Yep, it's another Noir fict. This time, we're going for length! I will be adding chapters to this work about every 4 to 6 weeks. Oh, and this lovely piece of work is a sequel to 'Chartres', my first Noir work, which is also here! (heh, go look for it yourself!)
Oh you didn't want to read the first story? Well…it had Kirika and Mireille buying a small café...well, ok, that's just the end of it... ^_-
And we're going for a little lighter tone in the beginning of the story -- I can't keep it dark and foreboding forever, can I? Watch for lots of clues in these intro chapters, I need to drop them in like mad. And then as we go on, let's say I have it all written down in my head, you're see how it all links together.
- Incantrix
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It is time to discover the past…once again.
Characters in this work are owned by the creators of Noir. The author of this fan fiction therefore only owns the writings. Yep, this is the lovely disclaimer. This copyright is 2002 under Devin A. Brown.
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Remember Me
by Incantrix
a Noir Novel...
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(1) Proposal
"Here you go, miss." Kirika handed the customer a wax bag filled with delicate sweet pastries. "Be sure you handle it from the bottom."
"Oh, I am so happy!" squealed the older customer. "I've traveled an hour to get here! My sister told me you have the best pastries in the whole city of Paris."
"Oui. We do try..." Kirika suddenly blushed from the compliment. "That will be thirty-seven francs, please."
"Oh, no problem whatsoever." The cheery customer turned around to exit the little café. "I'll be back next week, for my niece's party! I can't wait!"
Kirika smiled as the front door bell chimed as their patron left. "Gretchen?" she asked. "Can you take over for me? I've got to check a couple of things."
A young girl of approximately Kirika's age came out from the back kitchen. The two of them had builds like identical twins. Their looks were extraordinary different, for Gretchen's hair was fiery red with curls, as opposed to Kirika's spiky brunette look. She was wearing over her t-shirt and jeans a kitchen apron matching Kirika's, a basic off-white decorated with large sunflowers. The cute pattern had become the cheery theme of the café.
"Sure! No problem." said Gretchen, adding another set of chocolate croissants to the display case. "We've been so busy today! I can't ever remember making so many pastries."
"Business is good." Kirika nodded for a second, before taking off her apron and placing it onto the counter, folding it carefully so it wouldn't crease. "Excuse me."
"Oh Kirika?" asked Gretchen, getting Kirika to turn around. "I need to leave early to go to the Dentist. You know, the one you recommended to me?"
"Oh, is that today? You can leave early, just tell me first."
"Merci beaucoup, Kirika-sama!"
The brunette arched her eyebrow up in surprise at the mix of the polite French thank you and Japanese honorific. It certainly was an interesting mix. Telling Gretchen that she was Japanese had given the young girl quite a shock. But Gretchen took it all in stride, for after a few days, she started doing research from the number of websites, trying out all sorts of Japanese cultural references.
Kirika sighed. No use in telling the girl that she was more French than anything. She certainly wasn't Japanese, that much was true. Especially with past history….
[++++++]
Kirika walked around the front outside of the café, a sunny area of a half dozen little round tables, covered with red and white checkered cloths, which in turn were covered over by a thick layer of clear plastic. The unnatural layer of silicon was a necessary evil, it made leaning on the tables a bit uncomfortable due to stickiness, but easier in the long run in cleaning and wiping away baking crumbs and nasty spills.
The seating area was very much coveted, the tables were always filled with a mix of local patrons and tourists, chatting away and sipping their variety of espressos, teas, and cappuccinos. The locals were very easy to spot, they took hours on end to sit and watch, occasionally conversing daily activities with their friends. A local was said to be relaxed, as if watching a turtle walk by on a slow day.
Tourists, on the hand, never really looked at ease. They would sit down with a drink; ten minutes later their soda glass was empty along with the ice. Without a liquid refreshment, a tourist would fondle, bend and chew their drink straws to death. And instead of relaxing and taking all the scenery of Paris, their heads bobbed from left and right like a pigeon, expecting birdseed to be thrown plainly at their feet.
Behind the outside tables were huge swinging full length windows, the breezing air that made the same patrons consistent customers. Those windows had been swung wide open during the summer days, at the insistence of Kirika. Those tables just inside the café were the second most popular among the patrons.
That is where Kirika found her partner, Mireille, curled up among the outside corner of their café. She was sipping a lazy iced coffee, its ice long since melted away. On the far side of the roundish table were the Le Deux Croissant's business papers, of fresh printouts from the accountant of their cash flows and account payables. On top of those printouts were a variety of bills and notices over the last couple of weeks, all ready for the blond to process and pay.
Mireille was instead busy reading the local paper, pouring over the society pages. She heard her partner almost immediately, and did not even bother to turn around. The blond instead pointed to a picture, of a lovely young woman in summer dress, attending one of the many private affairs among Paris. "Don't you think this hat would look lovely on me?"
Kirika nodded.
"Looks nice," said Mireille. "I wish I could get it, then maybe some nice gentleman would notice me from across the street." The blond sighed, folding the paper away. "I haven't had a date in years. Sometimes I wonder why that's the case."
Kirika sat down, her seat also facing outward onto the sunny street. "You really should get out more. It might make you…a little more relaxed." Kirika bit her lip at the words but Mireille didn't really notice. She decided to press to the issue. "I haven't seen you out with anyone. What if you saw Gretchen's older brother?"
Mireille frowned. "Yea, you would think a girl like me would get excited over flowers and such. Maybe I'm just too old-fashioned, but the thought of be being romanced over doesn't really appeal to me." She looked over the papers, as if they were a mistrustful informant.
"I see you haven't even touched your work." The brunette nodded over to the stack of papers and printouts on the far side of the table. "I think maybe the stack is getting a bit big."
Mireille stretched her arm out, pushing the papers a bit more over to the far hand side of the table. "I should, but I don't. Waiting in the accounting office for two hours today was enough work for me."
The brunette frowned. "We should pay those bills soon..."
"You know me so well, Kirika. Sometimes, I wish that we were back in business. Then I could afford to buy hats like that." She brought the paper back onto the table, looking through some of the other articles. "That would have been nice."
"We get paid plenty for the café," said the brunette. "I think we need to hire a couple of more people, since so busy right now. I've been so tired..." As if right on key, Kirika yawned and tried to shut her yawn almost immediately. "I need to work less."
The blond chuckled under her breath. "I still need to go over the numbers, but the accountant was smiling so wide when I picked up these printouts today. Even I was very surprised how much money we're making." Mireille took another sip of her iced coffee, the temperature had clearly warmed her drink to a unbearable level. "Ugh."
"Mireille." Kirika tilted her head to the side, getting her partner's attention.
"Hmmm?"
"What if...we took your suggestion, and went back to work?" Kirika took a minute to tumble the words out. "What do you think would have happened?"
Mireille almost dropped her warmed coffee right there. "Kirika! But this is..."
"It's the Soldats, am I right?"
The blond nodded, staring down at the checkerboard table. "They gave me a choice to work for them in the business, or...exit out." She looked back up at her partner. "I look at what we've done here. Its good. Its very good."
Kirika beamed. "I know. I have been satisfied. Baking, cooking..." However, the brunette could detect the darker tones from Mireille and her lack of enthusiasm. "But...you're not happy here, are you?"
The blond impatiently tapped her fingers on the table. "I don't know. I know I'm safe here, it feels so warm, inviting, comfortable. Its really a pleasure to sit out on a corner table and not have a pair or two pairs of eyes, watching your every step..."
"But?"
Mireille turned back to Kirika. "I miss the thrill, the chase. My life is so boring now." She pointed down at the society pages. "I can't believe I spend every day reading this dribble! I mean, so I can learn that Mr. Richy-Rich and so is marrying Ms. Muffy? I mean, I'm tired of it."
"Ummm..."
"Only if I had a nice fat contract. I would feel good to run around again with my gun pointed outward, looking, hunting…" The blond took a minute to stretch her legs while still seated. "Now, the only time I get to run is on a treadmill. I take some kickboxing class and beat up the instructor. That isn't that thrilling in my book."
Kirika was silent.
"Did I miss anything?"
"No, I guess not..." She took Mireille's finished glass and her own drink up from the table, stacking them together in her hand. "There's another batch of pastries to make up. Excuse me-"
The two Noir partners looked up for a second. Gretchen was coming onto the floor, being closely followed by man behind her. He was clean-cut, with spiky white hair and a clef chin. He wore slightly tinted sunglasses, the small circular shades just barely covering his eyes. Simply dressed could describe the rest of his clothes, a plain gray shirt and blue jeans, the typical signs of a tourist outfit.
"Ummm...this guy asked for you, Mireille," said Gretchen.
"Carlos!" grinned the blond, bolting out of her chair. "Carlos de Guadia."
"Hello, Mireille. Its been a long time." His voice was mature, very mature for the such a young-looking man. They lightly hugged for a second/
"Sit down!" Mireille pointed to a chair that Kirika brought over from the back. Carlos gracious accepted the offer as the three of them sat down around the small café table. "This is Kirika, my partner at the café."
"Hai." Kirika half-hearted a wave not much else. "Can I get you anything."
"Oh no, I'm good! Really!" After a polite no-thank you, the stranger turned his attention toward Mireille as he leaned back in his chair. "Now instead of one beautiful lady, I am very much at the mercy of two striking women. I should not ever be so lucky."
Both girls blushed. "I see you have not lost that lovely 'charm' of yours," said Mireille.
Carlos smiled. "No, I suppose not. Not, how long has it been? I'd have to say definitely more than a year."
"That's for sure. Its been a bit less than two years, I think. Oh, and the last assignment we were on was in Myorka. Wasn't that to most beautiful vacation spot? I remember the coast of Spain like it was yesterday."
"You mean for you!" exclaimed the gentlemen, "I had to spend all my surveillance shifts inside, hunched over camera and infra-red equipment. It wasn't my fault after the island stop that we didn't-"
"Carlos?" Mireille looked at the young man inquisitively. "Make no mistake, my friend. Never to make that mistake with me." For as quick as the seriousness had entered Mireille's voice, it quickly drained away a couple of seconds later.
"I'm sorry..." he stammered. "But, I...didn't bring it up."
Mireille brushed her hair back. "I guess you're right, Carlos. I can be wrong."
"Oh course I am. What else would you expect of me?" And the white-haired boy smiled. "At least I can have the pleasure of two lovely young associates, can't I? There's nothing wrong with an introduction to an evening out…"
Kirika blushed from a light pink to a deep red.
"Bite that forked tongue of yours, dear boy," laughed Mireille. "This is Kirika, my friend and business partner. And she's too young for you."
"I bed your pardon..." said Kirika. "I am plenty old enough to date..."
Carlos smirked. "Oh, and I never thought in my lifetime that your partner would ever be a she?"
Mireille ignored Carlos' question, staring him down before focusing her attention to Kirika. "Carlos, is, unfortunately, one of the best tech guy there is in the field. If you need to watch, have cameras, record or track, he's your man."
"I've never heard of Carlos before." said Kirika.
The blond smirked. "Oh, I know why. That's because Carlos has a handle, like we used to. They call him the 'Eye of the Masons.'"
"Huh?"
Carlos interjected. "I was never really good at play on words, unlike you two." Mireille bemused herself to the young man's comments, preferring not to bring up history. "You see, I took the symbol from the Masons, an eye on a pyramid. The eye, is obviously, me, with the pyramid being the state. There's no denying that I have become much of that, for I only show the truth of the state?"
"The truth?" Mireille's eyebrow shot up at Carlos' words. "I don't think you've ever given me a straight response in my life."
The young man straightened up in his chair. "What? About being beautiful?"
Kirika coughed. Wow, thought the brunette, this guy lays it on pretty thick...
"Carlos..." asked Mireille, crossing her arms in a manner of distaste. "This wasn't a pure social call, was it?"
"No, of course no." The blond tightened up a bit on hearing Carlos' news. "Relax, I'm sure were not being watched -- too much." The young man sighed ever so slightly. "It's the only way to live -- as a guy on the run, you know. You do a deed, and if its wrong, you pay the penalty. Nothing wrong with that system."
"You haven't taken me on a straight track in years," grimaced Mireille. "You still can't go back to Italy, can you? Its really a shame that you did that."
"Nonsense, it was the best thing to do." The young man stretched his hands behind him. "A piece of cake, actually. Break into the system that controls all the lights, change the patterns a bit, and convince the government that you can do your worst, when you want to..."
"Your worst?" asked Kirika.
Mireille chuckled. "What a baka you are."
"Oh yes, excuse me. I never really did say how. The traffic system in Rome, specifically the roads around the old coliseum. Broke into their central system, messed up a couple of lines of code, and presto -- instant disaster in the running, by me of course."
Kirika didn't flinch one bit. "But why mess up the lights of Rome?"
Mireille pulled Kirika aside. "Actually, to keep the police in traffic. Away...from a museum or two."
The brunette turned back to Carlos. "Ah. So, you're a hacker, Mr. Guadia, hired by the thieves."
"Alas, I didn't know. I was just ordered to hack it and mess it up a bit," sighed Carlos. "Oh, and I'm technically not a hacker, though that's what the authorities call me. I prefer information manager, or fact manipulator. Or phreaker. Only the police call me a hacker."
"I see. And that's why you can't go back to Italy?"
"That about surmises it. A friend chewed me out to the local police, and naturally I couldn't let them take my ass in...It wouldn't have been fair. At least an informant was able to alert me to their little plan and tip me off. Nothing worse than seeing a 5,000,000 Lira award go up in smoke.
Kirika nodded. "You are a mischievous one, Carlos."
The blond turned back to Carlos. "Well, this has been real fun, all and that. War stories entertaining to no end. But that doesn't explain the biggest item on the plate."
"And that is?"
"Why you're here. Always the intelligent one, you've known that we're out of the business." Mireille pointed around to the café and its surroundings. "Can't you see that we're legit?"
"Nonsense. I don't believe that of you." Mireille wanted to interrupt Carlos, but her changed facial expression explained it all. "I can see you're angry, Mireille. And it was just for some standard surveillance and stuff. I need some bodyguards, that's all."
The blond arched her eyebrows in disbelief. "Oh, so you need me the chaperone your party? And here I thought you'd finally grown up."
"You know," said Carlos, "girls with guns are the great equalizer in the world. In case anything happens during the meeting and all."
"Oh, really?" responded Kirika, "That doesn't sound too hard-"
Mireille was in shock as she gawked over at her former associate. She couldn't believe Carlos was asking for business help -- and that Kirika was about to pitch in. "This discussion is over, Carlos."
"But..." Carlos pleaded his case.
"I said OVER," said Mireille, her eyes crossed over in disgust. "We have plans."
Kirika shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry, but we're busy. It takes a lot of time to make lemon tarts."
The younger man stood up. "Fine. I can find other people. If you want me, I'm staying in the far west area of the city, at the Madagascar Hotel. You know I'm online as well." The hacker bowed his head. "Oh, and Kirika, very nice to meet you. You are a charming young lady."
The brunette nodded pleasantly as Carlos got up and left the café. She turned to the blond. "He's cute."
"Kirika!"
"Hmmm. You know, he would be nice wrapped around my arm."
Mireille heaved a sigh. "Growing up in front of me like that. Really, I should have noticed it -- that you want to date Gretchen's brother."
Kirika turned her head. "Come on, we've got some paperwork to go over."
The blond relaxed. "I guess you're right. Lead the way."
[++++++]
Kirika had another busy afternoon around the café. The tourist had hit them particularly hard -- an overcrowded tour bus had dropped off a boatload of them on the recommendation of a local hotel. She was going to have to thank the hotel later, or curse them -- depending how tired she was by the end of the day.
And they were tourist all right -- their whitish t-shirts, color-worn shorts, and knee high white socks were all shocking signs of American symbolism. The group had obliviously been museum hopping in the nearby district, their impressionistic bags held goodies from the nearby Musée d'Orsey.
She sighed. Speaking in English wasn't really a problem. In fact, Gretchen spoke English as well, as she loved to talk the overseas tourists about upcoming movies and Hollywood stars. If there was even a French girl who loved the Hollywood life, it was Gretchen. She was smitten by all the love, power, and other worldly excitements. "Oh," said the young girl, "I can't wait to go to California and go check out the homes of the stars! Oh? You can't go up to their front door and knock for autographs? Why not?"
Those love to hate tourists always seemed to run out of francs. For Kirika, cashing a travelers check was nothing more than a pain in the butt, as the tourist always complained about the lack of change in francs. Still, it was good money, and the American tourists often left tips.
Kirika was busy cleaning off the last used rounds when she noticed a folded strip of paper lying on the very far table. After a quick crumb wipe, Kirika walked over to the distraction she caught from the corner of her eye. Strange, she thought, no one had been sitting in this corner place. One couple did sit down, the small roundish table rocking a bit while in they leaned over their seats. After a quick look underneath, they found two of the three leg coasters were missing, causing the table to slightly lisp and rock. With little fanfare, the couple fled to different seats.
Kirika didn't think too much else of it, grabbing for the scrap of paper. Strange, she thought, the paper was folded over a bit. Looking into her open palm, the mobius strip propped up from its former crushed position. The simple strip of banded of paper was twisted half-over connecting to itself. It was a perfect example of a mobius strip -- an object with only one side.
Kirika squinted a closer look. Yes, she could just make out the simple typed characters running the infinite loop around the mobius strip. It was just one character, repeated around in the endless circle that the strip formed.
'i'
A children's toy, a foolish plaything that one of the tourists had left, thought Kirika. They must have picked it up from some other museum or place of interests. She didn't think much about it, crinkling the paper toy and depositing it into the circular file.
The brunette sighed. She needed to bake off another three sheet pans of plain croissants for the morning rush. Her work was never done. She was thinking that maybe her partner could help, but the blond had already split the cafe for the day. It was probably for the better.
[++++++]
Mireille sat down in her comfy chair next to her pool table of a table. Red velvet, she thought. I should have never had a red pool table put in. What was I thinking? I mean, it doesn't match my blouse at all! What if I want to get a different color? And damn it, its not like I can just get it re-done.
Trivial thoughts lead to the more important issues of the day. She thought back to the job that Carlos had asked for. She was surprised that Carlos was needing them for some extra protection, the 'snake in the grass' had never really needed help since going out on his own. Most hacker work could be done from almost anywhere, for Mireille was sure Carlos had little safe houses in half a dozen locations around the world.
Bah, the job was probably already gone, it being a week later. No use fretting over lost income.
Mireille's computer beeped. E-mail. She lazily opened her new message, half expectantly to find some junk e-mail, as her e-mail account was now forwarding from her new 'The Deux Croissant' website.
She read the message. Read it again. With no hesitation, Mireille reached under her pool table for her gun, and headed out the door.
[++++++]
Mireille circled around the trees. She certainly didn't like all this cover stuff away from her partner, but it was more than necessary to keep Kirika out of contact. To keep her away from the Soldats.
It was the Soldats that had tipped her off about Kirika's work. They had given her a choice -- to work for them, or to leave the business entirely. They, had chosen to leave the business of the under lords, to seek themselves out the dark, to leave the blackness of Noir.
To Mireille, it was their only choice.
She looked back into the darkness of Noir. Formed to carry the mission of judgment of the world. But when there was no judge, no executioner of the Soldats by Noir, the prophesy collapsed. They, Mireille and Kirika, had abducted the mantle, deserting the will of Atlena. They were no longer Noir, and in Mireille's mind, it was over.
Sitting down at the park bench, Mireille quickly unfolded the local paper. There wasn't much interesting in Paris in the middle of August, with the city being overrun by tourist from the states. She had always thought of the foreigners to be as rude as possible -- it was expected for her and every Parisian to use English as well as their own native language of French. She didn't mind it so, being well-traveled and tolerant. But that wasn't the case with every Parisian, for the French were well-regarded for being narrow-minded. Even bigoted. Oh well, nobody's perfect.
"Excuse me, mademoiselle. Could you help me out please?" It was a younger looking fellow, dressed in a casual suit jacket. "I was looking for the Musée du Louvre, and I ended up in this large park. Can you point me in the right direction?" His English language was impeccable, she had guessed that he was a typical tourist from the states as well.
Mireille grinned, speaking in English. "It's the other way, sir. Turn around and walk along with the park on your right. Its up on the right side, about ten blocks away. You can't miss the glass pyramids along the left, sticking among the trees."
"Sure, sounds great." The English blond sat down on the park bench right next to Mireille. He was a nice looking one, in his late twenties or possibility early thirties. Casually yet formal dressed up, the clothes were just a bit much for the hot August weather, especially the tweed jacket. "Mind if I sit down for a second? Its quite hot out there, and I'm not used to it when it gets this warm."
"Oh really? And I thought the states were hot during the summer season?" The blond was annoyed that this stranger was sitting down now, for why couldn't the baka just move on and get to the museum? Now, here he was, hanging around and annoying the crap out of her. He wasn't a bad looking chap, after all, Mireille hadn't been out on a date in who-knows how long. Maybe It would be nice to go out for a bottle of wine or two? After all, his straight yet short blond hair gave the stranger such a nice 'prep' look.
"Oh, and I was hoping you could show me down there. Perhaps a stroll along the road?"
Her mind struggled back to her task at hand. Business -- and the meeting she was waiting for. She had to scare him off. "I don't think you would like being here when my boyfriend shows up. He doesn't take too kindly to strangers, especially to ones from overseas, I'm afraid."
"Nonsense. I very much doubt your boyfriend is showing up."
The blond rolled her eyes. Wow, she thought, how confident and smug can a guy get? "He's six foot three, mister. And he loves to box."
"Oh, I'm sure he does, in your dreams." The young man got up from his seat. "Now, how about that walk I promised you?"
Mireille wanted to turn to the foreigner and beat the stuffing out of him. How rude, she thought, to be hitting on me so cruelly. She had been a polite woman before, and now he was sticking to her like bees on honey. They were more than in a public place, with plenty of cops within an earshot of their position. It would make a physical encounter extremely uncomfortable.
"Maybe if I knew who you were waiting for, I might have a better idea. But then, Soldats aren't known to miss appointments until now."
Mireille whirled around at her tourist visitor, stunned. This chap was saying the Soldats weren't coming to the meeting! Was he crazy?
She quickly regrouped into her formal business mode, putting together the pieces. "Then, I would have to assume that you sent the message."
"You're right about that one. Wanted to get your attention." The stranger tourist looked down at Mireille with his hand outstretched. "So, for the last time I suppose, how about that walk you promised me?"
Mireille groaned. Hit on twice in one day was a bit much, even in her book. Nevertheless, she didn't protest as she grabbed the stranger's hand and stood up. "I guess you know all about me. How about the pleasure of your name?"
"Morgan Carver. Al least that's what people call me in my world." The blond man shifted away a bit under Mireille's gaze. "I must apologize for the ruse, but then why can't we have a little fun on the way."
Maybe, thought the blond, shooting him wouldn't be such a bad idea. "Tell me what you want. I don't like to be double-switched."
"Well, I can't tell you much, I'm afraid. But recently, my group has uncovered the Soldats from clues in the last few months. We don't know much about them, except of leaked incidents that have become much scattered around the news the last few months. Especially in France, where an entire village had been slaughtered, by some previous unknown group. We now believe these recent activities are connected to, a group that you know as well, to be the Soldats."
Mireille nodded. This guy was smart as well, tracking down her connection to the group and finding her e-mail. What else was Morgan capable of? "Excuse me for the bother, but I don't like being crossed, especially when it deals with the Soldats."
"I see. Have they threatened you?"
Mireille stammered, turning to her visitor. This guy has got to be kidding, she thought. Unless he was just playing parlor tricks. "No. We had some...dealings, that's all."
"I see." Morgan thumbed around his jacket, bringing a small notebook to light. "Our records show that you have worked on contract with the Soldats. Though we believe that is no longer is the case."
"You're government, aren't you?" she asked. "That's the way government handles a contact case, isn't it. They get former associates of an organization, pretend to be the contact, and get them to rat out for their protection." She turned around away from Morgan, unimpressed. "I don't snitch, its not my job."
Morgan looked up from his scribbled pad. "You're reputation does live up to your hype, Ms. Bouquet. I can say that you are correct, I do work a governmental agency. American, in fact. Perhaps you've heard of the CIA."
"I never expected an outside agency, no less an American operation, to be interests my little exploits, Mr. Carver."
"Please, call me Morgan." He placed his fingertips on Mireille's arm. "No reason to be so formal after our little chat. After all, can't I be your friend?"
Mireille pulled her arm away. "No reason? Let's see. First, calling me out here, pretending to be the Soldats. That takes some information. Then, enticing me with your rather piggish words. I'm not that kind of girl. And third, I don't work well with government agencies. You have a file on me, and you know that I have been out of the business for almost a year."
"All that is true." Morgan pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and ignited it with a lighter in one motion. "Well, maybe everything except that part with the pig. You would think I don't like being compared to a farm animal. Nevertheless, we do know that you are out of the loop. Our intel isn't the greatest, but we do keep feelers out there." He took a puff on her cigarette, in an annoyed matter. "Are really retired, Mireille?"
"Yes."
"What a shame." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few glossy pictures. "Then your meeting with this gentleman..." Morgan dropped each picture of alternate angles into Mireille's open palms. "Was just a nice visit over a cup a tea?"
"Exactly. He's a friend. I don't mind telling you, because you probably know that already."
"Oh? He's still a friend after Italy?"
Mireille head swung around. "Yes, damn it! What he does is none of my business!"
"Oh, that Carlos is still active on jobs?" Morgan took another drag on his smoke. "I already know that, no thanks to you, I'm afraid."
"Then what do you want?" asked Mireille.
They had reached well down the side of the park, the glass inverted pyramid of the Louvre could been seen popping over the trees. Its dark reflection hid parts of the classical styled building from behind it. At first, the local Parisians couldn't stand I.M. Pei's new addition to their historical monument to art. But over time, locals opinion swayed from disgust to complete adoption of the mix of old and new. And if someone was to have removed the for mentioned new addition, Mireille was sure it would raise a bigger stink than its initial construction.
The agent pulled his arm away. "Mireille," answered Morgan, "I want to you work with Carlos. He has another team, but they...I suppose..." Morgan smiled delightfully at Mireille, "are about to be arrested. I'm afraid its all bad timing on their part."
"What a shame." Mireille pointed her gun up at the government operative. "I could shoot you now, or you could take me home and I'd shoot you later."
Morgan nearly jumped out his shoes at Mireille's statement.
She cocked the safety off of her gun, holding it convincingly up at Morgan. "I think you mind enjoy being taken home and shot in bed. Is this how you like to play your games?"
Morgan held his open palm up. "No reason to fry me, Mireille. I have five shooters pointed right at your head." He raised his other hand a bit, signaling an 'up' motion.
Mireille looked behind her, keeping her gun sites on Morgan. Nevertheless, she looked up.
From a faraway building, two black hats poked up from a roof from a faraway white townhouse. Each of the sharpshooter's eyes were covered in sunglasses, their black outfits stuck out like sore thumbs in the daylight. Unsurprised, Mireille could only turn her head back with a stare of contempt.
"Tell me what you want." said Mireille, keeping her gun covered onto Morgan.
"We need the information that Carlos is being delivered. A copy, that's all. Once you have it, you are to deliver it back to me. Then, I can make sure those nasty governments record of your exploits mysteriously disappear."
"What if I don't choose to work with you…and your kind?"
"Well, then. I guess I have no choice to try to take you and Kirika down. It would be a shame to lose that nice coffee shop you have downtown. The pastries from what I've heard are rather good."
"Bastard. I should have spotted the snake in you were right away."
Morgan frowned, lowering his hands. "Tisk, tisk. I would never take advantage of you, ever like that. No, not at all."
Mireille sighed, lowering her weapon, locking and hiding it among her tight waist. "I have no choice at the moment." She looked down as she stepped closer to Morgan with her eyes.
"Ah, that is much better. I am very glad that you have accepted our offer. I will make sure that Langley does thank you for your support, unofficially of course."
*SLAP*
She wanted to shoot him badly. Maybe killing him would be a bad idea, but wounding his pride -- that would be much more effective. A shot in a foot would be better, the poor bastard would live and hobble for a month or so on a cane.
No, shooting her gun was out of the question. She wouldn't be surprised if this was audiotaped, videotaped, and watched by over a dozen governmental associates. That's why the clean open-faced slap to the right cheek was so effective.
Morgan winced his face in pain. "I guess I deserve that. After all, that bistro down the street would have been a nice meal." He felt the cheek burn off the fingertips of his hand. "I don't suppose dinner is still on?"
"It was never on to begin with." Mireille trailed off, disgusted.
[++++++]
Kirika slowly sipped on her evening tea. It was just after dinner, and the petite brunette had recently switched to herbal teas so she wouldn't be up all night -- after all, the 5:30 am breakfast shift was nothing more than a pain in a neck.
She was busy flipping through one of Mireille magazines, Paris MATCH. It was the standard of the day, documenting the many social habits of upper-crust Parisians. She spotted a rare sample sale ad, folding the page over before turning to the next section.
Frankly, she was a bit bored. Stale. The bakery had been a wonderful idea, enough to get her busy everyday. She had counted on endless hours in rolling out dough, letting it rise, and filling each perfectly made pastry with a delicate amount of homemade preserves. Relaxing and home spinning, was something very unrelated to her former business. Even slight bored, it all had been a wonderful experience for the mind.
She looked back onto the counter by the window. Paint brushes laid dry upon stale paper towels. She had not even bothered to remove them from their last cleaning step, and put the brushes away. The dough rolling, waiting on customers, the making of countless cappuccinos and espressos -- well, frankly, Kirika was pooped and too tired to clean up at home.
Still, she worked up the energy to put her brushes away, pulling them off of towels. They stuck a bit, often ripping the papery towel to shreds. It took a couple of more seconds to de-towel the brushes before stacking them back into her artist bag.
"Haven't had much time to paint lately, huh?" Mireille smiled from the kitchen, fetching herself some spring water before bed. With all the habits that Kirika had, the one that Mireille refused to go along with was Kirika's switch to herbal teas.
Mireille bitterly complained the first time Kirika tried to serve her an herbal tea. "What is this apple stuff, anyway?" She growled so much that Kirika was temped to brew two tea pots from then on.
But them Mireille had purchased some sparkling water from the store down the street, along with some fresh limes. Now, her nightly drink had suddenly switched from tea to the carbonated mix. And when Mireille was in a really bad mood, she would lace her carbonated drink with grenadine for that kick of sweetness.
"What about a different flavor?" asked Mireille, taking a large sip with her straw. It was only way to drink the grenadine-laced water, for each time the blond poured the red sweetly-laced syrup, it would fall through the iced water to the bottom of the glass. Thus, the blond constantly stirred up the iced mixture, then sipped it to prevent herself from drinking the pure sugar.
The flavored drink was quickly becoming Mireille's signal flag, 'I'm in a bitch mood, don't bother me.' Kirika didn't point out the fact, she just quietly prepped another pot of tea for herself.
Nevertheless, Mireille was here, asking Kirika for some tea as well...
"Sure. How about some light regular tea with fresh lemons?" She was sure that the lemony water might entice her partner for a change in pace.
"OK. You're the brew master tonight."
Kirika was busy slicing one open in her left palm, her right hand applying all the pressure. She twisted it violently in her hand, cutting through the difficult outer lemon rind.
"...ouch!!"
"Kirika!" The blond dashed up from the couch and into the kitchen area. "What in the world did you do?"
Kirika had grabbed some napkins and was holding her fist closed with paper towels. They were starting to redden with blood. "Oh, just a little accident. I didn't mean to do it, but..."
"But nothing. You're never this foolish around the kitchen." Mireille applied a hand towel onto Kirika's hand and lifted it into the air. "Now keep that up there for five minutes, letting the wound heal. We'll take a look at that in a second."
Kirika nodded.
"Well, at least you're ok." Mireille mad herself busy, cleaning up Kirika's accident on the counter, washing the knife and throwing away the useless lemon. "There, all done. How about sitting down on the couch for a second."
"Guess so..." The brunette sulked onto the couch, keeping her hand high by leaning it over the backrest. She was definitely not in the mood for tea anymore. "I can't believe I did that..."
"Has something been on your mind?" asked Mireille.
"Well, now that you mentioned it..." Kirika zipped over her latest thoughts. A pear tart she wanted to try out, that Gretchen had obtained from her mother. A 'secret family' recipe that Kirika had been dying to try out. Or was it Mireille's rather complex relationship to Carlos, who had bantered about a job for the two of them. A man that had once shared a past with Mireille.
No, it was something else. Something was bothering her...about the truth. But what about this? She knew the truth now. About the Soldats, and Atlena. Noir. She had accepted her past as true Noir.
She thought back to her other mysteries. The mobius on the table, left there today. Something like that was like water on the brain, for Kirika it continually reminded herself of something. Was it truth? It has nothing to do with truth. I? It was written on the mobius. What do I have to do with truth? It really didn't make any sense to her...
"Kirika..." Mireille's words brought back a sense of reality. "We need to talk about something?"
"Hmmm?" The brunette looked up.
"Well...you see. I was approached today by a government agent." She looked distressed, grinding her teeth at being taken advantage of by Morgan. "He asked us to do something."
'What..." Kirika turned back to her tea kettle on the table, giving her half-empty teacup a spot of refreshment. "Does he know we're not in business anymore?"
"Yes. The guy is smart, he's knows were not freelance anymore. I don't meet contacts out in the field anymore. Its just too risky." She was about to spill the reason -- the real reason for her meeting was to meet Soldats. But she clammed up, didn't want to tell her all the past history. Some things were better left unsaid.
"Anyway, he asked us to do the job -- for Carlos, that is. If we don't, then..." Mireille leaned her head down at Kirika. She could not even look her partner in the eyes. "We lose the café."
"No..."
"I know. This is personal. Its dirty business. I don't like it any more than you do, but we don't have much of a choice. Its that, or we go on the run."
Kirika plinked her teaspoon in her saucer. "What does Carlos having us do again?"
"I believe its surveillance. That's all." Mireille walked over to her pool desk and plopped down in the easy chair. "Carlos sent me an e-mail today. It seems his former partners got arrested on warrants in the most western district of Paris, at the Cimetière du Père Lachaise. Who would have thought to see Jim Morrison is beyond my understanding."
"I thought Oscar Wilde was up there as well?"
Mireille nodded. "Yea, he is. So Carlos' hacker friends are out, and the job is in three days."
Kirika wanted to do something else with her life. The café was fine, but it left little time for painting. The painting was fine, but it gave her little money. So many choices, but no real answers.
There had to be something to it, she thought. Was it to enter the area of business again? She thought about the amount of times at being used. She thought about how Soldats had once controlled her life. Altena mapping from careful plans, controlling Kirika future, in one way to another. Nothing had been easy, now that she was free. Kirika had finally discovered that finding her own future had become the most difficult decision in her life.
Was it meant to run a café? Or was it meant to waste away and some boring, no nothing job? Yes, the café had brought her an inner peace she had always desired. It had settled a future that had forever before been cloudy. Now that her future plans were mapped, had it been too much?
She looked back into her mind. A painting. Her life, always surrounded by the forces of Noir. Controlling her. Minding her. She never really tried understand that history, only to remember it. Finally, she faced the past, memories, the truth. With those answers fulfilled, she was at peace.
Now, that past was coming back, reaffirm that her future was secure - no, far from it. It was that her past would always dictate a ever-so cloudy future. For truth, Kirika had taken on choices and decided, each and every time.
"Kirika..." asked the blond.
The brunette looked at Mireille. What, she thought, what actions had she taken in her life? Why, did she make choices to save Mireille. For truth, she answered herself, for her to make sure that her future was as clear as possible.
And now, it looked like Mireille was in trouble. Needing saving. Kirika had noticed her love of the café was not exactly there. That didn't matter. No, there had to be something else in Kirika's life -- and Mireille's life as well. They needed something else...
"Are you ok?"
The younger partner straightened out in her chair. "I'm...fine."
"No..." Mireille smirked. "I meant your little cut there. Let me take a look."
The blond came over to her partner, unwrapping the series of reddened napkins around Kirika's hand. The cut was mostly superficial as it ran across the palm and the thumb. "Don't forget to put bacteria cream on that so it doesn't get infected. Then you'll need plenty of Vitamin E on it to make sure it doesn't scar."
"Do you have those creams here in the apartment?"
"I have some bacteria cream in the medicine cabinet. The Vitamin E is not a pill or cream, but a clear oil. We'll pick up some the next time I'm in the pharmacy market."
Kirika nodded. "Sounds good."
Mireille sighed. "So, have you decided about on our little plan to help Carlos?" The blond was expecting more rebuttals, she did not think Kirika would so willingly go along with the little scheme.
The brunette sat down, relaxed after applying a fresh bandage to her wound. "I'll tell Gretchen to get some additional help on Saturday."
Mireille blinked from her partner's response. "More help...that sound good. I guess we're doing it." The blond furiously typed away at her keyboard. "Telling Carlos now via IM. He says to meet him in the 14th arrondissement, at this corner. Sounds like we're set to me."
"Hai."
"Kirika?" Mireille's voice was as gentle as a lamb. "Thank you."
Kirika smiled, taking another sip of her tea.
[++++++]
Morgan was walking over one of the westernmost bridge over the river Seine, farthest from the city yet still within the residential area of Paris. It was quite a walk from the Louvre, to say at least.
He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. At one point, he had hoped to kick the cigarette habit. Today was definitely not the day.
"Mr. Carver?" It was a soft accented voice.
The English gentleman turned around to his contact, spotting the brim of her headwear and not hidden face. "Never could get a good glimpse of you, especially with that black witch-like hat you always wear."
"I know, that's the idea." she said. "Meeting like is very dangerous in this business. However, I am here."
"I see…"
"Nor should you be. I presume the information retrieval is going well?"
"Oh course. The Rosetta program will be in our possession in no time." Morgan smiled a bit, turning to look out on the river. "You know, there's this local bistro just down the street from here. It would be nice to have some company for dinner tonight."
"No, thank you, Mr. Carver. I expect it to be in my hands by the end of the day, tomorrow."
"I understand. I will see you then." Morgan waited a bit more for his companion to leave before flagging a cab.
Well, thought Morgan, at least Mireille would ensure for a safe copy and delivery of the merchandise. Thank goodness for that.
[++++++]
Oh you didn't want to read the first story? Well…it had Kirika and Mireille buying a small café...well, ok, that's just the end of it... ^_-
And we're going for a little lighter tone in the beginning of the story -- I can't keep it dark and foreboding forever, can I? Watch for lots of clues in these intro chapters, I need to drop them in like mad. And then as we go on, let's say I have it all written down in my head, you're see how it all links together.
- Incantrix
_____________________________
It is time to discover the past…once again.
Characters in this work are owned by the creators of Noir. The author of this fan fiction therefore only owns the writings. Yep, this is the lovely disclaimer. This copyright is 2002 under Devin A. Brown.
_____________________________
Remember Me
by Incantrix
a Noir Novel...
_____________________________
(1) Proposal
"Here you go, miss." Kirika handed the customer a wax bag filled with delicate sweet pastries. "Be sure you handle it from the bottom."
"Oh, I am so happy!" squealed the older customer. "I've traveled an hour to get here! My sister told me you have the best pastries in the whole city of Paris."
"Oui. We do try..." Kirika suddenly blushed from the compliment. "That will be thirty-seven francs, please."
"Oh, no problem whatsoever." The cheery customer turned around to exit the little café. "I'll be back next week, for my niece's party! I can't wait!"
Kirika smiled as the front door bell chimed as their patron left. "Gretchen?" she asked. "Can you take over for me? I've got to check a couple of things."
A young girl of approximately Kirika's age came out from the back kitchen. The two of them had builds like identical twins. Their looks were extraordinary different, for Gretchen's hair was fiery red with curls, as opposed to Kirika's spiky brunette look. She was wearing over her t-shirt and jeans a kitchen apron matching Kirika's, a basic off-white decorated with large sunflowers. The cute pattern had become the cheery theme of the café.
"Sure! No problem." said Gretchen, adding another set of chocolate croissants to the display case. "We've been so busy today! I can't ever remember making so many pastries."
"Business is good." Kirika nodded for a second, before taking off her apron and placing it onto the counter, folding it carefully so it wouldn't crease. "Excuse me."
"Oh Kirika?" asked Gretchen, getting Kirika to turn around. "I need to leave early to go to the Dentist. You know, the one you recommended to me?"
"Oh, is that today? You can leave early, just tell me first."
"Merci beaucoup, Kirika-sama!"
The brunette arched her eyebrow up in surprise at the mix of the polite French thank you and Japanese honorific. It certainly was an interesting mix. Telling Gretchen that she was Japanese had given the young girl quite a shock. But Gretchen took it all in stride, for after a few days, she started doing research from the number of websites, trying out all sorts of Japanese cultural references.
Kirika sighed. No use in telling the girl that she was more French than anything. She certainly wasn't Japanese, that much was true. Especially with past history….
[++++++]
Kirika walked around the front outside of the café, a sunny area of a half dozen little round tables, covered with red and white checkered cloths, which in turn were covered over by a thick layer of clear plastic. The unnatural layer of silicon was a necessary evil, it made leaning on the tables a bit uncomfortable due to stickiness, but easier in the long run in cleaning and wiping away baking crumbs and nasty spills.
The seating area was very much coveted, the tables were always filled with a mix of local patrons and tourists, chatting away and sipping their variety of espressos, teas, and cappuccinos. The locals were very easy to spot, they took hours on end to sit and watch, occasionally conversing daily activities with their friends. A local was said to be relaxed, as if watching a turtle walk by on a slow day.
Tourists, on the hand, never really looked at ease. They would sit down with a drink; ten minutes later their soda glass was empty along with the ice. Without a liquid refreshment, a tourist would fondle, bend and chew their drink straws to death. And instead of relaxing and taking all the scenery of Paris, their heads bobbed from left and right like a pigeon, expecting birdseed to be thrown plainly at their feet.
Behind the outside tables were huge swinging full length windows, the breezing air that made the same patrons consistent customers. Those windows had been swung wide open during the summer days, at the insistence of Kirika. Those tables just inside the café were the second most popular among the patrons.
That is where Kirika found her partner, Mireille, curled up among the outside corner of their café. She was sipping a lazy iced coffee, its ice long since melted away. On the far side of the roundish table were the Le Deux Croissant's business papers, of fresh printouts from the accountant of their cash flows and account payables. On top of those printouts were a variety of bills and notices over the last couple of weeks, all ready for the blond to process and pay.
Mireille was instead busy reading the local paper, pouring over the society pages. She heard her partner almost immediately, and did not even bother to turn around. The blond instead pointed to a picture, of a lovely young woman in summer dress, attending one of the many private affairs among Paris. "Don't you think this hat would look lovely on me?"
Kirika nodded.
"Looks nice," said Mireille. "I wish I could get it, then maybe some nice gentleman would notice me from across the street." The blond sighed, folding the paper away. "I haven't had a date in years. Sometimes I wonder why that's the case."
Kirika sat down, her seat also facing outward onto the sunny street. "You really should get out more. It might make you…a little more relaxed." Kirika bit her lip at the words but Mireille didn't really notice. She decided to press to the issue. "I haven't seen you out with anyone. What if you saw Gretchen's older brother?"
Mireille frowned. "Yea, you would think a girl like me would get excited over flowers and such. Maybe I'm just too old-fashioned, but the thought of be being romanced over doesn't really appeal to me." She looked over the papers, as if they were a mistrustful informant.
"I see you haven't even touched your work." The brunette nodded over to the stack of papers and printouts on the far side of the table. "I think maybe the stack is getting a bit big."
Mireille stretched her arm out, pushing the papers a bit more over to the far hand side of the table. "I should, but I don't. Waiting in the accounting office for two hours today was enough work for me."
The brunette frowned. "We should pay those bills soon..."
"You know me so well, Kirika. Sometimes, I wish that we were back in business. Then I could afford to buy hats like that." She brought the paper back onto the table, looking through some of the other articles. "That would have been nice."
"We get paid plenty for the café," said the brunette. "I think we need to hire a couple of more people, since so busy right now. I've been so tired..." As if right on key, Kirika yawned and tried to shut her yawn almost immediately. "I need to work less."
The blond chuckled under her breath. "I still need to go over the numbers, but the accountant was smiling so wide when I picked up these printouts today. Even I was very surprised how much money we're making." Mireille took another sip of her iced coffee, the temperature had clearly warmed her drink to a unbearable level. "Ugh."
"Mireille." Kirika tilted her head to the side, getting her partner's attention.
"Hmmm?"
"What if...we took your suggestion, and went back to work?" Kirika took a minute to tumble the words out. "What do you think would have happened?"
Mireille almost dropped her warmed coffee right there. "Kirika! But this is..."
"It's the Soldats, am I right?"
The blond nodded, staring down at the checkerboard table. "They gave me a choice to work for them in the business, or...exit out." She looked back up at her partner. "I look at what we've done here. Its good. Its very good."
Kirika beamed. "I know. I have been satisfied. Baking, cooking..." However, the brunette could detect the darker tones from Mireille and her lack of enthusiasm. "But...you're not happy here, are you?"
The blond impatiently tapped her fingers on the table. "I don't know. I know I'm safe here, it feels so warm, inviting, comfortable. Its really a pleasure to sit out on a corner table and not have a pair or two pairs of eyes, watching your every step..."
"But?"
Mireille turned back to Kirika. "I miss the thrill, the chase. My life is so boring now." She pointed down at the society pages. "I can't believe I spend every day reading this dribble! I mean, so I can learn that Mr. Richy-Rich and so is marrying Ms. Muffy? I mean, I'm tired of it."
"Ummm..."
"Only if I had a nice fat contract. I would feel good to run around again with my gun pointed outward, looking, hunting…" The blond took a minute to stretch her legs while still seated. "Now, the only time I get to run is on a treadmill. I take some kickboxing class and beat up the instructor. That isn't that thrilling in my book."
Kirika was silent.
"Did I miss anything?"
"No, I guess not..." She took Mireille's finished glass and her own drink up from the table, stacking them together in her hand. "There's another batch of pastries to make up. Excuse me-"
The two Noir partners looked up for a second. Gretchen was coming onto the floor, being closely followed by man behind her. He was clean-cut, with spiky white hair and a clef chin. He wore slightly tinted sunglasses, the small circular shades just barely covering his eyes. Simply dressed could describe the rest of his clothes, a plain gray shirt and blue jeans, the typical signs of a tourist outfit.
"Ummm...this guy asked for you, Mireille," said Gretchen.
"Carlos!" grinned the blond, bolting out of her chair. "Carlos de Guadia."
"Hello, Mireille. Its been a long time." His voice was mature, very mature for the such a young-looking man. They lightly hugged for a second/
"Sit down!" Mireille pointed to a chair that Kirika brought over from the back. Carlos gracious accepted the offer as the three of them sat down around the small café table. "This is Kirika, my partner at the café."
"Hai." Kirika half-hearted a wave not much else. "Can I get you anything."
"Oh no, I'm good! Really!" After a polite no-thank you, the stranger turned his attention toward Mireille as he leaned back in his chair. "Now instead of one beautiful lady, I am very much at the mercy of two striking women. I should not ever be so lucky."
Both girls blushed. "I see you have not lost that lovely 'charm' of yours," said Mireille.
Carlos smiled. "No, I suppose not. Not, how long has it been? I'd have to say definitely more than a year."
"That's for sure. Its been a bit less than two years, I think. Oh, and the last assignment we were on was in Myorka. Wasn't that to most beautiful vacation spot? I remember the coast of Spain like it was yesterday."
"You mean for you!" exclaimed the gentlemen, "I had to spend all my surveillance shifts inside, hunched over camera and infra-red equipment. It wasn't my fault after the island stop that we didn't-"
"Carlos?" Mireille looked at the young man inquisitively. "Make no mistake, my friend. Never to make that mistake with me." For as quick as the seriousness had entered Mireille's voice, it quickly drained away a couple of seconds later.
"I'm sorry..." he stammered. "But, I...didn't bring it up."
Mireille brushed her hair back. "I guess you're right, Carlos. I can be wrong."
"Oh course I am. What else would you expect of me?" And the white-haired boy smiled. "At least I can have the pleasure of two lovely young associates, can't I? There's nothing wrong with an introduction to an evening out…"
Kirika blushed from a light pink to a deep red.
"Bite that forked tongue of yours, dear boy," laughed Mireille. "This is Kirika, my friend and business partner. And she's too young for you."
"I bed your pardon..." said Kirika. "I am plenty old enough to date..."
Carlos smirked. "Oh, and I never thought in my lifetime that your partner would ever be a she?"
Mireille ignored Carlos' question, staring him down before focusing her attention to Kirika. "Carlos, is, unfortunately, one of the best tech guy there is in the field. If you need to watch, have cameras, record or track, he's your man."
"I've never heard of Carlos before." said Kirika.
The blond smirked. "Oh, I know why. That's because Carlos has a handle, like we used to. They call him the 'Eye of the Masons.'"
"Huh?"
Carlos interjected. "I was never really good at play on words, unlike you two." Mireille bemused herself to the young man's comments, preferring not to bring up history. "You see, I took the symbol from the Masons, an eye on a pyramid. The eye, is obviously, me, with the pyramid being the state. There's no denying that I have become much of that, for I only show the truth of the state?"
"The truth?" Mireille's eyebrow shot up at Carlos' words. "I don't think you've ever given me a straight response in my life."
The young man straightened up in his chair. "What? About being beautiful?"
Kirika coughed. Wow, thought the brunette, this guy lays it on pretty thick...
"Carlos..." asked Mireille, crossing her arms in a manner of distaste. "This wasn't a pure social call, was it?"
"No, of course no." The blond tightened up a bit on hearing Carlos' news. "Relax, I'm sure were not being watched -- too much." The young man sighed ever so slightly. "It's the only way to live -- as a guy on the run, you know. You do a deed, and if its wrong, you pay the penalty. Nothing wrong with that system."
"You haven't taken me on a straight track in years," grimaced Mireille. "You still can't go back to Italy, can you? Its really a shame that you did that."
"Nonsense, it was the best thing to do." The young man stretched his hands behind him. "A piece of cake, actually. Break into the system that controls all the lights, change the patterns a bit, and convince the government that you can do your worst, when you want to..."
"Your worst?" asked Kirika.
Mireille chuckled. "What a baka you are."
"Oh yes, excuse me. I never really did say how. The traffic system in Rome, specifically the roads around the old coliseum. Broke into their central system, messed up a couple of lines of code, and presto -- instant disaster in the running, by me of course."
Kirika didn't flinch one bit. "But why mess up the lights of Rome?"
Mireille pulled Kirika aside. "Actually, to keep the police in traffic. Away...from a museum or two."
The brunette turned back to Carlos. "Ah. So, you're a hacker, Mr. Guadia, hired by the thieves."
"Alas, I didn't know. I was just ordered to hack it and mess it up a bit," sighed Carlos. "Oh, and I'm technically not a hacker, though that's what the authorities call me. I prefer information manager, or fact manipulator. Or phreaker. Only the police call me a hacker."
"I see. And that's why you can't go back to Italy?"
"That about surmises it. A friend chewed me out to the local police, and naturally I couldn't let them take my ass in...It wouldn't have been fair. At least an informant was able to alert me to their little plan and tip me off. Nothing worse than seeing a 5,000,000 Lira award go up in smoke.
Kirika nodded. "You are a mischievous one, Carlos."
The blond turned back to Carlos. "Well, this has been real fun, all and that. War stories entertaining to no end. But that doesn't explain the biggest item on the plate."
"And that is?"
"Why you're here. Always the intelligent one, you've known that we're out of the business." Mireille pointed around to the café and its surroundings. "Can't you see that we're legit?"
"Nonsense. I don't believe that of you." Mireille wanted to interrupt Carlos, but her changed facial expression explained it all. "I can see you're angry, Mireille. And it was just for some standard surveillance and stuff. I need some bodyguards, that's all."
The blond arched her eyebrows in disbelief. "Oh, so you need me the chaperone your party? And here I thought you'd finally grown up."
"You know," said Carlos, "girls with guns are the great equalizer in the world. In case anything happens during the meeting and all."
"Oh, really?" responded Kirika, "That doesn't sound too hard-"
Mireille was in shock as she gawked over at her former associate. She couldn't believe Carlos was asking for business help -- and that Kirika was about to pitch in. "This discussion is over, Carlos."
"But..." Carlos pleaded his case.
"I said OVER," said Mireille, her eyes crossed over in disgust. "We have plans."
Kirika shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry, but we're busy. It takes a lot of time to make lemon tarts."
The younger man stood up. "Fine. I can find other people. If you want me, I'm staying in the far west area of the city, at the Madagascar Hotel. You know I'm online as well." The hacker bowed his head. "Oh, and Kirika, very nice to meet you. You are a charming young lady."
The brunette nodded pleasantly as Carlos got up and left the café. She turned to the blond. "He's cute."
"Kirika!"
"Hmmm. You know, he would be nice wrapped around my arm."
Mireille heaved a sigh. "Growing up in front of me like that. Really, I should have noticed it -- that you want to date Gretchen's brother."
Kirika turned her head. "Come on, we've got some paperwork to go over."
The blond relaxed. "I guess you're right. Lead the way."
[++++++]
Kirika had another busy afternoon around the café. The tourist had hit them particularly hard -- an overcrowded tour bus had dropped off a boatload of them on the recommendation of a local hotel. She was going to have to thank the hotel later, or curse them -- depending how tired she was by the end of the day.
And they were tourist all right -- their whitish t-shirts, color-worn shorts, and knee high white socks were all shocking signs of American symbolism. The group had obliviously been museum hopping in the nearby district, their impressionistic bags held goodies from the nearby Musée d'Orsey.
She sighed. Speaking in English wasn't really a problem. In fact, Gretchen spoke English as well, as she loved to talk the overseas tourists about upcoming movies and Hollywood stars. If there was even a French girl who loved the Hollywood life, it was Gretchen. She was smitten by all the love, power, and other worldly excitements. "Oh," said the young girl, "I can't wait to go to California and go check out the homes of the stars! Oh? You can't go up to their front door and knock for autographs? Why not?"
Those love to hate tourists always seemed to run out of francs. For Kirika, cashing a travelers check was nothing more than a pain in the butt, as the tourist always complained about the lack of change in francs. Still, it was good money, and the American tourists often left tips.
Kirika was busy cleaning off the last used rounds when she noticed a folded strip of paper lying on the very far table. After a quick crumb wipe, Kirika walked over to the distraction she caught from the corner of her eye. Strange, she thought, no one had been sitting in this corner place. One couple did sit down, the small roundish table rocking a bit while in they leaned over their seats. After a quick look underneath, they found two of the three leg coasters were missing, causing the table to slightly lisp and rock. With little fanfare, the couple fled to different seats.
Kirika didn't think too much else of it, grabbing for the scrap of paper. Strange, she thought, the paper was folded over a bit. Looking into her open palm, the mobius strip propped up from its former crushed position. The simple strip of banded of paper was twisted half-over connecting to itself. It was a perfect example of a mobius strip -- an object with only one side.
Kirika squinted a closer look. Yes, she could just make out the simple typed characters running the infinite loop around the mobius strip. It was just one character, repeated around in the endless circle that the strip formed.
'i'
A children's toy, a foolish plaything that one of the tourists had left, thought Kirika. They must have picked it up from some other museum or place of interests. She didn't think much about it, crinkling the paper toy and depositing it into the circular file.
The brunette sighed. She needed to bake off another three sheet pans of plain croissants for the morning rush. Her work was never done. She was thinking that maybe her partner could help, but the blond had already split the cafe for the day. It was probably for the better.
[++++++]
Mireille sat down in her comfy chair next to her pool table of a table. Red velvet, she thought. I should have never had a red pool table put in. What was I thinking? I mean, it doesn't match my blouse at all! What if I want to get a different color? And damn it, its not like I can just get it re-done.
Trivial thoughts lead to the more important issues of the day. She thought back to the job that Carlos had asked for. She was surprised that Carlos was needing them for some extra protection, the 'snake in the grass' had never really needed help since going out on his own. Most hacker work could be done from almost anywhere, for Mireille was sure Carlos had little safe houses in half a dozen locations around the world.
Bah, the job was probably already gone, it being a week later. No use fretting over lost income.
Mireille's computer beeped. E-mail. She lazily opened her new message, half expectantly to find some junk e-mail, as her e-mail account was now forwarding from her new 'The Deux Croissant' website.
She read the message. Read it again. With no hesitation, Mireille reached under her pool table for her gun, and headed out the door.
[++++++]
Mireille circled around the trees. She certainly didn't like all this cover stuff away from her partner, but it was more than necessary to keep Kirika out of contact. To keep her away from the Soldats.
It was the Soldats that had tipped her off about Kirika's work. They had given her a choice -- to work for them, or to leave the business entirely. They, had chosen to leave the business of the under lords, to seek themselves out the dark, to leave the blackness of Noir.
To Mireille, it was their only choice.
She looked back into the darkness of Noir. Formed to carry the mission of judgment of the world. But when there was no judge, no executioner of the Soldats by Noir, the prophesy collapsed. They, Mireille and Kirika, had abducted the mantle, deserting the will of Atlena. They were no longer Noir, and in Mireille's mind, it was over.
Sitting down at the park bench, Mireille quickly unfolded the local paper. There wasn't much interesting in Paris in the middle of August, with the city being overrun by tourist from the states. She had always thought of the foreigners to be as rude as possible -- it was expected for her and every Parisian to use English as well as their own native language of French. She didn't mind it so, being well-traveled and tolerant. But that wasn't the case with every Parisian, for the French were well-regarded for being narrow-minded. Even bigoted. Oh well, nobody's perfect.
"Excuse me, mademoiselle. Could you help me out please?" It was a younger looking fellow, dressed in a casual suit jacket. "I was looking for the Musée du Louvre, and I ended up in this large park. Can you point me in the right direction?" His English language was impeccable, she had guessed that he was a typical tourist from the states as well.
Mireille grinned, speaking in English. "It's the other way, sir. Turn around and walk along with the park on your right. Its up on the right side, about ten blocks away. You can't miss the glass pyramids along the left, sticking among the trees."
"Sure, sounds great." The English blond sat down on the park bench right next to Mireille. He was a nice looking one, in his late twenties or possibility early thirties. Casually yet formal dressed up, the clothes were just a bit much for the hot August weather, especially the tweed jacket. "Mind if I sit down for a second? Its quite hot out there, and I'm not used to it when it gets this warm."
"Oh really? And I thought the states were hot during the summer season?" The blond was annoyed that this stranger was sitting down now, for why couldn't the baka just move on and get to the museum? Now, here he was, hanging around and annoying the crap out of her. He wasn't a bad looking chap, after all, Mireille hadn't been out on a date in who-knows how long. Maybe It would be nice to go out for a bottle of wine or two? After all, his straight yet short blond hair gave the stranger such a nice 'prep' look.
"Oh, and I was hoping you could show me down there. Perhaps a stroll along the road?"
Her mind struggled back to her task at hand. Business -- and the meeting she was waiting for. She had to scare him off. "I don't think you would like being here when my boyfriend shows up. He doesn't take too kindly to strangers, especially to ones from overseas, I'm afraid."
"Nonsense. I very much doubt your boyfriend is showing up."
The blond rolled her eyes. Wow, she thought, how confident and smug can a guy get? "He's six foot three, mister. And he loves to box."
"Oh, I'm sure he does, in your dreams." The young man got up from his seat. "Now, how about that walk I promised you?"
Mireille wanted to turn to the foreigner and beat the stuffing out of him. How rude, she thought, to be hitting on me so cruelly. She had been a polite woman before, and now he was sticking to her like bees on honey. They were more than in a public place, with plenty of cops within an earshot of their position. It would make a physical encounter extremely uncomfortable.
"Maybe if I knew who you were waiting for, I might have a better idea. But then, Soldats aren't known to miss appointments until now."
Mireille whirled around at her tourist visitor, stunned. This chap was saying the Soldats weren't coming to the meeting! Was he crazy?
She quickly regrouped into her formal business mode, putting together the pieces. "Then, I would have to assume that you sent the message."
"You're right about that one. Wanted to get your attention." The stranger tourist looked down at Mireille with his hand outstretched. "So, for the last time I suppose, how about that walk you promised me?"
Mireille groaned. Hit on twice in one day was a bit much, even in her book. Nevertheless, she didn't protest as she grabbed the stranger's hand and stood up. "I guess you know all about me. How about the pleasure of your name?"
"Morgan Carver. Al least that's what people call me in my world." The blond man shifted away a bit under Mireille's gaze. "I must apologize for the ruse, but then why can't we have a little fun on the way."
Maybe, thought the blond, shooting him wouldn't be such a bad idea. "Tell me what you want. I don't like to be double-switched."
"Well, I can't tell you much, I'm afraid. But recently, my group has uncovered the Soldats from clues in the last few months. We don't know much about them, except of leaked incidents that have become much scattered around the news the last few months. Especially in France, where an entire village had been slaughtered, by some previous unknown group. We now believe these recent activities are connected to, a group that you know as well, to be the Soldats."
Mireille nodded. This guy was smart as well, tracking down her connection to the group and finding her e-mail. What else was Morgan capable of? "Excuse me for the bother, but I don't like being crossed, especially when it deals with the Soldats."
"I see. Have they threatened you?"
Mireille stammered, turning to her visitor. This guy has got to be kidding, she thought. Unless he was just playing parlor tricks. "No. We had some...dealings, that's all."
"I see." Morgan thumbed around his jacket, bringing a small notebook to light. "Our records show that you have worked on contract with the Soldats. Though we believe that is no longer is the case."
"You're government, aren't you?" she asked. "That's the way government handles a contact case, isn't it. They get former associates of an organization, pretend to be the contact, and get them to rat out for their protection." She turned around away from Morgan, unimpressed. "I don't snitch, its not my job."
Morgan looked up from his scribbled pad. "You're reputation does live up to your hype, Ms. Bouquet. I can say that you are correct, I do work a governmental agency. American, in fact. Perhaps you've heard of the CIA."
"I never expected an outside agency, no less an American operation, to be interests my little exploits, Mr. Carver."
"Please, call me Morgan." He placed his fingertips on Mireille's arm. "No reason to be so formal after our little chat. After all, can't I be your friend?"
Mireille pulled her arm away. "No reason? Let's see. First, calling me out here, pretending to be the Soldats. That takes some information. Then, enticing me with your rather piggish words. I'm not that kind of girl. And third, I don't work well with government agencies. You have a file on me, and you know that I have been out of the business for almost a year."
"All that is true." Morgan pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and ignited it with a lighter in one motion. "Well, maybe everything except that part with the pig. You would think I don't like being compared to a farm animal. Nevertheless, we do know that you are out of the loop. Our intel isn't the greatest, but we do keep feelers out there." He took a puff on her cigarette, in an annoyed matter. "Are really retired, Mireille?"
"Yes."
"What a shame." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few glossy pictures. "Then your meeting with this gentleman..." Morgan dropped each picture of alternate angles into Mireille's open palms. "Was just a nice visit over a cup a tea?"
"Exactly. He's a friend. I don't mind telling you, because you probably know that already."
"Oh? He's still a friend after Italy?"
Mireille head swung around. "Yes, damn it! What he does is none of my business!"
"Oh, that Carlos is still active on jobs?" Morgan took another drag on his smoke. "I already know that, no thanks to you, I'm afraid."
"Then what do you want?" asked Mireille.
They had reached well down the side of the park, the glass inverted pyramid of the Louvre could been seen popping over the trees. Its dark reflection hid parts of the classical styled building from behind it. At first, the local Parisians couldn't stand I.M. Pei's new addition to their historical monument to art. But over time, locals opinion swayed from disgust to complete adoption of the mix of old and new. And if someone was to have removed the for mentioned new addition, Mireille was sure it would raise a bigger stink than its initial construction.
The agent pulled his arm away. "Mireille," answered Morgan, "I want to you work with Carlos. He has another team, but they...I suppose..." Morgan smiled delightfully at Mireille, "are about to be arrested. I'm afraid its all bad timing on their part."
"What a shame." Mireille pointed her gun up at the government operative. "I could shoot you now, or you could take me home and I'd shoot you later."
Morgan nearly jumped out his shoes at Mireille's statement.
She cocked the safety off of her gun, holding it convincingly up at Morgan. "I think you mind enjoy being taken home and shot in bed. Is this how you like to play your games?"
Morgan held his open palm up. "No reason to fry me, Mireille. I have five shooters pointed right at your head." He raised his other hand a bit, signaling an 'up' motion.
Mireille looked behind her, keeping her gun sites on Morgan. Nevertheless, she looked up.
From a faraway building, two black hats poked up from a roof from a faraway white townhouse. Each of the sharpshooter's eyes were covered in sunglasses, their black outfits stuck out like sore thumbs in the daylight. Unsurprised, Mireille could only turn her head back with a stare of contempt.
"Tell me what you want." said Mireille, keeping her gun covered onto Morgan.
"We need the information that Carlos is being delivered. A copy, that's all. Once you have it, you are to deliver it back to me. Then, I can make sure those nasty governments record of your exploits mysteriously disappear."
"What if I don't choose to work with you…and your kind?"
"Well, then. I guess I have no choice to try to take you and Kirika down. It would be a shame to lose that nice coffee shop you have downtown. The pastries from what I've heard are rather good."
"Bastard. I should have spotted the snake in you were right away."
Morgan frowned, lowering his hands. "Tisk, tisk. I would never take advantage of you, ever like that. No, not at all."
Mireille sighed, lowering her weapon, locking and hiding it among her tight waist. "I have no choice at the moment." She looked down as she stepped closer to Morgan with her eyes.
"Ah, that is much better. I am very glad that you have accepted our offer. I will make sure that Langley does thank you for your support, unofficially of course."
*SLAP*
She wanted to shoot him badly. Maybe killing him would be a bad idea, but wounding his pride -- that would be much more effective. A shot in a foot would be better, the poor bastard would live and hobble for a month or so on a cane.
No, shooting her gun was out of the question. She wouldn't be surprised if this was audiotaped, videotaped, and watched by over a dozen governmental associates. That's why the clean open-faced slap to the right cheek was so effective.
Morgan winced his face in pain. "I guess I deserve that. After all, that bistro down the street would have been a nice meal." He felt the cheek burn off the fingertips of his hand. "I don't suppose dinner is still on?"
"It was never on to begin with." Mireille trailed off, disgusted.
[++++++]
Kirika slowly sipped on her evening tea. It was just after dinner, and the petite brunette had recently switched to herbal teas so she wouldn't be up all night -- after all, the 5:30 am breakfast shift was nothing more than a pain in a neck.
She was busy flipping through one of Mireille magazines, Paris MATCH. It was the standard of the day, documenting the many social habits of upper-crust Parisians. She spotted a rare sample sale ad, folding the page over before turning to the next section.
Frankly, she was a bit bored. Stale. The bakery had been a wonderful idea, enough to get her busy everyday. She had counted on endless hours in rolling out dough, letting it rise, and filling each perfectly made pastry with a delicate amount of homemade preserves. Relaxing and home spinning, was something very unrelated to her former business. Even slight bored, it all had been a wonderful experience for the mind.
She looked back onto the counter by the window. Paint brushes laid dry upon stale paper towels. She had not even bothered to remove them from their last cleaning step, and put the brushes away. The dough rolling, waiting on customers, the making of countless cappuccinos and espressos -- well, frankly, Kirika was pooped and too tired to clean up at home.
Still, she worked up the energy to put her brushes away, pulling them off of towels. They stuck a bit, often ripping the papery towel to shreds. It took a couple of more seconds to de-towel the brushes before stacking them back into her artist bag.
"Haven't had much time to paint lately, huh?" Mireille smiled from the kitchen, fetching herself some spring water before bed. With all the habits that Kirika had, the one that Mireille refused to go along with was Kirika's switch to herbal teas.
Mireille bitterly complained the first time Kirika tried to serve her an herbal tea. "What is this apple stuff, anyway?" She growled so much that Kirika was temped to brew two tea pots from then on.
But them Mireille had purchased some sparkling water from the store down the street, along with some fresh limes. Now, her nightly drink had suddenly switched from tea to the carbonated mix. And when Mireille was in a really bad mood, she would lace her carbonated drink with grenadine for that kick of sweetness.
"What about a different flavor?" asked Mireille, taking a large sip with her straw. It was only way to drink the grenadine-laced water, for each time the blond poured the red sweetly-laced syrup, it would fall through the iced water to the bottom of the glass. Thus, the blond constantly stirred up the iced mixture, then sipped it to prevent herself from drinking the pure sugar.
The flavored drink was quickly becoming Mireille's signal flag, 'I'm in a bitch mood, don't bother me.' Kirika didn't point out the fact, she just quietly prepped another pot of tea for herself.
Nevertheless, Mireille was here, asking Kirika for some tea as well...
"Sure. How about some light regular tea with fresh lemons?" She was sure that the lemony water might entice her partner for a change in pace.
"OK. You're the brew master tonight."
Kirika was busy slicing one open in her left palm, her right hand applying all the pressure. She twisted it violently in her hand, cutting through the difficult outer lemon rind.
"...ouch!!"
"Kirika!" The blond dashed up from the couch and into the kitchen area. "What in the world did you do?"
Kirika had grabbed some napkins and was holding her fist closed with paper towels. They were starting to redden with blood. "Oh, just a little accident. I didn't mean to do it, but..."
"But nothing. You're never this foolish around the kitchen." Mireille applied a hand towel onto Kirika's hand and lifted it into the air. "Now keep that up there for five minutes, letting the wound heal. We'll take a look at that in a second."
Kirika nodded.
"Well, at least you're ok." Mireille mad herself busy, cleaning up Kirika's accident on the counter, washing the knife and throwing away the useless lemon. "There, all done. How about sitting down on the couch for a second."
"Guess so..." The brunette sulked onto the couch, keeping her hand high by leaning it over the backrest. She was definitely not in the mood for tea anymore. "I can't believe I did that..."
"Has something been on your mind?" asked Mireille.
"Well, now that you mentioned it..." Kirika zipped over her latest thoughts. A pear tart she wanted to try out, that Gretchen had obtained from her mother. A 'secret family' recipe that Kirika had been dying to try out. Or was it Mireille's rather complex relationship to Carlos, who had bantered about a job for the two of them. A man that had once shared a past with Mireille.
No, it was something else. Something was bothering her...about the truth. But what about this? She knew the truth now. About the Soldats, and Atlena. Noir. She had accepted her past as true Noir.
She thought back to her other mysteries. The mobius on the table, left there today. Something like that was like water on the brain, for Kirika it continually reminded herself of something. Was it truth? It has nothing to do with truth. I? It was written on the mobius. What do I have to do with truth? It really didn't make any sense to her...
"Kirika..." Mireille's words brought back a sense of reality. "We need to talk about something?"
"Hmmm?" The brunette looked up.
"Well...you see. I was approached today by a government agent." She looked distressed, grinding her teeth at being taken advantage of by Morgan. "He asked us to do something."
'What..." Kirika turned back to her tea kettle on the table, giving her half-empty teacup a spot of refreshment. "Does he know we're not in business anymore?"
"Yes. The guy is smart, he's knows were not freelance anymore. I don't meet contacts out in the field anymore. Its just too risky." She was about to spill the reason -- the real reason for her meeting was to meet Soldats. But she clammed up, didn't want to tell her all the past history. Some things were better left unsaid.
"Anyway, he asked us to do the job -- for Carlos, that is. If we don't, then..." Mireille leaned her head down at Kirika. She could not even look her partner in the eyes. "We lose the café."
"No..."
"I know. This is personal. Its dirty business. I don't like it any more than you do, but we don't have much of a choice. Its that, or we go on the run."
Kirika plinked her teaspoon in her saucer. "What does Carlos having us do again?"
"I believe its surveillance. That's all." Mireille walked over to her pool desk and plopped down in the easy chair. "Carlos sent me an e-mail today. It seems his former partners got arrested on warrants in the most western district of Paris, at the Cimetière du Père Lachaise. Who would have thought to see Jim Morrison is beyond my understanding."
"I thought Oscar Wilde was up there as well?"
Mireille nodded. "Yea, he is. So Carlos' hacker friends are out, and the job is in three days."
Kirika wanted to do something else with her life. The café was fine, but it left little time for painting. The painting was fine, but it gave her little money. So many choices, but no real answers.
There had to be something to it, she thought. Was it to enter the area of business again? She thought about the amount of times at being used. She thought about how Soldats had once controlled her life. Altena mapping from careful plans, controlling Kirika future, in one way to another. Nothing had been easy, now that she was free. Kirika had finally discovered that finding her own future had become the most difficult decision in her life.
Was it meant to run a café? Or was it meant to waste away and some boring, no nothing job? Yes, the café had brought her an inner peace she had always desired. It had settled a future that had forever before been cloudy. Now that her future plans were mapped, had it been too much?
She looked back into her mind. A painting. Her life, always surrounded by the forces of Noir. Controlling her. Minding her. She never really tried understand that history, only to remember it. Finally, she faced the past, memories, the truth. With those answers fulfilled, she was at peace.
Now, that past was coming back, reaffirm that her future was secure - no, far from it. It was that her past would always dictate a ever-so cloudy future. For truth, Kirika had taken on choices and decided, each and every time.
"Kirika..." asked the blond.
The brunette looked at Mireille. What, she thought, what actions had she taken in her life? Why, did she make choices to save Mireille. For truth, she answered herself, for her to make sure that her future was as clear as possible.
And now, it looked like Mireille was in trouble. Needing saving. Kirika had noticed her love of the café was not exactly there. That didn't matter. No, there had to be something else in Kirika's life -- and Mireille's life as well. They needed something else...
"Are you ok?"
The younger partner straightened out in her chair. "I'm...fine."
"No..." Mireille smirked. "I meant your little cut there. Let me take a look."
The blond came over to her partner, unwrapping the series of reddened napkins around Kirika's hand. The cut was mostly superficial as it ran across the palm and the thumb. "Don't forget to put bacteria cream on that so it doesn't get infected. Then you'll need plenty of Vitamin E on it to make sure it doesn't scar."
"Do you have those creams here in the apartment?"
"I have some bacteria cream in the medicine cabinet. The Vitamin E is not a pill or cream, but a clear oil. We'll pick up some the next time I'm in the pharmacy market."
Kirika nodded. "Sounds good."
Mireille sighed. "So, have you decided about on our little plan to help Carlos?" The blond was expecting more rebuttals, she did not think Kirika would so willingly go along with the little scheme.
The brunette sat down, relaxed after applying a fresh bandage to her wound. "I'll tell Gretchen to get some additional help on Saturday."
Mireille blinked from her partner's response. "More help...that sound good. I guess we're doing it." The blond furiously typed away at her keyboard. "Telling Carlos now via IM. He says to meet him in the 14th arrondissement, at this corner. Sounds like we're set to me."
"Hai."
"Kirika?" Mireille's voice was as gentle as a lamb. "Thank you."
Kirika smiled, taking another sip of her tea.
[++++++]
Morgan was walking over one of the westernmost bridge over the river Seine, farthest from the city yet still within the residential area of Paris. It was quite a walk from the Louvre, to say at least.
He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. At one point, he had hoped to kick the cigarette habit. Today was definitely not the day.
"Mr. Carver?" It was a soft accented voice.
The English gentleman turned around to his contact, spotting the brim of her headwear and not hidden face. "Never could get a good glimpse of you, especially with that black witch-like hat you always wear."
"I know, that's the idea." she said. "Meeting like is very dangerous in this business. However, I am here."
"I see…"
"Nor should you be. I presume the information retrieval is going well?"
"Oh course. The Rosetta program will be in our possession in no time." Morgan smiled a bit, turning to look out on the river. "You know, there's this local bistro just down the street from here. It would be nice to have some company for dinner tonight."
"No, thank you, Mr. Carver. I expect it to be in my hands by the end of the day, tomorrow."
"I understand. I will see you then." Morgan waited a bit more for his companion to leave before flagging a cab.
Well, thought Morgan, at least Mireille would ensure for a safe copy and delivery of the merchandise. Thank goodness for that.
[++++++]
