The Book of Death (Bourbon Kid 4)

big is about to go down?’
    Flake grimaced. ‘If that’s the
case, then this book might be the most important thing in the world. Let’s keep
it to ourselves for now.’

 

 
    Thirteen

 
    In spite of what appearances might suggest, Silvinho was a great lover
of culture and the arts. A giant of a man dressed in military gear and sporting
a six-inch high pink mohawk haircut, he certainly didn’t look like your typical
art lover. But having just recently completed the latest Shadow Company
mission, one that involved gunning down and beheading the Bourbon Kid, he
wanted to take in the sights at the Santa Mondega Museum of Art and History
before he and his team left town. Life as a mercenary suited him just fine.
He’d spent years in war zones killing men behind enemy lines, often going
months at a time without seeing a piece of art. Fortunately his new role as a
mercenary travelling the world with his Shadow Company comrades allowed him the
chance to sample the best art that the world had to offer, in between beheading
the odd person here and there.
    He was in one of the museum’s many
art halls admiring a magnificent colourful Eugene Delacroix painting of a young
lady when his cell phone rang. The display on the phone indicated that the call
was from his boss, Bull, so he answered it without hesitation.
    ‘Hey, what’s up boss?’
    ‘You seen the news?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Well it turns out that the guy we
beheaded last night wasn’t the Bourbon Kid. We got the wrong guy.’
    ‘Who did we kill?’
    ‘Just some freak who looked a bit
like him.’
    Silvinho grimaced. ‘Oh dear. It’s
a pity we didn’t notice that before we shot him and cut his head off.’
    ‘Yeah well, I’m over it already.
Where are you now? I need you back here at the Casa de Ville.’
    Silvinho took a look around at the
paintings on the wall to remind himself he was in a place of great beauty. ‘I’m
just at the museum. Got some lovely paintings here.’
    ‘Is that the Art and History
museum?’
    ‘Yeah. Why is there another one
around here?’
    ‘No. But according to the news the
Bourbon Kid showed up there just after two o’clock this morning and killed the
museum’s manager.’
    ‘Oh. Want me to ask around here?
See if anyone knows anything about it?’
    ‘Yeah. Ask to see if they have any
security camera footage of the killing. And find out if he had a motive to kill
the manager there. It might be a clue that leads us to him, or his next
victim.’
    ‘Sure thing boss. Anything else?’
    ‘Just give me a call if you find
anything out. If you don’t then just head back to base.’
    ‘Will do. Later.’
    Silvinho hung up the phone and
took one last look at the Delacroix painting before reluctantly heading back to
the reception area.
    In the reception hall he saw a
security guard with a badly swollen nose and a pair of black eyes. The guard
looked like he’d had a pretty bad day so far and was ready to go home. He was
the perfect guy to interrogate.
    ‘Excuse me,’ said Silvinho,
approaching him. He glanced at the guard’s security badge. ‘James,’ he
announced. ‘My name is Silvinho. I’m from the U.S Special Forces. I understand
the Bourbon Kid dropped by here last night. Is that correct?’
    The guard’s response was less than
enthusiastic. ‘You got any ID?’ he asked.
    ‘Sure.’ Silvinho reached inside
his coat and grabbed his wallet. He opened it and pulled out a plastic ID card.
He handed it over to James who took it and eyed it suspiciously.
    ‘How do I know this is real?’ he
asked.
    ‘I could render you unconscious in
about three seconds flat, if you like? Would that validate me?’
    James looked as though he wanted
to dare him to back up the threat with actions, but after gently rubbing his
broken nose he handed the card back to Silvinho.
    ‘I’ll take you to Elijah
Simmonds’s office. He can answer any questions you have. He’s already told the
police everything though, and given them a copy of the CCTV footage.’
    ‘You have CCTV footage?’
    ‘Yep. If the boss okays it, I’ll
make you a copy.’
    Silvinho smiled and slapped his
right hand down on James’s shoulder, squeezing it hard. ‘I’ll tell you what,’
he said. ‘How about you direct me to your boss’s office and while I’m there you
can get me a copy of the footage, you know, to save time.’
    He squeezed James’s shoulder just
a tiny bit harder, which was all it took for the security guard to agree to