The Predators Read online

  “I think I’ll take a walk before I go to bed, Papa. I’ll see you in the morning,” Jacques said.

  Maurice turned to go to his room. He was tired after his dinner and wine and cognac.

  * * *

  The streets were still crowded as Jacques stopped at a small outdoor café. He decided he would have one more cognac before turning around and going back to the hotel to bed.

  The garçon approached the table. “Your pleasure, monsieur?” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Jacques looked up into his eyes. “Perhaps you would be my pleasure,” he said lightheartedly. “For the moment I will take a cognac.”

  “Oui, monsieur, I am Pierre and I will take care of all of your pleasures.” He turned and went to the bar.

  Jacques thought about the boy’s good looks. He wondered how his mouth would feel on his penis.

  Pierre set the cognac down on the table in front of Jacques, lightly touching Jacques’s hand as he set the glass down. “Monsieur, are you alone here in Nice?”

  “No, I am traveling with my father and doing some business,” Jacques answered as he lit his cigarette. “Do you work here every day?”

  “No, monsieur, I work here only part-time. I sometimes show tourists around our beautiful town when I am not working,” he answered.

  Jacques looked at him directly. “Maybe you could show me some things tonight, when you leave the café?”

  “That would be very enjoyable; in fact, I can leave now if you would like. I think I could show you a few things that would only cost you around twenty francs,” Pierre answered, meeting Jacques’s eyes.

  Jacques could already feel himself getting hard. He hoped he hadn’t misread the boy. But he had seen plenty of male hookers on the street.

  Pierre went back to the kitchen and took off his apron. He appeared back at Jacques’s table. They walked off onto the boulevard. They walked and talked for about a half an hour. Pierre suggested that they turn off onto a side street.

  As they were walking down the darkened street, Pierre suddenly pushed Jacques into a doorway. He pulled at the zipper on his pants and Jacques’s penis sprang forward. Pierre slapped the phallus until it was stinging and throbbing with pleasure.

  Jacques pushed Pierre’s head down onto his erection until he could feel it in the boy’s throat. He muffled his scream as he felt himself ready to come. He could hardly keep his balance.

  Pierre quickly turned around and pulled his pants down. Jacques rammed his penis deep inside the boy. They both collapsed in the doorway.

  * * *

  During the next few weeks they covered all the Côte d’Azur from Monte Carlo to St.-Tropez. After they returned to the hotel they went down to the bar and found a very crowded room. They were greeted by M. Gould. He quickly found them a table.

  Maurice had a pastis. “No one here knows there is a war going on,” he said as he motioned around the room. “The Germans are all over Monte Carlo and Nice. They have their families come down to vacation with them. Cannes has the English, c’est la même. From La Napoule through St.-Tropez there are all Scandinavians. I don’t see anything for us down here.”

  Jacques had a cognac and a cigarette. “You’ve not been watching the same things I have.”

  “You’re so smart,” Maurice said sarcastically. “What have I not seen?”

  “The whores, male and female—they will destroy the German army here faster than any battle. Syphilis is rampant here. So Nice and Monte Carlo are not for us.”

  “Then what is good for us?” Maurice asked.

  “We build a villa in Cannes. I located a hill just behind the town of Cannes. The cost is very low, The owners are afraid of the war and want out. I also heard about four thousand hectares of farmland partly on the side of the hills in Bandol, not far from St.-Tropez.” Jacques ordered another cognac. “I already have our specialists from Cabernet analyzing the farmland to see if we can grow grapes. I’ve had a builder seeing if we could construct a winery.”

  “And the answer?” Maurice asked.

  “It will work,” Jacques answered. “In addition to this, I see great growth in the Côte after the war. I hear plans of many hotels and businesses here. I plan to make Plescassier water the first water sold in the entire Côte and also to become the biggest distributor.”

  Maurice looked at him. “And where will you get all the money to do this expansion?”

  “I will begin negotiations with the American, Monsieur Gould, and the German company, Wasserman. I will offer them fifteen percent of the company and profits and they will jump at the idea.” Jacques lit another cigarette. “There is only one small problem.”

  “What’s that?” Maurice asked.

  “I have the clap,” Jacques said. “I was stupid, I know. But he was a pretty young boy I met on an evening stroll.”

  “Fleming has a cure for it,” Maurice smiled.

  “C’est vrai,” Jacques answered. “But it’s annoying.”

  7

  Jean Pierre entered the headmaster’s office. He bowed politely. “Bonjour, Monsieur Barnett.”

  The headmaster remained in his chair behind the desk. He spoke to Jean Pierre in English. “It is June, Jean Pierre, and the term is finished. Another week and the school will be deserted. Do you have a program for the summer? I haven’t heard from your father.”

  “I haven’t heard from him either,” said Jean Pierre.

  “But you do have enough money to get you through the summer. I just have not been given any instructions where you are to go when school is closed.” Mr. Barnett rose from behind his desk and faced Jean Pierre. “Have any of your classmates invited you to their home for the summer?”

  Jean Pierre shook his head. “No.”

  Mr. Barnett leaned back against the desk. “Very strange. Many of the pupils will have one or another of his classmates spend the summer with him.”

  “No one has asked me,” Jean Pierre answered without any rancor. “I think that they feel I am French and not really one of them.”

  Mr. Barnett nodded. “I had the same problem when I attended school in Canada. Many of my classmates didn’t like me because I was American. My spoken English was better than theirs, of course, and they didn’t like it.”

  “I have the same problem because of my French. They think I look down at them,” Jean Pierre answered.

  Mr. Barnett looked at him. “Do you?”

  Jean Pierre smiled. “In a kind of way. They seem like such children. They are always asking me to explain life to them.”

  “Well, Jean Pierre, you do seem older than they,” Mr. Barnett said. “How old are you exactly.”

  “Ten years and five months,” Jean Pierre said proudly.

  “You are bigger than most boys in your class,” Mr. Barnett said, and met his eyes. “I spend the summer with my family in the United States. We spend summers in an area called Cape Cod, with a home on the beach near the Atlantic Ocean. Do you think you would like to spend your holiday there? Your English would be better almost immediately.”

  Jean Pierre met the headmaster’s eyes. He knew the look. He had seen it many times when his father or grandfather saw another man. “I would like it very much,” he answered. “But I do not have permission from my father.”

  “Perhaps I can send a telegram to your father.” Mr. Barnett smiled at him. “I’m sure when I explain the situation at school, he will approve.”

  “My father probably is not at our home in Paris. The last letter that I did receive,” Jean Pierre said, “he and my grandfather were planning on spending the summer in Nice. I am supposed to write them at the Hotel Negresco in Nice.”

  “All right, Jean Pierre. I will try to reach your father as soon as possible and I will let you know of the answer.” Mr. Barnett held out his hand to Jean Pierre and spoke in confidence. “Don’t speak to anyone here in the school about our conversation, Jean Pierre.”

  Jean Pierre shook the headmaster’s hand. He felt the man trembling
slightly. He smiled and looked up at him. “I’ll be careful. No one will hear anything from me. Thank you, Monsieur Barnett.”

  8

  All the students had left the school by the second day of July. The school was being refurbished by workmen who were painting, repairing, and fixing the wear and tear of the last year. Several of the younger teachers were staying on the campus to supervise the work.

  Jean Pierre walked through the lonely and empty halls. He really was surprised, but he did miss his classmates. He was very relieved when he received the mail on the morning of the second from his father, who approved of his summer plans. His father had also enclosed two hundred dollars American. He immediately went to Mr. Barnett’s office and gave him the check. He also gave the letter from his father to the headmaster. “My papa is very smart. He is sending the money so that I am no financial problem for you.”

  Barnett smiled. “Your father is very intelligent, but he did not have to worry about the financial support for you. I have invited you as my guest, and of course, I planned to pay all of the costs.”

  Jean Pierre smiled back at him. “Thank you. I am very grateful to you.”

  “Have you packed your valises yet, Jean Pierre?” Barnett asked.

  Jean Pierre laughed. “I’ve been packed since your first invitation.”

  Barnett gestured to him. “Come here behind the desk with me. I would like to show you how we’re getting there.”

  “I’m not worried,” Jean Pierre said. “I know the right way.”

  Mr. Barnett raised his eyebrows. “How do you know?”

  “I went to the railroad station and collected all of the routes to Cape Cod,” Jean Pierre answered.

  Mr. Barnett looked at him smugly. “Did you collect a train route to Detroit, Michigan?”

  Jean Pierre was flustered. “Monsieur Barnett, I don’t understand. On the atlas, Detroit is next to the Great Lakes, which is in the upper center of the United States, and we are going to Cape Cod near the Atlantic Ocean. That’s exactly the wrong way to get there.”

  Barnett laughed. “Don’t be silly. We are going to the ocean, but first we are going to Detroit. Mr. Henry Ford has made new improvements on his Model T and I have bought one. We will collect the car at his factory in Detroit and then we will drive to the coast.”

  Jean Pierre was excited. “That will be really a long drive. It’s great. I never imagined a trip like this.”

  “I think it will be wonderful.” Barnett laughed with Jean Pierre. “Now come here behind the desk and let me show you the photographs of the automobile and the map of our route.”

  Jean Pierre went and sat beside him behind the desk. Barnett had the literature of the automobile and the maps spread out before them. He placed one hand on Jean Pierre’s shoulder and with the other hand he pointed out the auto and the route.

  Jean Pierre felt the headmaster’s hand pressing his shoulder against him. He said nothing. He felt it was comforting in a strange way. Kind of like family.

  Barnett turned his body slightly against him. Jean Pierre felt the headmaster’s leg pressing against him. He looked up at the teacher, smiling. “You’re strong,” he said.

  “Yes,” Mr. Barnett replied. “I’m very strong.”

  “I’m glad,” Jean Pierre said. “My father is strong, and you remind me of him.”

  Barnett relaxed and moved slightly away from him. “You will need a visa to enter the United States. Do you have one?”

  “I don’t think so. I was only planning to stay in Canada on my student’s passport,” Jean Pierre said, feeling worried. “Will I have any problem?”

  “No, Jean Pierre, I don’t think so,” Barnett replied, at the same time squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “I am a good friend of the American consul here. Tomorrow we’ll go there and see him.”

  “Thank you, Monsieur Barnett,” he said. “I don’t know how I could do these things without you.”

  “It’s nothing,” Mr. Barnett said softly. “I am very fond of you, dear boy. As a matter of fact, I think it is time that you call me by my Christian name in private. My name is Elisha.”

  Jean Pierre looked at him. “I don’t know. Someone might overhear us.”

  “Nonsense,” Barnett said. “We’ll be careful. Now call me Elisha.”

  “Elisha,” Jean Pierre said, and smiled.

  9

  The Canadian Northeastern Railroad had a direct express that traveled between Montreal and Detroit. There were only three stops in Canada before the train crossed into the United States. They were Ottawa, Toronto, and then Windsor. Windsor was where the customs and formalities occurred before entering into the United States.

  The trip was a total of six hundred miles. Barnett was an experienced traveler and booked a cabin for both of them which was very comfortable and had an upper and a lower bunk. The two days they spent on the train were very enjoyable.

  Jean Pierre and Elisha both agreed that the food on the dining car was better than the food at the school. Barnett allowed Jean Pierre his privacy and did not attempt anything that might upset him. By the time they arrived in Detroit Jean Pierre was completely relaxed with sharing a room with his teacher.

  Jean Pierre had never seen a city like Detroit. It was nothing but factories. The Ford Motor Company seemed to own the whole city. There were factories to manufacture automobiles that seemed almost five streets long, and at the end of each there would always be a brand-new black Model T Ford waiting to be driven onto a railroad car sitting on the track.

  What had really astonished Jean Pierre was how rapidly the automobiles seemed to be arriving, one every five minutes, ready to be driven. Another thing that surprised Jean Pierre was that most of the workmen were Negroes. In France he had only seen a Negro occasionally. The other workers who were not Negroes were farmers who, it seemed, had never lived in the city before. They spoke another English, which was almost impossible for him to understand.

  Jean Pierre looked at Barnett as they were walking through the factory. “I don’t understand it. At home every workman must dress properly, even with the smallest position. Shirt, trousers, jacket, like a suit. These men wear overalls with a belt or suspenders and an undershirt that looks dirty. I guess Monsieur Ford does not pay them much money to live on.”

  Barnett laughed. “These men are some of the best-paid workmen in the world. Ford pays them as much as five dollars a day, some even more. He only wants them to produce. He doesn’t care how they look. If they are good, he will pay them whatever they want. He is manufacturing almost fifty percent of the automobiles in the world.”

  Jean Pierre shook his head. “They don’t look like the best-paid workers in the world.”

  Barnett smiled. “Don’t worry about it. It’s the American way.”

  The next day Barnett took Jean Pierre to the sales department of the Ford Motor Company, a few streets over from the factories. The sales department was in a large one-story building that seemed to be nothing but windows with one automobile after another on display.

  They entered the main door of the building and were greeted by a young man who took them directly to a sales manager’s office. The sales manager was also a young man and introduced himself to Mr. Barnett. Barnett nodded pleasantly to the salesman, opened his briefcase, and handed a large envelope to him that contained the sales contract already paid for in full. The manager was pleased.

  “Mr. Barnett, your car is ready for you,” he said. “If you will kindly follow me I will take you to it.”

  They walked through a maze of brand-new autos and finally came to an area where automobiles were being cleaned and polished by black workmen. The sales manager checked the slip he held in his hand. He called to one of the workmen. “Car number 11,931, please.”

  In only a few short minutes, the workman drove the automobile to them. Jean Pierre had never seen a car like this. It was shining inside and out. It had a canvas top, and between the body of the car and the top was a celotex attached to leather sq
uares which served as a protection from rain that might spill into the automobile.

  The sales manager turned to Barnett. “There are several extras that you can buy that might be helpful. First, I suggest that you buy an extra tire because it will be more convenient in case you have a flat on the road. Second, you will need a set of Ford tools in case you have to repair anything on the road. Third, you can purchase a Ford jack that can help you lift the car. Lastly, four cans that won’t rust or corrode to carry distilled water for the radiator or battery, and two cans in which you can carry gasoline in case there are no gas stations as you travel. In some areas,” he explained, “there are no gas stations for many miles. Also, it would be a good idea if you carried several quarts of Ford oil if the engine begins to dry out.”

  “Nobody ever told me about all of this,” Barnett replied, annoyed.

  The salesman shrugged. “Usually it is not necessary to have this, because most trips are short and in an area where service is available,” the sales manager explained patiently. “But as I understand, you are driving to the Atlantic Coast. That’s almost halfway across the country, at least one thousand miles. The roads are not always the best, and gas stations may not be handy.”

  Barnett looked at him. “How much will all of this cost?”

  The sales manager had the answer. “Two hundred and fifty-one dollars. Plus another thirty dollars for someone to teach you how to drive, as well as how to fix any problem you might have on the road.”

  “But the automobile cost four hundred and thirty dollars to start with. Now this makes it even more expensive,” Barnett said.

  “It would be very expensive if you got caught on the road a hundred miles away from any help,” the sales manager countered. “Believe me, Mr. Barnett, having these extras is the right way to go.”

  “I guess so,” Barnett said. “But I guess I will have to stay an extra day in Detroit.”