Author's Note: This story is still a bit of a work in progress, but I hope you enjoy. I definitely appreciate any reviews, good or bad!
The Judgment of Saints
L.A. Sway
Prologue
The howl of his engine rang through the narrow streets of Paris. The black lotus sped down the path at a concerning speed. The night was pitch black before him, only the narrow beams of street lights disturbed the shadowy road ahead. Batrice Bonterre glanced nervously in his rear view mirror, his dark green eyes suspiciously eyeing the cars behind him. He switched gears and sped ahead, his car kicking up a trail of forgotten leaves behind it. He hadn't driven long when he pulled into a deserted parking lot, not another car in sight. A large darkened warehouse sat abandoned in the empty lot. Or so it seemed. He once again checked his rear view mirror, before exiting the car. You could only be so careful, he reminded himself. The frigid air of the early February night caught him off guard, sending a chill up his spine. His eyes swept over the uninviting appearance of the run down warehouse, searching for some kind of movement that could be seen from the outside. He saw just what he had suspected. Absolutely nothing. After lingering a moment beside his car, he stepped towards a large steel door, seeming to be the only entrance. He smoothed the wrinkles on his black suit, and tried to sweep back his dark brown hair before raising his fist to knock.
Before his fist had even made contact with the door, it swung open, revealing a rather large man. The bulky man was dressed in an expensive suit, and cold glare as he held the door open. A brief glimpse of metal from beneath the man's jacket made Batrice shudder. Things never went well when guns were involved, not even if he was the one packing. He took a deep breath at the sight of the pistol, and for a moment considered calling the whole thing off. He'd find me anyhow, he contemplated with desperation. "Mr. Bello has been expecting you," the man said, opening the door only enough so that Batrice could inch through. He could hear the pounding of the music as soon as he entered the dark corridor.
"This way," Batrice heard the other man say, signaling to a flight of stairs. The stairs connected with a catwalk overlooking the entire warehouse. As Batrice stepped onto the catwalk, he stopped to stare down at the ocean of people below him. The blare of the music was so loud it was impossible for one to hear his own thoughts. A wave of colorful lights passed over the area, the only form of light in the dark. The D.J was stationed on an upraised platform, the crowd spilling around him. Batrice removed a handkerchief from his pocket, putting it to his mouth. The smell of smoke was heavy in the confined area. Mr. Bello owned the most exclusive clubs in Paris, where only the most wealthy and successful people made it in.
Batrice couldn't wait to leave.
"Ah, Mr. Bonterre, so glad you could attend," the sound of Amir Bello's thick French accent brought Batrice to attention. Amir actually looked more Italian then French, with his deep brown eyes and tan complexion. He wore a posh Italian suit, and his black hair swept back. The very sight of him sent fear into the pit of Batrice's stomach. "Shall we go into my office?" Batrice knew it was more of a command then a question, and quickly agreed. He stepped into a well furbished office, with only the finest black leather couches, and art work hanging on the dark red walls. Two double doors opened onto a balcony, with a view of downtown Paris, and the distant lines of the river. The music of the club had become a faint hum inside the enclosed room, now the only sound he could hear was the far off honking of traffic through the opened balcony doors. "Its alright Cal," Amir said, gesturing towards the large man who had led Batrice in, "we wont be long." Cal nodded, shooting another cold glare at Batrice, before leaving the two men alone. "I believe you know why you're here," Amir said, pulling a cigar from his desk. Batrice cast his eyes downward, but remained silent. When no response came, he continued.
"I don't take well to disobedience Batrice. I said that from the beginning, no?"
Batrice eyed Amir nervously before responding. "We hadn't expected things to go so wrong, if I only had more time-"
"I didn't ask for excuses," he responded sharply, "Are you insinuating that it was my fault that you had not acquired the piece in time?"
Batrice was really beginning to sweat, knowing Amir's reputation, things were not going well.
"N-n-no, pardon, only that-"
"Batrice, calm down," Amir cut in, his voice suddenly calm and reassuring, "there's no need to be so nervous. After all, I'm quite a forgiving person." Batrice let his nerves calm, before continuing. "My contact in Cuba says that I just need until next week." Amir said nothing, but instead walked out onto the balcony. Batrice followed, stepping out beside him. The city lay in a panoramic view, even in the very distance you could see the sketch of the Eiffel tower. "Do you see this Batrice?" Amir said, opening his arms wide, as if to embrace the city. "All of this will be mine in just a short time. Can you imagine," he said turning towards him, "Paris will be a new. All I need is for you to fulfill your part of the deal. "Oui, Amir, I will get you the piece. You will turn this city around." He said timidly, but Amir shifted his view once again to city skyline.
"Now Batrice, I'm doing my best to not be angry with you, but I believe we had a deal. You receive the money, and I acquire the piece in return. It looks like one of us hasn't fulfilled our part of the deal." Batrice starred at Amir in fear, "Just a little more time. I can assure you." he answered nervously. Amir turned towards him, "Alright Mr. Bonterre, you may have more time." Batrice's eyes widened in surprise, he hadn't expected that. "Oh, merci, merci-" he began to say, but his look of hope suddenly disappeared, as his face was overtaken by that of pain. Amir withdrew the blade from Batrice's side, now covered in blood. Batrice looked at him in horror, "Amir, no, no-" His voice rising in panic, he tried to press his hand to the wound, but only succeeded in covering his hands in more blood. Before another word left his mouth, Amir grabbed him by the jacket and flung him over the railing of the balcony. Batrice let out a hoarse scream, as he plummeted to his death.
Amir glanced over the edge nonchalantly, "Now, Batrice, you have an eternity."