Previously: Mercenary Leon fails on a mission because of David, better known as Edward the Prince of Wales. Socialite Wallis Spencer, also a spy, has an affair with German Joachim Von Ribbentrop and marries Ernest. David becomes king. Wallis divorces, David abdicates and they marry. On their honeymoon they derail a train. Leon is now a spy par excellent.
Leon watched the sun set from the balcony of the Hotel du Palais on the beach at Biarritz in southern France. He had a newspaper tucked under his left arm. Taking one last puff on his cigarette, he flicked the butt over the railing. Senor Battisti and his two bodyguards should be leaving his penthouse suite at any moment. Leon waited for them outside the elevator. When the doors opened, Leon stepped aside to allow the other three to enter first. After he stepped in, he opened the newspaper and began to read. The Spanish guerrillas were making new inroads in their insurrection against General Franco. However, the dictator blocked funds from being deposited in Spanish banks. This action infuriated Soviet Russia officials and leftist sympathizers in the United States.
When Battisti and his guards exited on the ground floor, Leon stayed on the elevator to go down to the parking garage and kitchen level. He walked into the waiters’ locker room where he had arranged to rent an employee’s uniform.
Leon slipped into the spare waiter’s uniform, and slipped his contact a couple of bills. “Anyone else new on the staff?”
“Oh no, monsieur,” he gushed. “I would have noticed.”
“But of course.” Leon smiled. “Many years of service, I imagine.”
“Mais oui, monsieur.” The man chuckled. As he looked away.
“And well paid for it.” Leon eyed him carefully as he extended another bill which the man grabbed.
“Gracias.”
Leon smiled in mild amusement. “Por nada.”
The man looked down, bowed and walked away. Leon stopped in the locker room door to tie his shoe laces so he could keep the waiter in his line of sight. Leon’s contact stopped at the servants’ elevator to the casino level, holding the door for a blond waiter who cocked his head as the man whispered to him as the doors closed. Leon took his time, looking into the mirror counted to the locker room door. He made sure the two servers had time to separate on the casino floor. His hand slid into the top of his right shoe to touch his stiletto. He then checked himself again in the mirror to ensure his one-shot revolver did not make his jacket bulge. Leon sauntered to the service elevator.
When he reached the casino a buzz already circulated on the floor that Senor Amletto Battisti had won two spectacular rounds of blackjack against the house dealer. Leon paused to take an order of martinis and deliver them before making his way over to the corner table where Battisti sat and his bodyguards stood behind him. The stolid Latin rarely moved but Leon could tell he searched the room with an unrelenting regularity. The darker guard shifted his weight from foot to foot and wiped sweat from his brow. The dealer, a small man with thick silver hair, hunched over and from time to time his left shoulder twitched. An unfortunate tell, Leon decided.
Leon also observed the blond waiter place a Cuba Libre in front of Battisti who slid it out of the way. When the waiter deftly pushed it back, the Latin bodyguard intervened. He handed the drink back to the waiter who retreated into the crowd. As the guard resumed his place, his dark companion leaned in to whisper. The Latin shook his head. His partner moved to track down the blond, but the Latin stopped him. The Latin was smart not to dilute his defense by chasing down an assassin who had already failed in his mission.
After taking a couple more drink orders, Leon felt a manicured hand clutch his right buttock. He turned to see a smiling red head.
“Hey, handsome,” she slurred. “You look like you need a break.” She held up a drink.
Leon saw a Cuba Libre with slightly melted ice.
“You’ve had a few drinks yourself,” he replied. “I can’t quite make out your accent.”
She smiled. “Does it make any difference?’
“Why are you being so nice to me? I’m just a regular working guy.”
She held the drink to his lips. “I think us working types should take care of each other.” She glanced at his crotch. “Looks like you could take good care of me, say, after midnight?”
Leon took the drink from her and sniffed it. “Is this Cuba Libre made with “Coca Cola?”
“What difference does it make?”
“It reeks of Royal Crown Cola.”
“Like I said, what difference does it make?”
“I wouldn’t be caught dead drinking Royal Crown Cola.” He pushed it toward her mouth. “You drink it.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m not thirsty.”
“Oh come now.” Leon reached around her neck with his free hand and clutched her nape. “Your friend blondie will be very upset if someone doesn’t die from the drink, and it’s not going to be me.”
“Please.” Her heavily mascaraed lashes fluttered. “I don’t even know him. He paid me to give you this drink.”
“I usually draw the line at killing women, he whispered, “but in your case I’ll make an exception.” He forced her mouth open and pulled back on her neck, dumping in the drink. Half of it trickled down her ample bosom, but enough made its way down her throat. “I detected the poison when I smelled it. Unfortunately for you, the bartender used the cheaper Royal Crown Cola instead of Coca Cola which, by the way, would have covered the odor of the poison.” Leon put down the glass, removed the handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her lips dry. “You have time to make it to the powder room before you drop dead. After all, I don’t want you to lose all your dignity.”
As she staggered away, the crowd around Battisti’s table broke into applause. A bald man with an immaculately trimmed moustache stumbled up to Leon.
“I take it Senor Battisti has won again,” Leon said to the man though he kept his eyes on the red-head who had reached the casino door.
“Yeah, I’m downing a Cuba Libre each time Amletto takes a hand.” He pointed at the glass on the table. “Does that belong to anybody?”
Leon put it on his tray and began to turn away. “I think you’d be better off ordering a fresh one.”
“You’re right. Tell the barkeep I want a Cuba Libre—oh, and make it with Royal Crown Cola.”
The red head crashed into the casino door. Blondie must be really hard-hearted. He didn’t even look her way when other waiters carried her body out. Leon would have helped carry her out, but he had an order of Cuba Libre—with Royal Crown Cola—to place with the bartender.
“I saw what you did,” a child-like voice whispered.
Leon turned to see a brown-haired, fair-faced young man smile at him. He looked like he should have been in his late teens but his manner made him seem young. And the voice sounded familiar. Leon had an ear for peculiar accents.
“You just killed that woman.” The boy had the good sense to keep his voice subdued so no one else in the casino crowd would hear his secret. “Oh, don’t worry. It doesn’t bother me. I killed my own father. I admire people like us who can get away with murder.” He smiled. “But I still like to stir up a little trouble, just to be mean.”
The boy reached out to flip the tray from Leon’s hand. With the skilled agility of a dancer, Leon kept control of the tray, grabbed the glass before it could reach the floor and shatter and delivered a swift knee to the boy’s crotch. Leon leaned over in solicitation. “Don’t mess with me, kid. If I could kill the broad, I could kill you too.”
He doubled over in pain and emitted a high-pitched moan.
Leon walked away and behind him heard an old woman cackle. “Jimmy, are you getting into trouble.? I swear, I can’t take you out around decent people without you making a fuss. Now come over here and stand by mommy and tell her which cards to keep.”
Another couple of hours passed without incident. Leon kept surveillance on the blond assassin who from time to time tried to become intimate with Senor Battisti, but both bodyguards kept him at bay.
If I had this assignment, I would try to take out one of the bodyguards to improve my odds of getting close to the don. Leon considered the two guards. The Latin, like his boss, had a bladder made of iron. On the other hand, the fidgety dark guard looked like he was about to leak massive amounts of urine at any moment.
The guard in question leaned over to his partner. As he whispered, the Latin nodded and looked around. Hurrying through the crowd the dark one left the casino floor and headed for the men’s room. Leon noticed the blond waiter wasted no time following him, and the mercenary was soon in tow.
When Leon entered the toilet, the guard hugged a urinal, and the blond waiter slipped a knife from his jacket. Leon spun him around, stuffed him in the nearest stall, took out his pistol and shot the man between the eyes. As the body slumped down on the commode, Leon dropped the gun into the water tank.
The black guard had his own revolver pulled out and twirling around the room trying to figure out where the shot came from.
“Hold on, cowboy,” Leon said as he stepped from the stall, pretending to be zipping his pants. “Haven’t you ever heard a car backfire before?”
“Not from inside a damn john.”
Leon nodded toward the door. “The street’s just out there.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He cleared his throat and shook his shoulders. “Well, you better get back to work.” He sniffed. “You don’t want to get into trouble.”
“You got that right, boss.” Leon straightened his bow tie and left.
By the time he returned to the casino, a man with a Van Dyke beard and slicked back pepper-gray hair and wearing a handsome tuxedo stood next to Senor Battisti and raised his arms.
“Mesdammes et monsieurs, s’il vous plait. I have an important announcement.”
The room went quiet, and the black guard stumbled into the casino.
“The casino has closed as of this moment.” The man paused long enough for the murmuring to dissipate. “Senor Amleto Battisti has broken the bank of the Biarritz Hotel de Palais Casino.”
The customers broke into applause. Battisti’s Latin bodyguard pushed the crowd aside as the successful gambler walked out. The other guard merely fell in line behind him.
Leon unobtrusively headed to the service elevator down to the waiters’ locker room. He had changed into his white linen suit by the time the other waiter–whom he had paid for the uniform–showed up. Leon slipped to the door to see if anyone else were coming. When he was certain he would have a few minutes alone with the waiter, he walked up behind the man who had opened his locker door.
“It seems you were wrong about new staff,” Leon whispered.
“Huh?”
Leon rammed his stiletto up under the waiter’s rib cage.
“Gracias.” He shoved the man’s body into the locker and shut the door. “Por nada.”