Chapter 8: Asking for Bouchard
Hotel
Paris
17 November 2003
05:55
Kurtis Trent
William's urgent shaking roused Kurtis from his slumber, his groggy eyes meeting his brother's concerned gaze. With a yawn and a stretch, Kurtis attempted to banish the remnants of sleep that clung to him. The morning sunlight that filtered through the window curtains brought both discomfort and a renewed sense of awareness. Rubbing his eyes, he mumbled an incoherent curse as he moved his head to avoid the harsh light.
"What time is it?" Kurtis mumbled, his voice still tinged with sleep.
"Trouble time," William's words were laced with an air of urgency, pulling Kurtis further into wakefulness.
Kurtis glanced at the clock on the wall, his eyes squinting as they focused on the time. 5:55 AM. The early hour and his brother's demeanor hinted at the gravity of the situation.
"We have a problem," William's sigh carried a weight that demanded attention. As he sat on the bed, Kurtis joined him, fully alert now.
"What trouble?" Kurtis's voice held a mixture of curiosity and concern, his mind racing to anticipate the issue at hand.
"The police have identified the woman who left the apartments of the two victims," William's words were a heavy revelation, painting a picture of a situation that was rapidly spiraling out of control.
"Wait, two?" Kurtis's raised eyebrow revealed his surprise, his mind struggling to piece together the puzzle.
"Police have found another Monstrum-killing late last night after 2 AM and..." William's tapping on his shoulder urged Kurtis to piece the information together.
"Brother?" Kurtis's concern deepened, his gaze locked onto William's face.
"The police have identified the woman from last night to be the famous Lara Croft," the revelation struck a chord within Kurtis, the pieces falling into place with a sense of recognition.
"Your friend from London," Kurtis's voice held a note of understanding, his memory piecing together the connection between Lara Croft and William's past.
"Yes, I don't understand what she's doing here, Kurtis," the weight of the situation pressed upon William, his emotions barely contained.
As William's hand rubbed his tired eyes, Kurtis saw the vulnerability beneath the facade. The life they led as Lux, marked by secrecy and danger, was one that had distanced them from family and friends. The idea of that life being exposed was a threat that neither of them could ignore.
"Look, if this is Lara Croft you're talking about, then luck is on our side," Kurtis's words carried a note of reassurance, a thread of optimism amidst the chaos. "Last time I checked, nothing can take her down, and we need all the help we can get."
"But I don't want Lara to find out about this life," William's voice was tinged with a mixture of fear and concern, his reluctance to involve someone from his past in the dangerous world they navigated.
Kurtis's understanding was palpable, his eyes meeting William's with a sense of camaraderie. "Unfortunately, she found out, but the good thing is you're going to leave in five minutes for Turkey, so she won't see you. I'll keep in the shadows."
The thought of his brother's departure was a bittersweet reminder of the sacrifices they made to protect their loved ones from the dangers that pursued them. "I'll be watching, waiting until I have to step in and fight."
"So to quote from last night, brother," William's laughter broke through the tension, a brief moment of levity amidst the storm. "She's gonna be difficult to handle."
"Makes it more challenging. Now get your bags and go, you don't want to be late," Kurtis's voice held a note of urgency, his focus on ensuring that William's departure went smoothly.
With a nod, William gathered his belongings and left for Turkey, leaving Kurtis to his thoughts and preparations. As the door closed behind his brother, Kurtis followed suit, grabbing his own bag and keys. Descending past the receptionist's playful gesture, he stepped out into the quiet streets of Paris.
Sitting astride his bike, Kurtis surveyed his surroundings, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The task ahead was formidable – tracking down the elusive Lara Croft in a city as vast as Paris. His mind raced through possibilities, imagining the hideouts and safe havens that someone of her reputation might choose.
"If I was the famous Lara Croft, where would I hide?" Kurtis's murmured question hung in the air, a challenge he was more than ready to embrace. With determination in his heart and the city as his canvas, he embarked on the hunt, a shadow in pursuit of another shadow.
Parisian Streets
Paris
17 November 2003
06:00
Lara Croft
In the obscurity of the night, I moved through the shadows, guided only by the ethereal glow of the moon and the twinkling stars of the Milky Way. My senses strained to detect any sign of her presence, but her words reached me before any tangible form.
"You're almost returning to your full powers now," her voice echoed around me, a whisper carried on the breeze. The words held a sense of both encouragement and anticipation.
"You're learning well, Lara. Remember each challenge makes you stronger." Her words were a soothing reassurance, a reminder of the growth that emerges from adversity.
A moment of pause followed, her voice reemerging like a gentle melody in the night. "Your inner strength is increasing. One battle is not the whole war, Lara. There are dangers, yet unseen, aligned against you."
With each step I took, the enigmatic night sky cast a hazy band of light above, formed by the multitude of stars that composed the Milky Way. My eyes scanned the darkness, seeking a form to match her voice, yet I found myself alone in the vast expanse.
"A new world order is poised to emerge from the shadows. You must make your stand. The future needs you and him, now more than ever." The mention of 'him' stirred curiosity within me, a puzzle piece I had yet to place. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on my shoulders, and doubt gnawed at the edges of my determination.
"I don't think I can go on with this, Putai," I confessed with a heavy sigh, my steps faltering as uncertainty gripped my heart.
Retiring, leaving it all behind, seemed tempting at that moment.
"You have unique strengths, Lara. Learn to trust them," Putai's response was a gentle nudge, urging me to embrace the abilities that lay within me.
"How will I remember, Putai?" I wiped a tear that threatened to escape, my voice quivering with a mixture of frustration and longing.
"Whenever your need is strength," her voice resonated within, a comforting presence in my solitude.
And then, amidst the shadows, a glimmer caught my attention. A beautiful amulet lay just a few feet ahead. With cautious steps, I approached it and picked it up, its intricate design gleaming in the faint light.
As I held the amulet, Putai's voice enveloped me once more, her words echoing from all around.
"Remember the amulet. It will help you learn."
A deep breath steadied my racing heart. "But the past still troubles me," I confessed, the memories of the past resurfacing, a tapestry of moments both joyful and painful.
"Have patience. Whatever is useful from the past will come to you as you need it. For now, learn what you must with each new situation," Putai's wisdom soothed the turmoil within, like a guiding light through the darkness of doubt.
With the amulet cradled against my chest, I looked upwards, seeking connection with the unseen shaman. "I will learn, Putai," my determination solidified, bolstered by the quiet confidence she inspired.
"There is great darkness ahead of you, Lara. Remember the amulet and use your strength wisely. You are ready."
As I sought her presence, the realization dawned that Putai was no longer an external voice but an essence infused within the amulet itself.
"Where are you?" I inquired, my words carrying a sense of wonder and curiosity.
"Where I have always been. Remember the amulet," her response seemed to echo from the artifact in my hands. A smile graced my lips as the realization settled.
In that quiet moment beneath the stars, I understood that Putai's guidance was not confined to the physical realm. The amulet would be a conduit for her wisdom, a talisman of strength and insight to accompany me through the challenges that lay ahead.
Shivering in the cold, Lara's consciousness emerged from the grasp of slumber as she found herself in the confines of an old railway car. Memories of the previous night trickled back—fleeing Carvier's apartment, evading the police, and eventually taking refuge in this abandoned rail yard on the outskirts of Paris. With a sense of purpose, she sat up and retrieved the small notebook from her pocket, Werner's last tangible connection.
"Eckhardt - client. Be wary!" The words on the page echoed the caution Werner had left for her. She furrowed her brows, pondering the significance of this warning. Why had he felt the need to emphasize Eckhardt's nature?
Lara let the notebook rest beside her, turning to the next page. "Louis Bouchard. Useful contact - purchased handgun. Discretion assured." Her eyes widened as she absorbed the information. Bouchard seemed like a person of interest, someone who might hold clues or resources she needed. Her mind formed a plan—to locate Bouchard and gather more information.
"Terrified to go out. Monstrum terrorizing the streets." Werner's words confirmed the atmosphere of fear that had gripped him in his final days. The Monstrum's reign of terror had cast a shadow over Paris, and Lara's determination to unravel the truth intensified.
Closing the notebook, Lara exhaled a sigh that misted in the frigid air. "Werner, I will find out who killed you," she whispered with resolve.
The sound of sleet pummeling against the railcar drew her attention, a stark reminder of the unforgiving winter. She pulled her jacket tighter, feeling the bite of cold against her exposed skin. Realizing the need to find more shelter, she climbed out of the railcar and into the desolate surroundings.
Nearby, a homeless man huddled by a makeshift fire in an old drum. His weathered gaze followed her approach, his eyes taking in her appearance. Lara's mind sparked with an idea—the homeless had a way of knowing things, their ears attuned to the whispers of the city.
"Is this your pitch?" she asked, her gaze sweeping across the abandoned railway area that seemed to serve as his refuge. The scene was a patchwork of nature reclaiming its territory amidst urban decay.
The homeless man's lips curled into a grin, his attention flickering between Lara and the fire's flickering flames. "All Paris is my pitch. Got any spare changes? For coffee?" His voice held a mix of weariness and hopeful anticipation.
"Maybe. I need to find a man," Lara responded, her tone business-like as she gauged the man's reaction.
The man's grin broadened, his gaze sharpening as it roved over her form. He rubbed his chin, seemingly entertained by the notion.
"There is a particular man," she clarified, pointing at him. "Bouchard, Louis Bouchard. Know him?"
An almost imperceptible hesitation passed over the man's face—a fleeting moment of contemplation that didn't escape Lara's keen observation.
He looked down briefly, then shook his head. "No. Never heard of him."
His lie was evident in the flicker of his eyes, the unease that betrayed his words.
"Even for spare change?"
"Go away! I never heard of him!" he snapped at her, his reaction revealing more than he intended.
Lara's instincts were confirmed—this man had information, but he was reluctant to share it.
"So where could I ask?" she inquired further, not deterred by his dismissal. "I could use a coffee. How about you?"
"Try Café Metro. In the Place L'Arcada. The owner might be able to help you. Knows all kinds of stuff," the homeless man offered begrudgingly.
"Sounds like my kind of café."
"What about the spare change?" he asked, his hand extending expectantly.
"I didn't say I had any."
Lara's retort held a touch of humor, a momentary exchange that highlighted the irony of her current situation. She was on a quest to uncover secrets and truths, and yet, she herself was penniless.
"Then welcome to Paris," he quipped with a wry grin, his attention shifting back to the fire.
As Lara walked away, she couldn't shake the feeling that the homeless man knew more than he was willing to admit. What hidden knowledge did he possess? And what secrets was he guarding? Determined to follow Werner's trail and uncover the truth, Lara set her course for Café Metro, ready to engage the enigmatic world that lay beneath the city's surface.
Cafe Metro
Paris
17 November 2003
07:00
Kurtis Trent
Kurtis guided his bike to a halt by a quiet café nestled within the Parisian Ghetto. The gloomy ambiance of the neighborhood seemed to permeate even the café, casting a shadow over its otherwise inviting atmosphere. Pushing the door open, he entered, his eyes scanning the sparsely populated space. The owner, engrossed in a newspaper, glanced up as the bell above the door tinkled softly.
With a polite smile, the owner approached Kurtis, his accent adding a touch of charm to his words. "Can I help you, sir?"
Kurtis responded with a straightforward order. "Yes, can you give me coffee, bacon, and eggs on toast, and maybe an English newspaper."
Acknowledging his request, the owner headed to the counter to prepare the order, leaving Kurtis to find a seat. He spotted a corner table that seemed secluded enough for his liking and made his way over. As he settled into the wooden chair, the scent of coffee and sizzling bacon enveloped him, offering a momentary respite from the intense atmosphere of his mission.
Before long, the owner returned, placing Kurtis' order in front of him. The plate held a hearty breakfast, promising comfort amid the turmoil of his thoughts. Kurtis nodded his gratitude, his attention shifting to the newspaper that had been brought to him.
As he unfolded the paper, his eyes were drawn to the headlines that dominated the front page. There, in bold letters, was the name that had been echoing through the city—the famed Lara Croft. The headline detailed the ongoing Parisian 'Monstrum' killings, implicating Lara Croft and her connection to the disturbing incidents.
Kurtis' brow furrowed as he read the article, his mind racing to make connections between the recent events and the woman who had fled the crime scenes. He took a sip of his coffee, the bitter warmth offering a counterbalance to the chilling implications of the news. The café remained eerily silent as if the weight of the headlines had cast a hush over the entire neighborhood.
As he contemplated the situation, Kurtis knew that he had to tread carefully. The convergence of Lara Croft's presence and the Monstrum killings was no coincidence. He needed to unravel the truth behind it all while remaining hidden from the prying eyes of both law enforcement and those who might be involved in the mysterious Cabal.
Setting down the newspaper, Kurtis pondered his next move. He couldn't afford to let emotions cloud his judgment; the fate of Paris, perhaps even the world, rested on his actions. With a renewed sense of purpose, he finished his breakfast, and read on the newspaper enjoying his morning coffee.
Parisian Streets
Paris
17 November 2003
06:30
Lara Croft
After an extensive conversation with the homeless man, Lara retraced her steps back to the old railway car. The gritty surroundings of the abandoned train yard gave an eerie ambiance, with rusted metal structures towering overhead. She ascended the worn steps of the railway car, the creaking sound adding to the atmosphere. Finally reaching the top, she found herself standing on the bridge that overlooked the area, providing a vantage point of the scene below.
Her eyes swept across the sprawling landscape before her. Dilapidated buildings and overgrown weeds painted a picture of urban decay. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower's silhouette stood against the dusky sky. The ambiance was a mix of desolation and faded charm, a testament to the city's history. Lara took a deep breath, a mixture of determination and uncertainty bubbling within her.
As she strode purposefully across the bridge, her path intersected with that of a man leaning against a wall adorned with vibrant graffiti. The colors clashed against the muted tones of the surroundings, creating an intriguing contrast. The man, exuding an air of nonchalant confidence, whistled a tune that hung in the air. This encounter felt like a scene out of an urban drama.
He stood adjacent to a door, a door that seemed to promise an escape from this decaying environment. Lara's eyes moved from the colorful graffiti to the man himself. He was a puzzle - dressed in a baseball cap adorned with the letter 'A' and a leather jacket. His appearance was both edgy and enigmatic, the epitome of street-smart style. Her curiosity piqued, and she considered his intentions.
"Are you looking for anything special, little lady?" the man said. His age, likely in his thirties, was evident in the lines on his face and the air of experience he carried. His attire, a white shirt paired with jeans, struck a balance between casual and deliberate. In his right hand, he held a cigarette, the tendrils of smoke curling upward, adding an almost cinematic quality to the scene.
Lara's gaze shifted to his arms, which bore intricate tattoos. The ink on his left arm depicted a cross intertwined with a lion's head, a fusion of symbolism that hinted at a deeper story. On his right arm, a snake slithered amidst flames and shadows, an image that seemed to dance with the flicker of the cigarette's ember. These tattoos told a tale of their own, one etched into his very skin.
Suspicion lingered in the air, a dance of unspoken thoughts. Lara's thoughts spun, wondering if he could be affiliated with the underworld, perhaps a connection to the very danger she was delving into. The city's pulse resonated in the space between them - the man and his mystery, and Lara with her quest.
In response to his inquiry, Lara's skepticism manifested in a squint, a small but potent gesture that revealed her wariness.
"So, what are you? A city guide?" Her hand found its place on her hip, a stance of defiance that contrasted with the enigmatic smile he offered in return.
"That's right. I'm a city guide. All tastes and interests catered for." He said.
"Good, I need directions. I'm trying to find a man called Bouchard. Do you know him?"
"That's not a healthy kind of question to be asking," he said. His words hinted at a knowledge that resonated with what she had heard earlier. The breadcrumbs of information seemed to lead her to him, a man at the center of the city's secrets. She battled with her inner thoughts, reading between the lines, searching for the truth.
"Don't tell me Paris is dangerous," Lara said, shaking her head.
"Oh, we got all kinds of rough stuff here in Paris. Including our own serial killer." He chuckled. "Have you heard of the Monstrum? Huh?! Have you heard of him?" The city seemed to hold its breath, its heartbeat pulsating in the form of sirens in the distance. The passing police cars served as a reminder of the looming danger. Lara's emotions swirled - determination mingled with caution, a hunger for answers mixed with a growing unease.
"The Monstrum is him? How do you know that?" She asked.
"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 said.
"Which you obviously do. So how do I find this Bouchard?" Lara said.
"He won't have time for casual callers. Been having staff problems at his club I hear."
"Bouchard runs a club?"
"Yeah, the Le Serpent Rouge. Flashy joint."
"Why should losing staff be such a big deal?"
"Because these, staff are dying on the job. Messily. No one knows why or how."
Interesting. Why would staff just start dying on the job? Sounds like Mafia to me, but this could also be something of the Monstrum. I wonder if Bouchard works for this serial killer.
"You don't think Bouchard's up to handling it?"
"Keep your voice down. Bouchard can handle all he needs to but this is something different. Something creepy. His people didn't die pretty. It's got him really shaken."
"Is it the Monstrum?" Lara asked, folding her arms over her chest,
"Who knows for sure? I just try to keep my nose clean. You should too."
If I wanted to keep my nose clean, I'd let the police capture me and lock me up.
Lara sighed."You've no idea where Bouchard is?"
"No."
"Well, I'm sure someone does. I'll ask around."
"Yeah! Do that. Why don't you try Café Metro?"
Bingo again. The homeless man also said I should try the Café. It's a start.
"Who do I talk to? The owner?"
"Hey!" He held his hands up and threw them down. "I'm kidding, really. The guy's a complete loser. Forget it. Go home, and do something recreational. Which is where I might be able to help." In the midst of uncertainty, the man's offer of assistance bore an undercurrent of his own motives. Lara's eyes rolled, a mixture of exasperation and skepticism directed at his proposition. The city guide's attempt to lighten the mood was met with her own brand of resilience. Their interaction was a dance of veiled intentions and hidden meanings, a choreography of words and glances.
Lara rolled her eyes. "No thanks."
The scene transitioned seamlessly, the city's secrets cast in the shadows as they hid from the passing police sirens. An official announcement crackled from a distant police car, the voice describing Lara in vivid detail. The tension escalated the reality of her situation pressing upon her. The man's presence offered a shared understanding, a camaraderie born out of mutual necessity.
"Having to keep low eh? That's hard," he said. "Especially with the cops being so trigger-happy."
Lara's sigh carried a weight, a combination of weariness and determination. Her hand rubbed her temple, a gesture that bespoke the complexities of her quest. The conversation had offered her a breadcrumb - Café Metro - a lead she was determined to follow.
"Should I give Bouchard your regards when I find him?" Lara said, starting to push the door open.
"No, don't do that! But if you're at a loose end look me up. I'm sure I could find something distracting for you. You know, something special."
"See you around." As she stepped through the door, closing it behind her, the old Parisian streets awaited her, each step unraveling the layers of the mystery she had stepped into.
Lara's gaze swept across the vicinity she had entered. The area appeared strangely deserted as if the very air held its breath in anticipation. The surroundings exuded an eerie stillness, punctuated by the distant hum of the city. The building to her left, Le Serpent Rouge, loomed in quiet abandonment, its closed sign a stark indicator of its current state. The structure itself was a blend of mystery and history, its architecture a testament to days gone by.
Directly across the street, a lone figure stood on the corner, a stark contrast to the somber surroundings. The young woman, garbed in black attire, sported a glossy red jacket that caught the dim light. Smoke curled upward from her hand, the faint glow of her cigarette casting a surreal halo around her. The entirety of the scene was a tableau of contrasts - the vibrant red against the muted backdrop, the figure of solitude amid the empty streets.
Lara's mind raced with speculation. The woman's presence here was no mere coincidence; it was a calculated stance, an emblem of the world she inhabited. A world where shadows whispered secrets, where connections were made in the most unlikely of places. The woman's appearance - from her blonde locks to her alluring attire - hinted at her profession, which demanded a delicate balance of allure and caution.
Curiosity fueled Lara's words, a question about the lack of activity at this early hour.
"Not a lot of passing trade at this hour?"
"It's early yet. Move along, Ma Cher," she said with a laden mix of sarcasm and authority, a swift dismissal paired with an observation that brimmed with wry humor. The woman's eyes roamed over Lara, her words suggesting a hint of amusement amidst her guarded demeanor. "You make the place look crowded."
"Have you worked in this neighborhood for long?" Lara said.
"What can I do for you, Cherie?" The prostitute's response held a mixture of tension and resignation, her posture a reflection of the secrets that weighed on her shoulders.
"I'm looking for someone you might know. Name of Bouchard," Lara said.
"You won't find him here Cherie." The prostitute sighed. "He ran the club across the road. Le Serpent Rouge, but had to move. There was a lot of trouble I heard. Things needed to lie quietly for a while."
The revelation about Bouchard's connection to the now-closed club across the road deepened the intrigue. The puzzle pieces seemed to click into place - a man of influence forced to retreat, his empire crumbling under the weight of something dangerous and unsettling. Lara's thoughts whirred, wondering about the nature of the trouble that had befallen Bouchard's club and the ominous reason behind his retreat.
"Oh? Trouble?" Lara frowned.
The prostitute's acknowledgment of Lara's assumption carried an air of truth, a reluctant admission that tied Bouchard's dealings to her world. The revelation was a reminder that even in the depths of darkness, information flowed like a currency, and knowledge was a weapon to be wielded with caution.
"Lost some of his best people. Very messy business. Made him nervous, and that's saying something."
"Do you know where he moved to?"
The prostitute's response was a mixture of uncertainty and evasion, highlighting the challenge of contacting a man who had chosen to remain hidden. The city's underbelly was a world of its own, its inhabitants skilled in discretion.
"No idea," the prostitute answered. "There are people who know, but if your man wants to lie low, he won't be easy to contact."
"I'd have guessed as much. Everyone is in hiding."
"Not everyone, Cherie. What do you want him for?"
Smart girl. That's how she survived these streets. Making sure who she's dealing with.
"I'm trying to track down a friend's movements."
"Lost is he?"
"Dead, but he made contact with Bouchard before he..." Lara sighed. "Checked out."
"Tell you what. There are two guys who used to work at the Le Serpent Rouge."
"Bouchard didn't lose everybody."
"No. There are two who left before the troubles closed the place down." She sighed. "One's a miserable old devil called Bernard who was the janitor there. He hangs about in the park sometimes."
Not going to work if he is sometimes in the park. The second one might help.
"And the other one?"
"The other one, Pierre, worked as a barman. Made bad deals that backfired on him." She pointed to the stone stairs going up another street. "He runs the café in the Place d'Arcade now. Café Metro. You never know. Might be worth a shot."
He'll definitely be worth the shot. I wonder how he went from barman to the owner of a café. Gives me this strange idea that Bouchard didn't let him go but put him there for cover. Eyes and ears. Someone should know if Bouchard is hiding. How else would he know what's going on?
"Better than anything I have so far. Thanks. I didn't catch your name."
"Janice. Everyone knows me 'round here," Janice said "Look, be careful, Cherie. Bouchard's a mean operator and he's been targeted hard recently."
"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."
"He can handle it alright. No one better. But the way his people have been dying… So ugly. And that poor woman."
"What woman?"
"Someone called Carvier was killed early this morning. She worked at the Louvre according to the radio. I don't want to talk about it."
"Carvier." Lara gasped.
I saw her last night and now...
"Now, you watch out, Ma Cher. There's a lot of sickos loose on the streets."
"Yeah."
"That's okay. Some of us like it that way."
With a final exchange, Lara and the prostitute, Janice, parted ways. The encounter had been a glimpse into a world of secrets, alliances, and the delicate dance of survival. As Lara walked away, her thoughts were a whirlwind of possibilities. The puzzle pieces were beginning to fit together, and she was determined to unravel the truth that lay at the heart of Paris's enigmatic underbelly.
