Hardy

By David Connolly

When Luc Hardy tries to leave his job working for the Fournier crime family on the Cote d’Azure he is forced to disappear for a while. He decides to return to Marseilles, the home he left some fifteen years before, where his father and sister are still living. He finds his father in Hospital and his sister frightened by a group of men who have been harassing them.

When his father dies after a visit from a mysterious priest Luc concludes that he has been murdered. The police, however, are not interested. Then somebody threatens Luc and his sister. When Luc starts his own investigation he is drawn into a strange world of family secrets, lies and further threats.

Just as he is getting to grips with all this, the Fourniers come back into his life. Luc is forced to go on the run again but this time he is not alone. His sister and his Lawyer are with him and he has to figure out why they are all being chased. With little to go on Luc sets about fighting back but he has no idea what or who is the enemy.

Hardy includes many characters from Freeman, the first book of the Cathar Trilogy

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Connolly
• Release date: Oct 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311104045

Book preview

HARDY

The second book of the Cathar Trilogy

Copyright 2006 David Connolly

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given way to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it ws not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Titles by the author include

Freeman

Hardy

Willis

(The Cathar Trilogy)

The Legacy of Harry Dean

The Ghost of Thomas Reed

The Death of Adam Semple

Life Support

and

A New Broom

(A fantasy for all ages)

Shakespeare’s Monkey

(Science Fiction)

More details of these titles can be viewed at

http://www.daveconn.com

For Max, Oscar, Charlotte and Esmé

An awesome foursome

Chapter 1

I know a lot about guns and I certainly know a Beretta when I see one. I was looking at one now. The classic styling of the butt and the modified safety features of this particular model were lost on me as I focused on the nine millimetre barrel which was about an arm's length away and pointed, as near as I could tell, at the space between my eyes.

Jacques Fournier, who held the other end of the gun smiled lazily as he spoke to me. In my experience he did everything lazily, but shooting me grabbed my attention more than most of his activities.

I want the money back, Luc he said

What money? I asked

The money the old man gave you. It's mine

I sighed, still concentrating on the Beretta, and said That was a business arrangement between me and him. It's over and done now.

Business arrangement be damned. You wanted to freeze me out and you damned nearly succeeded. Fortunately for me the old man died just in time. So now I want my money.

It’s not your money

The gun twitched in his hand and a bullet passed my left ear and buried itself in the wall behind my head. The noise reverberated around the basement and seemed to linger in the air too long. I didn’t know whether he had missed by a lot or a little.

You may as well shoot me Jacques. You’re not getting the money back. I had a deal with your father and we both saw it through. The money was payment for my stock in the company.

Where are the stock certificates or contractual agreement?

It was a verbal contract

Jacques’ smile widened slightly. I think it was Sam Goldwyn who said ‘A verbal contract is not worth the paper it’s written on’. In this case he was right. The smile turned to a snarl when he added, You’ve been taking my money and my place for nearly five years Luc. Now the old man is dead I’m in charge. And I want the money back.

It was an old song that Jacques had been singing for some time. He thought I was trying to worm my way into his father’s affections to supplant him as rightful heir to the Fournier Crime Empire.

You’re paranoid Jacques. I don’t want your position or your empire. I just want the money I was due for working in the one part of the business that’s straight. Your father made the final payment last month, half a million Euros. I owe you nothing and that’s what you’ll get.

Smart bastard aren’t you. You grew the business to its present size on the back of my efforts. I removed the opposition; I stopped the competition. It was me who made it succeed.

I was getting exasperated.

The business grew because it was a good business well run. We treat the drivers well and don’t rip the customers off. The growth came from us being better than the competition. All you did was indulge your preference for beating up people who can’t defend themselves. Like cab drivers, van drivers and the odd customer. If anything you held the business back by trying to bully your way into the market. You now have a company worth around twenty million Euros and I was due some reward for that growth.

It should have been mine

The whole company is yours now Jacques. What do you need my measly half million for?

Before Jacques could reply he was interrupted by the noise of a door opening. Gerard Fournier, the younger of the Fournier brothers came into the basement.

Jacques, what was that noise? It sounded like a shot. We both turned to look at Gerard, but I managed to keep an eye on the gun. What the hell is going on here Jacques?

I’m just getting our money back from corporate man here. He took half a million from the old man before he died.

Jesus Jacques. Are you mad? The old man bought his shares from him at current value. Luc hasn’t taken anything that he wasn’t due.

It's my money Jacques almost screamed. It's mine and I won’t let him keep it. As he spoke he turned to face Gerard. I stepped forward and gripped his right wrist with my left hand and hit him hard in the midriff with my right. As he folded up I brought the edge of my hand down on the back of his neck. When he fell to the floor I had the gun in my hand.

I’m sorry Gerard. I had to do that. He was going to kill me.

Yeah. Okay Luc. But you’d better get out of here. And get rid of that gun. I don’t know why Jacques has it.

I put the gun into my pocket, stepped past the desk the old man had used for years and walked up the stairs to the daylight and the outside world. As I stepped out of the house into the front drive I heard another shot followed by the sound of running feet. Then Gerard Fournier burst out of basement after me.

Stop him he shouted. He’s just shot Jacques. Luc just shot him. Stop him from leaving.

I looked around quickly, trying to allay the rising panic which was in danger of taking over. My car was at the far end of the drive, too far to run. There were other cars but they probably did not have keys in them. As all this went through my mind I could see Hugo and Charlie, two of Jacques' minders converging on the house to see what the fuss was all about. I knew if they decided it was about me I would be done for so I ran for my car anyway.

As I ran I heard the noise of a motorbike and almost immediately saw it turning into the drive. I ran straight towards it and the driver had no choice but to stop.

What’s going on Luc? he started to ask but I cut him short by pulling him bodily off the bike. His surprise gave me an advantage and I was able to remove him from the saddle and deposit him on the floor before leaping astride the still running motorbike. I turned the machine around in a shower of gravel and took off up the drive with the hounds of hell, or the next best thing, chasing me. I risked a glance back and saw a number of men getting into cars.

Turning out of the drive into the evening traffic I gunned the engine and took off as fast as I could. It wasn’t fast enough. In my mirrors I could see two cars following me. I looked for the shortest way out of the city

The hills to the north of Nice look gentle to the casual observer but are full of traps for the unwary. The sides of the road fall away in many places and the roadside barriers are occasionally more hazardous than the road. This effect is magnified at high speed on a motorbike. I made it out of the city easily but the two cars were still following me.

The cars gained considerably as we left the city on a fast straight road. Going out of town had been a mistake. I should have made for the old town centre and gone through the narrow alleyways where the bike had an advantage. But it was too late now. I just had to get on with it.

The bike was not particularly quick but what it lacked in speed it made up in handling. What I lost on the straight roads I made up on the twists and convolutions of the hill country. The bike held the road well enough and I was able to relax slightly and think as I was chased over some of the most beautiful country in France.

I knew that my opportunities were limited because as soon as we reached a long straight section my pursuers would catch me. I had to find a way of eluding them. I considered going into the woodlands which bounded many of the hills but I had little knowledge of them and feared going over one of the many small cliffs which I knew existed in those hills.

I racked my brain for a route that would take a bike but not a car. I could think of none. In the end I elected to go for a confrontation but I would have to engineer it carefully. If my pursuers believed I was setting them up my idea would never work.

I wound up my speed on the bends to a level that was nothing short of reckless, banking over to the left and right with the bike whipping about underneath me. The cars slowed to deal with the complex bends and gradually I began to draw away slightly. Finally I came to that I wanted. The bends were less tortuous and ended in a long curve to the left around the east side of a hill. The land on the right hand edge of the road fell away steeply and had been banked up by traffic engineers to give speeding drivers a chance should they fail to keep with the road. There was an area of loose shale bounded by a corrugated steel barrier which would absorb some of the energy of a sliding car but was there mainly as a visual reminder more than a preventive measure.

I put the bike into a slide which tore at my jeans and burned its way into the flesh of my leg. I did not have to feign pain and discomfort as I pulled the bike back into the upright position. My pursuers, seeing only my silhouette against the setting sun, increased their speed and made straight for me. I had the engine running but pretended to be starting it just to give them some confidence.

As they made for me they were torn between the need for speed and the need for care. I did all I could to encourage the need for speed. Finally, when they were only meters from me I turned the bike towards them and gunned the engine. The surprise and horror on the drivers’ faces were a mirror image of the fear in my own mind but I had no choice. We were playing chicken on a loose shale surface beside a thirty-metre drop, protected by a corrugated tin barrier

Leaving it as late as I could I gunned the bike and squeezed through the small gap between the cars. This had the effect I wanted and both cars turned sharply and braked. Using the gun I had taken I turned and shot out the front near side tyre of the lead car.

I passed the car as the driver struggled to get it back under control. The driver of the second car, seeing what was going on, pulled hard on the wheel and put the car into a sideways slide, showering me with shale and grit which filled my eyes. Unable to see straight I emptied the gun in the general direction of the car but I don’t know if I hit anything. The two cars slid into the barrier and over the edge. I stopped the bike and watched as they toppled down to the steep, bare, stony slope to the woodland below. Then I took off in the direction of Cannes.

My leg hurt like hell so I stopped at a petrol station and bought a first aid kit. Several people asked if I was all right but I managed to reassure them with a smile. By the time I came out of the toilets with my leg partially repaired some of my confidence was returning. I knew I had a little time before Gerard would get word out to his contacts in the criminal fraternity but in that time I had to disappear. As luck would have it, that was not difficult.

—oo0oo—

When I left the army I had been at a loose end for a while. I was young and fit with a keen knowledge of weapons and explosives and some experience of organising men and motors. I had run transport operations in many parts of the world and dealt with everybody from landed gentry to criminals. Jules Fournier was one of the latter.

Crime on the Cote d’Azure is played down by everybody. Hoteliers and the local businessmen want visitors to feel secure. The police are happy for their failures to remain hidden. The criminals are happy to remain anonymous.

In the last of my many periods between jobs I worked for a small cab company. One day the boss, I had always thought him the owner, asked me to go into the office. There I met a well-dressed middle-aged man who was introduced as a shareholder in the business. After we had shaken hands and sat down he offered me coffee and said he had heard good things about me.

I couldn’t understand how he had heard anything about me and I said so.

Peter here tells me you saw off some ruffians who wanted to damage the office one night. He said indicating the boss.

A bunch of drunks who were looking for some entertainment I said. Anybody could have taken care of it.

But anybody didn’t. You did. And when they came back the next night you saw them off before they got in the door. I like that sort of initiative.

Drunks are easily dealt with. I said, knowing that these men had not been drunk but fearing that they might have reported me to the police for assault.

We both know they weren’t drunks don’t we Luc. They were an organised gang of people whose job was to disrupt and damage our operation. They won’t be doing that to us or anybody else in a hurry from what I hear.

I shrugged. It was true that I had inflicted a lot of damage on them but they were a bunch of fat civilians. They couldn’t fight seriously to save their lives.

I need somebody to work for another of my Taxi interests Luc. He continued between sips at his coffee. I think you might be the man for the job.

I’m not sure I want to work for you Monsieur Fournier, I said, after a short silence. From what I hear life around you can be risky. I was expecting his reply to be bluster and outrage or cold indifference. It was neither, he just laughed.

Tell me what you’ve heard Luc. I’m fascinated. I paused again. Telling a major criminal what you had heard about him might just be inadvisable. I decided just to be honest but low key.

I hear that you have a hand in all of the prostitution, drugs and gambling along the Cote d’Azure; that you are not a man to cross although you have some respect for personal integrity. I also hear that people who go against you can end up dead.

His smile broadened. I see Peter was right. You do speak your mind and are not easily intimidated. You seem ideally qualified for my taxi business. I was about to reply when he held his hand up to prevent me. I have a number of business interests, and it is true that some of them are, shall we say, questionable in the eyes of the law. These I inherited from their previous owners. But I am like a lot of other people. I want a quiet life. I have invested over the past ten years in a lot of local businesses and my goal is to move away from these questionable areas.

He paused, once again, his eyes signalling me not to interrupt. Why am I telling you this? Because I want you to understand and believe me when I say that I don’t want the taxi business to be associated with any other interests I have. It will become the platform for a strong independent business based here in Southern France and it must be above suspicion in every sense. I want people who can build it and protect it from outside interference. I think you and Peter here can do that for me.

I looked at Peter but he gave me no clue to his thoughts. I was as skint as ever so I asked a few more questions.

What’s the deal? What’s in it for me?

Jules Fournier’s smile focused his full attention on me.

The deal is this. I’ll put you on a salary of fifty thousand euros a year and you and Peter will be the directors of the company. I will own ninety percent of the shares and you and Peter will own five percent each. You can sell out to me whenever you want to at a price to be set by an external arbitrator who will be appointed by you but acceptable to me. You will get normal management perks and be responsible for building the business. The more you build it the greater your value will be. I shall not make the offer twice but you can have a week to think about it. If you don’t want it, no harm done. If you do I expect honesty and loyalty. A failure in either would not be good for you.

We chatted amicably for another ten minutes and then he left. I said I would think about it and give him an answer soon, but in my heart I knew as I spoke that I would take it on.

Chapter 2

I rode the bike to Cannes where I stopped for something to eat. It was just getting dark and the roadside cafes were beginning to get busy. I knew I had no reason to hang around. I had emptied my apartment slowly over the last six months, since the old man had become ill, and all my worldly goods were in store in Marseilles. Only my clothes were in Nice and I was happy to leave them.

In truth the antics of Jacques and Gerard Fournier were no surprise and my efforts over the past six months had been made with at least half an eye on my escape route when the old man died. I now had to decide where to go next.

I wrestled with the question, knowing the answer but unwilling to admit it to myself. I had to go home. Home. Just the word made me uneasy. I was filled with guilt and anger along with a lot of other emotions that I could not control. I had no idea of the reception I would get. After eating, and eventually accepting the inevitable, my mind moved from speculating about home to planning how to get there.

I had to get rid of the bike but I didn’t want it left anywhere that would provide a trail to me. I also didn’t want to be riding it for too long because Gerard had enough police connections to find it, and possibly me, too quickly for my liking. I went from the café to a bar I knew and found the man I wanted. He was thin, unshaven and badly dressed and although we knew each other by sight, neither of us knew the other’s name, an arrangement which suited us both.

I traded the gun for a small supply of Benzedrine tablets and I left my scruffy contact thinking his birthday had come early. I took the bike out onto the motorway and headed north up the Autoroute du Soleil. I would not stop until Paris. I paid cash for petrol, péage and snacks. By the time I reached Paris it was early in the morning and I had just taken the first of the Benzedrine.

I took the bike to a convenient spot by the Seine and dropped it in. It would be discovered eventually but by then I would be long gone. With cabs and the Metro I was able to get around easily enough and buy the things I needed including several changes of clothes and a railway ticket to Marseille.

A mixture of coffee and Benzedrine kept me going as I set about cutting the ties to my previous life. I had already severed the financial links by arranging for the bulk of Jules Fournier’s half million euros to move through several accounts and into a numbered account in a small private bank in Monte Carlo. The rest was in a Credit Agricole account. The contents of my apartment had been collected together under a false name in a repository in Aix-en-Provence and my legal documentation was in the hands of an advocate in Claremont Ferrand. If Gerard wanted to find me he would need a lot of time and an element of luck.

By the end of the day I had been in contact with each of the custodians of my life and made arrangements for future collection or storage. When I climbed aboard the train at 10 pm I had been awake for more than thirty-six hours. I was weary in body but my mind did not realise this because of the mix of chemicals coursing through my veins.

I didn’t sleep on the train. I tried dozing, reading, drinking more coffee, talking to complete strangers and finally, accepting that if I couldn’t sleep I might just as well be wide awake, more Benzedrine. After that I passed a very uncomfortable night arriving at Marseille the next morning with my head still popping and my body trailing behind.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror and thought Merde! I looked a real dog’s breakfast. My shirt was crumpled, my two days of beard was its normal dirty brown colour. I wasn’t standing up straight and I was squinting at the world out of half closed eyes. Throughout all this my head was racing at a hundred miles an hour in any convenient direction. This was not the time to go back home, but I had no choice.

Marseilles, like most cities, is made up of neighbourhoods that either carry or form the values of the people who live in them. I made my way by bus, as the last part of my plan to remain anonymous, and arrived outside L’Ecole St Michelle at just after ten. The scene of my early years had not changed. The school still looked undistinguished and grey from the outside although the security measures had increased since my attendance. It would definitely be harder to bunk off the way I had as a kid.

I walked past the church and the local shops, noticing that the Grand Marché was no Grander than it had ever been, round two corners and along a small alleyway before coming out onto Rue Benedict.

It was another place that hadn’t changed. I could even remember the smell of the place and the uniform colour of unpainted woodwork and crumbing stone. I passed the orphanage and the students' lodging house before I came to the large arch that led into the building which had been my home for the first eighteen years of my life.

I had no idea how I would be welcomed. I had left by my own decision, taking no counsel from anybody. My father was an intolerant man. He suffered from guilt at the death of my mother in childbirth bearing a daughter ten years younger than me. I had stayed as long as I could but in the end I had left to join the army and had not been back since. My only contact had been a letter once a year to my kid sister Josephine.

I took a deep breath and rang the bell. A virago dressed completely in black opened the door. Her hair was spiky and uncombed and her lips were a gash of deep burgundy across the pale skin of her face.

I’ve told you once, we’re not interested in your deals. Just piss off and leave us alone. The door began to close in my face so I shoved my foot in it.

When the door opened again I could see more than just fury in the face looking out at me. I could see my father looking through her eyes.

Fifi? Is that you?

She paused, surprised more than anything, and said Who are you? Nobody calls me Fifi

I always do. It's me Jean-Luc

I have heard the phrase many times but that was the only time I have seen anybody’s eyes really widen. I saw the recognition enter her face, the fury return for a second only to be replaced by a large smile and then tears.

Luc, she almost screamed. It’s you. It really is you. You bastard. She leaped upon me, wrapping her arms and legs around me, almost pulling me to the floor. Bastard, bastard, bastard. She kept saying as she kissed me. Where have you been? Why are you here now? Wait till I tell Papa." The questions and comments tumbled out one after another, making no sense but giving me a sense of warmth I had not felt in years.

I carefully prized her off me and we stood looking at each other.

You’re so big Luc, she suddenly said. When you left you were a skinny kid with punk hair. Now you’re so broad and strong and handsome I can’t believe you’re really my brother.

When I left you were a tiny girl who always wanted her big brother to play with her. I guess we both changed. Now where’s papa? I’ll have to talk, to explain to him. Fifi was very quiet. There was something she did not want to tell me and all of a sudden she was the eight-year-old girl I’d left behind. What is it Fifi? What’s wrong?

It's Papa. He’s in hospital. He fell down the steps of the passage behind the church last night and some people came to talk to him about business this morning. That’s who I thought was at the door when you came. It’s why I shouted at you.

Slowly it all came out. Papa had been for a drink, as he often did in the evening and on the way back from his favourite bar he had fallen down fifteen stone steps. I knew there were fifteen because I counted them so often when I was a kid.

My doubts all crowded back in on me but I held them off and said, I guess we’d better go and see him.

As it turned out they would not let us in to see him until mid-day so Fifi and I had some time to talk. Things had not been good for the old man. He had been made redundant and paid off by his employers since when he had supplemented his income with odd bits and pieces of work here and there.

My grandmother, Nonnie had come to live with them when she was no longer able to look after herself in the large stone mausoleum she called home, but she had died the previous year and that just made the old man feel worse.

Fifi had tried hard to help but she was a young girl with a life of her own to build. She was at art school in the day and working most evenings to pay her way. She had the same independent streak as me.

We left at just before twelve and Fifi drove us to the hospital. I had no idea of how my father would react to my return. He might throw me out again or he might just ignore me or he might welcome me back. I had no way of knowing. Fifi cheered me up by telling me how glad he would be to see me. She told me so often that I began to feel she was just trying to make it so.

When I walked into the old man’s room he looked grey and lifeless. Fifi rushed up and kissed him.

Papa, she said. Look who’s here. It’s Luc. He’s come home. My father turned and looked at me, his face unmoving. Then he smiled and I knew I had made the right decision. I put my arms around him and gave him a light hug which brought tears of pain to his eyes. Then I looked at his injuries. Bruises covered his arms and legs and there were a number of severely bruised patches on his body. I took it all in as I held him. He had more than just bruises. He had severe internal injuries.

We should celebrate, I said. Fifi, go and buy something to celebrate with. A cake or some brandy or something. And get him some flowers to brighten the place up a bit. I gave her a hundred Euros and she skipped off to find something. As soon as she had gone I turned my attention to my father.

Who did this Papa?

His answers were slow in coming. Then I realised he was heavily sedated to help with the pain.

Luc, Luc. I fell down the steps on my way home.

Fuck falling down the steps Papa. You’ve been beaten. I’ve seen it before from both ends of the process. I know what it looks like and what it feels like. You didn’t get these bruises behind Our Lady’s church. These were applied with fists and feet and possibly something else, a baseball bat or a pick handle. Now tell me who did it.

Suddenly tears came into his eyes. He tried unsuccessfully to cover it up and when he spoke I could hear the choking in his voice.

I don’t know who they were. They just told me I should co-operate with them. If I didn’t, maybe the same thing would happen to Josephine. One was a big burly character with a beard, the other was smaller but more vicious. I couldn’t fight them off Luc. They were too young and too big. With that he broke into deep sobbing which he was unable to stop.

I put my arms around him and held him, not knowing what to do. This