The Grand Prix
The snapping of his vertebra resonated inside of Pauline’s head. The smell of Henri’s fear lingered while she positioned his body. Her own heart no longer raced when she killed. The sweet metallic taste of adrenaline eluded her. As she walked away, all that she heard was the clicking of her heels. Rhythmically, her breasts bounced, sliding against her silk Burberry dress.
Stepping out of the alley, she turned right and started walking toward the avenue of Des Pins. The early morning breeze caught her dress. She hadn’t thought about it until then. She wore only a dress and a pair of high heels. She stood with no purse, hotel key, or cell phone: she was still alive and nothing else mattered.
Pauline arrived the day before. Her friend Lady Pamela met her at the airport. Lady Pamela was clever, rich, posh, lovely, poised, and beautifully dressed. She even had her own helicopter and was flown everywhere by a pilot, who always wore an upscale senior offices uniform that was always nicely pressed.
Most weekend throughout the she would spend at her country estate that she called Wilds Castle. During the winter she could be found on her yacht in the Caribbean.
As they drove towards Monaco, Pauline’s long blonde hair blew in the breeze. Arriving they made their way to her penthouse with its unbelievable view of the entire port of Monaco. Pauline could smell the jasmine while they climbed the stairs.
They sat on the balcony for an afternoon chat. Pauline savored the bitter tang of her gin martini.
“Where is the Grand Prix run?” Pauline asked. Lady Pamela pointed down and toward the left.
“That’s turn seventeen,” she replied.
“That’s… so close.”
All around them, the little principality of Monaco had a buzz going. It was similar to that of cocaine—without the paranoia. It was race week the one week a year when the town goes crazy over the Grand Prix. They first freshened up and then stepped out into the town. Pauline wore a pair of six-inch stiletto platform pumps and a low-cut floral mini-dress she purchased in Milan the week before.
Seeing Lady Pamela standing, she gushed with excitement.
“Are those new?” she asked, “I hadn’t noticed.”
Lady Pamela turned from side to side to show them off to her friend.
“Yes, they are. What do you think?”
It wasn’t long before the two women were sitting in a seaside café. One man in particular, distracted Pauline’s attention. Where was it she’d seen him before she thought. It might have been at Pablo’s château.
Chatting away about something Lady Pamela noticed Pauline was drifting off.
“Pauline, dearest? You’re staring at that man over there.”
“Sorry,” she said, and quickly regained her focus.
“The man that you were staring at, who is he? Should we try to pick him up?” Lady Pamela asked, playfully joking.
However, she could tell that Pauline was distracted. Lady Pamela also knew when Pauline ordered a second cappuccino that something was up. The Pauline she knew would never have done that.
Having finished, the women stood up to leave, and Henri stood up as well. Lady Pamela unintentionally, but gently, bumped into him and Pauline, never one to miss an opportunity removed Henri’s wallet, dropping it into her handbag in the same motion. They continued out the door. Outside, the noise from the Gran Prix was deafening. Pauline noticed that Henri was not following them.
It was the next day and the Grand Prix would start in a few hours. Pauline woke later than Pamela expected. The two of them enjoyed breakfast on the balcony overlooking the harbor. Pauline became even more focused than the prior day.
“Pauline dear, are you okay?” Lady Pamela asked.
“Oh it’s a beta-blocker that I taking it for a heart condition,” Pauline said, none of which was true. Moreover, she would feel fine in a while.
Lady Pamela, sat thumbing through the Times of Monaco, when she stumbled on an article about a French boxing promoter. The article was on Henri Spall, whose body was found a day later after being reported missing the night before. The article stated that his body was discovered behind the little church in the Saint Devote Abby. Henri had been in some sort of scuffle outside of a popular nightclub. Later, he somehow managed to climb over the wall that surrounded the Abby, only to fall and break his neck.
The man in the photo was the same man from the café only the day before…. Buy the book @ Lulu