Chapter 9: Pierre
Cafe Metro
Paris
17 November 2003
07:45
Lara Croft
Lara's gaze shifted away from Janice, her expression one of determination as she embarked on a deliberate ascent up the staircase. Emerging onto the elevated landing, she found herself enveloped by the serene ambiance of a small park that stretched out before her. Verdant foliage adorned the path leading to yet another turn to the left. A modest yet inviting sign, bearing the name "Café Metro," beckoned from around the corner. With graceful steps, she traversed the distance to the café nestled at the end of the cobblestone street, a sense of purpose guiding her every movement. Parked near the entrance, a solitary motorbike added a touch of character to the scene.
The revelation swept over her like a cool breeze – a sense of solace in the midst of her clandestine pursuits.
Crossing the threshold, Lara's attentive gaze swept across the tranquil interior of the café. In one corner, a man engrossed in the daily news lifted the paper to obscure his features, an air of secrecy shrouding him. This peripheral observation barely registered as she continued her unhurried advance, her focus zeroing in on the individual stationed by the cash register.
"Pierre?" Her voice, laced with a blend of curiosity and purpose, disrupted the calm around her, prompting the man to lift his gaze to meet hers.
"Possibly. What can I get you?" His fingers relinquished the hold on a wad of currency, his posture shifting from nonchalance to attention.
"Information." Her words hung in the air, imbued with an undercurrent of urgency, her hand finding a casual rest on her hip.
Her inner turmoil was the only testament to her concealed frustration – an unspoken reminder of the void left by her absent pistols.
A sardonic smile touched her lips as she considered the scenario unfolding before her.
"Really! Well everyone wants something for nothing," his words brushed against the atmosphere.
A sigh, heavy with the weight of unforeseen complications, escaped her lips.
She chided herself for the misplaced optimism that had briefly flickered within her. This endeavor, it seemed, was destined to be far from straightforward. Nevertheless, she resolved to discern the intricacies that Pierre's request entailed.
"It needn't be for nothing. We could trade," her words wove a delicate thread of intrigue.
The quirked eyebrow mirrored his intrigue, a silent invitation for her to elaborate.
The careful negotiations unfolded like an intricate dance, words laden with veiled intentions and veering toward mutual benefit.
"You used to work at the Le Serpent Rouge. I need to find your ex-boss, Bouchard." Her resolve was palpable, the intent behind her quest unwavering.
"You don't look like the police," his gaze momentarily strayed toward the window, betraying a hint of apprehension.
The assurance she projected was not in words, but in her demeanor. Her presence was a testament to the complexities she had navigated before.
"No, I don't, but I do deal with problems. Sort them out," her assertion resonated with a quiet strength, a promise of capabilities beyond the ordinary.
The subtext of their exchange was mirrored in the shuffling of newspapers, a faint rustling that accompanied the unobtrusive observer's descent from his own thoughts to the realm of the café.
A pang of familiarity tugged at her, but she cast aside the distraction, focusing her energy on the matter at hand.
Returning her attention to Pierre, her gaze held his without faltering, her words a reflection of her unwavering determination.
"If need be. And they pay well enough."
A murmur of intrigue, a knowing glint in his eyes, underscored the layers of meaning exchanged.
"Hm! What sort of problems?" His question was a calculated prod, probing the depths of her resolve.
She welcomed the challenge, her response revealing a facet of her persona not often unveiled.
"What sort of problems do you have? Are there any situations that need clearing up? Difficulties removed?"
The café's ambiance, once a backdrop, was now an intimate witness to the negotiations transpiring within its confines.
"In exchange for information about Louis Bouchard. Hm, that's dangerous information."
The gravity of her inquiry was mirrored in the gravity of his words, a tenuous understanding bridging the gap between their motives.
"I'm a dangerous girl, and right now I'm losing patience." Her scowl was a stormy declaration, her frustration no longer contained.
The café's patrons carried on with their muted activities, seemingly oblivious to the charged exchange transpiring at the center.
"I do have a situation that needs tidying. A retrieval job," Pierre's admission bore a hint of vulnerability, a crack in his façade.
As her mind digested his words, skepticism intermingled with intrigue. The simplicity of his request belied a complexity that gnawed at her instincts.
"That sounds too easy. Why wouldn't you pick it up yourself?"
"Two guesses."
"Bouchard? The Monstrum?"
The weight of those names hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the intricate web they navigated.
"Don't joke about the Monstrum!" His retort held a tinge of panic, a reminder that certain boundaries must not be breached.
Amidst the conversation's tension, a thought danced at the periphery of her mind, an observation of the man who had hitherto lingered in the background.
An internal shake refocused her, the urgency of her mission reasserting itself.
"Just tell me where the item is in the club," her words cut through the air like a blade, her patience fraying at the edges.
And then, Pierre's eyes snapped up, a profound realization transpiring between them.
A drawer slid open, a gesture fraught with implications. She was keenly aware that if danger emerged from within that drawer, her options for cover were limited. Yet, a calculating certainty underscored her resolve.
"It's small. Small enough to fit inside one of the stage lights. The one that doesn't work," his words were a key unlocking a door to a labyrinth of challenges.
"That's it? Okay, I can work with that. How do I get into the club?"
"With this." The transfer of the key was an emblematic exchange, a conduit to a world of concealed secrets.
With her fingers wrapped around the key, the gravity of the task ahead settled upon her like an old friend, the weight of responsibility matched only by her unyielding will.
"That'll get you in the stage area at the back. Return what's mine to me and I'll put you in touch with Louis Bouchard."
Their words became a pact, an unspoken promise tied to the passage of the key.
"I'm sure he'll be glad to hear from you again."
"He isn't going to. I'll just tell you where to find him. Then it's up to you."
The intricacies of their agreement, a delicate balance of trust and self-preservation, hung in the air, woven into the very fabric of their exchange.
"Okay. If this doesn't work out. I know where to find you. Don't I, Pierre," her parting words were both a statement and a warning, a reminder of the connected paths they now walked.
And with that, Lara stepped away, the closing of the door marking the end of this chapter and the beginning of another.
Cafe Metro
Paris
17 November 2003
07:55
Kurtis Trent
Kurtis, a vigilant figure who had been unobtrusively present within the café, couldn't help but observe the proprietor's momentary hesitation in responding to the insistent ring of the phone. Its chiming coincided with Lara's departure a mere minute ago, a fortuitous alignment that piqued Kurtis's curiosity.
The subtle undercurrent of concern began to weave its way into his thoughts – a nagging unease at the realization that the woman he had just witnessed conversing with the café's owner was seeking a connection to someone entrenched within the criminal underworld.
The name "Bouchard" reverberated in his mind, triggering an unbidden association with another infamous figure: Eckhardt. The connection was enigmatic and deeply troubling, the pieces of the puzzle fitting together in a way that hinted at a more complex tapestry of events.
An unspoken resolve solidified within Kurtis as he mustered the determination to take matters into his own hands. With measured steps, he approached the café's proprietor, a cautious but purposeful approach that underscored his intentions.
A thin smile graced the lips of the café owner as the intrusive ringing of the phone finally subsided, the interruption mirroring the undercurrents of uncertainty that had been stirred.
"I couldn't help myself from overhearing your conversation with the woman. I'm also looking for Bouchard. Any chance you could help me?" Kurtis's words carried a distinct gravity, a testament to the gravity of the secrets that seemed to be cloaked within this unassuming café.
The phone, relentless in its demands, began to ring again, its shrillness a dissonant note amidst the enigmatic symphony of conversations and contemplations.
Pierre's posture shifted, an involuntary tension rippling through him as he answered the call.
"Hello?"
"I'll call you back. I have a customer," Pierre's voice was clipped, the receiver slipping from his grasp as he cast a fleeting glance toward Kurtis.
The gravity of the situation was unmistakable, the clandestine interactions that had unfolded within the café revealing layers of intrigue that seemed to spiral outward like the tendrils of a smoldering fire.
"Well, this is interesting. Very," Pierre's smirk bore a hint of amusement, a reflection of the enigmatic chessboard upon which their fates were being played out. "Well, if you beat the woman and bring back the box, then I'll be more than able to help you."
Kurtis's affirmation was swift, confidence threading his words as he acknowledged the task presented to him.
As he walked away from the café, the lingering tension remained palpable – a reminder that Pierre was enmeshed in a web of perilous secrets. The knowledge that Lara had departed the scene added a layer of urgency to the situation, each passing moment amplifying the stakes.
Pierre's predicament was undeniable, the tendrils of his involvement in a world of intrigue tightening with every passing heartbeat. And yet, Kurtis's focus was resolute; he recognized that this moment was but a single beat in the symphony of events that would shape the future.
The ringing phone hinted at a connection to someone who had been eluding Kurtis's grasp – a realization that hinted at alliances and allegiances that transcended the immediate scope of the situation. The intertwined destinies of Bouchard, Pierre, and the elusive Eckhardt were like a tapestry whose threads remained yet to be fully unraveled.
A solemn vow echoed within Kurtis's thoughts – a pledge to watch over Lara, to provide the vigilance and support that circumstances demanded.
Mounting his bike, the roar of the engine resonating in sync with the pounding of his heart, Kurtis shifted into gear and accelerated into the labyrinthine streets of the city.
The wind carried whispers of determination, a promise of action in the face of adversity. As the cityscape blurred past him, his thoughts returned to the enigmatic club: Le Serpent Rouge.
The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainties, but Kurtis's resolve remained unyielding. He knew that every decision, every action, was a note in the symphony that would ultimately define the fate of all involved.
"I promise you, brother. I'll keep an eye on Lara," his inner declaration carried with it the weight of a silent oath, a vow that transcended the boundaries of time and space.
With a determined stomp on the gas pedal, he propelled his bike forward, the city lights streaking past him like stars in a cosmic dance.
Parisian Streets
Paris
17 November 2003
08:25
Lara Croft
Lara retraced her steps, descending to the area where her conversation with Janice had taken place earlier. As she moved past Janice, the familiar voice of the prostitute reached her ears, halting her progress.
"Cherie!"
The sound of her name on Janice's lips caused Lara to pivot, her gaze locking onto the woman who had chased her down. A distant rumble of a motorbike echoed in the backdrop of her awareness, but she dismissed it for the time being.
"Janice, is something wrong?" Lara's tone was inquisitive, tinged with a hint of concern as she regarded the panting Janice.
"I got word, Cherie. The police have hired an investigator to look into Bouchard and the Monstrum."
The revelation struck Lara with a mixture of surprise and unease. The tendrils of official investigation had reached farther than she had anticipated.
"Do they believe Bouchard and the Monstrum are connected?" Her inquiry was a measured attempt to glean more information.
"I don't know, Cherie, but I just thought to warn you, seeing as the police are framing you for your friend's death."
Lara's eyes widened, the weight of Janice's knowledge unsettling.
How did she come to know about that?
Sensing Lara's perplexity, Janice sighed softly. "I went past a vendor selling the newspapers. Saw your face on the front page."
The realization that her actions and movements had been thrust into the public eye added a layer of vulnerability that Lara was unaccustomed to.
"Why do I get the impression you don't believe the news?"
Janice's response bore a thread of sincerity, a testament to the connection that had formed between them.
"There's something about you, Lara, that I just can't see you killing him."
The affirmation was like a lifeline, a reminder that amidst the turmoil, a glimmer of trust had emerged.
"Thank you."
"But be careful, Cherie. Did Pierre help you?"
"Sort of, let's just say I need to get into the club before he can help me."
The words exchanged carried an unspoken understanding, a recognition of the shared pursuit of a goal.
"Well, Cherie, be careful in there. Bouchard's guards are trigger-happy."
"I will."
With a nod, Janice retreated to her corner, the essence of their interaction lingering in the air.
Lara's next steps were fraught with the weight of the impending task. As she approached the entrance to the club, a sense of familiarity gnawed at her. A motorbike, parked nearby in the alley, caught her attention, its presence stirring a memory that eluded her grasp.
A man emerged from the alley, and Lara's breath hitched as recognition dawned upon her. He was the same man she had encountered both at the museum and at the café – William's brother. Her thoughts raced, grappling with the implications of his presence.
Before she could gather her thoughts to address him, he winked at her in a cryptic gesture, mounted his motorbike, and sped away, leaving a trail of unanswered questions in his wake.
Baffled by the mysterious encounter, Lara's focus soon shifted back to the matter at hand. The alley's entrance beckoned her, and she ventured onward, the anticipation of what lay ahead quickening her heartbeat.
Inside the club, an unsettling hush pervaded the atmosphere. Her surroundings were dimly illuminated, a corridor curving away to her left. Her keen ears picked up on the faint sound of footsteps, a rhythm akin to pacing – a sentinel guarding a piece of the puzzle she sought.
But what truly caught her attention was the voice crackling from a radio, weaving a narrative of the unseen individuals within the club's walls.
"Bravo one, is everything clear on your end?"
The voice was met with a response, a companion in this enigmatic exchange.
"Charly one, I'm bored out of my skull, just wish something interesting could happen."
The dialogue unfolded like a cryptic dance, each word filled with unspoken significance.
"Bravo one, you'll have to wait for Bouchard to call you in for something like that, nothing would ever happen here."
"Charly one, like he would choose me over you."
"Guys, Mike one here, I had to move down in the basement. Something triggered the alarm."
"Need help."
"Yes, Charly one."
"Coming, over and out."
Lara's eyes narrowed as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. The guard's idle chatter revealed fragments of their circumstances – inklings of trouble in the basement, an alarm triggered, and the impending arrival of assistance.
A plan began to form in Lara's mind, the pieces aligning in a way that promised to tip the balance in her favor. With a calculated resolve, she understood that this was her moment, the perfect opportunity to exploit the guard's preoccupation and advance her mission.
As she inched forward, a surge of anticipation coursed through her veins. She remained concealed in the shadows, a force to be reckoned with, ready to seize control of the narrative in this intricate game of intrigue and danger.
Lara's pulse quickened as she observed the guard's back turned to her, absorbed in the ritual of placing his radio back on his belt. Seizing the opportune moment, she moved stealthily along the corridor, her footsteps nearly soundless on the uneven floor. The guard resumed his pacing and muttered to himself, the rhythm of his discontent echoing within the narrow confines of the corridor.
"Maybe I could talk to Bouchard about giving fieldwork," his voice carried a hint of restlessness, a wish for a break from the monotony.
Lara's mind raced, absorbing the guard's mutterings as she assessed her surroundings. She spotted a storeroom with an open entrance further down the corridor, and her attention was drawn to a switch that promised control over the corridor's lights. The cogs of a plan began to turn within her mind.
In a calculated move, she activated the switch, plunging the corridor into darkness. Swift as a shadow, she slipped into the storeroom, her heart pounding in sync with the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
As the guard reacted to the sudden change in lighting, Lara held her breath, hoping her ruse would draw him in.
"Oh great, what now?" His disgruntled voice echoed, and he headed toward the switch.
Lara's heart raced as he passed the storeroom without investigation, the success of her deception a heartening victory.
He fell for it.
With a calculated movement, she advanced upon him, her stealthy approach ensuring that he remained unaware of her presence until it was too late. She incapacitated him efficiently, her training evident in her actions as she subdued him without a sound.
Moving quickly, Lara dragged him into a small office nearby, her mind racing as she assessed her surroundings. Her estimation was correct – this was the stage office. With purposeful efficiency, she propped him up in a chair, his unconscious form a silent testament to her mastery.
The room seemed to pulse with significance, each object bearing a clue to the puzzle she sought to unravel. Her search yielded a service weapon and a radio, each artifact an addition to her growing arsenal. The radio provided a line of connection to the other guards, offering her a glimpse into their movements.
Her thoughts raced as she contemplated her next moves, a delicate balance of urgency and strategy guiding her choices.
"I need to move fast before they realize something."
Leaving the incapacitated guard in his place, Lara exited the room, the keys she found becoming her tickets to the next stage of her mission.
Her path led her to a door that hinted at the promise of progress. Eavesdropping on the guard's radio communications, she pieced together fragments of the puzzle, gaining insights into the structure of the opposition she faced.
The knowledge that her presence had already been detected propelled her forward, her focus sharpening as she navigated the maze of threats that lay before her.
Steeling herself for the confrontation that awaited, Lara positioned herself with care, each step a calculated movement in a dance of danger.
The unfolding events left little room for subtlety. Gunfire rang out, punctuating the tense atmosphere as Lara faced off against the guards who sought to deter her progress.
"The bitch turned the music on."
Lara's resolve was unyielding, her accuracy unwavering as she sought to neutralize the opposition. The stakes were high, the challenges unrelenting, but she moved with an expertise borne of experience.
As the fray continued, the guards' resolve began to waver, their numbers thinning as Lara's aim remained unwavering.
"They're guards just doing their job, but they're in my way."
Her internal monologue held a thread of empathy for her adversaries, but her determination remained unwavering.
With the stage area secured, Lara's thoughts shifted to the upper levels, her pursuit of the information she sought driving her onward.
The control room loomed before her, a nexus of power and opportunity. Ascending the ladder, she found herself in a realm of solitude, a vantage point from which she could orchestrate her maneuvers.
No one could evade her vigilant gaze now.
The radio chatter below painted a vivid picture of the guards' attempts to regroup, a testament to their persistence and determination.
"Stop intruder."
The sound of gunfire pierced the air, bullets whizzing past Lara as she took evasive action behind the banisters of the stairs. Across the second level, an opposing guard took aim, his shots missing their mark. Seizing the moment, Lara waited for him to approach before efficiently dispatching him.
Her keen awareness anticipated the arrival of another threat, a calculated intuition guiding her every move. A guard emerged from an adjacent room, his voice carrying a warning as he opened fire. The chaos of the exchange resulted in collateral damage – the riggings above were hit, and they collapsed with a cacophony of sound.
The fallen rigging was a tangible representation of the chaos that had engulfed the club, a testament to the intensity of the struggle that had unfolded.
Lara's thoughts echoed with frustration even as she maintained her focus, dispatching the guard who had dared to challenge her amidst the chaos.
Her path ahead was revealed to be a labyrinthine puzzle, a maze of obstacles and possibilities. The door that beckoned her, locked at first, yielded to the keys she had procured. Ascending a ladder to the control room, Lara was met with solitude, a temporary respite from the relentless pursuit.
This was her stronghold, her sanctuary amidst the storm, but she knew its security was fleeting.
"No one was up there, but that wouldn't last for long. Down on the ground floor, she could see some more guards making their way up."
The relentless persistence of the guards served as a reminder that her position was precarious, that every moment counted in her quest to unravel the mysteries that surrounded her.
Two doors beckoned her within the control room, each offering a divergent path. One led to the elevated catwalks above the gallery levels, an avenue that held promise for evasion. The other door was her exit, a way out from the turmoil that had consumed the club.
Lara's eyes were drawn to the controls of the lighting rig, a task that had brought her to this pivotal moment. A flicker of pride and satisfaction danced within her – one of the lights wasn't functioning, exactly as Pierre had foretold.
So far so good, Pierre.
With a sense of purpose, she manipulated the controls remotely, guiding the recalcitrant light into a maintenance box where she could retrieve it. Her movements were deliberate, each action a testament to her skill and determination.
Exiting the control room, she traversed a maintenance catwalk, her gaze directed downward where the guards were repositioning themselves, undeterred by the adversity they faced.
"I need to move fast before they realize something."
The guard's footsteps echoed below as he ascended toward the control room, the pursuit unwavering.
"You guys are good at your job, but I am an expert in this," Lara murmured to herself, a quiet assertion of her own capabilities.
With the prized light in her possession, she made her way back, her aim unwavering as she silenced the guard who had dared to challenge her ascent.
The outside door offered an escape, a way out from the tumultuous battleground she had navigated. As she stepped into the open air, the world beyond the club awaited her, a landscape that held the promise of revelation and resolution.
Lara Croft, a force of determination and ingenuity, stood poised on the precipice of discovery, her journey far from over.
