La Pute

8

"The face of Le Cœur is not old at all, not like you might have heard. Fifty, maybe sixty years at most. Before the 20th century it was unheard of, but the name began to circulate amongst the aristocracy. That's why its reputation was so well contained. The poor hated the rich, but the rich never cared about the poor. We are neither poor nor rich. Even if we have no money, our assets are worth more than money can buy. People are worth more then money, not because they are precious, but because they are more useful.

Look at those workers protesting on the streets in the name of Le Cœur. They have no idea what they are doing, but they have a purpose. Even if they borrow someone else's name, they give it a new meaning.

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Florence laid on a bench in the harbor where only a few boats were docked at that time. Above her hovered several branches of a nearby tree, shielding her from the scorching sun. Although the ocean had a slight wind to it, that day the air was unusually still and humid. But Florence didn't care. The heat rarely bothered her, she was a southern woman after all and all too accustomed to living by the sea. It didn't fascinate her any more than the city did, she had watched the ocean for countless hours and days for as long as she could remember.

At 1400 hours a yacht would arrive at the harbor and a Spanish woman would set foot in Marseille. Her name was Marie Pérez and she was the secretary of a private banker in Valencia. At least that was what Vauquelin wanted Florence to know, but at the end of the day the truth about his associates was irrelevant to her. Vauquelin gave her a lot of money whenever he had her run an errand, sometimes he might even give her a stack of cash for no reason at all. But Florence had no idea what to do with the money. Sometimes she would eat more lavishly or buy a cigar or two, but nothing exquisite interested her.

When the woman would arrive, Florence was to give her a letter and escort her to a hotel in the city. Although she knew the contents of the letter were none of her business, but as she held the envelope up against the light, she could make out Vauquelin's writing. "...and when that time comes, come and see me. I know you're having doubts about..." "...but I can guarantee that their will is strong and the Heart beats".

The letter was clearly for Mr. Lopez, Pérez's employer. Although it was hard to make out some of the text in the letter, it mostly spoke about a past trip to Sicily where Vauquelin and Mr. Lopez had met. The brief letter ended with the sentence:
"Marseille will always need you."

Florence was interrupted by the sound of an engine whirring in the distance. She narrowed her eyes to look at the outline of a vessel approaching Marseille but quickly realized that it was surely not a yacht. It was a small merchant boat. When the boat closed in on the marina, a woman got out of the cockpit and jumped over to the slip to tie up the boat. Florence recognized her right away. She was the woman that helped Vauquelin's loose end escape.

The woman seemed to have noticed Florence as she sat up on the bench and furrowed her brows. "La pute?" She asked while scratching her head. "Ah, you have no business with me. As soon as we made it back to Italy the cartel took him and dumped him in the bay", she explained and shrugged. Florence was surprised that she had the courage to return to Marseille after getting involved with Le Cœur, but then again she was clearly not an ordinary sailor. Either she was some sort of broker for a big organization or simply a fool. "Hah, you bitch. That ugly face of yours is enough to make me want to forget about Marseille and go to Toulon instead", she chuckled and got back in the boat to fetch a few boxes from under a tarp.

"My name is Silva. Silva Bonneville. Don't get in my way!"