Odyne had given him an obscenely generous bonus for his good work. He also still had a ton of money from Vizir’s purchase of his Siren Device. Even after he finished today’s business, he’d still have enough to enjoy Paris for a couple weeks and still not spend it all. He’d have to wait until after the Madame and he settled the score with her onetime protégé and his former student. Of course, that was likely to be enormously satisfying in itself.
He glanced back at the counter, where the owner of the bakery was talking with one of her employees. His keen ear picked out their conversation, and he hid his smirk behind a sip of his coffee. They were talking about the grisly discovery of yesterday morning. A young woman found murdered. Carved up. Naked, used, abused, and left to rot like so much garbage. Oh, he’d so enjoyed that night. More than he had in so long it didn’t even bear thinking about.
That night had already begun on a high note. Drinks with the ever-fascinating Melodie. They talked shop, and she’d near dared him to pick out someone in the Giza worthy of his special attention. He’d studied the crowd, and picked out a lovely flower, just a bit out of ‘tune’. Poor thing. She was fortunate, though. Composer was just the man to set her right, to get her back in harmony with the rest of the symphony. She’d been a trifle ungrateful, but that was all right. He did what he did for the pleasure of it, not for gratitude.
Melodie had practically gifted that flower to him. He should find her something nice in return. Composer mentally added it to his ‘to-do’ list, putting it high in priority. In the meantime, he finally saw the man he’d come to meet enter the bakery. The man was slightly overweight, balding, but fortunately it was his skills as a realtor he needed, not his looks. Jon Burgess had found suitable offices for Composer before and best of all, he didn’t ask questions and he never named names. Small wonder Burgess had made a good living for himself in the Isles.
Composer’s old offices had been raided and destroyed, his staff beaten, arrested, or even killed. All courtesy of Dr. Samuels and his friends. The thought would’ve once made him seethe with rage, but he merely smiled, imagining how much Dr. Samuels wasn’t enjoying his stay as Odyne’s guest. She’d moved Samuels to a different warehouse two days ago, just as a precaution.
“Mr. Dirge. It’s good to see you again!” Burgess extended his hand, grinning. He’d known Composer as ‘Dirge’ for several years now, and while he had to know the name was an alias, Burgess didn’t care. So long as he got paid. Composer shook his hand firmly.
“Likewise, Mr. Burgess. I’ve much to do this morning, so let’s see this office you claim is perfect for me, yes?”
“Of course, Mr. Dirge. I’ve looked at it myself, and it should suit your consulting agency well. It’s about six blocks from here, and my car’s out front. Shall we?”
An hour later, the two men exited the building, Composer nodding in approval. “It’ll do nicely, Mr. Burgess. I’ll wire the payment per our usual arrangements.”
Burgess grinned, “And I’ll be sure to handle the paperwork just like last time.” He tossed Composer a set of keys, which he deftly caught. “Pleasure doing business with you again, Mr. Dirge.”
Composer smirked. “I’m sure it was.” He was paying a great deal for the building, but he knew that part of that price was buying Burgess’s silence, so he paid it gladly. Burgess offered him a ride back to the bakery, but he declined. He watched the BMW drive off and glanced back at the building. He took out his cell, and dialed a number.
“Composer here. I want a driver and a car to pick at me up at the following address. Be quick about it.” He rattled off the address, and hung up. He chuckled. Being Madame Odyne’s right hand had its privileges. He knew he’d be met soon by a sleek, unmarked car driven by a man with a profound lack of curiosity. He leaned against the building and waited, humming quietly.
Life had been very good to him lately. He made a lot of money, and he’d secured Sandra Richards as a cage fighter under the Cartel’s aegis. If she was as good as she was just a year ago, she’d be wearing the championship belt by Christmas. And the Cartel would be taking a nice chunk of the revenue. Sandra didn’t know who she was really fighting for, but at long as she had a fat purse and a worthy opponent, Composer doubted she’d bother to pry.
He’d salvaged Brett’s abysmal failure to capture his onetime student by capturing her husband instead. In one stroke, he’d discredited the loathsome inkman, avenged the humiliation that Samuels had inflicted on him, and cemented himself further in the Madame’s good graces. Composer couldn’t help but smile at that. He’d been quick, and was reaping the rewards. Better still, Samuels would be the honey that would bring Petite back to the Madame.
He shivered with anticipation. He even dared hope that Odyne would give Petite to him. She was his by right, anyway. He’d trained her, taught her, and given her TWO Sirens at this point. She belonged to him. She’d be his once more, and this time, she’d never escape him. Ever.
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