A Clean Pair of Hands (7 page)

The Miltons’ second home at Branne, near Bordeaux, was an eighteenth-century chartreuse, with three characteristically communicating main reception rooms, taking the full width of the front of the ground floor. It was a long, low, smooth white-stone building with tall windows which filled it with light and made it immediately welcoming. The grounds were simple to maintain, with a few flower beds containing magnificent irises and a string of small topiary yews in a dotted line across the coarse-grass area alongside the white-gravelled front approach track. One evening, while the Bodins were staying there with the Miltons, Michel announced that he was expecting a visitor from Paris next morning. He emphasised that he wanted to avoid any inconvenience to his hosts, but one of his collaborators was bringing some documents for him to sign and would return to Paris the same day. George insisted that the visitor should at least stay for lunch, so it was agreed that if there was enough time he would stay a while and maybe take a siesta before leaving.

Next morning, as the sun was still warming the misty spring landscape, a BMW R1200 motorcycle burbled
slowly up the drive and halted just in front of the stone steps to the main door. The rider removed his helmet to greet George and the two men chatted. George spent a few minutes admiring the motorcycle which had just covered three hundred and fifty miles in less than five hours, including fuel stops, and was soon going to make the same journey in reverse after the rider had enjoyed a meal and probably a few glasses of wine. Then the pair went inside to find Michel. He was sitting on the back terrace reading a book, so after greetings George left them together, wondering what the meeting was all about.

Over lunch, Michel made an announcement to the family. He had sold his business. He had agreed to a consultancy contract for himself to train the buyers for one year, and as soon as the business transferred to the new owners’ existing office, he would be able to let the vacated offices to an Indonesian bank on a long-term contract, thus guaranteeing another income for him. He had now signed all the documents for both transactions and he was a happy man. George poured champagne for all and they enjoyed a noisy and good humoured meal which lasted until around 4pm, when the motorcyclist took a 15 minute siesta before taking off for Paris.

The Miltons remained puzzled as to why Michel should sell such a successful business. “That’s the trick,” explained George to Thérèse, “he’s selling at the top of the market.” That indeed proved to be the case.

Two years later, the two partners who bought Michel’s business filed for bankruptcy and the company ceased trading. Michel’s non-compete agreement was thus void and the field was re-opened for him to move back into the same kind of business. He was in two minds. He had had enough of Paris and family life. He needed to revert
to a more natural existence, living with primitive virtues as he had seen on his travels and read about. This was in line with his idealism and his philosophy. He shared his thoughts and plans on this subject only with Johnny Mendes. Johnny could see no reason why Michel should not make a clean break. In fact, he was planning something similar himself. He invited Michel to join him and his Haitian wife Ayida next time they went to Haiti.

Michel took a decision and threw the dice, but his plan was not as radical as Johnny had suggested. He needed to clear up a few things before leaving.

Michel Bodin did not make a clean break then. Instead, he decided to launch a new business, at first working from home, with an underlying plan to build it up and sell it as a going concern when he was ready. He took it for granted that Charlotte would manage the administration as before, but as he brought together his thoughts about an exit plan he realised that there were one or two changes he needed to make to his domestic arrangements and those changes might take some time to mature, and so Michel launched himself with his usual enthusiasm into the business of acquiring new customers by personal selling. All building operations were contracted out, so although he would advise the clients throughout the projects, the clients would effectively be their own project managers, thus relieving Michel of much of the hassle and risk experienced previously. Within a few months he had enough confidence to open a small office near the Bois de Boulogne on the western edge of Paris, and had rehired some of his most competent design personnel.

Soon after the office had been set up and was fully operational, Michel was following up a sales lead from a previous customer. A man known as ‘The Russian’, whose name was Liptov but was probably not Russian,
had stayed on in Paris after the Second World War and somehow accumulated enough money to acquire about eight bars and brasseries serving food around the eastern and northern banlieues of Paris. The neighbourhoods were unfashionable and the premises scruffy, but they had the right sort of traditional, authentic ambience for 1950s movies, and some of the black and white BBC Inspector Maigret television series had been filmed in and around these establishments. One of the bars displayed proudly on the wall a yellowing war-time poster announcing, ‘Out of Bounds to Allied Military Personnel’. The moulded plaster ceilings were tinted ochre with cigarette smoke and the trade mark of the chain was the smoke-filled and coffee-perfumed atmosphere, which was common to all these establishments.

According to Michel’s information, Liptov had made a fortune and was semi-retired, but now, after years of under-investment, he might be ready to put some of his cash into cautious upgrades to enhance the value of the properties, possibly with a view to selling them. Liptov could not be approached directly. He was, to say the least, a reclusive person, so the challenge to Michel was to find a way in. He found out that Liptov had a manager at one of the brasseries in whom he had absolute confidence. Her name was Kozi Dubois. She was believed to be Dutch, and some of Michel’s contacts thought she possibly had a spell as a prostitute before joining Liptov and moving into management.

The Lion D’Or brasserie in Aubervilliers was just outside the Boulevard Périphérique on the north-east corner of Paris. It was a tough place to control, but Kozi Dubois successfully managed two attractive young women as house prostitutes, and a regular clientele, some of whom were Paris taxi drivers, for whom she played the roles of
platonic mistress and mother. Despite their foul-mouthed banter and frequent lewd propositions, mostly based on wishful thinking, the regulars adored her, and she always had a quorum of rough
chevaliers servants
in the bar to protect her if needed. In turn, she protected the girls from the more sadistic customers and sorted out any misbehaviour. There was a code of conduct extending to escorting inebriated clients back to their homes, and nobody was robbed on the way.

The credit slate could extend for long periods if a client was in genuine difficulties, but the debt would have to be settled quickly once fortunes improved. Infringement due to unemployment could be partially redeemed by unpaid labour, such as cleaning, and washing up. This facility usually provided a good supply of hands to resolve any temporary staffing difficulties.

From her attitude and competence at handling aggressive, oafish men, who were often excited by alcohol, Kozi’s customers speculated that maybe she had been trained in military service. They concluded jokingly that it must have been in the Foreign Legion. Kozi ran a tight ship in a way that some men saw as a challenge. Bets were offered as to whether certain individuals were man enough to overcome her by force if necessary, but none of the regulars would take a chance.

One day, three naive newcomers were talked into accepting the challenge and tried to have their way with her on the billiard table. Kozi left them bent double and holding their testicles as she booted them out. Most regulars thought her status as unopposed ruler of her domain was secure from that day on, but there was a further challenge to come.

One warm summer afternoon, when the front doors were
locked open and there was a lull in the normal flow of traffic in the street, two North Africans entered, walked to the till, pointed pistols, and spoke quietly to Kozi, who was seated on a stool behind the counter reading a newspaper spread on the bar top. There followed a tense silence, broken only by a fly buzzing against a window. A chair creaked, but nobody got up. The few customers gathered to play
belote
turned their heads slowly and cautiously to see how Kozi would deal with this intervention. Cigarettes were carefully settled on ash trays in anticipation. Cards gently turned and lowered to the table.

She looked up, closing her newspaper slowly, leaned forward with her head on one side and shouted, “You’ll have to speak up, I’m deaf.”

The men stepped forward against the counter, gesticulated with their guns and pointed meaningfully to the till. As they did, a muffled chattering sound filled the bar for a second or two. The two men started dancing like puppets, then bent double, dropped their guns, and collapsed, writhing on the floor. The customers saw smoke or dust rising from behind the bar, and noticed that holes had appeared in the cream coloured Formica fascia panel that fronted the bar. Kozi reached for the phone and called the police.

“…Yeah, I shot them in self-defence. I have about eight witnesses.”

All the men’s wounds were below waist level. After a short enquiry, during which Kozi spent a day at the police station, it was found that she had not used excessive force to protect herself from armed robbers. Kozi showed customers the two fully automatic Uzi pistols that she kept under the bar and the word got around. There were no further attempts to rob the brasserie or test Kozi’s authority.

Despite her appearance and professional persona, Kozi
Dubois was married, led a happy domestic life, and was the mother of three young children. She ran about two kilometers a day in the park at nearby Courneuve and regularly worked out in the gym. Her biceps and upright military bearing showed the results.

Michel Bodin knew none of this when he sought her out as his informant had suggested, by going to the Lion D’Or late one afternoon. He sat inside at one of the small round marble-topped tables on ornate cast-iron stands, ordered a beer, and asked to see the manager. The waiter asked him for what reason, and Michel explained that he had a business proposition. Michel bent over and stuffed an empty cigarette packet under one of the table legs to stabilise it and when he looked up, the manager was standing next to him, dominating the seated caller. He had a shock, because apart from being told she was quite a character, nothing had prepared him for what he saw.

Kozi Dubois was six feet tall, quite masculine in her facial appearance, and with cropped, bleached, spiked hair. Her ears carried so many rings that they resembled a metal puzzle. She had a rough Paris accent, throaty voice, and was clearly not going to be a pushover. After standing to shake her powerful hand, Michel offered her a cigarette.

“Thanks, I don’t.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

She called the waiter. “Jerome; a fizzy water here, please.” She turned back, amused and smiling. “So what can I do for you?”

Michel noted the multiple piercings, and speculated as to whether there might be more under cover of clothing. On this occasion, Kozi had abandoned her habitual military fatigues and wore a very short black skirt revealing long athletic legs. Above that, she wore a white tee shirt, and no underwear to prevent her nipples showing. He
could not quite work out whether they were adorned like her ears. It was hard to concentrate. Michel hesitated and drew a cigarette from a new packet to calm him down.

French business negotiations tend to follow a pattern, which to a foreigner may resemble dogs circling each other, sniffing repeatedly and for an inordinate length of time before getting anywhere near the subject of discussion. Kozi betrayed the fact that she wasn’t French by looking at her watch and saying that she had only a few minutes for him. Michel explained that he would like to show her some of the work his firm had done around the Paris region. He had anticipated objections on the grounds that ‘The customers like it the way it is’, so he emphasised the need to retain traditional features whilst modernising some of the equipment, including the kitchen, toilets and lighting, so that it would be easier to clean and maintain and above all sharpen up the external appearance. He had not anticipated her immediate reply.

“OK, make me a proposition for the eight premises in our group; show me what’s in it for me, and I’ll take it to Monsieur Liptov.” He hoped to obtain more information from Kozi before leaving, but she rose, thanked him and left him to his beer. From then on they spoke only on the telephone until the proposal was ready.

Michel spent the next month visiting the seven other establishments discreetly, estimated their dimensions so as not to alarm the local managers, and then developed sketches and selected colour illustrations of other completed projects. The initial estimate came to two million, four hundred thousand francs. The portfolio he presented was enough for Kozi’s purpose, and a week later she called to say that they would go ahead subject to working out a project plan, phasing the work, and coming to an agreement for her. They discussed some tax-saving opportunities
for Monsieur Liptov, and as it became apparent that he was willing to pay a large part of the bill in cash, the main deal was done. They then talked in more detail about the special offers available and Michel made some suggestions as to what could be achieved. Kozi seemed impressed at the range of choice and opted for a new kitchen for her house, so there would be nothing visible from outside.

Michel though, had made a serious mistake by forming a fantasy that Kozi might become part of the deal. He was intrigued by her appearance and excited by the challenge of having sex with such a tall, fit woman. She had a hypnotic allure for him. He couldn’t get the image of her legs out of his mind. He anticipated that she would appreciate rough sex and although he was only about five feet six in height, he was stocky, and reckoned that overcoming any resistance would enhance the pleasure for both of them.

As the final plans and project details came together, he invited Kozi to his office so that he could show her the scale drawings and a virtual tour showing how the interiors would look. They agreed that this could be done only after working hours, so Michel collected her at eleven thirty one night from the Lion d’Or, in the Suzuki 4x4 that he used for business. Once again, Kozi had chosen to wear a short skirt, though this time she retained an opaque khaki tee shirt under a short suede jacket with fringes. They drove through the still-busy Paris streets to Michel’s new office near the Bois de Boulogne on the opposite side of the city and parked almost outside. Their mood was companionable enough and they spent more than an hour in discussion over the plans while drinking coffee. At one point Michel put his hand on hers. She withdrew it slowly. Later, he stood behind her, looking over her shoulder and at some point reaching around her, brushed against her
to indicate something on the plans. She leaned back and looked up, turning her head with a smile.

“Look, if you think you are going to play with me you are going to have to fight me for it.”

This was insufficient warning for Michel. He took it as the challenge he was expecting. It must be an invitation. He breathed deeper. A few minutes later, while Kozi was still seated, he reached down in front of her with both hands, seized the bottom of her tee shirt and pulled it up, revealing her breasts. Kozi arched her back as if with pleasure, slowly reached up to hold Michel’s head in both hands, then after a few seconds of exquisite anticipation, jerked his head sharply sideways. Michel saw stars and fell back, dazed. Kozi got up from the desk, calmly tucked in her shirt, picked up his car keys and her jacket and bag, walked out of the office and drove home in Michel’s car.

Michel couldn’t find a taxi driver willing to take him home, so had to travel by public transport and on foot. When eventually he arrived, he explained to Charlotte that he had had a minor car accident and hurt his neck. She wanted to take him to hospital for a check-up, but he took two paracetamol tablets and went to bed.

The next day, Michel found his car parked outside the office where he had left it, but with the front caved in as if it had run into a tree, though the damage was not quite severe enough to immobilise the vehicle. The car was old and would have been too expensive to repair, so the insurance company treated it as a write off. There was no further discussion at home about the events at his office or the true fate of the car.

The Liptov project was completed to everybody’s satisfaction, proving that Kozi bore no grudge.