Bender at the Bon Parisien (A Novel) (15 page)

As
he continued running over the bridge, Victor could feel the man’s fingers
brushing the back of his windbreaker. Before he could think of his next move, Renard
brought him to the hard pavement. Victor rolled in pain. When he opened his
eyes, the stranger was upon him.

“I’m
not playing around anymore!” Renard growled as he hit Victor violently with his
fist.

The
bartender let out a cry as he felt the man lift him to his feet and violently
push him to the side of the bridge.

“For
the last time, asshole,” Renard hissed. “Where is it?!”

Victor
squirmed to run but couldn’t move. He felt his spine crack as Renard pushed him
harder against the cool metal rail.

“Wait!”
Victor exclaimed as he tried to steady himself and scrambled for something to grab.

But,
it was too late. His center of gravity shifted over the rail. Renard tried to
change his grip, and the bartender’s jacket slipped through his fingers.
Suddenly Victor fell free of Renard’s hold. Before the bartender realized what
was happening, he was falling toward water.

The air in the bar was
cold. Still positioned between the curtain and the group, Renard stood
motionless as all eyes came to rest upon him.

“You
killed Victor?!” Trudel shouted.

Renard
said nothing.

“Trudel,
dear,” Fleuse sighed sympathetically while moving toward her.

Trudel
let out a primal shriek and reached for her highball glass. She hurled it in
Renard’s direction, not caring that there was still a finger of whiskey left
inside. Peukington’s man instantly ducked for cover as the item sped by his
head and shattered on the wall behind him.

“Hey!”
I yelled instinctively. Janie shielded her head, although she was nowhere near
the shattered glass.

Pistache
dove under a table as Trudel stood in a rage. She also threw an ashtray toward
Renard, then an empty wine glass, but he continued to dance out of the way. A
container full of cocktail napkins and straws, another two glasses, and a beer
bottle sped his way.

“We
were in love!” Trudel spat. “You took him away from me!”

“Trudel,
dear …” Fleuse tried, approaching her cautiously. She jumped when he put his
hand on her shoulder.

“Get
off me!” she yelled through tears. She stormed toward a table and lifted a
chair above her head.

“Darling,
no!” Fleuse yelled, diving out of the way.

“I’m
not your darling!” she exclaimed as she pitched the chair at Renard. Huffing,
she picked up another one. I was impressed with her strength.

Renard
dodged projectile after projectile. “Would you just listen?!” he screamed more
than once.

After
a few chairs, the opera singer stooped to pick up the safe. She hoisted it into
her arms, but unsurprisingly couldn’t throw it like she had a chair. She
mustered a deep breath and heaved it toward the man, but couldn’t keep her
balance. Unable to let it go properly, she came crashing down on a tabletop
with the safe. She lay sobbing among the splintered pieces of the shattered table
when Janie and Fleuse arrived at her side.

“Are
you okay?” Janie asked as she clasped Trudel’s hand. “Let’s get you up.”

With
Fleuse’s help, Janie was able to get her to her feet.

“Let’s
find somewhere to sit you down,” Fleuse suggested.

“Good
luck,” Pistache said, still hiding under a table. “She just destroyed half the
chairs in here.”

“Listen,”
Renard tried to explain. “I didn’t intend to or even want to kill Victor
Lacquer!”

“Horseshit!”
Trudel spat through the tears.

“Think
about it!” Peukington’s man continued. “Why would I want to get rid of my best
lead?!”

Pistache
leapt from hiding. “So she throws some bar stuff at you, are you going to kill
her next?!”

“Of
course not,” Renard angrily shouted.

“Well,
don’t act so surprised that I’ve posed the question. It is obvious that the
game has changed now.”

“How
has the game changed?” Renard asked. “You still stole something and I need it
back!”

“Yes,
before it was about this damned coin. Now it is about murder!” Pistache yelled.
“Is anyone getting out of this bar alive unless we produce the coin? And then,
what will happen? You might kill us anyway!”

Janie
sat down with Trudel. Although they spent time beating each other up in the card
game, I saw Janie pat the opera singer’s hand.

Trying
to diffuse the situation, I slowly came out from behind the bar.

“I’m
not trying to leave right now,” I cautiously explained. “Let’s all try to calm
down. Everyone grab a chair, sit at a table, and let’s just talk about this
like adults.”

No
one moved.

“Well,
I’ll tell you what,” Pistache ranted on, staring at Renard. “I sure don’t plan
on letting this go on any longer. I’m taking off.”

“Jacques,”
Renard spat. “We’ve been over this. You know I can’t let you walk out of here
right now.”

“Who
says that you can stop me?” Pistache hissed back.

“Jacques,”
Fleuse muttered quickly.

“What?!”
Pistache said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Jacques,”
Fleuse said again.

“Dammit,
Fleuse! What?!” Pistache yelled, snapping his head toward the clockmaker.

“I
don’t think you want to go.”

“Why
the hell not?!”

“Well
look,” Fleuse said with a motion toward the splintered table.

The
safe sat exactly where Trudel fell with it. It was resting on its backside, and
I had to turn my head to see the dial. To all of our astonishment, the safe’s
door had finally popped slightly open.

“I
don’t believe it,” Pistache said quietly.

“I
did it,” Trudel whispered proudly with tears still on her face.

Pistache
rolled his eyes at the woman.

“Well
for God’s sake,” Janie said. “Someone just look inside the damned thing.”

Renard
approached the safe. He knelt beside it and slowly peered inside. “Wow.”

“What’s
in it?” Fleuse asked.

“Uh
…” Renard said with a chuckle. “This might not be easy. Let’s get it up.”

Fleuse
stood to help, but Renard quickly continued, “No, stay where you are. I need
the American to give me a hand.”

All
eyes on the room landed on me just in time to witness my surprise. “Me?”

Renard
began to position himself over the safe to lift it. “Yes you. I just need help
moving this. Let’s get it up to the bar, then we can sort through the
contents.”

“Well,
what’s inside?” I asked again, joining Peukington’s man.

“Yeah,
is the coin there?” Janie echoed.

“I
don’t know,” Renard answered. “Have a look.” He tilted the safe in my direction
so I could best see through the open door. Light from the overheads splashed
across the inside of the safe. I almost gasped when I saw not one, but many
glistening coins of all sizes and metals. Each one was different.

I
slowly knelt as I registered the scene. “Treasure,” I whispered in awe.

“It’s
got to be Victor’s collection,” Pistache muttered.

“His
collection is bigger than that,” Fleuse said.

“I
thought he’d sold most of it off,” Trudel answered.

“Did
he ever mention any part of the collection here?” Fleuse asked her.

“I
don’t think so,” she said.

“It
would make sense that he didn’t store it all in one place,” Renard muttered.

“I
guess,” I said.

“C’mon,
help me move this thing,” Renard urged.

I
stooped across from him, and we lifted the safe. The door swung freely as we
moved it to the bar top. The others migrated in our direction. We carefully placed
the safe on the bar. I heard fabric ripping as we turned the object toward
Renard and the others.

“Oh,
honey,” Janie gasped lightly, almost smiling. “Your shirt.”

My
good sleeve had momentarily been caught on the door, and a tear nearly
separated the cuff from the rest of the sleeve. “Damn,” I uttered.

“Were
you still planning on wearing that shirt after this evening?” Pistache asked.

Janie
chuckled. “It’s seen better nights.”

I
sighed. The shirt was pretty much already ruined, but it was still my favorite
blue plaid. I rolled the cuff to keep it from catching on something else.

Renard
went to work. Opening the door as widely as possible, he began removing coin
after coin. He did so two or three at a time, giving each handful a quick
glance before grunting and setting them aside. For the moment, it looked as
though he no longer cared about anyone leaving through the curtain. That is, it
seemed that way until Pistache took a step in that direction.

“Just
a moment, Monsieur Pistache,” Renard motioned in his direction without looking
up.

“Damn
it,” Pistache said. “Make me a drink, American.”

“You
name it,” I answered.

“Just
whiskey.”

“What’s
that?” Fleuse asked as he casually pointed at something Renard had removed from
the safe without much thought.

“Looks
like a napkin or something,” Renard grunted as he examined another handful of
coin.

Fleuse
approached and picked up what indeed was a cocktail napkin. Casting a critical
eye over the top of his glasses, he held it delicately.

“Why
was there a cocktail napkin in there?” Janie asked.

“I
don’t know,” Fleuse replied. “There might be something written on it.” He
carefully unfolded the thin paper until it was only one ply. Low and behold,
there was a drawing on it, lightly traced in pencil or faded pen.

“What
is it?” Trudel asked.

“It
looks like a layout of this room,” Fleuse said as he continued his examination.

“Maybe
it’s a map, like, a treasure map,” I said half-jokingly.

“Maybe,”
said Fleuse. “There are people’s names placed all around the room.”

“Whose
names?” Renard asked.

“Well,
just people,” Fleuse continued. “Look here’s Trudel.”

“Am
I on there?” Pistache asked.

“No,
but I am,” Fleuse mentioned. His name was next to Trudel’s at the bar area.

“Who
are the rest of these people?” Renard asked.

“Actually,
I don’t know,” Fleuse answered as his finger traced lines from name to name,
placed at tables around all corners of the room. “Susan, Lillian …”

“Hussies,”
Trudel spat quietly.

“This
is where we usually sit though,” he added.

I
leaned in for a closer look. “I love how he’s drawn a star where he stands.
Kind of a ‘you are here’ indication like a map at the mall,” I observed.

“Yeah,
that’s funny,” Janie said.

“Hmm,”
Fleuse laughed a little. “Yes.”

“What
did Victor mean by this seating chart?” Renard asked.

“Well,
let’s be fair here. Are we assuming Victor even drew the map?” I said. “Is
there a name on it? Any indication that it was his?”

“Well,
no,” Fleuse answered.

“Why
not put his own name behind the bar?” Janie asked.

“He
didn’t need to know his own name,” Pistache said with contemptuous tone.

“Well,
he didn’t need to know Trudel’s or Fleuse’s either,” I pointed out. “But
they’re there.”

Renard
had resumed the coin inventory.

“He’s
just jealous that I’m on the map and he’s not,” Trudel stated.

“I
am not,” Pistache said.

“So
maybe this was a seating chart for some kind of event?” I offered.

“There
aren’t events in here,” Trudel said.

“Surely,
hotel guests must have occasions. Maybe Victor was supposed to be planning
something.”

“This
place is pretty slow usually,” she said.

“Yeah,”
Fleuse added. “Just doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s
not here,” Renard said, rejoining the conversation. He sat with the emptied
safe in front of him. There was a significant amount of currency piled on the
bar in front of him. I didn’t recognize any of the coins as euros, or even
francs.

“Damn
it,” Pistache whispered with an eye roll and a swig of his newest libation.

“Are
you sure?” Trudel asked.

“Positive,”
Renard said.

“If
your boss kept it on his person at all times,” I began, “then how would you
know exactly what it looked like? There are a lot of coins there.”

“Well,
he had the item pretty well documented,” Renard stated. “Plus, a lot of these aren’t
even French. Truly, this has to be part of Victor’s collection. There is no way
that this is bar money or anything.”

“Yeah,
I didn’t think it was,” I said.

“Well,”
Renard said as he gently shrugged. “I guess I’ll take a drink too.”

*        *        *

Bees’
hearts beat faster when there’s honey in the hive.
I read one of Janie’s cocktail-napkin poems that she’d left on the bar. She’d
completed several one-liners as she scribbled throughout the night. I don’t
know how she’d remained so relaxed.

I
nervously cleaned glassware. For a party of five people, it seemed as though we
had gone through enough pints and highballs for an entire dining room. Then
again, we broke as many as we didn’t.

It
was starting to feel late. Janie and I had missed our regular dinner hour, but
in the excitement of the evening we’d failed to notice until now. We’d also
failed to address the imminent danger of the situation.