Authors: Arlene Brathwaite
“You sound like my brother,” Olivia said.
“That night, he brought
HER
to his loft, not knowing she was an assassin, and while they were doing their
thing
, she got on top, and
whamp
she stabs him with a six inch dagger right in the chest. As she yanked it out to slit his throat, that’s when I busted the door in, not knowing what the hell I was walking into. The female continued her swing and let the knife fly right at me. The bitch caught me right here.”
He pulled his collar down and showed them the stab wound high on his shoulder. Grace put her hands over her mouth.
“I brought Saint enough time for him to throw a right hook. The female rolled with the punch, landing feet first on the floor. He shot out the bed and grabbed his chest. Blood was pouring out of him like a waterfall. He fell to one knee and then fell backward against the wall.”
“My God,” Olivia whispered.
“When she saw him take his last breath, she headed toward me to finish me off. Her face contorted into confusion when a projectile hit her in the back and flew out her chest. It took her a fraction of a second to realize that Saint had shot her. She tucked her chin and did a roll to the bedroom door. She slid out the front door just as a bullet penetrated the wood, where her head was a split second before.”
“That’s some crazy shit,” Grace said, shaking her head.
When Josephine found out that her assassin failed, she begged for Saint to forgive her.
“First she wanted him dead, and then she didn’t?” Grace asked.
“No, I think she brought into the myth.”
“The myth?” Olivia asked.
Glenn took a deep breath, knowing what he was about to say was going to sound ridiculous. “Some believe that the Saint isn’t human.”
“Oh God,” Grace said.
Glenn held his hands up. “People have swore on the lives of their children that they killed him. But a few days later, these same people were… they disappeared.”
Olivia stood up. “This is ludicrous. I can’t believe I’m listening to this.”
“Believe what you want, but Saint is the best at what he does.”
“And what’s that?” Olivia asked.
Glenn stood up. “You went to see Byron two days ago.”
“Yes, and?”
“And, Saint was there.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed.
“After leaving Byron’s office, you bumped into someone. Hazel eyes, dreds.”
Olivia’s eyes widened.
“Dr. Whitman,” Glenn said.
“Impossible. That man looked nothing like Clayton. Height, build, nothing.”
Glenn left the room and returned with a CD. He popped it into his stereo. “Saint had a recording device embedded in his briefcase.” Glenn played the CD.
“Dr. Whitman, please have a seat.” Hearing Byron’s voice made Olivia want to vomit. “Now, on the phone you were telling me of an invention of yours that will save lives.”
“Yes, actually, it’s a game and it can save your life.” Olivia and Grace heard papers shuffling. “Here, take a look.”
“This is when Saint hands him copies of his bank accounts and a warrant for his arrest,” Glenn said.
“Wait, I don’t understand,” Olivia said.
Glenn held his hand up. “Just listen.”
“This is impossible,” Byron said, obviously staring at the copies of his bank statements. All three of his bank accounts, that held hundreds of thousand of dollars, now totaled a sum of three hundred and fifteen dollars. “An arrest warrant for forgery and fraud. This isn’t true.”
“The funny thing about the truth is it doesn’t sell newspapers. They will have a field day with this. And even if you prove that it was a computer glitch, your reputation will be long dead, and you’ll only have three hundred and fifteen dollars to your name.”
“I can’t believe Olivia has this much power.”
“Look beyond the owner, Mr. Turner. A lot of people stand to lose a substantial amount of money if you persist in your quest to try and destroy Butta Cutz.”
“Unbelievable.”
“All I’m going to need you to do is sign this document, and I’ll be on my way.”
Olivia remembered the contract she read with Byron’s signature on it.
“Sure, let me get my pen.”
“This is where it gets good,” Glenn said with a smile on his face. Grace couldn’t believe he was getting a kick out of the recording.
“Stay where you are!” Grace and Olivia heard Byron scream.
“Mr. Turner, put the gun down,” Saint sounded irritated. The women could hear Byron hitting something.
“The panic button that you’re hitting under your desk has been disabled,” Saint said.
“How do you know about that?”
“The same way I knew about that nickel-plated .25 you’re pointing at me, which isn’t loaded by the way.”
“It
is
loaded.”
“No, I took the bullets out myself.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, I distinctly remember taking the bullets out, right after I broke into your safe hidden behind the bookshelf.”
“What—”
“I didn’t touch your coin collection, but the velvet bag filled with diamonds—”
Grace and Olivia could hear Byron shifting things, and then opening what sounded to be the safe Saint was referring to.
“Saint broke into his office the night before,” Glenn said.
They could hear Byron cursing. “I need those diamonds back, my bank accounts restored, and this warrant dropped.”
“And I need you to sign this document and have two of your employees witness it.”
Use their own money to pay them. Olivia remembered what Saint said to her that night in Las Vegas.
Glenn stopped the recording.
“That didn’t sound like Clayton,” Grace said.
“It was him,” Olivia said.
“How do you know?”
“I just know. Just like I know that I will never see him again.” She looked at Glenn for confirmation.
He looked away. “It’s better this way. Someone found him, and believe me that’s not easy to do. Whoever’s after him, will kill a dozen people just to get to him.”
“So, what is he going to do, now?” Olivia asked.
Glenn shook his head. “Someone, somewhere is going to be having nightmares for a very long time.”
It had been three weeks since Saint vanished. Glenn had been carrying around the phone he left behind like a security blanket. Every time he walked into Butta Cutz, Olivia would ask if he called. Soon, she didn’t have to ask, she would just look at him, and he would subtly shake his head. On the outside, she seemed to be handling the situation well, but when she got home, behind closed doors, she would break down. She couldn’t understand how she could be so emotionally attached to a person she barely knew. Right, now, she should be angry with him for lying to her, leading her to believe he was someone he wasn’t, but she couldn’t, because she
did
know him. Whether he did it intentionally or unintentionally, Saint had revealed a piece of himself to her that night in Las Vegas, and that day in her apartment.
It didn’t matter if he was Clayton, Saint, or Dr. Whitman. It didn’t matter if she was in his arms or if he was thousands of miles away, she felt connected to him, and she knew he felt the same way about her.
Love has reasons that Reason doesn’t understand
. She remembered him saying that to her in Las Vegas. She had asked him to say something to her in French, and of all the things he could’ve said, he said that. With the new information that Glenn shared about him, Olivia knew that Saint was calculating. There was a reason for everything he did or said. What was he trying to tell her? That he’d loved her? But he barely knew her. That’s a question only he could answer, but he was gone. She knew she would never see him again, but that didn’t stop her from whispering his name every night before drifting to sleep, praying that he would somehow feel her calling out to him.
Grace tried to remove the blindfold when the Cabbie told Glenn that they had arrived.
“Hold on,” Glenn said, removing her hands from the blindfold.
“This is ridiculous, you know I hate surprises.”
“You’re going to love this one,” he said, helping her out of the cab. When they stood in front of the co-op’s entrance, he removed the blindfold. “Surprise!”
Grace was stunned. She was staring at an elegant, Fifth Ave home. “Oh my God, Glenn.”
“Let’s go in.”
Grace didn’t move.
“What’s wrong?”
“This place… it’s so luxurious.”
“You mean expensive.”
“We can’t afford this.”
“There’s nothing to afford, it’s already paid for.”
“How—”
Glenn looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Clayton?”
“I found the contract in the attaché case. It was going to be his wedding gift to us.”
Grace could hear the pain in his voice, and started to tear.
“I told you, that’s my boy.” After a few moments, he grabbed her by the hand. “Let’s go in. I can’t wait for you to see our home.”
Grace stood in the lavished living room, staring out the huge picture windows. “The view is amazing,” she gasped.
Glenn showed her the two master bedrooms, the gracious dining room, and the state-of-the-art gourmet kitchen.
“Our maid’s name is Francine.”
“We got a maid?”
“And access to the gym located on the first floor.”
“I know Clayton paid for this, but are you sure we can afford to maintain this?”
Glenn held her hands and looked into her eyes. “Sweetheart, you know how we’re taught that there are three classes of people, the lower, middle, and upper class?”
Grace nodded.
“Well, there’s a forth. A class that the richest of the rich envy. A class whose wealth isn’t money, whose strength isn’t power. People like Saint can have all the luxuries of the world given to them. All they have to do is ask.”
“Sounds like a secret society to me,” Grace mused.
“You have no idea. I spoke with the manager, and he told me the name of the man who owns this place. He’s a French billionaire.”
“Meaning?”
“A billionaire from France. Saint… France.”
“Coincidence.”
“No such thing when it comes to Saint.”
Grace shook her head. “I can’t get used to calling Clayton… Saint. Is he really that dangerous?”
“He’s not dangerous at all. You just don’t want to get on his bad side.”
“Has this ever happened before? Him just up and disappearing?”
“No.”
“And you’re certain that he isn’t coming back?”
“He once told me that he could never come back to a place where his identity had been compromised.”
“And you’re sure that none of us are in danger?”
“Positive. You saw me get rid of that gun.”
“But there are people who know that you know him. People like Petrescu.”
“Baby,” Glenn said, caressing her face. “Petrescu is in that fourth class, and it took him decades to make it there. He’s in heaven. The last thing he would want to do is come after Saint’s only friend. He would be signing his own death certificate.”
Grace sat on one of the oversized sofas. “All of this just seems so surreal. I was born and raised in the South Bronx. In projects, surrounded by rats, roaches, guns, drugs, violence. The closest I ever came to seeing apartments like this was on the
Cosby Show
. And people like Saint, Josephine, Petrescu, and Marion Claude, sound like characters out of a
David Morrell
novel.”
“Sometimes fiction is nothing more than an author disguising the truth to protect himself from being sued or stepped to.” Glenn knelt in front of her. “In three months, I’m going to be marrying a beautiful,
thick
Bronx girl. And by this time next year, my clothing line is going to be in every top-of-the-line clothing store. This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. I would’ve never gotten this far if it wasn’t for Saint. He believed in me, he supported me, and he kicked me in the ass when I needed it. I only wish you and Olivia could’ve gotten to know that side of him.”
Grace grabbed his hands and kissed them. “If he’s half the man you’ve described him to be, I believe he will give us the chance to get to know that side.”
As much as Glenn wanted to believe that, he knew Saint could very well be in Belem, a seaport in Brazil, selling catfish, the size of Great Danes, in one of its many fish markets. Not because he had to, but to learn the culture, language, and who’s who in their underworld.
The Villa Kennedy, in Frankfurt, Germany, is one of the most luxurious hotels in the world. There are 134 rooms and 30 suites, the ballroom can easily accommodate as many as 450 people, the spa includes a fifteen meter indoor pool, a steam room, yoga and Pilate’s studio, a gym and eight treatment rooms.