Chapter Nine: Sins of the Flesh

"Why didn't you kill her?" Jean-Francis berated himself. He should have done so while he had the chance, but clearly, he had not been thinking. Like most men, Jean-Francis had the bad habit of thinking with organs other than his brain, under certain situations. And for all he knew, she would turn right around and tell Frollo all of what had occurred. And when he returned the next night, he could very well be walking into an ambush.

He had to bear in mind who he was dealing with. She had betrayed her own people; she was capable of most any treachery. And if she turned him in … even if he managed to escape the grasp of the guards, then he didn't know how he was going to get back into the cathedral to see her again. And what if she gave away the location to the Court of Miracles before he could manage to silence her? Clopin would kill anyone who betrayed him, his own cousin not excluded. Death at the hands of his beloved cousin would be a fate not even Jean-Francis was willing to face.

"You're a fool," he sighed. "A handsome one, at that, but a fool nonetheless."

Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. He could only hope for the best, and pray that Clopin was still too drunk to berate him.

He rounded a corner which opened up into possibly his favorite street in all of Paris. He and Clopin had frequented this place many times, whenever Jean-Francis had happened to be in town. Of course, there had been times when Clopin had been otherwise occupied and Jean-Francis came on his own. He held the eyes and ears of Paris at his fingertips, and he used them to his full advantage. They relayed useful information that they had gleaned from their client's drunken stupors and he had even used them once or twice to spy on his cousin. He remained unashamed of this fact. Information was information, it wasn't in how you acquired it, it was all in what you did with it.

Thus, he turned straight into the elegant, ancient building that was, coincidentally named, Les péchés de la chair. Or, "The Sins of the Flesh".

As soon as he walked through the door, his nose was assaulted with the smells of heavy perfume and warm spiced wine. A buxom young blonde accosted him before he could even take everything in, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him fiercely.

"Jean!" she exclaimed happily, running her hand through his hair and knocking off his hat. "I didn't expect you would be back! You haven't written to me in so long." She pulled her rosebud lips into a pout.

"Ah, but I have missed you, cherie!" he laughed, kissing her again. "You must forgive me, but I simply haven't had the time!"

"Adventures?" her eyes shown.

"Many," he nodded.

"Oh!" she sighed. "Will you tell me all about them, Jean?" she twisted a short springy curl around her index finger, rubbing against him and running her ankle over the back of his calf.

"Everything," he promised. "But I must see Jolie first. Do you know where she is?"

"She's in the back, with a client." The blonde twisted the curl even tighter. "Besides, I'm more suited for warming that cold skin of yours."

"You are everything a man could ever desire, Marie." He assured her. "But it is Jolie I need to speak with, at present."

"Oh, fiiiiine." She sighed. "I'll go get her, she shouldn't be much longer, anyhow."

"You're an angel, ma cherie."

"I know," she beamed at him, kissing him again and bouncing off.

Jean-Francis settled down into a nearby chair to wait, and was immediately drowning in a sea of young women. Some he recognized, some were new, but all were welcome company. A slender brunette plopped into his lap and graced his lips with yet another kiss.

"Where have you been?" she demanded. "I've missed you! I cried for days and days but you didn't come back, Madame was about to throw me out if I didn't 'shut my trap and suck it up'…!"

"Indeed," Jean-Francis replied, properly chagrined. "I should not have left you to such a fate. I should be whipped!"

"I'll whip you," she volunteered, all too cheerfully, tracing a finger down his nose.

"As splendid a punishment as I deserve," he laughed.

The curtain of beads that sectioned the main room off from a series of smaller rooms parted right down the middle, and a woman stepped into the room, wearing absolutely nothing. She was about as tall as Jean-Francis, with jet black hair that cascaded down to her waist and large azure eyes. Her skin was as white as whalebone, and her figure well-rounded with a generous bosom that Jean-Francis was having a very hard time tearing his eyes away from.

"Jolie," he spoke, his eyes finally climbing back up to her face. "It's good to see you again."

"Indeed, my lord." She beckoned him with one hand, and held the beaded curtain open enough for him to enter. He removed his hat and handed it to the brunette for safekeeping, whispering something into her ear before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. She giggled, and he ducked through the entrance. Allowing the beads to slide back into place, Jolie followed him.

"Well, my lord." She addressed him once they were out of ear-shot. "What is it you wish of me, now that you have deigned to grace me with your presence once more? Is it business or pleasure tonight?"

"Business," he winced. "Jolie, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you here so long on your own…"

She cut him off with a gesture.

"Business," she reminded him. "You can apologize later. What is it you need?"

He fidgeted, unsure of how to ask. "It's a bit different this time, it's not information I need."

One dark eyebrow shot up, and she willed him to go on.

"I need you to distract Clopin,"

"Why?" she prompted.

"He's been miserable these past few days, he needs something to cheer him up. Also, he's been drinking far too much as a result of Esmeralda's betrayal. I'm sure you heard."

"Oui," she nodded. "It's common knowledge down this way."

"And you know how he deals with his problems. He sent me out to make short work of her, which I fully intend to do, but I made an unforgiveable blunder tonight that could prove fatal. If it does, then I don't need him a raving drunk to make any… rash decisions."

"Ah," she tossed her head, jet black locks rippling over her pale skin. Jean-Francis swallowed hard and fought to keep his gaze from wandering. "So it's not his happiness you're concerned over, it's your own neck."

"As always, it is a top priority."

She sighed. "What is it you've done now?"

Briefly, he filled her in. When he had finished, she laughed at him.

"Oh, my! Is this what has becoming of the famous Jean-Francis since we last spoke?"

"I admit, I'm a bit rusty on the whole business." He admitted. "I have been away for ten years, after all."

"Either that," she teased. "Or you are getting old."

"Decrepit," he insisted. "But I still have it in me."

"I'm throwing you out of my brothel, now." She teased. "Don't drop any limbs on your way out."

"Ah, madame!" he clenched a fist over his heart. "You wouldn't do such a thing to a poor, wretched soul, would you?"

"Gladly. You abandoned me for a decade, it is only fair."

"And you don't look a day over the seventeen you were when I left you…"

"You are a liar," she replied, clucking her tongue chidingly.

"A shameless one, at that." He agreed.

"I don't know what to do with you!" she cried in exasperation.

"Love me?" he suggested. "After all, you know how I adore you."

"You think me still a young slip of a girl, barely seventeen and still madly in love with you."

"Have you moved on, then?" he cocked his head to the side, curiously.

"I have, if you must know." She said imperiously. "Oh, I clung to your memory for as long as I was able, but then, I realized what animbecile I was being. How dare I should think that you would come back for me! I had nothing to offer you, after all."

"Not true," he broke in. "I would have come back earlier, but I got … caught up."

"With another woman, no doubt." She glared.

"Nothing of the kind. In fact, that only thing I had to look forward to up until recently was getting my neck stretched." To add proof to his claim, he unfastened his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbow. He presented to her his wrists, which were scarred as if they had been chained for a great period of time. "They're on my ankles, too. And my back is even worse."

There was silence for a moment. Jolie reached forward and took his hands, rubbing the wide pale scar with her thumb. "Oh, my poor Jean." She murmured under her breath, bringing both his hands to her lips and kissing them, again and again. "My poor, poor Jean – how could they have done this to you?"

"I asked for it, I suppose. After all, not everyone likes to hear how lousy their security is. I would have been able to slip out as easily as I slipped in, but he had an enormous dog. Thus, I have been out of practice for some time."

"Forgive me," she whispered. "For ever doubting you."

He shook his head vigorously. "Forgive me, for ever leaving."

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and she pulled him gently towards one of the rooms that had an open door.

"And just what are we doing?" he asked, amused.

"Making up," she replied coyly, slipping into the room. "You said you had more scars, I want to see them all."

"That would require the removal of my shirt," he pointed out.

"That is the general idea, off." She slipped her hands under his tunic, and off it came, dragging the caplet down with it. A wide smile split across his face and he shut the door with his foot. Anyone with good sense would not disturb them for the next few hours.