Chapter 31: Fourth part / Chapter 1

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

Reads: 43



She didn’t immediately want to give free rein to his flirtation with her, especially knowing that he was a con artist. Indeed, according to the “father”, Pierre, Michel invested in a certain studio that had existed for six years but has not produced anything for a long time. By all accounts, it resembles a fake bureau created for criminal loans.

According to the data she collected from the answering machine, the “studio” planned to make money on the conduction of non-existent racing competitions in the UK and Germany. From snatches of conversations, it seems that they fabricate photos of riders, tracks, cars, fans on a computer as if they have a whole stadium.

He ran an honest business also, but the question arises whether his honest business is going badly, given that he decided to earn extra money in this way. His eyes are kind, he has a grey head, a forehead without wrinkles, but he himself is a con artist, perhaps no less than Pierre.

But Nicole didn’t have a better man. She wanted to consult with someone, she wanted a view from the outside. And perhaps she wanted to feel even more comfort. In the end, she could have slept with him, but he would have been nicer than Blood. In the future, she did. This happened on the same evening as they returned from the cemetery.

“Michel, I want you,” Nicole still wore the same red dress that she was in front of Alain.

“So, let’s play sex? I’m not against.”

They undressed almost at the same time, but Michel didn’t know her sexual preferences at all, he had never done this with her before.

Michel began to kiss her forehead, lips, chin, saying that he still had condoms from Alicia, and she gave them to her fiancés. Nicole asked him to move onto the floor.

“Maybe we’ll continue on the floor?”

“Okay, won’t you get cold?”

“I tried it somehow,” Nicole tried to tell about her hit on the battery as for sex, “I didn’t seem to notice that it was getting colder.”

As she asked, they moved down to the floor. Their postures changed: a woman is above, then below. Gratte remembered something besides was beaten by Morales. When their parents were in fights, Nicko left the couch and lay down on the floor. A weird way to make parents calm down. Bernarda always brought her at least a pillow on the floor. Nicole never fell asleep in such poses.

Long before she sentenced, she seemed to be chained herself to some kind of prison. And after all, just trying to explain to someone—still no one will believe her. After they finished, the surprise of Michel himself, Nicole didn’t go to the bathroom, but put on a dress and underwear, lay under a blanket.

In truth, Gratte never wanted sex on the floor, she had no such fantasies. She just wanted to try something new; as a result, she mixed Pierre’s hit and some bizarre, completely incomprehensible actions from her early childhood.

Nicole naïvely believed that good sex would provide her with good dreams, but if it has been a best-case scenario, she would not be Nicole Gratte. It would be anyone, but not her. She dreamed of some basins and buckets, completely stuffed with vomit, except that the dream doesn’t transmit the smell. At the same time, she felt sexual arousal.

She didn’t like all these sentimental conversations about tenderness and love. Once she fell ill and fell into toxicology, this became perhaps one of the worst nightmares of her life. It was no less probable that once having appeared, it would never disappear. This is the shadow of her past.

Gratte never told about it; she just felt that only she needed to know about it. Once at the “Women’s Games” community, telling the idiot, Denise, having received comments on the topic of lesbianism, Nicole decided not to even start the conversations about the main part of the story. She wanted but refused. If people don’t want to listen to her, then they know better.

However, Nicole woke up in a slightly better mood. Usually, these dreams didn’t bode anything good. The truth is that the weather has completely deteriorated: by 5:00 p.m. rain’s signs first appeared, and then it began. There were even thunder and a thunderstorm.

“I liked it,” said Michel, “I really liked it. I’ve felt nothing like that I can feel many years.”

Schneiga was calm. Nicole, to put it mildly, was surprised at his answer: is cold sex on the floor really so attractive? Judging by his answer, he didn’t suffer from dreams with vomiting. Nicole didn’t answer.

“But...” His note of scepticism immediately appeared. She thought he would probably mention the cold floor. “I don’t know why you need it, Nicole. Do you want a short relationship, a short passion? Or something more?”

“Didn’t you think to find a second wife? Do you feel lonely, don’t you?”

“The problem is that for too long I have been faithful to only one person. I loved her young, I loved her at an age when she was in good health and when she was exhausted. I don’t understand what can connect two different people. It seems to me that it’s possible to get acquainted only in young years, after that things have changed. Perhaps like you.

If you’re looking for a serious relationship, refuse immediately. I live mainly in the past, not in the present. Those people are dear to me—those whom I remembered are the ones for whom I have so many attachments. It’s more difficult for me to get accustomed to new people, and even more so, to share life with you. Yes, you’re beautiful, but perhaps not for me.” His remarks most resembled a simple excuse.

“Tell me about the death of your first wife. I’m really interested. I’ve one feature: I don’t want to talk about myself, but I understand other people quite well.”

Michel told her about Griselda, Scenario of the Beauty, network marketing offices, attempts to persecute him in Germany after the release of his book, Alicia’s poor raising. Because he himself could not pay attention to her, and the babysitters were so-so. They weren’t interested in other people’s children, even if they’re the children of millionaires. The story smoothly turned into showing photos on his laptop.

“Well, now is your turn?”

“Okay, but that won’t be all the same. I’ll say right away that I don’t have great hopes for marriage, that you very radiantly love me and other nonsense. I don’t promise that I’ll love you 100% or I can replace the wife you lost. Help me and I will help you. And love? It’s possible in the form of an aftertaste.”

“You don’t look like a naïve fool. You look young, but you speak as if you were forty years old.”

She said. Her name is Nicole Gratte, and she has never worked as a servant before. She graduated from the University of Economics, and in 2002 she settled in the Loyauté Bank in Paris. She quickly advanced and began to manage special operations with a high amount of money. Once she served some person who transferred money from ten accounts to one, closing previous accounts. The total amount of money was huge.

Then a relative of her first husband began to work in the bank, and she quickly imposed him. Her husband turned out to be a tobacco millionaire, a Frenchman of Italian origin, but only often boasted of his native culture (he knew it mediocre) and he abused her. Nicole moved to Dieppe, on the coast, which she had already talked about it, and it was there that she lived her so-called relationship.

She ran away from the private guard (although there is only one guard), staging her alleged abduction. She was hiding behind a square fence with garbage containers: she was actually not visible there, including to the police.

Her ex-husband started an account in this bank, <i>Banque de Morales</i>, mentioning about high percentages. After some time, Nicole wanted to work in such a bank, as they peculiarly saved her.

Now Gratte was an expert in assessing economic risks, listened to applications for corporate loans, and either approved or refused them. Sometimes she went to certain addresses, enterprises, companies to see the business with her eyes. Upon learning that Nicole was dating Alain, the ex-husband ordered some kind of mercenary so that Alain would be shot right in front of her eyes.

“To save myself, I must make up a terrible lie. There was no girlfriend, no nephew, and I wasn’t a tourist to Dieppe. Who will believe that I’m running away from my tyrant husband? Am I a bad girl who decided to stage the abduction?”

“Don’t blame yourself. You did what the situation demanded. Why you need moral standards if their strict observance is contrary to survival? But I wonder how you, being a bank employee, turned out to be my servant?”

Nicole told in more detail about her assessment of the business. The first day she remembered Austin, who decided to check the bank for its sensitivity to lies. The bank wasn’t interested in giving loans to small butcher shops, and he referred to the fact that it had more than one shop, because he allegedly closed more than ten joint-stock companies, but found it difficult to name their net profit, even their names. The next day, someone tried to beat him in the evening, but he ran away.

She continued talking about several cases that she remembered. Nicole has quit Banque de Morales and wants to establish a serious business that’s based on her assessment experience. She would like to optimize enterprises, offices, help businesses, entrepreneurs and directors to organize work better.

She spoke about the double murder by Pierre of some Gerard Ruse and Nicolas Kurt. Michel then told her in detail about Adellet and allegedly her assassination by Pierre. The maid also “looked for work.”

The fact is that Michel didn’t choose Pierre’s bank on his own. This choice was imposed on him by his own adult daughter, who had an account with Banque de Morales. There is one of the highest interest rates on the market: up to 12% per annum.

But Michel wasn’t only interested in savings: he was satisfied with the services of German partners. But it’s better to get a corporate loan for the development of a newspaper for German immigrants in France in the same country so that you don’t overpay for a commission when transferring.

Michel himself had a slight assumption that Pierre or one of the partners was somehow involved in the Scenario of the Beauty. This even made him fight with Alicia: sometimes she said that Michel didn’t understand France, and actually—he had nothing to do here.

Michel asked Nicole, as a native Parisian, if she, being a Frenchwoman, understood Pierre’s logic? Nicole replied in French, but not in a romantic way:

“Monsieur Pierre est mort.”

In other words, Monsieur Pierre is not very much like a living person. Nicole wants to say that he’s dead from the inside. Earlier, she mentioned to him that his criminal nickname is Blood, and he was the head of the eponymous criminal syndicate from the time of communist France in the seventies.

“You say it right,” Michel answered. “So, listen. She was less fortunate, and I drove her away because I understood that for some reason this moron Pierre had hired her to dig on me. And the next day I read in a French newspaper that the police found a girl’s corpse very close to the highway, very similar in description to herself.”

“And how do you know that is not a coincidence, huh?”

“She was in a black short dress, grey tights and black shoes with some sort of canvas bag. Her nails were polished to black and her eyebrows were painted a little dark blue. Her hair was crumpled around her neck, fallen to a chest, and some injection was made into a vein on her left hand. It seems that Pierre wanted her to look like a drug addict who died supposedly on the highway from an overdose.

Nicole already thought it wasn’t just a coincidence. This is just like Pierre: his people sometimes don’t just kill and bury, but they pump their victims with some kind of strong drugs. If you believe her classmate and adopted son of Pierre.

“She also had a red blush on her cheeks. For some reason, it was painted with theatrical makeup,” said Michel.

“What do you mean? Were they beating her? Torn or cut veins on her cheeks?”

“Nope, literally, Nicole, he painted her face with theatrical makeup. There were no signs of sexual abuse. It seems that he was trying to disguise her to be an addict as an overdose. She allegedly stood behind the fence, wanted to inject herself with some kind of dope. As if she did it—and she went out.”

Nicole understood that if she somehow died from Pierre’s clutches, it would surely not be from the gun. He’s a killer, but not a serial killer and not such a psychopath: otherwise, he wouldn’t have succeeded in banking.

His handwriting is never repeated. Nicole was amused a little by such wretchedness of Pierre that he wasn’t even able to come up with a scenario of murder or abduction, similar to the truth. A complete idiot. First, the banker allegedly is going to somewhere, puts his motorcycle into the van of the transport company, and forgets about the furniture in the house.

Now allegedly the death of the “addict”, Addelet, from a drug overdose. And again, he had made a mistake: in her purse, the dose was lying, but not a syringe, not an ampoule nearby, even a fallen, at least glass fragments. The police suggested that someone had fed her drugs, but as usual, they didn’t find anyone. As if they’re finding someone? Pierre’s too elusive an asshole to be caught so easily.

Where did the addict get money for theatrical makeup? The whole problem of Pierre in creating his murderous paintings is that he doesn’t think at all about how logical what he’ll show. It could be assumed that she injected in one place, even at home, and fell in another.

But her pose also failed: she squats as if she knows in advance when she’ll fall? Rather, she would fall on the road. It can be assumed that she was pressed elsewhere as if she wanted to pee or crap. That’s why she sat down, but her clothes were closed. Actually, all the signs of artificiality...

Submitted: February 19, 2020

© Copyright 2020 RomanBoukreev. All rights reserved.


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