3. Changing plans
He decided to wait for his friend before in the front yard. If he had decided to walk back - he must have discovered something very interesting about the girl. Normally he came up with a good plan after a few seconds. After thirty minutes he appeared at the front gate. Pick walked towards him, as he came closer his friend spoke to him.
"You are wondering why I changed my mind about killing the girl."
It wasn't a question - it was a statement.
"Well - for sure she is a very special girl."
Fouchon looked up: "She should be - she is my daughter."
Now Pick was really stunned.
"Your daughter? But ..."
His friend handed him the photo of Sandrine's mother.
"You remember I told you once about Fabienne?"
"I do, so that is what she looks like. - But what makes you think you are Sandrine's father?"
"Her birth date. She was born only five months after Fabienne left me. I do not know how she ended up with that - stupid creep - but I'm sure I will find out."
"So we are taking her with us?"
"Oh - we will." He was glad that Pick did not make any remarks. "She is my daughter. I probably will never have any other children and I won't let her step out of my life again."
"I don't mind having her around - not at all." Pick was not really convinced that she was Fouchon's daughter, but one way or the other she might prove herself as a good acquisition.
"No games with her." Fouchon commanded. "I have a small hope that she might accept me as her father - I have to wait for the right moment of course, but she seems to be a very strong person in spite of her father." He spit out the last word.
"You think she will get along better with you - once she knows you?"
"I hope so," Fouchon replied.
"It won't be easy - not after today's episode."
"That reminds me - What was going on between you and her on the clearing?"
"You got me!" said Pick and thought how he could describe it best, but Fouchon did not care to wait for the reply.
"It is not important - just keep in mind that I don't want you to play with her or do anything else. Got it?"
"Yes, I understand," he was not happy about his friends behaviour, but he could understand it. I did not mean he had to like it. So Van Cleaf decided to forget the scene on the clearing. He considered it to be unimportant, but he wished he had not played with her when they returned to the house. Besides, Fouchon would get very upset, if he found out about it. Nonetheless he better should tell him right away.
"Where is she?"
"Up in the guest room."
"I said lock her in - I don't want her to run again."
"I don't think she would - anyway I - chained her to a chair."
"You did what?" Fouchon was quite upset, but then he calmed down.
"To be honest. I did not consider the possibility - you wanting her to like you."
"You are right, Pick. I'm overreacting, but to be honest - I'm confused. You know - I just have become father."
"We should give a party."
Both chuckled.
"We might indeed have one - when we are back in Europe."
They went back to the house.
"Give me the keys to the handcuffs and then prepare our departure. I will drive her in the city. In her clothes we can't take her with us. I hope she was on her way to a christening or something. Her way to dress is really ..."
"I know what you mean."
As Fouchon went upstairs he still had no idea what to do or to say. He never had thought about children, even when he still was with Fabienne. After that he had ensured that he would not have any children. Not that he had that much affairs since then, but he had been so disappointed after Fabienne had left him, that he had felt like he never again would trust a woman enough to have children with her.
Besides, he would have needed a mother for his child, because his profession kept him too often occupied. When he had asked Fabienne to marry him he had really meant it, but her answer was to disappear without a trace. He wondered if she had know that she was pregnant and thus had left him. Not a very convenient thought.
Now his daughter was already grown up. He just have to find a way to get close to her and as his friend had said it will not be easy. As he stepped into the room, she looked towards him, but he saw that she was again playing though girl. At least she did it well. Even with her hands tied behind her back she posed in her chair like a queen ready for the next audience.
"We had a small change of plans. We will leave the country and for some reasons I explain to you later, we are going to take you with us. We have no intention to kill you, but I suggest you do not do anything stupid."
She thought a moment about what to reply and then she decided for a simple "okay".
He looked at her and could understand why Pick was so anxious to toy with her, but he will not allow that. No matter how strong she was, at the end she would loose. His right hand had never lost any of his games, which was very useful up to now. They had many traits in common and as many were different. This was it what made them a perfect team. Fouchon was sure that he would respect his wishes and leave his daughter alone.
"First we are going to buy you something more appropriate."
'What does he think who he is? My father? Why does everyone think he has the right to tell me how I should dress?' Sandrine angered. Her feelings mirrored in her face and Fouchon was a bit startled by her expression. It made her really proud.
The way she looked at him, he realised that his last words had been the wrong thing to say. 'Too late', he thought. Then he stepped behind the chair and released her.
"Can we go?" he pointed towards the door.
"Do I have a choice?"
She got on her feet and crossed her arms.
"Actually - No, but I think you really need new clothing and since I don't know what you use to wear or your size I bet you like to come with me."
"Is that some kind of bribery?" she asked while she got up.
"I'm never had the need for bribery."
They went down into the hall. After Fouchon had handed her a coat, he led her outside to his car. Sandrine was grateful that they had not met Van Cleaf on their way. On the other hand could she understand what he wanted from her, but she had no clue what interest Fouchon could have on her, except maybe that he had known her mother.
What could that mean? Her mother had never talked much about her past - the time before she had married her father.
The city was like dead, but it was no surprise, it was already late in the afternoon and no one was up to a walk on the streets, after last nights shootings. There was an odd silence between them, then she was asked.
"You know any shops around here, you would like to visit?"
"I'm not quite in a shopping mood - I don't care."
"Well I think I remember a shop in Oak Street, which should do."
"I'm sure it will."
Sandrine had no idea what she was doing right now. She wanted to act as if this whole situation did not concern her much. Thinking about the situation changed into a shopping opportunity, this day turned out to be really crazy. The girl had no idea how she should act while shopping.
Fouchon parked the car right in front of the shop. As he went out he was still disappointed, that he still had no idea how to talk to her. He was sure asking her what kind of hobbies she has got or something like that would not melt her shield down. She got out and then she stagnate. He looked into the direction her eyes were fixed on.
He could not believe what he saw. Agent Mosley stepped around a corner, accompanied by to other agents and Chance Boudreaux - this annoying long haired guy that already had stuck his nose to deep in their business. They recognised him in the same moment and the agents brought up their guns. He dodged instinctively behind the open car door. First he wanted to aim his gun, but then they opened fire and he decided to hit the road this time. The shots hit his windshield and others ruined his front. The same moment he jumped behind the wheel he could see Sandrine running for cover. She headed right into the shop and out of point blank.
He backed up and whirled the car around in high speed. This day did not turned out to be very good. Why had this guy to be in this street in this particular moment. This agent was crazy - he could have easily hit his daughter. One of the holes in the windscreen was very close to the right side, but luckily she was quick enough. He would get her back and the sooner the better.
'Without cops - city stops,' he remembered the motto of the protesting police force. 'I never got faster trough a city.'
Agent Mosley still trembled after Fouchon was out of sight. This terrorist with his daughter, after everything he had done to ensure that she would never get to know her real father. He had to kill this bastard no matter the cost. She seemed to be alright, but before he could talk to her he had to get her out of the streets. He said Boudreaux goodbye and went into the shop.
The agents followed him, he was lucky that Agent Palmer and Agent Malloy had been on vacation in New Orleans. He had often worked together with them and they did not ask any stupid questions, when he made decisions. Now he could call for more agents; then he would find this cursed criminal and send him to hell.
"Sandrine, are you hurt?"
"No."
"Good then I'll drive you back to the hotel."
'Thanks you asshole,' she thought. Now she almost got shot twice a day. Still she could feel one bullet passing her close by. Sandrine knew there was no way to talk to him or even insult him, so she did not open her mouth until they reached their hotel room.
It was a small hotel, but quite comfortable and very calm. In other words it was not too expensive, old people usually check in and a priest lived nearby - a nice little spot. The moment she say the building from the insight and the huge cross behind the counter she wished she could be somewhere else - anyplace but here.
Her father told one agent to watch the fire stairs from the outside and the other Agent Palmer to guard the door, then he lead her to their room. Of course he had only rent one room, her father was the worst roommate she could imagine. He was an annoying fellow, not to mention that he used to snore.
"Sandrine - my little girl, what ever the guy told you - don't believe him. He hates me and your mother and would do everything to destroy me. He is a very bad man."
'Am I a five year old?' she wanted to scream, but instead she replied: "I have noticed this already."
"Don't talk to me like that." He yelled suddenly. "Anyway you look awful. A good girl should not run around with dirty socks and by the way whose coat is that?"
Sandrine was already too pissed to answer properly. So she just dropped the coat. Now her father seemed to remember. The large- now dried blood stain from last night made her look even more disturbing.
"Well change, but first tell me what you know about their hiding place."
"Dad, I was blindfolded. I have no idea what I could tell you - except maybe that the room I was held in had a fireplace. Oh- and they said they are going to leave, but that is all I can remember."
"They won't leave, I make some calls and you get under the shower."
And this she did indeed. It felt good to wash away the dirt and the anger. Her mind became clearer as the water sprinkled over her body. For the first time she was glad her father never took her seriously. If Fouchon annoyed her father, she would for sure do nothing to help him in this matter. Seeing him so pissed off had been a real pleasure.
She would really like to know what connection existed between her mother, Fouchon and her father. Unfortunately her father would never tell her and she could not ask Fouchon. She knew where the house was, but knocking on the front door and saying: "Hi - I have one little question before I will go on", was not a good idea. She would probably not even get near the front door.
Then suddenly a horrible thought crossed her mind. She had nothing to wear - she had of course many clothes in her suitcase, but she could hardly imagine that her father would accept one of them. He always wanted her to wear dresses that did not show that she was becoming female. Of course she had a few more dresses at home, but most of her clothes were rather tight. She had not excepted to stay that long together with him to need a second ensemble.
Sandrine stopped the water and grabbed a towel. After she was almost dry, the girl wrapped her self in it and went into the sleeping room. She put her suitcase on the bed and opened it. Most of the stuff was for the party nights her cousin wanted to take her to. She looked through it and thought for a moment, whether she had something with her that would have give her dad a heart attack.
'What am I thinking? No matter how upset he gets he never has any problems with his health, unlike other choleric persons,' she reminded herself. She decided for the lesser evil, so she chose her Esprit-collection. Although the underwear was pretty hot stuff, the jeans and the blouse where quite modest. Her dad probably would still go crazy, but nobody could blame her than for not trying to be cooperative. She slipped in to her gym shoes and headed towards the door.
Agent Palmer almost did not recognised Mosley's daughter as she stepped over the threshold. She looked different with her long, open hair and those tight blue jeans. 'What a hot girl, she is' , Palmer thought 'No wonder her father put her into a school for girls.'
"What is wrong with you?" Agent Mosley suddenly yelled through the hallway.
Sandrine turned around. She had not expected that he would get that mad. On the other hand he saw her not only for the first time in trousers, but with a male staring at her curves.
"Who gave you those clothes?" with this question he pushed her into the room.
'Two month' she told herself 'Then all this will be over, but did she really want to wait that long?'
Today she got nearly killed twice - all thanks to her father and what did he do? Scolding her for wearing cloth all girls at her age used to wear. She had enough of this. She could not stand anymore of his stupid reproaches. She was hurt and angry and she screamed back at him.
"This are my clothes - mine. I don't care if you like them or not - I gonna be eighteen in 57 days and from now on I gonna dress myself."
No sooner she had ended then he slapped her in the face.
"You bitch."
Sandrine could not believe that he really did this. He had not beaten her since she had been eight. Her cheek burned, but so did her fire of resistance. She was no child anymore and today she had faced more serious situations. In that moment she made a decision for herself. She would leave as soon as possible, to see her cousin Veronica, the last relative out of her mother lineage and the only relative she had ever liked.
"That's it, we are finished -I should have done this earlier, because I hate you - I stayed with you because mother asked me to stay with my father - so I might find out if he is really that bad before I leave. I just found out."
He looked at her and for a moment she was really scared, but he did not fluke out.
"You are going nowhere."
Then he rushed out and yelled to Agent Palmer not to let his daughter leave the hotel room.
He decided to wait for his friend before in the front yard. If he had decided to walk back - he must have discovered something very interesting about the girl. Normally he came up with a good plan after a few seconds. After thirty minutes he appeared at the front gate. Pick walked towards him, as he came closer his friend spoke to him.
"You are wondering why I changed my mind about killing the girl."
It wasn't a question - it was a statement.
"Well - for sure she is a very special girl."
Fouchon looked up: "She should be - she is my daughter."
Now Pick was really stunned.
"Your daughter? But ..."
His friend handed him the photo of Sandrine's mother.
"You remember I told you once about Fabienne?"
"I do, so that is what she looks like. - But what makes you think you are Sandrine's father?"
"Her birth date. She was born only five months after Fabienne left me. I do not know how she ended up with that - stupid creep - but I'm sure I will find out."
"So we are taking her with us?"
"Oh - we will." He was glad that Pick did not make any remarks. "She is my daughter. I probably will never have any other children and I won't let her step out of my life again."
"I don't mind having her around - not at all." Pick was not really convinced that she was Fouchon's daughter, but one way or the other she might prove herself as a good acquisition.
"No games with her." Fouchon commanded. "I have a small hope that she might accept me as her father - I have to wait for the right moment of course, but she seems to be a very strong person in spite of her father." He spit out the last word.
"You think she will get along better with you - once she knows you?"
"I hope so," Fouchon replied.
"It won't be easy - not after today's episode."
"That reminds me - What was going on between you and her on the clearing?"
"You got me!" said Pick and thought how he could describe it best, but Fouchon did not care to wait for the reply.
"It is not important - just keep in mind that I don't want you to play with her or do anything else. Got it?"
"Yes, I understand," he was not happy about his friends behaviour, but he could understand it. I did not mean he had to like it. So Van Cleaf decided to forget the scene on the clearing. He considered it to be unimportant, but he wished he had not played with her when they returned to the house. Besides, Fouchon would get very upset, if he found out about it. Nonetheless he better should tell him right away.
"Where is she?"
"Up in the guest room."
"I said lock her in - I don't want her to run again."
"I don't think she would - anyway I - chained her to a chair."
"You did what?" Fouchon was quite upset, but then he calmed down.
"To be honest. I did not consider the possibility - you wanting her to like you."
"You are right, Pick. I'm overreacting, but to be honest - I'm confused. You know - I just have become father."
"We should give a party."
Both chuckled.
"We might indeed have one - when we are back in Europe."
They went back to the house.
"Give me the keys to the handcuffs and then prepare our departure. I will drive her in the city. In her clothes we can't take her with us. I hope she was on her way to a christening or something. Her way to dress is really ..."
"I know what you mean."
As Fouchon went upstairs he still had no idea what to do or to say. He never had thought about children, even when he still was with Fabienne. After that he had ensured that he would not have any children. Not that he had that much affairs since then, but he had been so disappointed after Fabienne had left him, that he had felt like he never again would trust a woman enough to have children with her.
Besides, he would have needed a mother for his child, because his profession kept him too often occupied. When he had asked Fabienne to marry him he had really meant it, but her answer was to disappear without a trace. He wondered if she had know that she was pregnant and thus had left him. Not a very convenient thought.
Now his daughter was already grown up. He just have to find a way to get close to her and as his friend had said it will not be easy. As he stepped into the room, she looked towards him, but he saw that she was again playing though girl. At least she did it well. Even with her hands tied behind her back she posed in her chair like a queen ready for the next audience.
"We had a small change of plans. We will leave the country and for some reasons I explain to you later, we are going to take you with us. We have no intention to kill you, but I suggest you do not do anything stupid."
She thought a moment about what to reply and then she decided for a simple "okay".
He looked at her and could understand why Pick was so anxious to toy with her, but he will not allow that. No matter how strong she was, at the end she would loose. His right hand had never lost any of his games, which was very useful up to now. They had many traits in common and as many were different. This was it what made them a perfect team. Fouchon was sure that he would respect his wishes and leave his daughter alone.
"First we are going to buy you something more appropriate."
'What does he think who he is? My father? Why does everyone think he has the right to tell me how I should dress?' Sandrine angered. Her feelings mirrored in her face and Fouchon was a bit startled by her expression. It made her really proud.
The way she looked at him, he realised that his last words had been the wrong thing to say. 'Too late', he thought. Then he stepped behind the chair and released her.
"Can we go?" he pointed towards the door.
"Do I have a choice?"
She got on her feet and crossed her arms.
"Actually - No, but I think you really need new clothing and since I don't know what you use to wear or your size I bet you like to come with me."
"Is that some kind of bribery?" she asked while she got up.
"I'm never had the need for bribery."
They went down into the hall. After Fouchon had handed her a coat, he led her outside to his car. Sandrine was grateful that they had not met Van Cleaf on their way. On the other hand could she understand what he wanted from her, but she had no clue what interest Fouchon could have on her, except maybe that he had known her mother.
What could that mean? Her mother had never talked much about her past - the time before she had married her father.
The city was like dead, but it was no surprise, it was already late in the afternoon and no one was up to a walk on the streets, after last nights shootings. There was an odd silence between them, then she was asked.
"You know any shops around here, you would like to visit?"
"I'm not quite in a shopping mood - I don't care."
"Well I think I remember a shop in Oak Street, which should do."
"I'm sure it will."
Sandrine had no idea what she was doing right now. She wanted to act as if this whole situation did not concern her much. Thinking about the situation changed into a shopping opportunity, this day turned out to be really crazy. The girl had no idea how she should act while shopping.
Fouchon parked the car right in front of the shop. As he went out he was still disappointed, that he still had no idea how to talk to her. He was sure asking her what kind of hobbies she has got or something like that would not melt her shield down. She got out and then she stagnate. He looked into the direction her eyes were fixed on.
He could not believe what he saw. Agent Mosley stepped around a corner, accompanied by to other agents and Chance Boudreaux - this annoying long haired guy that already had stuck his nose to deep in their business. They recognised him in the same moment and the agents brought up their guns. He dodged instinctively behind the open car door. First he wanted to aim his gun, but then they opened fire and he decided to hit the road this time. The shots hit his windshield and others ruined his front. The same moment he jumped behind the wheel he could see Sandrine running for cover. She headed right into the shop and out of point blank.
He backed up and whirled the car around in high speed. This day did not turned out to be very good. Why had this guy to be in this street in this particular moment. This agent was crazy - he could have easily hit his daughter. One of the holes in the windscreen was very close to the right side, but luckily she was quick enough. He would get her back and the sooner the better.
'Without cops - city stops,' he remembered the motto of the protesting police force. 'I never got faster trough a city.'
Agent Mosley still trembled after Fouchon was out of sight. This terrorist with his daughter, after everything he had done to ensure that she would never get to know her real father. He had to kill this bastard no matter the cost. She seemed to be alright, but before he could talk to her he had to get her out of the streets. He said Boudreaux goodbye and went into the shop.
The agents followed him, he was lucky that Agent Palmer and Agent Malloy had been on vacation in New Orleans. He had often worked together with them and they did not ask any stupid questions, when he made decisions. Now he could call for more agents; then he would find this cursed criminal and send him to hell.
"Sandrine, are you hurt?"
"No."
"Good then I'll drive you back to the hotel."
'Thanks you asshole,' she thought. Now she almost got shot twice a day. Still she could feel one bullet passing her close by. Sandrine knew there was no way to talk to him or even insult him, so she did not open her mouth until they reached their hotel room.
It was a small hotel, but quite comfortable and very calm. In other words it was not too expensive, old people usually check in and a priest lived nearby - a nice little spot. The moment she say the building from the insight and the huge cross behind the counter she wished she could be somewhere else - anyplace but here.
Her father told one agent to watch the fire stairs from the outside and the other Agent Palmer to guard the door, then he lead her to their room. Of course he had only rent one room, her father was the worst roommate she could imagine. He was an annoying fellow, not to mention that he used to snore.
"Sandrine - my little girl, what ever the guy told you - don't believe him. He hates me and your mother and would do everything to destroy me. He is a very bad man."
'Am I a five year old?' she wanted to scream, but instead she replied: "I have noticed this already."
"Don't talk to me like that." He yelled suddenly. "Anyway you look awful. A good girl should not run around with dirty socks and by the way whose coat is that?"
Sandrine was already too pissed to answer properly. So she just dropped the coat. Now her father seemed to remember. The large- now dried blood stain from last night made her look even more disturbing.
"Well change, but first tell me what you know about their hiding place."
"Dad, I was blindfolded. I have no idea what I could tell you - except maybe that the room I was held in had a fireplace. Oh- and they said they are going to leave, but that is all I can remember."
"They won't leave, I make some calls and you get under the shower."
And this she did indeed. It felt good to wash away the dirt and the anger. Her mind became clearer as the water sprinkled over her body. For the first time she was glad her father never took her seriously. If Fouchon annoyed her father, she would for sure do nothing to help him in this matter. Seeing him so pissed off had been a real pleasure.
She would really like to know what connection existed between her mother, Fouchon and her father. Unfortunately her father would never tell her and she could not ask Fouchon. She knew where the house was, but knocking on the front door and saying: "Hi - I have one little question before I will go on", was not a good idea. She would probably not even get near the front door.
Then suddenly a horrible thought crossed her mind. She had nothing to wear - she had of course many clothes in her suitcase, but she could hardly imagine that her father would accept one of them. He always wanted her to wear dresses that did not show that she was becoming female. Of course she had a few more dresses at home, but most of her clothes were rather tight. She had not excepted to stay that long together with him to need a second ensemble.
Sandrine stopped the water and grabbed a towel. After she was almost dry, the girl wrapped her self in it and went into the sleeping room. She put her suitcase on the bed and opened it. Most of the stuff was for the party nights her cousin wanted to take her to. She looked through it and thought for a moment, whether she had something with her that would have give her dad a heart attack.
'What am I thinking? No matter how upset he gets he never has any problems with his health, unlike other choleric persons,' she reminded herself. She decided for the lesser evil, so she chose her Esprit-collection. Although the underwear was pretty hot stuff, the jeans and the blouse where quite modest. Her dad probably would still go crazy, but nobody could blame her than for not trying to be cooperative. She slipped in to her gym shoes and headed towards the door.
Agent Palmer almost did not recognised Mosley's daughter as she stepped over the threshold. She looked different with her long, open hair and those tight blue jeans. 'What a hot girl, she is' , Palmer thought 'No wonder her father put her into a school for girls.'
"What is wrong with you?" Agent Mosley suddenly yelled through the hallway.
Sandrine turned around. She had not expected that he would get that mad. On the other hand he saw her not only for the first time in trousers, but with a male staring at her curves.
"Who gave you those clothes?" with this question he pushed her into the room.
'Two month' she told herself 'Then all this will be over, but did she really want to wait that long?'
Today she got nearly killed twice - all thanks to her father and what did he do? Scolding her for wearing cloth all girls at her age used to wear. She had enough of this. She could not stand anymore of his stupid reproaches. She was hurt and angry and she screamed back at him.
"This are my clothes - mine. I don't care if you like them or not - I gonna be eighteen in 57 days and from now on I gonna dress myself."
No sooner she had ended then he slapped her in the face.
"You bitch."
Sandrine could not believe that he really did this. He had not beaten her since she had been eight. Her cheek burned, but so did her fire of resistance. She was no child anymore and today she had faced more serious situations. In that moment she made a decision for herself. She would leave as soon as possible, to see her cousin Veronica, the last relative out of her mother lineage and the only relative she had ever liked.
"That's it, we are finished -I should have done this earlier, because I hate you - I stayed with you because mother asked me to stay with my father - so I might find out if he is really that bad before I leave. I just found out."
He looked at her and for a moment she was really scared, but he did not fluke out.
"You are going nowhere."
Then he rushed out and yelled to Agent Palmer not to let his daughter leave the hotel room.
