Chapter 2
Benoir Lefevre A.K.A. The Psionic
The café was right at the corner of the Rue de Sacy with the Ruelle de Paul Deschanel. The gigantic Tour Eiffel could be seen from there, dominating everything around it with the majesty and beauty of an immortal queen. Ironically, Parisians from the 19th century thought it an eyesore, a blight upon their beautiful city. One hundred and thirteen years later it was still there, standing proud, a silent symbol of a city too stubborn to die.
The view was the first thing Benoit was attracted to when he bought the place. It was outstanding, and he liked the peaceful feeling the Tour gave to his heart. He felt calm under its presence, protected from outside influences. After all, Hitler conquered Paris during the World War Two, but he couldn't conquer the Tour Eiffel.
A garçon, one of his staff, came to Benoit table and touched him lightly on the shoulder. His name was Yann. He was a huge black man of Congolese descent, very silent and quite deadly when he wanted to. Benoit found him on the backstreet of his café a year ago, dying from a knife wound on his belly. Maybe out of pity, mercy or some other unfathomable reason, he decided to help him, rushing him to the hospital in a cab. From that moment, the Congolese turned into his fanatic bodyguard, ready to die, and even kill for him. Benoit just accepted it like he took everything and everyone else in life: with tolerance and patience.
Yann looked at Benoit right into his eyes with a guarded expression and made a subtle nod with his head, signaling a table in the far corner of the café. A man in a dark blue suit was sitting there, drinking a cup of black coffee while reading the newspaper. Benoit was facing the man’s back so he couldn't see his face, but he already had an idea who he was. His “inner friend”, the malevolent voice living inside his head, was already whispering little bits of information into his brain, giving Benoit the advantage he needed to be always a step ahead on any situation.
He’s looking for you, and he wants you to know it, said the voice, so softly it was almost impossible to detect the barely contained rage that seems to possess this entity on a permanent basis. Benoit has fought it all his life, and will continue to fight it until the day he died. Most of the time he won, so he got to be “himself” most of the time. But sometimes he lost, and the rage engulfed him and everything around him in a storm of violence. Those moments used to terrify him in the past. Now, three years later, and with some answers in his hands, he wasn't afraid anymore. Because he knew the voice could die. After all, it only existed inside his deranged mind and he only needed a bullet in his head to prove it.
The entity knew it too and despised Benoit for it.
He’s an arrogant piece of shit, Benoit. He thinks this visit is a waste of time. The voice said with contempt. I will love to shove a fork in his eye and watch him die slowly.
But you won't Gerard, He answered firmly. Not before I learn what He wants from me. So shut up and keep your eyes open. He felt the entity stir, like a dog showing its teeth. He just closed his eyes and let Gerard see a vision of death. His death, gruesome and painful, in some horrible place full of loneliness. He felt Gerard restraining himself, like a tamed lion at the sight of the whip.
Benoit made a subtle gesture with his hand, which the black bodyguard immediately grasped it. He moved across the bar and approached the man in dark blue with a glass of scotch. The man took the glass a made a small gesture of a toast at Benoit’s direction. He answered with a slight nod of the head, signaling the chair in front of him. The man swallowed his drink in one swing and walked over to Benoit's table.
He was a tall, lean figure of a man, with a tanned face and brilliant green eyes. He face was long and hard, probably Italian, masked in a serious business expression. He wore a dark blue Armani suit and a white turtleneck shirt. By the way he moved Benoit noticed he was carrying a handgun in a shoulder rig, probably a 9mm or some other medium caliber.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Lefevre” The man extended his hand at Benoit. His French was fluid but not native. “My name is Galiano. It’s a pleasure to meet you”. Benoit took his hand in a heavy handshake and made a small nod with his head. The man had a firm grip, demanding respect as an equal. He sat on the chair in front of Benoit and smiled politely, looking directly at Benoit’s eyes with a measuring stare.
This was his first mistake. Also, it will be the last thing he would remember about this day for the rest of his life.
Benoit kept his stare directly in the man’s eyes, and let his Willpower ran free. It struck the man like a hammer blow right in the middle of the face. He immediately lost his poker face and stared at Benoit, his eyes blank and empty.
The french man smiled to himself, keeping his expression soft and his eyes directly on the Italian’s. This was something he really enjoyed, and one of the perverse gifts Gerard’s existences have granted him.
The invasive powers of Benoit's Telepathy were deeply rooted in the way his brain handle the synaptic process, which made it work like a radio antenna. For some weird casualty of evolution, Benoit was able to receive and project his thoughts around to other human beings. As everything in life, this freaked gift came with a prize: The development of a dissociative personality disorder, another individual living inside Benoit's mind, completely unfettered by moral constraints of any kind.
Even so, it was not an easy task. Subtle psionic manipulation depended on the way the intended target interacted with the gifted. It couldn't be done in a stressful situation, as it demanded the target’s complete attention. It was also a dangerous process, for too much pressure could permanently damage the target’s mind. It required skill, patience and a great deal of experience with the powers of the psionically gifted.
Fortunately for the Italian, Benoit was quite experienced in this technique. And he was kind to stupid people.
He sent his Willpower straight into the man’s unconscious eyes, scanning surface thoughts first. He learned his real name was Giacopo Maldini. He was a hit-man working for the Italian mobs in France. His bosses had sent him to Paris in search of a suitcase full of black diamonds, which an Austrian associate of them stole two months ago. He asked information from the Armenian pimps, who immediately have mentioned Benoit’s Café in la Rue de Saccy, calling him an expert finder. He smiled at this, remembering he should send a gift to them. After all, being polite in this business always gave you some extra profit.
He dived deeply, learning another bunch of personal information about Giacopo. He got a wife, French too, in Naples. He also had a male lover in Milan, which he kept secret from his wife and bosses. Worthless facts. He searched information about the Austrian diamond thief. He found a name and an address. It was far from the city, but a suitcase full of black diamonds surely was worth the trouble. Yann could take care of the pickup, while I track the suitcase back to the original owners.
They surely will have a lot to say when he told them he had found his diamonds first.
“Mister Giacopo, I got bad news for you,” he said in a soothing voice, bringing his Willpower back in control as he implanted the thought deep in Giacomo’s memory. “Your bosses know everything about you and your lover. They suspected you are part of the conspiracy for the black diamonds and have sent someone to take you out of the game”
The Italian’s pupils expanded at these words, and his face slowly changed into a horror expression. Benoit just nodded and continue. “But don't worry, I can help you. I can give you a new passport and a ticket to someplace in Africa, where they will never find you. You simply have to do a little something for me”.
The man smiled slowly, feeling a wave of relish washing over him. “What should I do, Mister Lefevre?”
Benoit was about to answer, but the words stuck in his mouth. Even so, he felt himself saying the words, as sure as if he had planned them. Let me take care of him, said Gerard in a cloudy whisper, We need to deal with the loose ends. He could felt him smile as he took control, with a perverse feeling of satisfaction, almost like lust.
“Just... Go to the Louvre and shoot the guards. They have been bothering me for a while so I need someone to teach them a lesson. Be as loud as you can please, for they must learn respect”. Gerard pushed this command firmly into the Italian’s brain, generating a priority over all other thoughts and ideas. The man obeyed like a puppy and immediately stood up, shake hands with Benoit and leave, crazy with dreams about spending the rest of his days in Africa, away from the hands of his Italian bosses.
Benoit knew It was a suicide order, as security at the Louvre was one of the tightest in the world. But even so, He let it be. Gerard was right about this, sometimes loose end must be trimmed. As he recovered control of his body, He called Yann with another subtle gesture and ordered the Congolese to follow the Italian and never let him go out of sight, just in case he woke up from the hypnotic command.
And a suitcase full of black diamonds was too much of a temptation for even the less greedy information broker. Surely someone will pay great money for knowing where the stolen diamonds were. And now they were just a couple of days from his hands, life in Paris just got better and better.
See? I'm not as crazy as you think, Benoit. Ah! Life in Paris is always beautiful and sweet. We should hit someone with a car just to celebrate it.
“Shut up, Gerard!” said Benoit out loud, his tone concerned and tired. A couple sitting close to him heard him and turned, their eyes with an expression of oddness. He quickly drank his wine and step outside, watching the Tour Eiffel as he felt the morning breeze on his face. He enjoyed the sensation of loneliness brought by the cityscape, thousands of people walking around him and not paying attention to a single thing he did.
Then, He remembered the evil presence inside his mind, and He knew with a horrible certainty he will never, ever be alone. He will always have to fight against himself, always controlling the beast inside, never giving in to any emotional extremity...
Sometimes, He had the idea Gerard had already won, and everything was just a matter of time...
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