Chapter 3: Parisian Ghetto
"Well, better check out what Werner wrote here," Lara thought, opening the notebook on the very first page. The late professor's elegant handwriting covered the crumpled, yellow pages:
Eckhardt – client. Be wary!
Terrified to go out. Monstrum terrorising the streets.
Tried contacting Lara again in London. No response. Still not forgiven me for Egypt.
Louis Bouchard. Useful contact – purchased handgun. Discretion assured.
"Great, a lead. I'll just find that Bouchard guy and ask him about all this." Lara closed the notebook and put it in her pocket, deciding to read the rest some other time. On her way out of the deserted train car, Lara spotted a ring lying under one of the seats. She crouched down to examine it. "A … a diamond ring! Breaks your heart what people lose," Lara muttered, slipping the valuable find into her pocket. There had to be some place in this neighbourhood where she could pawn the ring for cash.
She stepped out of the car and found herself in a huge, rectangular yard with weed and shrubs growing between old train tracks. Colourful graffiti covered the walls and large grey pipes lay in disarranged heaps. Birds could be heard chirping somewhere high above this godforsaken dump. At the other end, two homeless men were warming themselves at a barrel with flames rising from it.
Lara made her way out of the yard by jumping up to the train roof and climbing a few fences. At the top, she reached a narrow walkway surrounding the yard. A muscular guy in his early twenties stood in the corner. A white cap was seated on his shaved head and a lit cigarette rested between his index and middle finger. Intricate black tattoos adorned his bare arms. Lara reckoned he was either a drug dealer, male prostitute or both. "You looking for anything special, little lady?" he inquired.
"So what are you? A city guide?" Lara asked.
"That's right," he nodded. "I'm a city guide; all tastes and interests catered for." His face displayed eagerness for having Lara as a customer.
"I'm trying to find a man called Bouchard – do you know him?"
The guy shook his head. "That's not a healthy kind of question to be asking."
"Don't tell me Paris is dangerous," Lara said.
"Oh, we've got all kinds of rough stuff here in Paris. Including our own serial killer. Have you heard of the Monstrum, huh? Have you heard of him?"
Lara knit her brows. "The Monstrum is a him? How do you know that?"
"I don't know what it is, but I'd watch my rear on the streets if I didn't know my way around," he admonished.
"Which you obviously do. So how do I find this Bouchard?"
"He won't have time for casual callers. Been having staff problems at his club, a flashy joint called Le Serpent Rouge."
"Why should losing staff be such a big deal?" Lara asked.
"Because these staff are dying on the job. No one knows why or how. And they didn't die pretty. It's got Bouchard really shaken."
"Is it the Monstrum?"
"Who knows for sure? I just try to keep my nose clean – you should, too."
"See you around," Lara said and stepped through a grey door in the brick wall, entering a wide street on the other side. "LE SERPENT ROUGE" was written with scarlet letters above the entrance to a five-storey building to her immediate right. "Red Snake, huh? Must be the nightclub he mentioned."
A blonde lady in her thirties stood at the edge of the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette and glancing at her watch every ten seconds. She wore a tight red top, black leather pants and shoes with ludicrously high heels. Her face was utterly smothered in makeup. "Nice class of people on the streets," Lara sarcastically mused, then asked: "Not a lot of passing trade at this hour?"
"It's early yet. Move along, Ma Chere - you make the place look crowded."
Lara felt like punching the hooker there and then. Instead, she dug her nails into her palms and retorted in her most snobbish tone: "I wouldn't worry. We're not in the same class."
The woman smiled, sucked smoke from her cigarette and blew a grey puff into Lara's face: "That attitude won't get you far around here, sweet thing."
"I just want to find someone. Name of Bouchard."
"You won't find him here, Ma cher. He did run the club across the road, Le Serpent Rouge, but had to move premises. I heard there was a lot of trouble. Things needed to lie quiet for a while."
"And no one knows where he is?"
"What do you need with a dangerous individual like Bouchard?"
"I'm trying to track down a friend's movements," Lara explained.
"Lost is he?" the prostitute said.
"Dead. But he made contact with Bouchard before he … checked out."
"Tell you what. There's this guy who used to work at Le Serpent Rouge."
"So Bouchard didn't lose everybody?"
"No, this guy left before the troubles closed the place down. His name's Pierre. Worked as a barman there and makes bad deals that backfire on him. He runs the café in the Place d'Arcade now, Café Metro. Oh, and he claims Bouchard held back some money or something of his and kept it at the club. I don't know the details."
"You seem to know plenty – thanks. I didn't catch your name …"
"Janice. Everyone knows me around here. Look, be careful, Cherie. Bouchard's a mean operator, and he's been targeted hard recently," Janice informed.
"Does anyone know who's causing Bouchard all this grief? Or why?"
"No, or they're not saying. The Monstrum has got everyone too scared to talk."
"I'd have thought Bouchard would be geared up for trouble," Lara remarked.
"He can handle it allright. No one better," Janice said. "But the way his people have been dying … so ugly. And that poor woman …"
"What woman?"
"Someone called Carvier. She worked at the Louvre, it said on the radio. I don't want to talk about it."
"Carvier!" Lara exclaimed, thoughts flying back to that rainy night and the cozy apartment which was now been splattered with its owner's blood. Could she have killed Carvier as well? Lord knows she'd have a motive – Carvier had, to put it bluntly, pissed her off with all her cold accusations and distrustfulness.
"You watch out, Ma Cher. There's a lot of sickoes loose on the streets."
"Yeah," Lara said.
"And that's okay. Some of us like it that way," Janice grinned.
Lara left Janice and sauntered down the street. 'Find Bouchard's new premises. Contact café owner, Pierre, ex-barman at the club,' she scribbled in the notebook. After a minute, she reached a dull little building with grey brick walls. However, the sign above the wooden door caught her interest: 'Daniel Rennes - Prêteur sur Gage'.
Pulling the diamond ring out from her pocket, Lara opened the door and walked through a short corridor brightly lit by a single unshielded bulb. The air felt sour and stale. Stepping through a doorway in the left wall, Lara entered a cramped room filled with items in pawn. Rusty bicycles, video tapes, armchairs, a dryer, boxes filled with books, old records and other furniture and antiquities were piled up in an enormous mess. At the back of the room, a middle-aged man stood behind the counter, leafing through a magazine.
Lara courageously ventured through the jungle of pawned items and emerged at the counter, where she could get a better look at the owner of the shop, Daniel Rennes. He wore a red shirt with the sleeves tucked up and a brown hat over his greying hair. His face looked oddly weather-beaten and pale, with a pointed chin and narrow, bloodshot eyes. "Open for business?" Lara asked.
"You managed to get in, didn't you?" the pawnbroker said.
"Just checking. I didn't want to waste your time, or mine."
"Discretion is my middle name. Especially with strangers who just walk in off the street."
"How concerned are you with legal niceties?" Lara inquired.
"What concerns me is the police. They ask a lot of questions," Rennes replied.
"Do you?"
"If it suits me. I make my own rules … Are you buying or selling?"
"What would this be worth?" Lara handed him the diamond ring.
Rennes snatched the ring and examined it in the light of the old chandelier hanging from the ceiling. "Very nice. Not an antiquity, but nice," he said, putting it in his pocket, from which he then produced a brown wallet.
Lara frowned when he gave her the measly price of 125 Euros in return. "What's a good time of day to catch you in a generous mood?"
"This is a business, not a charity!"
"And next you're going to say – 'Take it or leave it' – right?"
"Take it or leave it," Rennes grumbled.
"Hey, turn down the charisma. Allright, I'll take it," Lara said, slipping the crumpled bills into her pocket. "Phew, the types you have to deal with these days," she thought as she walked out of the pawnshop and down the short corridor to the street.
---
Lara had been following the signs towards Place d'Arcade for five minutes when she saw the newspaper shop. It was a humble little stand on the sidewalk, selling everything from intelligent political magazines to hardcore pornography. "What can I get you, M'moiselle?" the young shopgirl behind the counter asked.
"Do you know someone called Bouchard?"
"I've been on this spot for five years. I know everyone."
"Do you know how he can be contacted?"
"Directly? No. And I hope I never have to."
"To save some time, how could I avoid having to talk to every inhabitant this side of the river?" Lara inquired.
"Without the right connections – my guess, no one would talk to you. And a lot depends on how you ask your questions, not who you ask. You know, everyone on the streets is terrified at the moment," the shopgirl said.
"I've found that already … Do you have any foreign language newspapers? The London Times?"
"As chance would have it, I do."
"Do you do barter?"
"I'm so sorry. Cash only."
Lara paid the shopgirl and grabbed the latest edition of London Times. "Is there anywhere to get a drink nearby?" she asked.
"Try Café Metro," the shopgirl advised. "The coffee's good even if the owner is a complete loser. He's well known for it, actually. By the way, if you really want to see Bouchard, try finding the Doorman. He's Bouchard's bodyguard."
"The Doorman … What would I need to get past him?" Lara asked.
"Money. A password."
"Who would know the right password?"
"I'm afraid I can't help you there. Bon chance. Do you want to keep change?" the shopgirl asked. The paper cost three €, but Lara had paid five.
"Keep it."
"Merci."
"You're welcome," Lara said and walked off to sit down on a wobbly bench nearby, under the shade of an old olive tree. The front page of the London Times had a photo of Carvier's mutilated body lying on the floor of her apartment. Her mouth was frozen in a silent scream of terror and her glazed eyes wide open, staring at Lara with the same accusing glare Werner's corpse had given her. Lara shuddered and read the article:
PARISIAN 'MONSTRUM' KILLINGS CONTINUE - LARA CROFT WANTED FOR QUESTIONING
The latest victim of the Paris 'Monstrum' was discovered yesterday. The body of a professor Margot Carvier was found after a woman was seen leaving the building under suspicious circumstances. The police are anxious to interview Lara Croft. The notorious Monstrum serial killer has periodically terrorized Paris and other European capitals over the last decade. A characteristic of these attacks is the bizarre metallic eruptions on many parts of the victims' bodies. Forensic specialists are mystified by the process involved. The current suspect is described as Caucasian, brunette and of slim build. When last seen, she was wearing jeans, dark jacket and a pony tail.
Lara didn't need a mirror to realize this was an accurate description of herself. "So, I really am wanted by the police. Great. If only I had some kind of proof that I'm not the real killer…" Hoping that Werner had written another clue there, Lara opened the notebook where she had left off and read the late professor's notes:
Obscura paintings: Five 15th century works of black alchemic magic. All lost, hidden by the Lux Veritatis. Five Obscura engravings – drawn copies of the paintings. Contain encrypted maps of each painting's location?
---
On her way to Place d'Arcade, Lara noticed a large iron gate in the wall at Saint Aicard's graveyard. Behind the entrance, a heavy barrel was placed in front of the part of the gate that opened inwards. A tanned, muscular guy stood next to the barrel, as if guarding the gate. He wore pitchblack sunglasses and a plethora of gold-chains hung around his bull neck. "Hi, I'm trying to find someone called Bouchard," Lara said.
"No one of that name in these parts," the guard grumbled.
"He'll want to see me."
"Then I hope you find him."
"Look, I really have to see Bouchard," Lara said, starting to suspect that this was in fact the infamous Doorman, guarding Bouchard's secret premises.
"Nothing doing. I have the biggest Doberman Pinscher you've ever seen on this side of the gate. And in ten seconds, I'm going to let him out for walkies."
"Suit yourself, but I doubt Fido would be having any more walks if he bumped into me," Lara said and wandered away before the Doorman could retort.
---
Café Metro was located on the first floor of a thoroughly unremarkable building with a sleek motorcycle parked next to the entrance. Lara entered the cozy restaurant and was surprised to find it abandoned with the exceptions of Pierre behind the bar and a strange man sitting in the corner to her immediate right. The customer in the corner was a lean guy in his mid-thirties, drinking a glass of red wine and reading a newspaper. In fact, it was the same edition of London Times that Lara had purchased earlier.
Lara pondered if the stranger had read the article about Carvier's murder, and if so, whether he would notice Lara's resemblance with the Monstrum suspect. Concluding that he didn't look like the type who would bother calling the cops even if he did notice the similarities, she ignored the man and approached the counter to question Pierre, a twenty-something bloke with crew-cut brown hair. "I'm trying to find …"
"What can I get you to drink?" Pierre interrupted.
"I don't want a drink," Lara said, "I …"
"Only paying customers welcome. There's the door," the barman informed, superfluously pointing to the door Lara had just entered through.
"Are you Pierre?" Lara tried.
"Possibly … What can I get you?"
"Information."
"Really? Well, everyone wants something for nothing."
"It needn't be for nothing. We could trade."
"Trade?"
"You used to work at Le Serpent Rouge. I need to find your ex-boss Bouchard."
"You don't look like police."
"No, but I do deal with problems - sort them out."
"What sort of problems?"
"What sort of problems do you have?" Lara asked. "Any situations need clearing up? Difficulties removed?"
"In exchange for information about Louis Bouchard." Pierre frowned. "That's dangerous information."
"I'm a dangerous girl," Lara said. "And right now, I'm losing patience."
"I do have a 'situation' that needs tidying. A retrieval job. Something I forgot to pick up from Le Serpent Rouge when I left. It's mine and I want it back."
"Why don't you just go and pick it up yourself?"
"Two guesses."
"Bouchard? The Monstrum?"
"Don't joke about the Monstrum!" Pierre hissed. "Bouchard ran a lot of operations there. The place will be staked out."
"Just tell me where the item is in the club."
"It's a small box. Small enough to fit inside one of the stage lights – the one that doesn't work."
"That's it? Okay. I can work with that," Lara said as she wrote in her notebook: 'Retrieve the box at Serpent Rouge, in broken lighting rig.' "How do I get into the club?"
Pierre gave Lara a small key. "This'll get you in behind the stage area at the back. Return what's mine to me, and I'll put you in touch with Bouchard."
"I'm sure he'll be glad to hear from you again," Lara remarked.
"He isn't going to. I just tell you where to find him, then it's up to you."
"Okay. And if this doesn't work out, I know where to find you – don't I, Pierre?" Lara pivoted and walked out of the café. The man sitting in the corner looked up from his paper as she stepped out the door. Through the dingy window, he watched her walk down the street until she disappeared into an alley. He then emptied his glass of wine, left the newspaper on the table, walked up to the bar and sat down on a stool in front of Pierre.
"Well, now that she's off on her little errand at Le Serpent Rouge, why don't you and I have a little chat?" the customer suggested. He pulled out a silvery 9mm semi-automatic from his shoulder holster and took aim at Pierre's chest with a relaxed, casual movement. "Put your hands where I can see them."
Pierre raised his shaking, pale arms and folded hands behind his neck. "What do you want?"
"The same information miss Croft wanted. I might not be as friendly as her, so give me the answers before I run out of patience, okay? By the way, that wine was terrible."
---
A/N: He he, poor Pierre …
