Free C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series) by Jack Thompson Page A

such an unlikely character to be in a Parisian cabaret. But every business needs a bookkeeper. The small black eyes that peered over his reading glasses looked like buttons and gave off no emotion.
    “Livinia, is it not?”
    “Vinny works for me.”
    “I like that — Vinny. I am Henri Duchamp.” He made no attempt at the usual French embrace and kiss she had come to expect, especially from men.
    Vinny assumed he was shy. “What do you do here, Henri?”
    “Nothing very important. I keep some of the books.” He held up a ledger that she had noticed was a permanent accessory to his wardrobe. “I trust you are getting along with the other girls?”
    “Yes. So far they have all been helpful and nice.”
    “Good. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask me. I am more resourceful than I look, and you never know when I may be able to help.”
    One of the other girls came in and affectionately kissed the top of Henri’s head. “I see you have met Henri,” she said. “He is a sweetheart. All the girls rub his head for good luck. I swear, it does seem to work. And he is right. He can be helpful. When my twins were sick and I was short on money, he got me a badly needed raise.”
    “Lise, the young ones are doing well, I hope?” asked Henri.
    “Healthy and happy, thanks to you,” said Lise, rubbing his head as she left. The girls all liked Henri and treated him as a sort of lucky mascot. Vinny noticed that, although he didn’t seem to mind, he did not appear to take any pleasure from it either. Asking Henri about the club got nothing but vague answers. Apparently his nose was too buried in his books for him to notice what was going on.
    Throughout the night, Vinny met and talked to the other waitresses and as many of the dancers as she could to find out more about the club. There were VIP clients who sat in the balcony or had private booths on the side. Vinny watched a wealthy Arab spending money like it was water, or to make a better comparison, oil. She remembered stories she had heard about when the Arab oil industry had first exploded, and there was so much money that small towns would have fifty-gallon drums full of money sitting out in the town square for anyone to use. Here in the club, many of the patrons liked to spread their money around either to attract girls or just to show off. Vinny tried to get closer to the wealthy Arab, but Luc stepped into her line of sight and shook his head slowly, warning her away.
    “I thought I might get a big tip,” said Vinny, when she reached Luc. “He looks like he could afford it.”
    “That is Sheik Barafa from Saudi Arabia. He is strictly off limits to you, for now. Of course, when you prove yourself to me, I can set you up with some of the other heavy hitters.” He smiled in a way that made it clear how she could prove herself. Luc was trying to follow in Bruno’s footsteps, but Vinny doubted he had the stones or the nasties to pull it off.
    “That’s all right. I’ll make do.”
    “Suit yourself,” said Luc. “You don’t know what you are missing.”
    “I think I do.”
    Luc got red-faced and stormed off. Vinny was right about the stones.
    Vinny watched one of the courtesans expertly reel in an older man who looked like a conservative business or government type. She danced with him closely until his motor was humming, then pulled away as if she remembered an appointment she had somewhere else. Seeing his chance about to evaporate, he went for it, offering her money and asking her to accompany him upstairs. She looked at her watch impatiently to up the ante, and he undoubtedly offered her more money to persuade her to make a schedule change. Finally she smiled and took his arm. This was not the type of client who was going to sneak up the back stairway. Instead, he walked slowly and proudly to the main stairs with the girl on his arm, enjoying the rare chance to be seen in public with such a beautiful young woman.
    For the most part, the