The limo slowed as it got closer to the L'Etoile d'Or. Evette pulled out her pocket mirror and put on a layer of black lipstick. She looked out her window and saw the Prime Minister’s limo as it drove off. Evette checked her watch; it was 7:45, the Garcetti’s were running right on time. Evette pushed her sunglasses down slightly and watched as Mrs. Garcetti walked into the hotel. Rosalyn was the only odd one of the Garcetti’s, and that was because she was American. It was still a major scandal in Italy, and they had been married for fourteen years. Evette watched as the remaining Garcetti’s entered the hotel, along with his aide.
“Merci.” Evette said, nodding at the man as she slid out of the limo.
Evette quickly mixed in with the crowd, as everyone tried to get photos of Prime Minister Garcetti and his family. It was the first time that the Italian Prime Minister had ever met with the French Prime Minister on French soil that Evette could remember. Evette retreated to the hotel’s bar to check her phone and call the Monsieur, and to get a few things to drink.
“Bonjour Monsieur.” Evette said, bringing the whiskey to her lips.
“Bonjour Evette. I take it you’re at the hotel?” The Monsieur asked, coughing after.
“Oui, and the Garcetti’s just arrived.” Evette said, looking over to make sure the bartender wasn’t near her.
“Good. I got you a room there, so it won’t look suspicious. Talk to a woman named Francesca, she’ll have your key. Also, when she hands you the key and you sign for it, your name is Odette Laroux.” The Monsieur said slowly.
“How elegant. Such a shame an elegant name is being used for such a dirty deed.” Evette said, sitting the empty crystal glass on the granite counter.
Evette slid a one hundred Euro bill across the counter and left, pushing her sunglasses back up to the bridge of her nose. She fought the crowd in the lobby and made her way to Francesca, who was seemingly waiting for her. Francesca was a tall woman, almost lanky. Her hair flowed gracefully, with all of its auburn glory.
“Bonjour madame.” Francesca said, her Italian accent heavy.
“Bonjour.” Evette said, smiling at Francesca.
“Madame Laroux, I presume?” Francesca asked, searching for the keycard.
“Oui.” Evette said, grabbing her pack of cigarettes from her purse.
“Here you are. You just need to sign here.” Francesca said, sliding the bill over to Evette.
Evette signed the bill quickly, with her alias, Odette Laroux. She grabbed the keycard and turned promptly. By the time she got to her suite, it was 9:30. From the schedule that Monsieur had sent her, in thirty minutes, the Garcetti’s and his aide would be heading off to bed. To pass the time, Evette sat on the patio chair on the balcony that overlooked Paris. Not to far from her, she saw the Eiffel Tower all lit up. In all her years of living in Paris, Evette could not recall a moment when she had actually visited the Eiffel Tower. One last time, Evette checked her watch; it was 9:59.
Evette opened her purse, making sure everything she needed with in there. She had her silenced Desert Eagle, her nail filer, and her switchblade. Evette had never felt more prepared than that night. Evette shut the door behind her silently. She looked at the camera directly, smiling. She turned, her back now facing the small black camera, and walked towards the end of the hall towards the stairwell. Evette knew that taking the elevator would be an extreme risk, a risk in which she could not take. Slowly, she climbed the stairs in her heels, trying to make as little noise as possible.
“Eat your heart out, Mr. Garcetti.” Evette said, opening the metal door.
Evette took the black leather gloves and put them on. She put her hair into a ponytail. She walked slowly, trying to receive any looks from the guards. Her alias of Odette, just so happened to be one of Prime Minister Garcetti’s escorts, but Evette could leave no witnesses. She grabbed her nail filer and stuck into one of Garcetti’s guards. He let out a silent shrill before he fell to the ground. Evette carefully removed the nail file from his neck, attempting to not make too much of a mess.
“Damn shame.” Evette said, walking over the slouched body of the guard.
Evette took the key off of the guard’s body, leaving no fingerprints. Evette turned to head towards the aide’s room. Just as she reached the door, it opened. Evette froze in shock and moderate terror. The aide stared at her for a few seconds, and then looked over her shoulder, seeing the dead guard. When she looked back at Evette, she was met with the sight of a cold metal silencer aimed right at her head.
“Au revoir, and merci for visiting Paris.” Evette said, pulling the trigger.
The gun made a soft noise, causing no attention, and blood splattered behind her. The aide fell to the ground, and pool of blood began to form. Evette blew the smoke from the barrel and put it back into her purse. She gave a small laugh and left the messy scene. For once, Evette actually pitied the aide, for she was only guilty by association.
“Now, Mr. Garcetti. Let’s play a little game.” Evette said quietly, sliding the keycard.
Evette opened the door slowly and quietly. For once, Evette regretted wearing heels on the job, which she always did. Evette believed that if you were going to kill someone, that you should come dressed to kill. She pulled out her phone, studying the layout of the hotel room quickly, but efficiently. She looked to her right, and came to the conclusion that that was the bedroom Andreas and Rosalyn Garcetti were staying in. Evette grabbed the switchblade and opened it. Evette bent down to look through the keyhole, observing the layout of the room. It was a straight shot from the door to the bed. Slowly, Evette turned the knob of the door, opening it. The Garcetti’s were sound asleep, just as Evette had hoped. However, only Rosalyn had to die.
“Au revoir, Mademoiselle Garcetti.” Evette said silently, flicking her wrist.
Rosalyn’s eyes jolted open as the blood sprayed everywhere, but Evette was already gone. As Evette closed the bedroom door, she noticed that there was a faint glow coming from the end of the suite hallway. Luckily, the hallway turned from oaken floor, to a beige colored carpet. It was the child. Evette’s heart began beating faster and harder. This was the first time she had ever had to kill a minor, but a job was a job. She pulled the gun from her purse once more, and walked over to the kid that was watching television. Evette put the barrel just a centimeter away from the back of his head, breathing heavily, yet silently. Just as Evette pulled the trigger, she let out a small cry as the kid slouched forward, and then fell from the couch.
“What have you done?” Andreas asked at the other end of the hallway.
Evette stood still, and then turned towards Prime Minister Garcetti, “My job.”
“Who are you?” Andreas asked, beginning to walk towards her.
“Odette, your Parisian escort.” Evette said, walking towards Garcetti.
“And you are here now, because?” Andreas asked softly.
Evette pistol whipped Prime Minister Garcetti in the face, and he fell to the ground. Evette stepped over his body, grabbing him by the feet, and drug him into the kitchenette. She went back into the Garcetti’s bedroom and searched for something. She knew that Garcetti was a connoisseur of arms, and surely he had to have something.
“My, my, Mr. Garcetti. Packing some heat, are we?” Evette asked herself.
Evette emptied the chamber and put one bullet in, spun the chamber, and hit it shut. She walked back out to the kitchenette, and sat the revolver on the table. Evette then sat there and patiently waited for Andreas to come to. It didn’t take as long as Evette thought. She smiled at Garcetti, and removed her sunglasses in the dark room.
“Good morning, Prime Minister.” Evette said, placing her half-smoked cigarette on the ashtray.
“You will pay for this!” Andreas shouted, trying to stand.
“I see you’ve become aware of your current situation. So, I come to you with a deal.” Evette said, picking up the cigarette.
“Deal? What kind of deal?” Andreas asked, slurring his words together.
“Well, there’s either a one-hundred percent chance that you will die, or, there is a sixteen percent chance that you will die. You choose.” Evette said.
“Latter. I choose the latter.” Andreas said, holding back tears.
Evette picked up the revolver and placed the cold gun into her mouth. She looked Andreas directly in the eyes as she pulled the trigger. Nothing. She slid the gun over to him, motioning for him to do the same. Andreas put the revolver in his mouth, sweat beginning to bead up on his brow, he too pulled the trigger. Nothing. He slid it back to Evette.
“Looks like your chances are good, Prime Minister.” Evette said, placing the gun back in her mouth.
“Go to hell.” Andreas said bitterly.
Evette, once more, placed the gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger. Once more, nothing. She slid the gun back over to Andreas, and picked up her cigarette, a smirk drew upon her face. She watched intently as Andreas put the barrel back into his mouth. For a moment, he hesitated, every second passing by like an hour to him. Evette leaned forward and looked him directly in the eyes.
“Go on, pull the trigger.” Evette said softly.
The room filled with a metallic shrill that even made Evette jump. Garcetti’s head tilted back, and the gun fell from his hand. Evette frowned at the scene and dialed the Monsieur’s number.
“Bonjour Monsieur, I come with terrible news.” Evette said sadly.
“Et?” The Monsieur asked, with a hint of concern.
“Garcetti killed himself. I am terribly sorry.” Evette said quietly.
“Oh, well, that’s a shame. Damn shame.” The Monsieur said, hanging up after.
Evette snuffed out the cigarette, leaving only a trail of smoke behind her. She closed the door behind her silently and left the hotel. As if she were a phantom, no one remembered seeing her enter or leave, and somehow, there was no camera footage of anything that happened in the hallway. Evette had fallen asleep in the back seat of the limo, and didn’t awake until she arrived at the château.
Evette watched as the limo drove off, leaving a trail of dust. She climbed the steps that lead into the château. When she went to open the doors, they simply swung open. Evette stopped for a minute and looked around, yet nothing looked touched. However, she kept her hand near her purse.
“Mama? Papa?” Evette asked quietly.
No one answered. Evette’s nerves began to heighten as she walked further into the unlit château. She slowly looked around, assuring herself that no one was in the house with her. As she walked towards the kitchen, she slipped and fell on a warm and sticky substance; blood. Frightened, Evette grabbed her phone and used its flashlight feature. Her body shook violently as she followed the smeared trail of blood.
Evette let out a loud shrill that was heard by no one but herself. Evette fell to the ground as she stared at the horrid scene. Her mother and father laid side by side, with their throats slit. Evette tried to stand, and walked over to the counter, and there, waiting for her, was a message.
“Did you really think it would be that easy? -AG”