Page 39 of The Butcher

“Have you ever heard of the Fifth Republic Conspiracy?”

She considered the question before she shook her head. “No.”

“Well, it’s not a conspiracy—it’s the truth,” I said. “There are two levels of the Senate, the Senate and the National Assembly. But there’s actually a third level—the French Emperors. I’m the first of five. It’s a secret society, essentially.”

She was still as she listened, giving no reaction to what I said like she needed more time to process that information. She might not follow politics at all, might just know President Martin was the current president and nothing else.

“In the last few decades, crime has become rampant in France, particularly Paris. Trafficking, organized crime, drug operations and possession, sacrificial cults out in the wilds—all that shit has become a problem. It used to be a safe place for travelers, but now it’s become a higher-risk area, particularly for the vulnerable, especially women. Rather than vanquish all those organizations, I police them.”

She hadn’t blinked since I’d started talking, completely enraptured by this information.

“They continue their operations—but under the rules of the Fifth Republic. In exchange for their cooperation, they’re allowed to continue their criminal activities without fear of apprehension. And the Fifth Republic is compensated through taxes and tariffs.”

She didn’t ask any questions, either because she was in shock or she didn’t want further information.

I drank my wine as I watched her process all this information with a preternatural calmness.

“How are you compensated?”

“I claim a percentage of the taxes and tariffs.”

“How do you do this all by yourself?”

“I don’t.” I had men on my payroll everywhere, had snitches in the midst of the organizations I policed, had my own headquarters and my own men to do my bidding, and also had the police force if I needed it. “There’s a president of the Senate, there’s a president of France, and there’s a president of the French Emperors—which is me.”

If her husband weren’t a criminal, she probably wouldn’t have believed any of that and would have bolted out of there as fast as possible. And maybe she remembered the night we met, when I’d handled those idiots as they’d tried to rob the bar with machetes. That was just a slow night for me.

“Homines ex codice.”She said the same words to me that I’d said to others. “I remember you said that at the bar to those guys…like they were supposed to know what that meant.”

“Man of the code,” I said. “Roughly translated from Latin.”

“And what is the code?”

“Not to harm innocents. And not to endanger women. They can conduct their clandestine affairs all they want, as long as they do those things and pay their taxes. Seems like a simple ask, but there was pushback. About fifteen years ago, there was a drug operation outside of France that used trafficked women as free labor. It caught on, and more men started to do it. We had so many missing persons reports that the United Nations classified us as an unsafe country for travelers. Tourism suffered, and the economy hit an all-time low—other than during the Second World War. The third level of the Senate was formed, and I was elected to the position, and the other Four Emperors aid me in this duty. I consider myself a patriot of this country, a distant relative of Napoleon Bonaparte, so I felt compelled to do it.”

She was quiet for a very long time. Probably minutes. “And why did they choose you?”

“I was well-connected in the criminal underworld in my previous profession.”

“Which was?”

I smiled slightly. “A hit man.”

She continued to stare at me with that steel-like gaze, her thoughts a mystery.

I was afraid that she would leave and never come back. That she would realize I was dangerous by association and she should avoid me at all costs. But I wouldn’t lie to her—not even to keep her.

“You need not fear me, sweetheart.”

Her eyes had wandered elsewhere in her thoughts. It took her a moment to look at me again. “I don’t.”

“Good.”

“I probably should, but I don’t.”

I watched her green eyes, saw the way she argued with herself on the inside, the way she tried to understand the severity of her predicament.

“I just don’t really care…about anything.”

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