life."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Can I stop you?" he asked, but he was smiling so I ventured on.
"Why a bodyguard? Does everyone with your kind of . . . wealth, need a bodyguard?"
"Most people with 'my kind of wealth' feel some need to protect themselves. I'm a target in many ways. Scammers--"
"You're too smart for that," I cut him off.
He grinned. "Okay, maybe not scammers, but just plain thieves or people desperate for some financial help can be a nuisance. And, then there's kidnappers."
"Kidnappers? In the U.S. or here, in France? I mean, I can understand if you're traveling to the Middle East or Africa, but . . ."
"You don't have to be in a third world country, evil is everywhere. Human cankers." He sighed heavily. "If I tell you a story, can you leave it alone?"
"Leave it alone?"
"Yes, can you just listen and let it sink in but not question me about it?"
I wanted to hear what he had to say. I agreed.
"Years ago, not long after I made some truly outstanding investment hits, I decided to celebrate by taking a trip with some of the people who'd made that success possible." He rubbed his forehead as if the memory pained him.
"We went to a ski resort in Northern Italy. There were a couple of characters hanging around who seemed out of place, but I wasn't as suspicious then as I am now. One night at the bar, one of the guys struck up a conversation with me. Back then, I was so full of myself and proud of 'making it' that I didn't hold anything back."
Not like you do now. Now you're a master at holding back . . . at least when it comes to some things.
"So, as they say in the movies, I was 'marked'. When my friend and I went out the next day to do some cross-country, the two guys also went. They followed us, but at a distance that didn't raise any alarms. We stopped for a rest in one of the stations on the trail." He swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair. "When we came out of the shelter, we were jumped. There was a scuffle at the edge of the trail. All four of us were rolling around in a ball. When the railing gave way, I was the only one who hung on. I grabbed the cable after it snapped and watched the two attackers and my friend fall. I was still hanging on when an avalanche slid past me and buried the valley where they landed. None of the bodies were ever recovered."
I watched him stare off into the distance, knowing he had told me half a story. Of course he was talking about his 'friend' Elsa. Who else could it be? But the rules of the game were the rules of the game.
"I don't know what they were after. All I know is that it wasn't a simple case of trying to steal my watch. I suspect they were planning to kidnap me, or perhaps my friend. There may have been someone waiting to take me away who disappeared when things went south." He put his hand over his mouth and closed his eyes. The sound of him sucking a heavy breath through his nose filled the space around us.
"I do know that by being stupid and casual about personal safety I lost one of the finest people I've ever known."
"I'm so sorry, Tristan." I took his hand and squeezed it. "You've had a lot of loss for a young man. That's got to be tough."
He pulled himself to his full tall height and shook his shoulders. "Well, I've survived," he said matter-of-factly. "The whole point of the story is that I learned the value of having someone like Kwan around." We came to a magnificent church. "Here's St. Nazarius' Basilica. It's one of the highlights. You'll want to give this your complete attention."
No, I want to give you my complete attention. I want you to finish the story, dammit! I didn't want a lesson in the importance of personal security; I wanted some insight into you!
How could the man tell me a story like that with the same emotion he was now investing in relating factoids about an ancient pile of stones? More importantly, how could this man be so utterly satisfying in some ways and so damn frustrating in others?
I'm afraid
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