Bruised and battered, but healing, I return to my still neat and orderly apartment in Paris. However, my peaceful and somewhat joyful return home is shattered by the fact that there is an ominous envelope taped to the door. It’s either from (Up)Chuck’s gay detective admirer or ISIS, the agency not the goddess. In either case, I need a drink and my Bonnie Prince Charlie slippers before I can open it.
I go inside, check the carpets, erase the answering machine messages, put on my slippers, and call Inspector Clusine to tell him that I’m back and that Jack says, "hey." Then I remove the duct tape from my torso (Jack’s attempt to heal my broken ribs – hey, he means well).
My fun for the evening done, I open the envelope. I have to go to Marseilles. Well, at least I’m in the right country …
The next day, I pack my stuff and drive to Marseilles. I check into my room at Le Beach Hotel (which, unlike the flea trap on Spring Break Hell Island, Texas, is actually located on the beach), and make my way to the bar in search of a delicious Martiki.
As I am discreetly spitting out the poor excuse for a palatable drink that the bartender has handed me, my attention is drawn to a large crowd of men by the pool. When I cry out in despair, "can nobody in France make a decent Martiki?", a response can be heard from the middle of the circling, drooling men.
Paris?
Anyway, Paris and I are here for the same reason (surprised?). We receive a phone message telling us to have dinner at a quiet little restaurant. I pry Paris away from her scores of admirers and we get ready for dinner.
We meet with Paul Chevelle, operative, who is, quite frankly, just a little too obsessed with what it says in everybody’s file (although I did admire the way he broke from tradition and wore a blue tie with a daring zigzag design!).
So Mr. Chevelle and his tie proceed to tell us that this meeting is not to be shared with one Deputy Dastardly Dawg, who will be arriving tomorrow, since he (Deputy Dangerous Dan, not Paul Chevelle) may not wish to do the job (which consists of removing one Jean Valloné before he can testify against some connection that the agency uses), should he know all the facts. Well, that does it for me. Mr. Blue Tie seems just a tad surprised that I don’t want to know what a saint the target Jean Valloné is, nor do I want to know how many good guys the bad guys he will testify against have killed, so it’s obvious that he has no experience with Deputy D. I go to the restroom while he fills Paris in on all the non-gory details.
The next day Paris and I meet pool side for a batch of Martikis. Once again, the bartender proves himself totally unworthy of his job title, as he has failed to produce an even remotely drinkable form of the beverage. Paris, the resourceful, smiles at the bartender and shows him how it’s done. The resulting treasure is the best Martiki I’ve ever had! Too bad Jack’s not here.
At 3:00, we go to our briefing at some car rental office. There’s Deputy Dingy Dog. I know what you’re thinking: how is Sheila going to work with him? Don’t be silly. I can put aside my prejudices and dislikes in the interest of the company as well as any other spy. I mean how hard is it to forget the fiasco in Amsterdam that led to countless agents (including me) being shot and my disastrous marriage to Rico Suave. Yeah, who am I kidding: I hate the bastard, but there’s work to be done, so I’ll get over it.
We know that although Jean is in the protective custody of the French government, he has a habit of eating out quite frequently. Since Mr. Blue Tie has stated that he wants a public termination, we decide to check out the restaurant at which he’ll be dining that night. Paris makes reservations for two in preparation to play the jilted date, Deputy Dana, aka Matthew Latham, checks his weapons and I check my stock of tracking devices and aspirin supply.
Deputy Do-‘em-In finds the ideal sniping spot in an old fort nearby and I watch from the restaurant parking lot for the arrival of our target.
Paris arrives and manages to look forlorn and lost that no date has materialized. Not surprisingly, she catches the attention of Jean and company, and gets invited to their table. Since Paris is wearing a wire, I get to listen to the boring dinner conversation. The two French cops with Jean are tired of this assignment and Jean’s incessant prattling. When he begins to extol his virtues, not wishing to know anything that might make Deputy Double Shot not want to go ahead with the hit, I cover my ears and sing. That proves fairly ineffective, so I turn the radio up.
During the conversation, it becomes apparent that Jean is going to try to give the cops the slip in order to have some time alone with Paris, the agent, not the city. I beep Deputy Do-Sort-of-Right and tell him, but he wants Paris to invite St. Jean back the next night in order to do the deed. Oh yeah, he also wants two cars and a small power boat. I debate whether that meant a regular sized boat with little power or a small boat with a lot of power. Finally, I call Mr. Blue Tie and let him make the judgment call. He tells me to pick up the boat the next day at 8:00 am. So much for a night of Martiki madness.
Paris and Jean do manage to escape from the not-so-vigilant cops and head to the beach. After a boring walk, they return to Paris’s hotel room, where the idiot, I mean target calls the cops (whom he has told Paris were his uncles) and they tell him he needs to return. Deputy Dastardly beeps me and tells me to have Paris invite him (Jean, not the assassin) back to the restaurant the next night. I call her on her cell phone and tell her. She attempts to keep up the pretext of a conversation while I tell her how relieved I am that I don’t have to make up my end of the conversation.
The next morning, I awaken bright eyed and bushy tailed and go to get the boat. I bring the boat to the Nautical Club, and then get two cars from the rental company where we met Mr. Blue Tie and put one at the fort and one at a nearby Cathedral. I place some utterly sickening plush toys with big hearts on them on the front and rear dashes, as per Deputy Dork’s request.
That night I go back to the restaurant and watch for the target’s arrival, while Deputy Dangerous takes up position in the fort. Jean arrives sans cops. He and Paris enjoy a lovely dinner and then leave the restaurant.
Deputy Dreadful Dork does his signature head and chest shots and Jean falls to the ground without getting so much as a drop of blood on Paris’s lovely gown.
We meet back at the hotel to drink Martikis a la Paris and watch the news.
I know, it doesn’t seem right, does it? The mission was successfully completed. But before you start assuming that there is a wrinkle in the space time continuum, think about it. Paris had several lovely dinners as well as a lovely assassination, Deputy Dana hit his mark (nothing new there), and I got to drink lots of Martikis! Everything seems in order to me.