The Detective

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Detective David Coen's first time in Paris was in the Autumn month of October. Later in the day, just around Sunset when the leaves where falling from the trees in gold and brown sulphurous tones. A bright reflective splash of gold sunset beams shimmering off the wet leaves of an old oak tree standing on the edge of a rose garden next to a small cafe. The steam from the coffee machine was pouring out the window in a tumultuous cloud of white smoke over the bowing heads of the customers puffing on their cigarettes outside. All of them sitting outside the cafe windows on little Parisian seats and tables, chatting away to themselves backs bent as they hunched over their coffee cups, sipping away.

He loved light, especially reflected light and therefore had an eye for details most people would miss. David would see things in a heartbeat that many people couldn’t see even if it was pointed out to them. Sunlight especially, when reflected off windows that faced the Sun was his favourite type of reflected light. He would tell his friends that if ever the Sun blinded them or shone into their eyes via the reflection from a window, that they should stop and return to the exact spot where the reflection was waiting for them to dazzle them again.

David believed that when light reflects into our eyes it is a sign from the heavens that God, The Universe, angels, whatever’s out there wanted us to be more aware of what could not be seen. “Just try it the next time”, he would say to his friends. “You will be amazed when you realise the unseen around you” he would tell them. The human mind, he believed, was focussed on the world around it in a very lazy way. “Only the subconscious mind is way more advanced and aware of out surroundings than our conscious mind is. Beware the curios mind that lurks in the shadows.” He would say to his friends.

“Meditation helps” he would tell his friends, “but purpose is key” he continued. David’s work as detective gave him all the reasons in the world for a higher awareness, or need for one. His gift began back in his late teens when he worked as a lifeguard in the local swimming pool in Galway Ireland. Learning to take in a whole pool full of people at once, both in his peripheral vision and straight ahead became easy for him and he was able to explore the abilities of peripheral vision. A sixth sense in practice, a gift developed within his mind and he was sure anyone could develop extra sensory abilities if they just had a practical reason to do so.

His friends would comment all the time about his amazing hearing abilities, they used to call him blind man because he could hear whispered conversations across a clouded bar-room. Sometimes it even got him into trouble when certain folk thought he had bugged their seats or had a hidden camera placed nearby.

“Jesus!” David thought to himself, I’d better be more careful in future after a young drunk couple reacted badly when he commented on their conversation about drug addiction. “What would you know about it!” the young man cried out to David from across the bar. “Yea!” the young woman that he was with retorted also.

“Nothing” David said to himself, “thank God for that anyway” and left the bar quickly before any trouble started.

David used to record his voice with a handheld voice recorder, it was his way of remembering his thoughts and also he wanted to write his memoirs as a novel. Just omitting certain important names here and there to protect both himself and others from harm. He would also speak about himself in the third person a lot to enhance the artistry of his muse.

Here we find him driving his Ford Mustang convertible that he had imported from Detroit in 1989, talking into his recording device. Again using his own name in the third person, as usual.

“Over the years David’s powers of observation stood him well and detective work became his forte. That’s what he was doing in Paris during the Autumn season this fine October early evening. He was hired as a private contractor for the SDU. The Special Detective Unit, being the Irish equivalent to the CIA. or the FBI. After working for the Irish police for twenty years he was a very respected and experienced detective with many contacts himself in high places, all over the world.” He clicked off his recording device and put it back in the glove compartment. Writing down what he had recorded on his laptop when he returned home later that evening.

He had set up his own detective agency called David Coen Detective Agency in 1989, but was mostly hired by the Irish Gardai and Interpol as an expert advisor or undercover agent. Exciting and dangerous as it was, he was a master of disguises and extremely well connected to the people he worked with and trusted them with is life on many occasions. This most recent job of his he thought at least wouldn’t take long and shouldn’t be too much work for him at this stage of his career.

His latest assignment was following a gangster from Belfast in Northern Ireland called Riley, who posed as a security specialist for the rich and elite. Although some of his hired goons didn’t have what people called graceful looks, they got the job done, in more ways than one. Moonlighting as bank robbers and specialist criminals, dealing with cybercrime, kidnapping and extortion. We cut back in time to a bank robbery six years prior to present time, Riley and 6 of his gang from Belfast in Ireland have planned a bank robbery in Dublin City on one of the high streets. The men have all just entered the bank wearing all black riot gear and ski masks, holding automatic rifles and machine guns. The bank is a very modern building on the inside with a beautiful modern design of semi-transparent glass windows in the walls of the building and of course normal see through glass windows in the offices. Riley lifts up his machine gun glistening in the light and shouts out “Right, you know what this is, nobody press any silent alarms or people die, we will kill all of you and any police that show up outside before we leave” everybody in the bank freezes with fear as one of Riley’s men enters the head office to get the bank manager to open up the main safe, break open the safe deposit boxes and take as much gold, diamonds and cash as their duffle bags will carry.

“Open the main safe!” he says quietly but firmly to the bank manager when he finds him cowering behind his desk in a back office. “Yet. Yes sir” the manager says stutteringly as a gun is pointed at his head by Riley’s gangster. The main safe is opened and Riley’s men all enter to empty the safe deposit boxes and fill their duffle bags with as much cash as they can carry, carefully checking for dye packs in case of destruction to their loot on the way out of the bank.

In the meantime, Riley had set up a fake robbery attempt in another bank down town, as far away from his heist as possible. To get the Irish Guards to chase one of his drivers a Micky Flynn and three other hired criminals to a secluded spot by the river Laffey, five miles outside of the city. There they had placed a small rowing boat filled with scuba diving gear for the driver and his cohorts to disappear into the Irish Sea and make their escape to a fishing boat heading for Liverpool.

Once Riley had given his men the go ahead for the fake robbery to begin on his disposable smart phone, Micky and the fakers entered the downtown bank and started firing blank rounds towards the ceiling. Micky shouting “This is a robbery, get down on the ground or we will shoot you in the head!” They then lit some coloured smoke bombs and rolled them across the floor of the bank to hide their true intentions of scarpering as quickly as they had entered. Leaving a boom box on the floor with the sounds of loud gunfire and screaming orders, the whole room was so full of smoke that no-one noticed the men sneaking out quietly and waiting for the police to show up. “Ok lads” said Micky, “Let’s get the flock out here pronto!” As he jumped into the getaway car with his cohorts in tow.

Which of course they did en-mass with all available units called in for the spectacle. Riley’s fake robbery drivers took off in a cloud of smoke as he made sure to spin the car around a couple of times to get the tires flaming and smoking in the light of day. All pursuers in tow, driving past the bank that had all colours of smoke billowing out its open windows and doors. “Yeehaw!” said Micky as he pulled off away from the bank, “Let's see what the Keystone cops make of this one lads!”

The chase leads out towards the Liffey River estuary where the thieves had placed one more man in charge of slowing the Guards chase by placing multiple stinger devices across the path of their vehicles. The resulting car pile-up gave the thieves a good laugh as they were all amazed at the amount of cop cars piling up onto each other as one after the other kept smashing onto the last one and flying up into the air. All caught on the video recorder on Micki's smart phone, a water proof smart phone at that, for their submerged getaway. “Smile for the camera boys!” Micky said as one of the police vehicles exploded into a whirlwind of fire and dust before them. “Right lads, lets burn this baby and split pronto!” Micky said as one of the criminals started setting alight their getaway car as the rest of the men entered their small power boat and made a clean get away, once they had at least five hundred yards between them and the coastline, by donning their wetsuits and swimming off under the sea to connect with their escape vessel for Liverpool City.

Back in Riley’s bank the thieves had gathered up all of their loot and where ready to depart. It’s all over in a matter of minutes, before leaving the bank the men donned gas masks and open up a canister of knockout gas to put everyone in the bank to sleep. The silent alarms had not been tripped and the men exited the bank via a side street to make a clean getaway with no police awareness in any way. They found their driver outside waiting for them and as they drove through the streets of Dublin without any rush whatsoever, they made their way to the meeting point to unload the loot and celebrate Riley’s successful master plan, as he called it. “Groovy” Riley said as he jumped into the front seat and turned on the radio, there was a song called “Trouble” playing from an Irish rock bank called Harelips that was big in the eighties, playing on 98 FM.. He turned it up and they were on their way home to the safe house.

That was that another clean robbery for Reilly and his gang. It was after that successful heist that he decided to leave Ireland and go to Paris to connect with some of his old freedom fighter brothers in arms and make a claim to the local criminal underground involved in arms dealing, bank robberies and drug trafficking. After all what’s a boy to do when the war is over, work nine to five?

When Riley was ready, he gathered his gang around a large table in their safe house up the Dublin Mountains.

“Right lads.” Said Riley, were leaving the auld homeland and taking off for mainland France, Paris to be exact. There’s a few old comrades from the RA. of mine over there building a little empire of their own with the Corsican Mafia. Big money and free reign on local scores.” He said to his mates. Two days after the bank job in Dublin they laundered their spoils through the local I.R.A gangster loan sharks or criminal elements, took the boat over and were safely on their way to a new life of ease in Paris.

In their spare time Riley and his goons worked the doors of local night clubs that were owned by French Mafia or French criminal gangs. Riley had his hand in many a pie and even owned a share in the night club criminal underground scene in Paris. A club called The Beaujolais Club, just off Mc Mahon street, an Irish owned area in central Paris. Here the Corsican mafia would hang out with their counter parts of the local criminal gangs that had survived the recent Mafia wars in Corsica. Many of these men had made a lot of money trafficking guns for Riley during the troubles back in Belfast. Riley used their cocaine supply to fuel his war against the English, or the ex-slaves of Rome as he used to call them. The IRA. was responsible for smuggling cocaine by the truck load into Ireland and made millions for their cause towards the struggle for Irish freedom and Irish Yuppies addiction to drugs.

The Milieu Corso Marseilles was the main Mafia gang group that held many properties in Paris. Mostly gambling houses also restaurants and night clubs in the French Riviera and all over France,. They were huge and nobody in the media seemed to know they existed, “very weird” David thought to himself, “better be careful with this one buddy” he thought to himself. “These guys are animals” he told his secretary Daisy Adare back in Dublin Ireland where he had his detective agency offices down by the quays on an old, cobbled street in Dublin’s east side docks area. “They torture people, cut off their fingers and toes, burn them alive and dump the bodies outside their family's homes.” David said to a pale Faced Daisy nibbling at her nails.

“They deal with drug trafficking, weapons trafficking and murder, obviously. Riley from Belfast was their arms dealer for the time being, seeing as the last guy had his arms chopped off by his colleagues and had a sign hung around his neck that said How can we tie our shoe-laces if we haven’t got any arms.” He said to her.

This little Limerick was Riley’s idea, he had remembered it from a mural off the side of a bar on the Falls Road in Belfast West.

“Blood will have blood” Riley used to say to his gangster pals. He fancied himself a bit of an actor and loved the Shakespeare play Mc Beth, or the Scottish play as Riley called it. He was extremely superstitious and there was nothing in this world that didn’t have a deeper meaning to him when he was out and about.

Riley was a part of the “New Milieu” the modern crime gangs who were taking over France from the old families. David’s job was to track Riley and try to help one of the undercover detectives working for the Parisian Police to join Riley’s criminal gang. The detectives name in question was Julien Marquis a battle hardened ex-French legionnaire that had seen many the battle and drank his fair share of Moroccan whiskey. His face was lined with a long scar that ran down from this left eye to his chin. His work as an undercover officer was valuable to David for obvious reasons.

David met Julien in a hotel just off mc Mahon street called The Phoenix. It was an Irish owned small Hotel tucked away on a side street that David had used several times during his visits to Paris for his work. All around the hotel where music shops, one which specialised in Harps. Beautiful and large concert harps stood in the window display, showing off their intricate spiral and crystal encrusted woodwork.

Himself and Julien went into a private room in the back of the Hotel that David rented as a temporary office. There were some coffee tables with coffee and cigarettes waiting for both of them there on the small coffee tables provided it for them. A picture of some old French royals where stuck up on the walls and used as dart boards by the employees of the Hotel. Both David and Julien laughed when they saw this.

“Hilarious!” Julien said when he entered the back office space in the Hotel, “something to do in our spare time!” he laughed to David. “Absolutely” David said. “Knock yourself out buddy”

They sat and both of them lit up a cigarette each and got stuck into the aromatic Cafe Noir the Hotel Concierge had laid out for them. “Brown sugar?” David said to Julien. “No thanks” Julien said. “Don’t like the brown sugars then?” David said with a wry smile on his handsome rugged Irish face. “Oh” Said Julien, “Brown skinned ladies? I do like them indeed Môn frère!” he said as he made the figure of eight shape of a woman with his hands. “God forgives you!” David said back to him and they both laughed to each other cordially.

Deep into the night David spoke to Julien about the gun running activities of his target Riley. “Riley is a scum bucket straight from the backs streets of Belfast city, back in Ireland. Although he came from a good family originally, a well to do Catholic family based in a nice neighbourhood, he ended up mixing with coke dealing terrorists on both sides of the religious divide.” David continued to fill Julien in on the details about Riley and his upbringing, as they smoked the strong French cigarettes and sipped the delicious black coffees in front of them.

“Riley did both sides of everything ever since he turned bad in his late teens. He worked everyone, sold to everyone and eventually he was driven out of the city by the local terrorist organisations who told him if he ever returned, he would be killed, nothing personal just business, they said”.

“Now he works here in France using his old contacts back in Belfast to run guns and cocaine through the Corsican Mafia. They buy from the Sicilian gangsters, seeing as the Sicilian Mafia is no more.” David continued. Julien interrupted him and said “Yes, my colleagues in Corsica are well aware of the number of drugs and guns being transported through the island onto the mainland here in France”.

“If there ever is an invasion of France again, the Germans will be up against a lot of well-armed drug fuelled mobsters and gangsters I can tell you eh?” David punched Julien in a friendly way on his upper right arm. “These guys are loaded to the teeth in automatic rifles high explosives and grenade launcher shot guns.” David said.

“You don’t have to tell me” Julien retorted. “There are too many illegal guns on the streets of Paris, any terrorists can purchase a machine gun for one thousand euros” he said in his thick French accent. “It’s unbelievable! What is wrong with this country is the politicians, they all have their fingers in illegal money and have so many friends in the Milieu gangs, it makes me sick. Even in the police here in Paris there are many crooked cops involved and taking big payoffs from the Mafia”.

“I know” said David. “We will be lucky to survive this with our heads attached to our shoulders my friend. That’s why we chose you to work with”. Julien said back to him.

Back in time a year before when David was first contacted by the chief of police in Paris, the Prefect of Police his title is called. He was born Frederic Monroe from Antibes in the south of France originally. His grandfather was a good friend of David’s grandfather, a Paddy Coen, both were young soldiers fighting in the Second World War. They met in Paris at the end of the War and became great friends doing the Hemmingway, as David’s grandfather Paddy used to say.

A memory that Paddy had of those end of war days was of himself and Julien’s grandfather, whose name was Francis, going from bar to bar and cafe to cafe celebrating with everyone else. It was a party that seemed to never have an end. The kissing of beautiful women in the streets for the three days after the wars end was fantastic fun for both soldiers. Every day was a spectacular parade in Paris, the streets where filled with celebrating Parisians and allied soldiers. Popping sounds from the thousands and thousands of champagne bottles being opened echoed throughout the little streets by day and by night. It was a festival of abandon and relief that no-one would ever forget or regret. Especially the recently released Jewish families from the prison camp in Drancy, just outside Paris, the Hebrew people living there were treated well by the French police that guarded them. It was nothing personal, just business under German rule.

Many the allied soldier left behind an illegitimate child in Paris, even to married women. A story that has only barley started to reveal itself in the modern age. Patrick and Francis would recall their experiences together after the war via letter and telegram, especially when it was good news, like getting married or having their first legitimate child. “I'm a father!” Patricks letter to Francis would say. “I’ve never been happier in my life, not even on the day the war ended and we celebrated in Paris”. His letters would say.

Patrick would recall his time in the trenches regularly. Once on a hot sunny day in June when he was head down in between the hardened mud walls of the trenches he could hear the sound of music coming from the German lines. A violin was being played and the echoes of sweet classical Bach could be heard floating over the air waves. “That’s Bach I'm sure”. Patrick said to his mates, “What did you study music in Sunday school or something?” laughed one of his fellow soldiers. “Yes, with your mother” Patrick retorted, all the soldiers laughed together.

“Some Nazi thinks it’s his birthday does he?” another American recruit said. “Well it’s better than listening to your snoring” Patrick said back to him, as they laughed again. They all became quiet for a few minutes as the only sound that could be heard was the beautiful melodious sounds coming from the violin being played almost one hundred yards away. “Air on G-string” Patrick told them, Bach’s most famous piece, not your girlfriends underwear Patrick said jokingly to his brothers in arms. When he turned around to see if they were about to laugh at his joke, every single of them had floods of tears coming down their faces. Some of them not even bothering to wipe them away.

You could hear a pin drop on both sides of the trenches that afternoon, there were no calls for fire until the late evening, the war ended two weeks later, sadly with only one of Patricks troop survived . To this day he listens to that song regularly in their memory and has to fight back the tears, sometimes even the laughter as his emotions yo-yo between regret and fearlessness.

David and Julien would swap their grandfathers war stories often, no matter how many times they had heard them recalled from their old soldiers, they had the patience to listen. The camaraderie between police officers and detectives was as strong as any brother in arms from any war torn country. As long as they had served hard time together fighting local criminal gangs. Stamping out human trafficking in the brothels of Paris was Julien’s forte. Its where he sharpened his sword as a veteran of the undercover officer. Neither Julien nor David had too much respect for all police, many of whom were as crooked as the criminals they took bribes from and even supported in the smuggling of guns, heroin and young women across the borders of France and Corsica.

“It’s a dangerous game were playing here” said Julien to David once they had finished their coffee in the Hotel Phoenix. “It’s not going to be easy catching this fellow Riley and his gang.” He said in his thick Parisian accent. “They have a lot of protection from local politicians and even some judges also” Julien said to David.

“I know, I know” David said back to him. “Look we have to go and talk to chief inspector Monroe” David said to Julien. “You mean the prefect” Julien said back to him. “Half a dozen of one” David retorted. “Let’s just get down there tomorrow morning early and see if he has any news on when you’re meant to try to join up with Riley’s gang” David said.

They both picked up their jackets and cigarettes and left the Hotel. David wanted to walk the streets down near Riley’s nightclub a little , it was late in the evening and the streets were reasonably empty of people. Also the police had a stake out apartment placed across from the back alleyway entrance to Riley’s hang out club. Autumn leaves scattered all over the cobbled back streets of the moist yet mild Parisian night. A light warm Indian Summer breeze swept over the men as they trundled down the side streets past night clubs and bars. As they turned a corner into a shady looking street with the stink of rotten garbage coming from some bins out the back of a Parisian public house, a couple of prostitutes called out to the men “Hallo Americans!” said one of the girls. “Looking for love tonight?” Julian knew the two prostitutes well from undercover jobs he had worked in the past and instead of having them busted, used them for information on the local drug lords.

“Hello ladies” Julien said in a romantic jest like way. “Oh no!” one of the girls protested back to him. “No!, no! Please, not tonight!” she said in French. “Don’t worry girls, I'm not busting you tonight, just remember, I'm not a cop, when you see me on the street, I'm just another customer, ok?” “Ok, ok” she said and stroked his cheek lightly. “Otherwise, my life is in danger and so too will yours be if anyone fingers that I'm police, you get the picture?” he said to them seriously.

“Yes, yes” both women replied back to him, as they rocked from side to side and smiled. Julien put his hand in his pocket and gave both women 50 Euros cash. He had many informers locally and told David that without them, no information would ever cross his desk back in the precinct office. “To many bent cops” Julien said. “I know, I know all about them” David said back. “Ce la vie buddy” David said and the two men laughed at David’s French.

The men pushed on through the streets back around the back of the club Beaujolais to a small apartment that the police had rented to use as a stake out space. Julie knocked twice on the door first, followed by one more knock as a code to enter. One man came to the door, an officer named Philippe, he let the two men in and greeted them both in French, then in English “Bon soar Julien” “Good evening David” he said, when he saw David’s face more clearly in the light of the hallway. There was one other detective in there already, his name was Michelle and had a pair of binoculars up to his head, they were fitted with night vision scopes. “Bon soir” Julien said to him.

“Bon soir” the man said back, clearly set upon the back door of the club and the windows of the kitchen at the left of the doorway. There were two sub machine guns lying side by side against the window sill and ammunition crates supporting them. “Prêt pour lactation” David said to the officer with the binoculars. “Absolument” said Michelle, “Oh!” he said when he recognised David’s face , “Absolutely David, absolutely!” The men all laughed together.

“Well, anything to report?” Julien asked the two detectives. “No, not much” said Philippe, just the usual suspects who are probably carrying small machine guns beneath their jackets. There’s not much reason to arrest them for that, seeing as it does not lead us to the bigger haul, the bigger catch as you might say.”

“I'm sure they are bringing in packages of money and drugs in the back door hidden in the food crates” Michelle said. “This is your job Julien” said Philippe, looking up at him from his perch by the window, if you’re crazy enough to get in there and do your thing” Michelle said with his eyebrows raised as if questioning the sanity of such procedures.

“Yes, it is my job indeed” Julien said back to them as he took the binoculars from Michelle and had a look at the back doorway of the clubs entrance through the kitchen. “You know that Riley is a coward and a weakling when it comes to the crunch” David told Julien, “You will see him hard at work acting tough, but never acting on it. If it ever comes to any heavy stuff, Riley is always the cause of it, never around when the fighting starts” David told Julien.

“Good to know” Julien replied. “His is a jinx of a higher level” said David. “Truly gifted in making a balls of everything and anything he touches. It’s almost the opposite of the Midas touch, what am I saying, it is the opposite”.

“Also for some reason fire follows him wherever he goes. Even the people connected to him talk of bizarre fires starting in the weirdest places, like in the cupboards in the kitchen when clothing is left to lye by hot pipes. Or family members burning to death in house fires.” “I will be careful” Julien said back to David. “Just keep an extinguisher handy wherever you go with this guy” David said to him. “It’s like he is cursed by salamanders” David said.

Just then a huge blast of flame shot out from the kitchen windows of Riley’s club as a chip fire was quenched with water by one of the kitchen porters. The shouting and roaring coming from the head chef was like a baleful elephant on the rampage. “Jesus Christ!” said Julien, I see what you mean, “My God!” he exclaimed again.

“Told you so” David said back to him, “It’s like the furnaces of hell surround Riley and anyone connected to him.” “That’s ridiculous” Said Philippe, “I’ve never heard such rubbish in my life, I'm sorry David, forgive me, but I'm not superstitious” he said.

“Some people cannot see the trees until they have crashed into them eh?” Julien said and all the men laughed.

David had experienced many un-natural coincidences in his years as a detective back in Ireland where he worked for the Irish police for about 20 years. It wasn’t unusual for certain criminals to attract a baleful spirit or two that followed them around jinxing everything they did. “When you consider the victims of crime, the junkies, the murdered innocents, the broke gamblers with fingers chopped off by people like Riley. It’s no wonder strange things happen around them or to them” David said to his detective friends as they surveyed the back of the night club on that warm Autumnal evening in the Parisian back streets.

The two men stood and made ready to leave the apartment, “Let’s go David” Julien said, “Plenty of time for waiting when it’s our turn” he said and turned for the door. “Bon soir” David said to the two men left behind to keep surveillance on the clubs rear entrance. “Bon soir” the men said back to him as he closed the door behind him.

“Ok man, I will see you tomorrow for briefing at the precinct office at nine am. ok” Julien said to David as he patted him on the back. “Ok Julien, see you tomorrow then, at nine” They shook hands and parted company until the next day. David walked home down through the quiet backstreets and went straight to his bed for a sound sleep in the Hotel Phoenix, room 121.

As he passed out all comfy in his hotel bed, he drifted off into a comfortable sleep and found himself dreaming of conveyor belts, the kind you get in airport baggage rooms. The ones that carry the bags through from the check in desk into the baggage sorting room and out to the baggage handlers that carry the bags onto the planes themselves.

On one of the baggage conveyor belts was a small black Labrador puppy whimpering as cute as could be, “Hello” David said to the little puppy “What are you doing here?” The puppy lifted its front left paw and pointed towards an open doorway behind David. As he turned to look there was a tall man dressed in a dark coloured pilots uniform. “I am your father” the man said to David in a strong deep voice. David didn’t recognise the man and wondered why he had spoken these confusing words. “He shoot, I shoot” The man said to David and pulled out a pump action shotgun, it had a dark barrel that was glistening in the light of the open doorway.

Then the man pointed the barrel of the gun right at David’s face, at that very moment David woke up from the dream, got out of bed a drank some water from a water bottle he had resting on the coffee table in is room.

“Well waking from a death dream is a good sign” he thought to himself. David had an extensive knowledge of dream interpretation and knew from experience that the man in his dream could well represent Riley’s father and not his own. “Must be a sign or omen of some sort” he thought to himself as he looked out his hotel window onto the quiet cobbled street outside, four floors down. He already knew that Riley’s dad had connection to the air force and the airports of many international countries. Possibly even had some involvement with Riley’s illegal activities. “Maybe, maybe not” David thought to himself, took a deep breath lay down in bed again, pulled the clean covers over his head and went back to bed for a good night’s sleep.