Jules Serrau left his office by 10 pm. He had been staying late there during the last week. He desperately needed money and had been trying to get it, by fixing his company’s books in his favour. He had founded his enterprise two years ago, when he had finished college, and back then it had seemed a good idea to borough some money to help things get started. But to ask money from a bank was hard since in his economical situation. Then he met some people at cocktail parties, people with ideas and money to spend. Investors, shall we say. At least Jules saw them like that.
So, he got the money and business started. It was ok for the first year, but after that things started going slow. The world of advertisement is fast, volatile and savage, and Jules’s projects sometimes didn’t cope with it. He began loosing clients, money and resources. Soon, of course, the investors were not pleased.
However, patience seemed to be their best quality. Despite some mild but constant warnings, nothing happened. Months went by and Jules kept postponing the debt situation.
Last week’s phone call from Mr. Vian had a icy tone, though. As he himself stated, if Jules couldn’t stand up to his responsibilities, the firm he represented had to take matters more seriously. Jules assured him he would do his best to get their contract fulfilled as soon as possible. Vian politely said goodbye and that he trusted the solution would be found within the week. And he hung up.
Jules really made an effort for the first three days, but as no further contact was made, he began thinking there was no big fuss about it. His investors were surely distracted. And after all, what reliable legal basis would they have to collect their money, if it was only a verbal contract.
Anyway, it was late and he had done enough for the day. He felt the need to relax and Paris was the right city to do so. Especially on a Friday night. He walked around for a while, watching groups of people talking, laughing and enjoying each other’s company, on their way to bars and discos.
He crossed the cartier and went to Mirage, a sophisticated bar where he attended regularly. He entered the shady room, walked to the bar and greeted the bartender:
- Ça va, Mathieu?
- Ça va bien, Monsieur.
- A Black Russian, please. – He turned around to check how things were that night. Mirage was quite full. No free tables at all. He would have to sit in one of those uncomfortable stools by the bar. Oh, well…
- Here it is, monsieur. – Mathieu placed the glass in front of him and Jules took it with a smile. As he raised it to take the first sip, he saw a folded paper underneath it. He took it and unfolded it, reading "The drink is on me. You can sit at my table if you like…". Jules stared at the bartender with an inquisitive look.
- With the complements of that lady, Monsieur. – whispered Mathieu, signalling her with his chin as he dried a glass.
Jules looked at her and raised his glass at her. He couldn’t see her properly because she was in a shady area, but as she had invited him, he got up and walked to her table. He was confronted with a most pleasant sight.
She was no traffic stopper, but she was quite beautiful. A little shorter than him, long dark hair, tanned skin, grey eyes and by her accent it was clear she was not a parisien. Dressed casually in dark coloured miniskirt, blouse, hose and high heeled shoes. Twenty-something, almost thirty for sure. Jules sat down and introduced himself. She smiled and said her name was Milaine.
- And what, may I ask, was the motive of your charming invitation? - Milaine blushed at this, but she said she couldn’t resist.
- I have seen you many times here and I always thought I’d like to meet you. But lately you haven’t been much around so I had lost hope of seeing you again… Silly, isn’t it?
- No, it’s not. You did well!
They started a casual conversation that went throughout the night. Milaine was from Marseille, has he suspected. She worked for an insurance agency there and had been transferred to the Paris office five months ago, so she knew only a few people there and often felt lonely. Milaine was very communicative and she sure was glad he had come to Mirage that night, she was eager for a good conversation and a couple of drinks with someone interesting. They found they had lots in common too.
Milaine and Jules had been talking for three hours when she leaned over him, smiling seductively and whispered in his ear:
- Let’s get out of here. My car is just outside. – she kissed him lightly on the corner of his lips. - And I want you...
So, they went for a ride.
She took him to her rented apartment, in Monmartre. A cosy place, not much furniture and still a few unopened cardboard boxes around.
She took him to her room without a word. She made him to sit and undressed him with erotic slowness, tantalising him. Kissing his chest as she took off his shirt. Taking off his shoes and socks and finally, his jeans and underwear.
Then she pushed him back to bed and they made passionate love time and again. After that, exhausted, they slept in each other’s arms…
He slept until dawn, and didn't notice Milaine walking out of bed and getting his chemise on. She went to the kitchen and started the coffee machine. Then came back, lit a cigarette, checked her watch and returned to the kitchen.
Jules woke up at the sound of her voice.
- Jules, please, chéri, come here!
He looked around, still sleepy:
- What happened? Where are you?
- I’m in the kitchen closet! Quick!
Jules put on his jeans and got up. He walked to the kitchen door and she was there, trembling and biting her lip.
- You look nice in my shirt, Mimi! – he kissed her good morning - Why are you trembling? You shouldn’t walk around barefoot on those cold tiles.
- That’s not it! It’s the fright I had! – she pointed to the closet door – There’s a rat in there!
- A rat! Oooooh, it’s only normal in these old buildings. Don’t tell me you were afraid of it!? Now show me that monster.
He walked to the closet door and looked down to locate the rodent. The compartment was void of anything normal to be found in a kitchen closet.
- You haven’t been shopping much, have you? Where is it, Mimi?
- There! – she pointed - I saw it in the corner.
Jules smiled and walked in. There was a great deal of space inside the closet, and he leaned forward to see it the cornered intruder.
- No, I see nothing here…
- Are you sure? Look harder.
Jules checked again, trying to listen to eventual sounds the rodent might be doing. But all he got to listen was a noise behind him. Like as if something was being screwed. He turned back and saw Milaine finishing screwing a silencer to the automatic gun on her hand, a cold look in her eyes. Jules felt surprise, not knowing how to react:
- Is this a joke?
She sternly looked at him and said:
- I'm afraid not. - and pointed the gun at him.
- What is the meaning of this!? – his voice was becoming nervous.
- I'm sorry, chéri, it's for the money. No grudges held.
Jules stuttered:
- This can't be true!
- It is, you shouldn't mess with influent people. When they feel cheated, It’s not likely they forget it. Now, turn around.
Jules felt shocked to understand what Milaine is talking about and finally realised it's no kidding. He turned around, obediently at the thought of the pending menace pointed at him. She put her left hand on his shoulder and pressed down on it.
- On your knees!
- No, please… You can’t… - he started crying and begging but she pushed him down harder.
- On your knees... It's easier that way...
Jules got on his knees and tried to dissuade her:
- Please, don't do this… I’ll have their money…
- It’s too late now…
- Please, I thought you cared for me...
Milaine leaned down on him, letting him feel her warm breath on his ear. And she said:
- We had sex... That wasn't intended to happen... But it did... And for what it's worth, I enjoyed every moment... But this is business. Now, make your peace with God…
Jules stopped pleading, realising it's over for him. He lowered his head, placing his hands together and begging God's forgiveness in a sobbed prayer.
Milaine pointed the gun at the back of his head, allowing him to feel it's cold hard tip, and whispered:
- Goodbye, mon chér.
"THUD". The suppressed shot. He never got to hear it. The bullet exited cleanly from his forehead, staining the wall with blood and brain. He slumped forward without a sound. Milaine certified herself that the job was well done and there was no need for a "coup-de-grace".
Milaine returned to the kitchen, lowered the gun on the table and poured herself a cup of coffee. She drank it quietly, looking out to the still empty streets, and enjoying the clear July sunrise. Then she went back to the room, put on a pair of gloves, stripped Jules’s shirt and noticing a few blood stains resulting from the shot, she dropped it into a plastic bag. She got dressed and put her shoes on.
Returning to the kitchen, she placed her gun in a concealed holster inside her jacket. She cleaned the coffee machine handle and threw the ashtray and the coffee mug into the plastic bag. Last but not the least, Milaine went to the closet and recovered the spent bullet shell. Before leaving, she took a bed sheet and covered Jules with it, making sure the door was left wide open.
Leaving the apartment, she locked the door without closing it shut and broke the key inside the lock. As she walked down the stairs, she dropped the key holder on the second floor. She threw away the purse through the stair well when she reached the ground floor. She had stolen it from Milaine Haroche, a tourist she had met the day before at the beach in Cagnes-sur-mer, for the sole purpose of having access to her apartment. She opened the front door, left the building and walked for five minutes before throwing the plastic bag into a garbage container. She signalled a taxi to stop and got in, saying to the driver:
- Bonjour, take me to the Gare de Lyon, please. I have to catch the train to Strasbourg and it will leave in twenty minutes…