My Name is Karma
Lucas had worked for an international Peace Keeping force with the military. While on patrol overseas, Lucas finds he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s beaten, and left for dead.
As he lay dying, he’s found by another soldier and brought back from the brink.
Years later, Lucas impatiently waits for justice to be done.
But his lover, Yves, has other plans for the three murderous men.
From the moment Yves and Lucas met, finding justice has been a game of time and strategy; But for Lucas, the time has run out and he decides to go rogue.
As a deadly game of cat and mouse is played over the course of nearly a decade, Yves struggles to keep his lover from a crash course with destiny…and destiny’s name is KARMA.
Included in this novel is a previously published short story by RR Monroe, ‘More Than Enough’.
Yves Le Corre relaxed in the back of a stretch limousine. He brushed lint off his black trouser leg and glanced out of the tinted glass. The car pulled in front of a towering high-rise. His driver, Jai, opened the door for him.
He was handed his valise.
In Cantonese, he said, “Keep an eye on the car.”
Yves patted his chauffeur/body guard on the shoulder and entered through the wide glass double doors. He rode the elevator to the twentieth floor, checking his watch as he did.
The elevator’s brass doors slid open to a posh office suite. Expansive views of the city below and surrounding hills created a floating sensation.
“They’re in the conference room, sir.”
“Thank you.” Yves took the mail and messages his secretary handed him. He entered his private office and set his briefcase on his desk.
Before he attended the meeting, Yves stood at the glass wall of windows. The days had become shorter, the temperatures cool, and clouds gathered like military troops before a storm.
“I find it interesting.”
“It does seem too good to be true.”
“Have you ever heard of him previous to this meeting?”
“I had my people research it. Nothing recorded here in the US.”
“My team found this on him.” He slid a piece of paper across the conference table.
After a whistle, he said, “He’s worth over ten billion?”
“So it seems.”
“I don’t see why we all can’t benefit. No need competing.”
“That’s my attitude. We’re in this together.”
“Just like old times?”
“Don’t speak of that here.”
Yves sent a text on his phone. ‘They are all in the conference room.’
He touched the button on his intercom. “I’m ready.” He straightened his tie and left his office, walking to the meeting room. Two of his assistants followed, one with a pad and pen, the other holding folders with files.
The door was opened for him.
The three men in the room stood.
“So nice to meet you, Mr Le Corre.”
“I’m honored, sir.”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
Yves walked to the head of the oblong table. He took a seat and as the others sat down, he whispered to one of his assistants, “Coffee, please.”
A black ceramic mug was filled with coffee from a carafe on a side table. The mug was placed before him.
Yves sipped the strong black coffee, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and looked at the three men at the table.
To him they appeared to be rabid hounds. He hid his distain. “You need money. I have money. Why should I give any to you?” Yves straightened his silk tie.
“Where should I start?” P. Bennun from a pharmaceutical company touched his promotion pamphlet, ready to pounce.
“I have a feeling you’ll like what I came to share with you.” E. Trence, the politician, grinned at him.
And of course, the banker, D. Regan had his say, “There are no wrong answers to any of your questions.”
Yves pointed to the door of the room. His assistant closed it for him.
“Let’s begin.” Yves held his coffee, dying for these hounds to beg.
Lucas turned off his motorcycle engine. He dismounted and kept his helmet on.
City crews were stringing Christmas decorations from the trees and light poles in an attempt at making the holidays festive.
On the face of a city overwhelmed with pain and anxiety; wreathes, stars, and a spectrum of color were hung to mask the seedy underbelly.
Lucas entered the dim parking garage and kept to the concrete walls as cars entered, their rubber tires making screeching noise on the cement flooring.
Lucas reached into his pocket and removed a tracking device. One more look around, and he slid under the passenger’s side, slapped the GPS tracker onto the undercarriage, and slid out. Once he’d attached three devices to three cars, he crouched down until a vehicle left the area, and then made his way to the elevator.
He sent Yves a text, ‘done.’
“I look forward to hearing from you.”
“Let me know if you need any more information about my campaign.”
“We have a great future ahead of us. We would love for you to be an investor in our new research.”
Yves shook hands with the men in suits and then entered his private washroom. He scrubbed his fingers as if he’d dipped them in shit and then gazed into his own green eyes in the mirror.
Drying off on a soft white towel, Yves dropped the cloth into a basket, and removed his phone. He put it to his ear.
“Where are you?”
“Waiting for your call. I’m in the parking garage.”
“They’re on their way out.”
Yves disconnected the call and gave himself a last glance in the mirror’s reflection before returning to his desk.
Lucas hid behind a pickup truck. One of his targets was on his phone, talking into an earpiece as he made his way to his car. The yammering was monotone and filled with bravado. A snicker echoed in the sterile parking area.
The car’s security system chirped and its lights flashed.
“…I don’t care what we have to do. I want that money.”
Lucas, still wearing his helmet and face-shield, stayed put. The cement parking facility echoed as the elevator door closed behind the three men.
“I couldn’t tell from his answers.”
“I hope he’s not just blowing smoke up our asses.”
“I think we need to do more research on him before we give up.”
“He’s dangling a huge amount of money. I’m not giving up.”
Lucas watched the three men stand at the rear of a black sedan.
“I’ve dealt with jerks like this before. We just have to keep up the pressure. He’s looking for tax breaks, not income.”
“Not income? Bullshit. Even rich bastards want more money.”
Lucas caught one of the men spy him.
He touched the other two and made a slight gesture in his direction.
Lucas didn’t move, staring at them.
They disbanded and sat in their cars, starting them and driving to the exit one by one.