at which she produced a perfect delicate blush and said, "Oh, I suppose it's something I should know about, huh?" To which I kindly shook my head, while trying not to spray good Burgundy over her white blouse.  The things I do for Duncan, I swear!

But you don't insult someone you're going to be working with, especially when you need them to keep you up-to-date and well-informed, now do you?

I just wonder where she got the idea of cleaning fluid and petrol substitute . . .

So, anyway, I steadfastly swallowed and managed to keep my voice from shaking more than a teense when I assured her it didn't really matter, and please go on.  Rose  did give me a rather doubtful look, then continued.  Hallelujah, 'cause I couldn't have said a word more without busting a gut laughing.

Well, the upshot of everything -- which wasn't much beyond that -- was that we'd obviously have to track down Green Robe and try to stop him, permanently.  Rose gave me kind of a sidelong look at that, and made no mention of police involvement.  I merely smiled politely and nodded agreeably.  Green Robe had given me a twitch ever since the first time I saw him.  And not simply because of his nattering in public and wearing robes and fuzzy slippers, either.  (Great disguise if you're a criminal mastermind, huh?)

Finding out his plans for Duncan merely verified that instinct.  And as I've said before, I'm not overly burdened with worry about conforming to every single weensy little law that is bouncing around out there.  (There are entirely too many of 'em, if you ask me.  Whaddya  mean, no eating peanuts in church?!) If Green Robe was caught and jailed -- that is,  if there was enough evidence, and he'd flashed the Mayor or some other high official,  and had been found standing over Duncan's headless body with a blood-dripping ax or guillotine or sword -- yeah,  then he might be executed.  Might.  Or sentenced to life . . . which meant he could 1), still have operatives outside, and/or 2) the opportunity for escape or parole.  At which time he could swing right back into action.  Not what I considered a satisfactory solution when it was Duncan that was a prime target.

Hey, I told you I was playing hardball now!  I thought of this nitwit going after Duncan, and saw red.  Okay, so it's not PC -- I don't care, the more I thought about it, the more I got  pissed.  And you  know you do  not wanna be around me when I'm pissed.  Especially at you.

Matter of fact, I kinda had a hard time keeping steam from escaping during lunch . . . which is why after we finished, I declined the offer from Rose of a lift back to the barge and told her I'd walk.  Then on the way home I took a little detour and stopped off at Hog Heaven for a couple of beers and a little relaxing discussion with Jean-Pierre.

Continued

(Want to see the previous stories again before going further?
Here are the first and second stories in the series.)

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