At the Sidewalk Cafe

Washing his face with a special lotion, he pats himself dry and then reaches inside his makeup case and prepares himself for the day’s events. Lifting out his new face, he carefully slides it over his own skin and gently pulls it down until his own face and neck are no longer visible. Taking an extra five minutes, he smooths over every possible wrinkle until his new face looks no different than the billions who walk the planet. Next comes the hair, and today he will become a blonde where his hair will just touch the collar of his shirt. Short, but with that yuppy look that was so popular in the eighties. No one will know that David Burns is actually Freddy.

Next, he places the hands over each of his own and his day is almost complete.

Closing the makeup case, he sets it inside a small trunk packed with various sundries such as a 9mm Beretta, a .45 Colt Auto-Mag and several Bowie knifes, along with future files of unsuspecting people to meet their fate. The trunk is lead-lined and impervious to X-ray scans at the airport.

His pilot (Freddy has his own plane), Martin, will be waiting on him, and never asks questions. He gets paid very well to pilot the plane and keep his mouth shut, though he knows that Mr. Allen is a dangerous man. Martin has never, of course, seen Mr. Allen in action, but he knew better than think of getting in the way of his business. Mr. Allen, at 6’3”, 235, broad chest, with an imposing voice that told Martin all he needed to know.

The man is dangerous.

Freddy leaves in three hours for Zimbabwe. He has a contract there to fulfill, and two others he will meet for a personal meeting. The first is what he does best. The latter is just his personal credo of justice. It is those he looks forward to most.

He decides to wear casual clothing; desert-colored slacks, loafers, no socks, a tan lightweight long-sleeved shirt, and Ray-ban sunglasses.

Taking his trunk and a small carry-on bag, he heads to the elevator and will instruct the front desk of Mövenpick Hotel Lausanne to watch his possessions while he lunches at the Sidewalk Café directly across from the hotel. His stay in Switzerland was a well-deserved three-day vacation, but it was time for him to do what he does best.

***

At the Alpha Palmiers, Anita Andreason, was also preparing for her departure. It took her three weeks of an intensive search to locate and terminate Sheldon Boulden, a major-drug trafficker in twenty countries as well as the states. He wouldn’t have come under her radar were it not for one of her close friends from her past who died because of the crap he distributed to people. Now, Boulden lies in a gravel pit, ten kilometers from here and if his body is found, his death won’t be tied to her. She never leaves clues. She knows better. She was trained better. At 5’9” and 125, she is a solid woman of beauty, brains, and strength. Very little, if anything, ever escaped her.

Today, she grabs one of several wigs, looks at them and decides to go as she is. Instead of covering her curly locks, she grabs hold the back and with a hair tie, ties her hair into a ponytail. She did however, choose a pair of colored contacts. Brown eyes today instead of her emerald green that would almost seem to sparkle in sunlight.

Next, she looks at her minimal wardrobe. When she takes on an assignment, she was never one for packing as if she would be on a two-week vacation.

She opted for her designer jeans, short white socks, her Reeboks, a full-sleeve blouse with the top three buttons opened and a medium color navy-blue jacket. Since the weather was calling for upper sixties today, she felt she wasn’t over or underdressed.

The gun she used, a short-barreled Colt .44, she broke down into sixteen pieces and placed all the parts inside a small lead-lined case that would easily fit in her travel bag. Because of the three-inch lead covering the case, no one in Customs would react adversely.

There was a bistro a block from her where she wanted to eat before she took her flight to London and then to the states to visit with Clare, and her little darling of light, Kathrin. That little girl brought out the side of her rarely, if ever seen. Absolute joy.

Looking around the room to see if she had forgotten anything, she grabbed her bag and her designer sunglasses, went to the elevator, then the front desk and checked out.

“J” walked through the glass doors that parted and headed for the Sidewalk Café.

***

Freddy opted to sit outside to eat. As his waiter brought him a menu, he decided to once again, go over the details of his next hit. Opening a valise, he brought with him, he extracted a folder with the information to read.

Anton M’Bawaui, resident attorney for seventeen years. Married, eleven children, with a near-perfect prosecution record. Former military man, decorated twice during his tour of duty. He stopped reading for a few moments and looked over the menu. Looking on both front and back of the shiny-covered menu, he found what he wanted. Going back to M’Bawaui, he read more. A former consulate of Kenya after his military service. And he dabbles in painting.

It is rare Freddy knows why a man he is sent to terminate must die, and truthfully, he would tell you it doesn’t matter. He leaves an address to have materials sent to him, looks it over, goes in and does the job, and within the hour, his offshore account is bigger than the day before. Freddy demands and commands a hefty price and people pay it. He is methodical, planning every move whereby he knows when the perfect time is to hit and extract himself from the scene and quickly disappear. No fingerprints, no shell casings found, no nothing found. His many sources know he can be trusted as the only name ever mentioned is the many alias’s he uses.

As he was about to put the folder away, a table away from him, a tall, somewhat slender but very fit woman sits across the way from him. He sums her up and takes in her appearance. About 5’8” or 5’9”. Probably tops out at 125. Her hair is meticulous, thick, and full, but too curly for him, but she looks good with it that way. Peering a little more, in hopes she removes her sunglasses, he wants to see the eyes. Eyes always tell so much about a person.

The waiter reappears, hands the woman a menu and then goes to Freddy’s table. He ordered the Braised Veal, a baked potato, a summer salad with vinegar and oil, topped with Julianne ham, chicken, bacon bits, red and green sliced peppers with red onions, and a side of grated white provolone cheese, and coffee. The waiter left but quickly returned with a carafe which Freddy poured a steaming cup and drank it black.

***

“J”, ever on alert for even the slightest movement, made herself as comfortable as she could at the outdoor table, and set her shoulder bag next to her right-hand side. Looking around, moving only her eyes, she couldn’t see anything out of sorts.

People walked up and down the sidewalk, cars traveled over the cobblestone street as well as a twelve-seat wagon, telling the tourists some of the history of Lausanne, Switzerland. She caught a portion of what the man said while controlling the four horses at a steady pace.

“The city, ladies and gentlemen, is situated on the shores of Lake Geneva which is French for Lac Léman, or simply Le Léman. It faces the French town of Évian-les-Bains, with the Jura Mountains to its northwest.” Then his voice faded further up the street he traveled.

Looking over the menu, she mused that that was one reason she took this assignment. She loves the mountains. She gets a rush from their towering strength and loves to climb. There is a thrill of the challenge to do something never done before, and she had climbed one of the Jura mountains. The tallest one, almost a mile (5,260 feet) high. It was a pretty place for hiking and camping, and except for the powerful peacefulness the ocean gives her, she could spend her life in the mountains, and if she can survive those people who are constantly sent to end her life because she bucked authority, that was what she intended to do one day.

The waiter came to her table and after looking over the menu, she knew what she wanted. “J” ordered a veal burger with onion rings and steak fries. She then requested a glass of Vino Red.

Noticing several tables filled with girlfriends over lunch, two couples, one much older, the other, looking every bit the touristy type, were very much into each other, nodding their heads, smiling, and holding hands.

The waiter quickly returned with a bottle of Red Vino and a goblet glass and then retreated back inside the Sidewalk Café.

Then there was that man. Rather attractive, appeared to be in his mid-thirties, perhaps 220 and close to 6’5”, but hard to determine as he was sitting. The casual wear in his choice of clothes did his frame justice, and by looking at him, she knew he worked out. His upper-arms were muscular, and his chest was broad. That man was no tourist.

Removing her sunglasses, she wanted to get a clearer look at him. Peering without really looking, she thought she saw something off about him but couldn’t quite determine what it was.

***

She has finally taken those damn glasses off. Wait a second. Her looks reminded him of someone he has heard about. Often, stories will filter back to him about other professionals on his private email.

Freddy is aware of every contract killer in the world of which by his last tally was: 312. Of them, only five are women. Three are redheads, one is blonde, and the other has this woman’s hair color—brown. She fits his mental profile. What is it again? Joan? Jeanine? June? Jane? Yes, Jane. She is very adept at what she does. Were he not leaving so soon, he might have struck up a conversation with her, but then again, Freddy wasn’t one to mingle business with any form of pleasure.

As he was halfway through his lunch, the waiter brought her food. She isn’t a vegetarian, he mused.

***

As “J” settled into her meal, she couldn’t get the image of that man from her mind. What is it about him that holds such a strange fascination for her? He doesn’t look so much different from the many men that her life has walked through.

After the third bite of her sandwich, it then struck her. His hair. The style, the cut, it looks nice, but it is also out of style. She remembered a somewhat boyfriend when she was a teenager with that kind of haircut. The yuppy cut it was called. She thought all the yuppies melted away to oblivion by now. But it seems as if one has survived.

Then she noticed a small detail. His shirt. Long sleeves on a day like today? Then another detail came to play neither she or Freddy would have noticed on any other day.

She could see a slight break of skin at the nape of his neck. To the normal person it may never be noticed, but “J” always looks for the smallest details.

Though no one has ever seen his face before, she knew who this was. In her mind, the most dangerous man on the planet. His real name, she had no idea, but in the inner-circle, people talked about him. His perfect record. His private vendettas. He is both feared and respected.

If there had been more time, she would approach him but that may not be the wise thing to do. Last thing “J” needed was his attention fixated on her. In one sense, she saw this man as a challenge, and yet it wasn’t a challenge she wanted to accept.

***

Freddy finished his meal, reached inside his wallet, and extracted two twenty-dollar Swiss Francs and laid them on the table as he stood, his valise in hand. In doing so, he knew she had been sizing him up. He hadn’t planned for this or prepared himself for this, but the professional in him said he must. He walked over to her table.

***

She watched him stand and throw money on the table, thinking he would walk away to whatever his next destination was. But, no. He was walking toward her. Without thinking, her right hand automatically went to her left side and grabbed the handle of a small four-barrel derringer.

“Miss, forgive my intrusion. Since we both are in the same profession, I only wish to give you my respect. A pity, in a small way. Were we not who we are and what we do in the world, this meeting could have been much different.”

Her hand pulled away from the derringer.

“I could almost agree on that. Except that if we aren’t who we are, we would probably never have met at all.”

Freddy nodded his head, and without another word, turned and went back to his hotel.

“J” watched him, and then she saw his left hand go up by his neck and there was a light tug. He must have noticed. She continued watching him until his figure disappeared into the Mövenpick Hotel.

Within minutes of ending her meal, she stood away from the table, and did the same thing Freddy did.

Disappeared.

************

The first thing I want to mention is that all places named in this story are real. The picture is an actual picture of the Sidewalk Cafe in Lausanne, Switzerland.

To let you be aware, the character “J” belongs to anarosewood. Freddy is a character I created five years ago in a series of five books I am writing, and currently into the fourth book. Freddy is a dangerous man, but so too, is this woman who is only known in the private circles as “J”.

We spent time talking about the “what if” they met. What would happen? Would there be a confrontation?

I offered to let Anarosewood write this from a woman’s slant, but she in her graceful way, declined, so I took up the banner. With her permission, I started this not really knowing where it was going to go until I finished the first paragraph.

So, anarosewood ... thank you, my Beautiful Devil, for allowing me to bring this one home. 8=)