The usual (and not so usual) suspects at a bar beneath a Montmartre stairway.
***
The fan overhead whirred as Laurent leaned on the bar from a corner stool, his voice low and threatening.
"Where did you make the connection?" he asked in his clipped French accent. "I want names." Keyser, standing, a shortish man with a slight build, smiled faintly before letting out a weary sigh. His eyes drifted past Laurent's shoulder to the glowing wall of bottles behind the bar. Laurent tapped the record button on his phone.
"It started at the Saint James Hotel, here in Paris," Keyser said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "Captain Morgan brought me in. He introduced me to Eristoff, a slippery Russian fixer. William Lawson handled the clean documents, while Botran was the quiet one who made sure the shipments never saw daylight.
He continued. ”Later we met in a little place behind the Bastille. Basil Hayden was waiting in the back and passed me on to Redbreast, the drop man. Never said much - just got it done. Then there was Chartreuse. Knew everybody. Kept insisting I meet her friend Charette, but I never took the bait. Her brother, Diplomatico, was an ex-diplomat who smoothed over the international side. Mr. Banks looked after the money and kept everything flowing clean.
When things got too hot, we shifted the whole operation to the States. Zacapa set up the new route, while Buffalo Trace and Eagle Rare made sure everything crossed the border without a trace.”
Laurent’s eyes narrowed. “And the man at the top?" Keyser hesitated, his voice dropping to a low rasp. “Jose. Jose ran the whole operation.” He looked up, eyes narrowing. “You don’t cross Jose.”
Satisfied, Laurent told him to get lost. Keyser bolted out the door and was quickly swallowed into the crowd on the stairway and out of sight.
Laurent had what he needed. Only then did he turn to the bartender for a drink. His eyes landed on a bottle straight ahead: Jose Cuervo, then slid slowly across the shelf… Saint James, Captain Morgan, Eristoff, William Lawson, Botran, Basil Hayden. Bottles of Redbreast, Chartreuse, Charette, Diplomatico, Mr. Banks, Zacapa, Buffalo Trace, Eagle Rare, nestled among better-known brands, jumped into his gaze.
The blood drained from his face as the full realization hit him like a freight train. By the time he spun toward the door, it was too late. Keyser had already vanished. “The Usual Spirits” - © Barbara Pasquet James
