The Cathari Treasure (Cameron Kincaid)
Read The Cathari Treasure (Cameron Kincaid) Online
Authors: Daniel Arthur Smith
THE CATHARI
TREASURE
By
Daniel Arthur Smith
This ebook is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only.
Your support and respect for the property of this author is
appreciated.
This
book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.
The characters
are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
The Cathari Treasure
Copyright © 2010 by Daniel
Arthur Smith
All rights reserved Holt Smith
ltd
Also for Kindle by Daniel Arthur
Smith
The Cameron Kincaid Adventures
The Cathari Treasure
The Somali Deception EPISODE I
The Somali Deception EPISODE II
The Somali Deception EPISODE III
The Somali Deception EPISODE IV
The Somali Deception THE
COMPLETE EDITION
The Literary Series
The Potter’s Daughter
Opening Day: A Short Story
Coming Soon
The Horror Series
Agroland
* * * * *
For Susan, Tristan, &
Oliver, as all things are.
* * * * *
* * * * *
New York Thursday 1905 hours
The man’s eyes were wide and
locked with Gerard’s.
“Eh, there’s a guy in trouble in
here,” said the man. “I think he’s having a heart attack or somethin’.”
Gerard was on his way to the
front bar when the man, flush in the face, had stuck his head out of the
bathroom door. Gerard was a waiter, not a paramedic. Every table in
the restaurant was full and Gerard focused on getting to the vermouth for his
private party.
“I’ll get the Maître d’,”
said Gerard.
“I dunno,” said the man.
The man glanced back into the bathroom behind him. Slowly he shook his
head, “This guy’s not looking so good.”
Gerard took a step toward the
door and then stopped. He scanned the dining room for the Maître d’. If
Gerard could signal the Maître d’ to handle this then he would not have to deal
with the man. He spotted the Maître d’ across the room. The Maître
d’ was facing the other direction.
Gerard pursed his lips.
“C’mon,” said the man. “I
need some help here.”
Gerard reached up and pushed the
door open wide enough for him to step through.
Already annoyed, Gerard’s
private party would have to wait.
“Where is he?” asked Gerard.
“In the last stall.”
Gerard put his tray on the long
counter next to the folded cloth hand towels. He walked to the stall at
the far end of the room and then pressed his hand against the closed
door. When the door opened all Gerard saw was a large black duffel bag in
front of the toilet.
“There’s nobody in trouble in
here,” said Gerard.
“Sure there is,” said the
man. The man slapped Gerard on the back of the neck.
Gerard reached up and pulled at
the large rectangular cloth the man had stuck on his neck.
“What the hell!”
For an instant there had been a
lot of stinging pain. The pain had quickly subsided to a dull numbing
sensation. Gerard’s fingers could not lift the edge of the sticky
rectangle and the skin of his neck moved with the fabric as he tugged.
Gerard started to turn and then sank into the man’s arms. He tried to
speak as the man walked him into the stall and could not.
“That microneedle patch is quick
acting,” said the man as he eased Gerard onto the toilet. “A lot better
then the transdermal patch.”
Gerard was frozen yet
awake. He watched the man remove his blue blazer and then hang the jacket
on the door hook.
“The transdermal patches work
like a nicotine patch, slow release.”
Trapped behind his eyes, the
side of his face flat against the cool tile wall, Gerard watched the man crouch
in front of him and unzip the duffel. The man pulled out a clip-on bow
tie and, still crouching, wrapped the tie cord around and under the collar of
his white shirt.
“A real headache. The skin
is a good barrier. You have to estimate when it will take effect.”
His shirt buttoned and tie clipped, the man opened his hands, palms up, to
measure his statement. “You take into account how much a guy weighs, how
much he ate, monitor what he ate. I mean c’mon, if a guy just had lunch,
you could forget it.”
The man dropped his hands to his
thighs and patted them twice. He smiled at Gerard, stood up, and took Gerard
by the shoulders.
“You know, once I had to follow
a guy for three hours before he got queasy, the whole time tryin’ not to get
noticed. On the subway, down fifth and over to sixth, every floor of
Macy’s.” Gerard felt the man lift him and pull the white waiters coat
from his shoulders. The man shook his head, “I swear, I thought that guy
was never gonna go down. Now these microneedles are almost instant,” the
man adjusted Gerard so that Gerard was sitting upright facing him, “but you
know that.” The man gave Gerard a pat on the cheek.
The man slipped Gerard’s arms
out of his sleeves and then gently set him back against the cool tile.
“That’s because these
microneedles have a micro chip. A microchip and a hundred and fifty
little needles.” The man’s eyes lit up when he said this.
The man had moved Gerard around
so easily and there was nothing Gerard could do to stop him. The man
slipped on Gerard’s coat. The waiter’s coat fit the man perfectly.
Gerard wondered how the man knew his coat was the right size. Then
something occurred to Gerard, with the coat on the man looked like him.
The white shirt, bow tie, and black slacks, they all matched Gerard’s.
The waiter’s coat with the unique embossed dragon logo to the left of the lapel
was all that the man needed.
“These microneedles are a game
changer. All together I’ll be in and out of here in the time it would of
taken for the transdermal to even kick in, amazing technology.”
The man slipped out of the stall
and returned with Gerard’s silver serving tray. He knelt down and took a
thermos and four tall shot glasses from the duffel. The
man patted down
the front of the coat and the pockets of his
slacks. He bit his upper lip and looked around the floor of the
stall. Then the man tilted his head to the side and peered at Gerard.
“One more thing,” said the
man. The man knelt down again. From the duffel bag he removed a
long silver knife and a white handkerchief. With one hand the man wadded
the handkerchief into a ball. He firmly pressed the white cloth against
the side of Gerard’s neck. The man lifted his other arm and slowly
brought the dagger close.
Gerard wanted to scream and was
unable.
“Shhh,” said the man.
Gerard felt a pinch beneath
where the man held the cloth, and then his neck was warm, wet, and sticky.
* * *
* *
New York
Claude furrowed his brow.
“Is there an issue?” asked
Cameron.
Claude drew his words out with a
determined enunciation that exaggerated his already thick French accent, “I am
glad to see you are back.”
“I would have been here
earlier. We had so many extra takes. Being a guest judge is a head
ache.”
Claude rolled his eyes up from
his cutting board, “The Food Network, they can not get enough of the Dragon
Chef, eh?”
“You call a place Le Dragon Vert
your gonna get some flack.”
“You love the attention.
Beside don’t worry. Everything is fine here.”
Cameron knew better, sure Claude
was glad to see him yet at some point during the evening rush the chef was
always distraught. Claude’s fickle dinner hour temperament was something
Cameron took in stride. Routinely each evening started with Claude
focused on some true or imagined issue. This evening Cameron had arrived
at the restaurant late.
By the time Cameron stepped into
the kitchen Claude had already begun to work himself into a fluster.
Cameron picked up a towel from the counter to wipe the lens of his sunglasses
and waited for his close friend’s complaint of the evening.
“Well, I do not want to
complain,” said Claude.
Cameron nodded and smiled,
Claude always started this way.
“How is the house tonight?”
asked Cameron.
“The house is fine.”
“Hmm.”
Cameron held the lens of his
sunglasses up to the light.
“It’s the private party in the
library,” said Claude. He lifted the knife from the cucumber he was
slicing then pointed the blade in the direction of the library. “That
woman has been hassling Gerard every time he goes near the table.”
“Right, the vegans.”
Cameron gave Claude a knowing glance then grabbed a piece of the cut cucumber
and popped into his mouth. “What’s their problem?”
“No real problem. I have
prepared a fabulous dinner for them, but,” Claude waved the knife in a circular
motion, and then continued to slice the cucumber.
“But what? Don’t
leave me hangin’.”
Claude raised the blade again,
this time wagging the knife as he spoke, “She insists on coming back to the
kitchen, and you know--”
“--Don’t disturb the staff,”
said Cameron, quickly adding, “especially during service.”
“You understand perfectly.
Can you please take care of it? And send Gerard back while you
are
at it, he is late. I have created this beautiful
amuse-bouche. It is really lovely, split pea and still vegan.”
Centered on the silver tray in
front of Claude a moss green liquid filled four ready to be served shot
glasses.