The Caregiver (Book 1 of The Caregiver Series)

  Chapter 3

  That night changed things for the better. Helga had told me she feared someone would attempt to attack Sayer in his house because they all knew he was there. He had his power and alliances; however, those who wanted him dead were from another generation, a younger one that was so hungry for glory they were trying to get to the top using shortcuts.

  The attack that left Sayer hurt was perpetrated outside a restaurant. As he was getting into his car after dinner with his wife, they were assaulted by a single gunman that was able to get three bullets into Sayer before he could jump into the back seat and shout for George to drive away.

  He was afraid for his family, so he sent them out of the country. All of them. His wife, his daughter and her husband, and his grandchildren. Helga was the only one that stayed behind, refusing to leave her brother alone under these circumstances and, above all, trying to stop him from getting killed. He, on the other hand, stayed behind because he wanted to find out who had sent his attacker and make him pay for it.

  How did I get into the picture? I’m an agent with the Interpol, and I have been given the chance to make my mark and earn my stars. I’ve done my fair share of ass-kissing, shot a couple of people, punched a couple of faces, nothing big. But I’ve followed orders and been given the chance of a lifetime. For me, that is. To work as an undercover agent in Armand Sayer’s household? I was ecstatic when I got the news.

  People like Armand Sayer filled my dreams when I was a child because, believe it or not, I always wanted to be a cop. I dreamt about catching the bad guys. Not the common robbers. I wanted to take down the big fish, the chief of operations of the spider web that is the drug trafficking business. Sayer, a smart man, led the enviable life of criminals that remain in the shadows. He owned a very prominent real estate firm to do the laundry. And he was a serious man: he followed the rules and made everyone under him follow them too.

  That was how he and his closest colleagues kept themselves alive in a world where the bullets flew unannounced. But now they were facing a volatile younger generation that didn’t deal under the same laws of respect and thought it went hand-in-hand with murder numbers. Sayer and his colleagues didn’t have much of a problem while the murders stayed between the low-ranking men. It was when they messed with his kind, the ones that had been in the business since before this new generation was born, that he decided to step in.

  But stepping in had cost him the peaceful life he had worked so hard for and the ability to run around the house whenever he felt like it. Other than that, he was ready to go back, and I was now slowly working my way into his trust. Having Cisneros on my side helped, of course. They had been partners since the 70s, but we had recently cracked Cisneros into becoming an informer for us.

  “I’m going out,” he said as he straightened his jacket.

  “Where? Why?” Helga seemed to be running in circles around him like a dog.

  “I’m taking George and Scarlett with me. No need to worry.”

  I was standing in the foyer next to a large flower arrangement that, no matter how big, wouldn’t hide me from the stink eye Helga was giving me. I wrapped my jacket around me tightly, until the gun hidden within poked my ribs.

  “I believe I made myself very clear, Scarlett,” she turned to me. “And why aren’t you wearing your uniform?”

  “Ma’am, I’m…”

  “I won’t make her wear it in public! She’s my caregiver, and I need to go out, so it makes perfect sense that she should accompany me. She’s been trapped in here twenty-four-seven for two weeks. She needs a break.”

  “She can take a break if she wants, she can go anywhere she likes, but–”

  “But what?”

  “You don’t have to tag along!”

  “Technically, she’s the one tagging along, as it was my idea to go out. I’ll see you later.” He opened the front door and Helga stepped in his way.

  “Get out of my way, woman.”

  “You’re exposing yourself.”

  “There’s a slight chance that it is you who has been exposing me all this time, and I’m not even mad. Now move!”

  Helga moved out of the way to let us out, her eyes bulging and her mouth agape, as Sayer bestowed a sneer on her that left her speechless. When we walked out, George was waiting by the car – the black bulletproofed Jaguar – holding the back door open for us and keeping his poker face, even when Helga had smoke coming out of her ears.

  “Armand, be reasonable.”

  “I am being reasonable,” he let me in first and paused, “Scarlett convinced me of getting a cane, one of those that look stylish, you know? Not like the one the doctor wanted me to have. I don’t want to look like an old man. That is why I’ve decided that we’ll go cane-hunting today.”

  Helga rolled her eyes at this, turned around and went back into the house.

  Sayer slid into the car and we were on our way to an undisclosed location where he would meet with some colleagues. The cane part wasn’t a lie; we would buy one before the meeting.

  To prepare me for this, Sayer asked permission to go through my clothes and picked the suit I was to wear – jacket and trousers, so no one would feel tempted to leer at me, he said –, and told me to stay either to his left or with George at all times. George, who since the night of the failed break-in had added some phrases to his repertoire when he addressed me, was to signal me if we had to move or do anything other than stay around looking blankly at our surroundings.

  “Cisneros will be there also,” he grinned. What a strike of luck for me that he invited him. “Are you nervous?”

  “No, sir.” I was. I must reckon that my hands were shaking a little. One thing was to be an undercover and the pressure it puts on you, another thing was to be finally doing what you dreamt of for so long, and alongside the kind of man those dreams were fixed on.

  “Don’t be. If anything happens, George will take care of it, right George?”

  “Of course.”

  Sayer gave me a reassuring smile, yet it was like a child’s, a glint of mischievousness breaking through his otherwise stern guise.

  When we arrived at the store, Sayer was greeted by the manager and all the employees. This was the suit store he frequented, they all knew him and had missed him during the time he was cooped up because of his injuries. He was taken to the back while George and I kept an eye near the entrance.

  After a while, an employee approached me as I browsed through a rack of shirts, “Mr. Sayer would like you to join him.”

  I eyed George, he nodded, and I was taken to the back of the store where Sayer was trying out some walking sticks the manager was drawing out of some elegantly decorated boxes. He was looking at himself on a full-length mirror, trying to pull some tap dance moves while the stick threatened to fly off his hand.

  “That Fred Astaire made it look so easy.”

  “Try this one,” the manager brought him a chocolate-colored one with a black leather handle, “it has a very comfortable handle. Good if you’ll be using it for long periods of time.”

  “And I will,” he said before I came into view in the mirror. “See, my caregiver here agrees with my doctor that I should use a cane. I don’t find the idea too attractive, though.”

  “It will do you good,” I cut in, “so you stop putting too much stress on your good leg.”

  “See? They know better,” he said, “I like this one. Do you?”

  He gave it to me for inspection. I didn’t know much about canes but this one felt so good in my hand I would’ve bought it for myself.

  “Feels all right,” I gave it back to him.

  “Feels all right,” he repeated, “I’ll take it, then.” He turned to the manager and we were on our way.

  The undisclosed location (undisclosed only to me, as both Sayer and George knew where we were going) turned out to be a fancy restaurant. George threw the keys at a valet while Sayer dotted the gravel with his cane, pushing rocks aside, until we reached the entrance
steps and another car came in. It was Cisneros. As soon as he got out of the car, he spotted me and winked. With that wink, my report was done: he knew I was in and would tell his contact, who would then tell the chief. Simple.

  “I see you hired her, Sayer. Good call.”

  “Yes, yes, I thank you for that.”

  “Scarlett,” Cisneros opened his arms to me, “so good to see you’re caring for old Sayer here.” He set his hands on my shoulders and looked directly into my eyes. “How’s the old man Adrian?”

  “Shootin’ ‘em bitches.”

  “That’s Adrian Lang right there,” he patted my left shoulder, a little too hard for my liking, and turned to George for a handshake.

  Cisneros had brought two men with him. One of them I had seen in pictures, his name was Marco and he sported spiky black hair. The other one made my knees give slightly. He had long black wavy hair and full lips. His name was Ferdinand. I was feeling my gun with the inner side of my arm when he shot a sly smile at me, which I tried to avert. I had to, or everyone there would notice we knew each other, and how very well.

  A third car arrived and out came Max MacGowan. This time my knees shook so bad I had to give a step back. It was Max-fucking-MacGowan, the number-two supplier in the country. He went right under Sayer in the list.

  “Good to see you’re still standing, Sayer,” they hugged each other effusively. “Let’s do this quick,” he said, and we all proceeded to the V.I.P. area of the restaurant.

  There were two men with MacGowan: Desmond and Harry, both known for being ruthless and not taking any bullshit from anyone, just like Max. They were walking close to us, surveying the place but not stopping to examine anything or anyone. I could tell they’d been there before.

  I hadn’t, however, so my eyes were traveling all around the marble floors, the golden curtains, the white tablecloths, the solemn waiters that seemed to have worked there forever since they didn’t have to watch their steps while carrying trays laden with dishes over their shoulders.

  “Is that your daughter, Sayer?” Max grinned at me, and a golden tooth glinted from between his lips.

  “My caregiver. Scarlett.”

  “There’s a resemblance, isn’t there?”

  “A bit, maybe,” Sayer cut the conversation short.

  George cocked his head to one side to signal where I would sit. The bar, thank heavens. Sayer held my wrist, squeezed it, and smiled at me before letting me go.

  I went to take a place at the bar while George sat at the table, to Sayer’s right. From there, I could see clearly what happened between them, so I ordered a glass of wine and relaxed. That, until Ferdinand came to sit a barstool away from mine.

  “Don’t be nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “It’s been long.”

  “Yes, very long. I see you haven’t cut your hair.”

  “I see you haven’t changed a bit, still the lovely lady with the trousers and the jacket.”

  “I don’t know you, remember?”

  “They can’t hear us.”

  “What if they do?”

  “I guess we’ll be seeing each other again.”

  “What was ended won’t be started again.” I took a rather large sip of wine, almost trying to choke myself with it.

  “Where there was fire, ashes remain.”

  “Stop it before I have to report you.”

  He raised both eyebrows and turned to his tumbler of whiskey. Harry was sitting three barstools from him.

  “He’s a bit of an antisocial,” Ferdinand commented, once he noticed I was eyeing Harry, “doesn’t talk much, doesn’t mingle.”

  “Like psychopaths do.”

  He chuckled, sipping his whiskey.

  I twisted my head to see Sayer smiling so wide his back teeth showed through his parted lips, a glass of wine in his hand. Cisneros was pulling on a cigar, MacGowan was sipping from his whiskey, all laughing, all merry. What a way to make business.

  “It looks like everything’s in order,” I heard Sayer say.

  Then Max said, “Six million, Sayer, that’s what it’s worth.”

  “I don’t see a problem with that. Are both your offers still in?”

  “Yes,” Cisneros signaled Ferdinand to come closer and whispered something in his ear.

  Max did the same with Harry. It was to fetch briefcases from their cars. Once they were back, George took the two briefcases. No need to check its contents, we all knew what they were.

  We all ate in our respective seats. I could see how tempted Ferdinand was to strike another conversation with me, but it was forbidden for us to act as if we knew each other, at least until our respective undercover identities spent time enough together to get acquainted.

  After the lunch was over, Sayer didn’t want to stay any longer. All hands were shaken, all chins nodded, and we left.

  “You did well,” Sayer whispered in my ear before we got in the car, “you did very well.”