I rolled out of bed and padded to the kitchen. Ben had left some cold coffee sitting in the coffee pot. I snooped around his kitchen for a nip to add, but the place was dry of any alcohol, which didn’t surprise me. Ben was so vanilla. If he only knew what I had done the night before. I swallowed the coffee and lit a cigarette on the stove’s burner. I was pretty sure Ben mentioned I could smoke inside his flat. Who could remember the small details after such a life or death night?
I considered my options as I smoked the cigarette, tapping the ashes into my empty coffee cup. Probably the only person in the world who could help me was Pressley Connard, but I had no idea where to find him. He had essentially disappeared since I betrayed him in London. Besides, I reasoned that he was probably back to wanting to shoot me again after the way I double crossed him. What was I doing thinking of Pressley in Ben’s home? While wearing Ben’s snuggly sweatshirt? And eating Ben’s delicious leftover pizza? He had said I could help myself to whatever was in the fridge, right?
Three bites in, I knew that the best thing I could do was get out of Paris. The first obvious problem with that plan was that I had no money. Motley had been my ATM, and that bank was closed. Traveling, I reminded myself, costs money. I reached for my second cigarette and recalled the conversation I had with Rabbit before last night’s dinner. Rabbit mentioned already cashing his payout check from Motley. I wasn’t sure how much it was, but I guessed millions. Enough to retire before age twenty five and disappear. If Rabbit was dead, he wouldn’t need that money. It wasn’t stealing if I took it now. Besides, if he showed up alive, I would give it back to him.
A plan was forming in my head and I was pacing now, my fingers wagging my cigarette in swirling circles, like I was conducting invisible music. The symphony of the obscene. It felt obscene, what I was about to do. But I pushed the guilt to the back of my mind.
I had been to Rabbit’s flat a few times. It was a cute little loft in a limestone-faced building on the other side of the river. I figured it would be easy to let myself in and just do a sweep for the money. I wouldn’t get nosey about it. I wasn’t going to invade a dead man’s privacy. I started to head towards the front door when I felt a cool draft hit my legs and realized I wasn’t even wearing pants. I couldn’t walk around Paris like that, so I opened up Ben’s dresser drawers and grabbed a pair of his hospital scrubs. I climbed inside them and rolled up the bottoms and tightened the waist string. It was not high fashion, but keeping a low profile was probably better.
* * *
A chill had enveloped the city overnight. Paris had been overtaken by the cold and gray look of winter’s cradle. The bare trees were dry as kindling.
I welcomed the stale heat as I plowed through the turnstile doors that led into the lobby of Rabbit’s building. The flooring was resplendent jade and a trim of velvet carpeting lined the walls above the Florentine baseboards. A mint-green fainting couch decorated the lobby, and a girl who was dressed for Pigalle was draped over its plush surface like a napping kitten. I pressed the button to call the elevator cable down to the lobby. My eyes followed the descending numbers as it scuttled down like a comet.
There was a tap at my shoulder. The fingers were bony and cold as death.
My spine bucked. My eyes tightened shut.
“Can I help you, young lady?” The voice in my ear was devilish. The breath in my ear was as hot and stale as the inside of a crypt.
I slowly turned around just as the elevator doors split open in front of me. “I’m visiting a tenant of the building,” I announced.
“Which tenant?” the man at my shoulder inquired. He was a different doorman than the one I had seen in the past. His features reminded me of a pigeon; a nose discolored by veins and skin that was gray and green around the eyes. He pressed the button so that the doors snapped shut.
“Rabbit is who I’m visiting. He is an associate of mine.”
“Mr. Rabbit usually lets me know when he’s expecting a guest.”
“Yes, I know, but Rabbit isn’t in his flat right now.”
“If he’s not in there, then why would you be visiting his apartment?”
“I’m Rabbit’s girlfriend. I need to get in because I’m a -.” I stalled for a moment.
“You’re a what?”
“I’m an ER doctor and I left my pager in his bed last night.” I pinched the excess fabric off Ben’s scrub pants over my thigh. “It was a wild night.” I grinned. The old man’s eyes, tented under bushy eyebrows, were now throbbing with imagination.
His hand jutted out, intentionally skimming the skin on my arm, and he pressed the button on the elevator. “Go on up,” he told me.
Once I got upstairs to Rabbit’s door, picking the lock was cake. But once I stepped inside Rabbit’s flat I had to hesitate for a moment because it felt like a violation of sacred space to be in there. Since Rabbit might be dead and all, and since it was my fault. I looked around and noticed that Rabbit’s flat was neat and ordered, with everything in its place. It was a sign of Rabbit’s well-organized mind and his astute perfectionism. He even had a little toaster oven in his kitchen and you could tell he cleaned the crumb tray regularly. “Oh Rabbit,” I said into the air, “I hope they have crumb trays in heaven.” My eyes got wet. I sucked the tears back and wiped my eyes clean and got to searching for the money.
I tried to imagine where Rabbit would stash the money.
Rabbit was reasonable. He was methodical. He would hide the money somewhere that made sense, but not enough sense that someone could figure it out. I began my search in the bedroom. The bed was carefully made. I used a knife from the kitchen to gut the mattress. Just stuffing and coils. I ruffled through his dresser drawers. Just clothing. I moved to the office. The room contained at least seven different high-powered, government-grade laptops and at least six of them were paused on a game of World of Warcraft or Guitar Hero. I opened every last desk drawer, but the money was nowhere to be found. In a final fit of desperation, I bolted into the bathroom and lifted the lid of the toilet tank. Of course, there was nothing there but a chalky blue tablet. I told myself I would check one last place before giving up and going back to Ben’s flat. I threw back the curtain around the bathtub.
There wasn’t any money in the tub, but the shower faucet had fresh drops of water beading down the spout. One clear, flat drop trailed down the length of the faucet and thudded onto the porcelain tub.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I stepped back. Could it be that Rabbit was actually alive and that he had somehow gotten back to his apartment and freshly taken a shower?
I heard a creek echoing over the floorboards in the hallway.
Was it really Rabbit?
Or had the creepy doorman with the pigeon face let himself in?
My head whipped towards the door. What I saw was not what I expected. It was Rabbit’s shiny metal toaster, and it was about to smash down over my face. The last sight to cross my vision were my own terrified eyes, distorted into imagery of a funhouse mural by the curvature of the toaster, just before it knocked me unconscious.
Chapter Thirty-four: Ropes
THE NEXT TIME I opened my eyes I woke up hogtied in the bathtub. My head was throbbing and there was a faint cyclone of dizzy stars rimming my eyes. The toaster oven was sitting in the sink. I blinked the stars away and turned towards the dark, looming figure who was watching me from the doorway.
There was a petite girl in a black leather leotard and black spiked high heels, and her hands were hugging her slim hips in a way that announced she was very unhappy. She was watching me. She had long, pin-straight black hair, and a figure you’re either born with or you die trying to get. She reminded me of a cartoon character from a Japanese anime movie. I surveyed her glistening, henna-toned eyes and the nasty grin on her stark red lips.
“So, are you ready to talk?” she asked.
“Who are you? Where’s Rabbit?”
She had been the kitten-esque girl wh
o was propped on the mint-green fainting couch in the lobby, I now recognized.
“Why are you looking for Rabbit?” she wanted to know.
“Because he’s my partner.”
“Partner?”
“We work together.”
The exaggerated arches of her thin eyebrows collapsed as she narrowed her eyes on me. “Not because you’re noodling him?”
“Noodling?”
“Don’t play dumb, I think you know what I mean.”
“Don’t be gross,” I said. “I wouldn’t noodle Rabbit for the last pasta on the planet.”
“Are you sure?” Her smooth, dark eyes examined me. “I heard you tell the doorman you were Rabbit’s girlfriend.”
“I was just using that line to get inside. What does it matter to you who I noodle? Especially if it’s dweeby Rabbit.”
“Maybe I don’t like catching some blond bimbo creeping around my boyfriend’s place.”
“I’m sorry, you will have to forgive me since I just got clocked in the head with a toaster, potentially suffering brain damage, but I thought I heard you refer to Rabbit as your boyfriend.”
“Rabbit is my boyfriend. He didn’t come home last night. I thought maybe he was cheating on me, and then you show up in his bathtub.”
“I had no idea Rabbit was hiding a girlfriend. Frankly, I didn’t know the nerd had it in him.”
“Are you really just his partner from work?”
“Yes.”
She let her face relax for a second. Everything on her face looked porcelain and painted. “Rabbit did mention a girl with kooky hair from work.”
“First, I get tied up, and then I get insulted,” I muttered. “Unbelievable!”
She perked one of her dramatically-tweezed eyebrows. “So, if you’re his work partner, does that mean you know where he is?”
“No,” I said, twisting my lips as I lied. “I came here because I’m looking for him too. Maybe if you untie me we can work on finding him together.”
“I guess,” she said. “But don’t try anything funny.” She kneeled beside the tub and undid the ropes.
“My name is Alice.”
“I’m Vivienne Ting,” she said. “I’ve never met anyone Rabbit works with before. He’s a little secretive about work. Whines often about his boss, though. But I guess that’s common.”
“Yeah, we tend not to talk about work outside of work, it’s not exactly a sit-by-the-water-cooler-and-chat kind of job we do.”
“I totally understand.” Her thick eyelashes fluttered like graceful black moths. “I’m in a, shall we say, creative, line of work myself.”
“I’ve never seen you around Pigalle,” I said.
“Pigalle? Don’t be insulting, I didn’t mean that industry.”
“Sorry, I just assumed based on the whole leather and heels ensemble you’ve got going on. What industry do you work in?”
“Burglaries.”
My eyes surveyed all ninety pounds of her lithe body and breakable features. “You’re a burglar?”
“I’m not a common thief or anything. My specialty is my uncanny ability to lift masterpieces from art galleries around Europe with nary a trace of fingerprints.”
“That sounds like quite a talent.”
Vivienne reached down for the rope she had used to tie me up. Now she was using it to lasso the toilet paper dispenser straight off the wall with one seamless tug. “It’s my trick. I have a very gentle touch. I can lift paintings down from the wall without leaving a fingerprint.”
I coughed into my sleeve as the plaster and drywall billowed in the air. “That must be a fun career.”
“Oh, it is,” she said, smugly peering at the blistered gape in the wall. “Are you a fan of art, Alice?”
“Me? Sure. I’m a total masterpiece junkie.”
“Really? What galleries do you visit? I’ll try not to steal any of your favorites.”
I wasn’t about to tell Vivienne that I didn’t know a Monet from a maggot. I really hated the bourgeoisie look people gave me when I told them that mostly I liked Andy Warhol. “I like a lot of galleries. High art mostly. Classy stuff. I often visit the Galleria de Pinut.” I made sure to give my nose a dignified upturn as I cough-spoke the last part.
“The Galleria de Pinut?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never heard of that one and I’ve robbed from pretty much every place in Paris.” She placed a finger on her chin. ”Actually, it sort of sounded like you just tried to say the Peanut Gallery, except you added a French accent.”
“Hardly.”
A big wide grin formed on Vivienne’s face, like she had just pulled back the curtain on Oz. “I get it now,” she said. “You’re a liar too.”
“Too?”
“I’m a liar,” Vivienne announced. “My real name isn’t Vivienne Ting. That’s just a fake name I bought off some guy with a briefcase in Pigalle.”
“You must be talking about Wally,” I said. “I know him. I have to say, you’ve certainly chosen an interesting profession with your new alias.”
“The fake Social Security number I bought came with a complimentary MFA from Barnard, so I used it to get a job as a tour guide at the Louvre. After a while, I figured I would take a more creative spin on having a master’s degree in art.”
“Do you work alone?”
“No, I am employed by somebody, a well-known art dealer based out of Paris. I’m his secret weapon.”
“You work for Jean Etienne, don’t you?”
She beamed a smile that revealed teeth that were as white as fresh ocean pearls. “Yup.”
“You were Rabbit’s source, weren’t you? You gave us a lead on the thumb drive coming in from Tokyo. Rabbit wouldn’t tell me who the source was.”
“He was protecting me. He said he didn’t want me involved in his line of work.”
“You were there that night at the masquerade party too, weren’t you? I remember seeing Rabbit intimately touching a raven-haired girl as I walked down the staircase with Etienne.”
“That was me.”
“Well, you’re a good thief, but you’re a lousy source. The disk was bogus.”
“I know. I’m sorry. When I saw that disk pass through on one of Etienne’s invoices I got excited. I knew Rabbit was looking for the dynamite stick. But I was wrong about what was on the disk.”
“I still can’t believe you would choose to date Rabbit, and that you risked your job to help him find the dynamite stick, especially since you seem to enjoy your career with Etienne.”
“Trust me, I do enjoy working for Etienne. It’s so much better than the twelve-hour days at my parent’s takeout restaurant back in San Francisco. Oh, and I’m much hotter as a liar. When I was still Amanda Ling I was a loser. Everybody loves Vivienne Ting. Especially Rabbit.” Her smile tugged downwards into a pout. “Except that now I can’t find Rabbit anywhere.”
An idea popped into my head. I did all I could to hide the flicker of mischief that I was certain must have flashed over my eyes. “That’s why I’m here, Vivienne. There’s something I nee
d from Rabbit’s flat. Something that will help us find him.”
Her sad, almond-shaped eyes seemed to go brighter. “You have a way to find Rabbit?”
“Rabbit told me that if he ever went missing, that I should come to his apartment and locate a special container. He said whatever is in the container would help me find him - and I know how eager you are to find your boyfriend. Think carefully, have you seen him stash anything away lately?”
Vivienne broached a finger to her lips and contemplated for a moment. “Actually, there was something.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll show you.” I followed the velvet tread of her feet into Rabbit’s bedroom. “He was really excited about this new console for Guitar Hero that was recently released. He had one custom ordered. It’s a fuchsia guitar with little red flames all down the side.”
“A toy guitar?”
“You can only custom order it in that color,” she explained, as though I would now understand the incalculable worth of the object being discussed. “I’ll show you.” She jaunted to the closet and returned cradling an unimpressive plastic guitar in her arms. I wanted to tell her that this was no time for geek show-and-tell. I gave her a befuddled look and let her go on talking. “He brought it home yesterday. He told me if there was a fire in the apartment that I had to make sure and grab it.”
“He said that?” I asked.
“Actually, he also told me never to take it out of the closet, and especially never to show it anybody.”
“Let me see that guitar, Vivienne.”
“Oh, you can call me Viv,” she said, laying the guitar into my arms.
“Damn, you really are a sweet girl. This is going to make what I’m about to do that much harder.”
“Make what so much harder?”
“You’ll see.” I ceremoniously raised the guitar above my head while Vivienne looked on. Then, with a rapid motion, I threw it down to the floor. The impact of the crash sent the plastic fingerboard scuttling across the room.
Vivienne let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Alice, what are you doing? You’re ruining it! It’s custom made!” Her tongue vibrated in her throat, another shrill cry ripping from her teeth, as she exclaimed, “Custom made!”
“I’m sorry, Viv, but I’ve got to do this. You will see why in a minute.” I scooped the guitar up and smashed it against Rabbit’s bed’s headboard.
Vivienne’s hands flew up to cover her eyes, the carnage overwhelming her. “I can’t look.”
The guitar shattered in half with a clean split. “Trust me,” I said, “you will want to see this.”
Generation of Liars Page 26