“Where are we going?”
“To listen to Ferré, if that’s OK with you.”
In his bar, the Maraîchers à la Plaîne, Hassan, an Arab, never played raï, rock, or reggae. Just French chanson, almost always Brel, Brassens and Ferré. He liked to catch his customers off guard.
“Hello, strangers,” he said, when he saw us come in.
Here everyone was a stranger and a friend, whatever the color of their skin, hair or eyes. Hassan’s clientele was mostly young: high school kids and college students. The kind who cut classes, preferably the most important ones. They’d discuss the future of the world over a glass of draft beer, then, after past seven, make up their minds to change it. Nothing ever got changed, but it was a nice way of killing time. Ferré was singing:
We’re no saints.
Our miracle’s Cinzano.
No complaints,
We’ll always pray to Pernod.
All I could do was drink. It was too late in the day for pastis. Glancing at the bottles, I opted for a Glenmorrangie. Pérol chose draft beer.
“Haven’t you ever been here before?”
He shook his head. He was looking at me as if I was sick. A hopeless case.
“You ought to get out more. You know, Pérol, we should go out some evening, just you and me. Otherwise, you lose touch with reality. You know what I mean? You lose your sense of reality, and hey presto, you don’t know which shelf you left your soul on. The shelf where you put your friends. The shelf where you put your women. Stage right, stage left. Or in the shoe box. You turn around and you find you’re stuck in the bottom drawer, with the accessories.”
“Stop it!” he said, though without raising his voice.
“You know,” I continued, ignoring his anger, “I think a few bream would be nice. Grilled with thyme and bay. And just a drizzle of olive oil on top. You think your wife would like that?”
I wanted to talk about cooking. To list all the dishes I could make. Cannelloni, cooked slowly with ham and spinach. Tuna salad with new potatoes. Marinaded sardines. I felt hungry.
“Are you hungry?”
Pérol didn’t reply.
“Pérol, you know something, I’ve forgotten your first name.”
“Gérard,” he said, smiling at last.
“OK, Gérard. Let’s have another drink, then we’ll go grab a bite to eat. What do you say?”
Instead of answering my question, he told me about the mess things were in over at the station house. Auch had come to claim Mourrabed, because of the arms. Brenier wanted him because of the drugs. Loubet refused to let him go, because, goddammit, he was investigating an actual crime. Immediately, Auch had turned on Farge, who’d been playing the fool, over-confident about being protected, and hit him. If he didn’t explain how the arms had come to be in his cellar, Auch screamed, he’d blow his brains out.
Then Muscles, who I’d sent to Pérol, ran into Farge in the corridor, and started screaming that he was the one who’d sent him to break the hooker’s teeth. As soon as the word ‘hooker’ reached the floor below, Gravis showed up. Pimps were his department. And he knew Farge like the back of his hand.
“That was when I decided to say how surprised I was that Farge didn’t have a record.”
“Good thinking.”
“Gravis screamed that the station was full of idiots. Auch screamed that they’d make a new record for Farge right away. And he passed Farge on to Morvan for a guided tour of the basement.”
“And what happened?” I asked, even though I could guess the answer.
“Couldn’t handle it. Had a heart attack, forty-five minutes later.”
How much longer did I have to live? I wondered what dish I’d like to eat before I died. Maybe fish soup. With a good spicy sauce, made with sea-urchin flesh and a little saffron. But I wasn’t hungry anymore. And I’d sobered up.
“How about Mourrabed?”
“We read over his confession, and he signed it. Then I passed him to Loubet. OK, now you tell me your story. I need to know what you’re mixed up in. I don’t want to die an idiot.”
“It’s a long story. Let me just go take a leak.”
In passing, I ordered another Glenmorrangie. It was the kind of drink you didn’t even notice you were drinking. In the toilet, some joker had written: Smile, you’re on Candid Camera. I gave my smile No 5. Don’t worry, Fabio. You’re the fairest of them all. The strongest too. Then I put my head under the faucet.
By the time we got back to the station house, Pérol knew the whole story. In the smallest detail. He’d listened without interrupting. It did me good to tell him the story. It didn’t really help me to see things more clearly, but I had the feeling I knew where I was going.
“Do you really think Manu planned to double-cross Zucca?”
It wasn’t impossible, given what he’d told me. It wasn’t so much the job itself that had excited him, it was all the money he was going to make from it. But at the same time, the more I thought about it, the less likely it sounded. Pérol had put his finger on it. I couldn’t see Manu hustling Zucca. He sometimes did crazy things, but he was like an animal, he could smell real danger. And besides, it was Batisti who’d found him the job, and Batisti was the father he’d chosen for himself. The only guy he trusted, more or less. Batisti wouldn’t have done that to him.
“No, Gérard, I don’t think so.”
But I still didn’t see who could have taken him out.
There was one other question I couldn’t answer: how had Leila gotten to know Toni?
I’d been planning to ask him. It was academic now, but I felt strongly about it. It gnawed away at me, like jealousy. Leila in love. I’d come around to the idea, but it wasn’t easy to admit that a woman you desire is in bed with another guy. I may have made my decision, but it just wasn’t as simple as that. With Leila, I might have been able to start from scratch, to reinvent, to rebuild my life. Free of the past, free of memories. It was an illusion. Leila was the present and the future. I belonged to my past. If I was to have a happy tomorrow, there was unfinished business I had to get back to. Lole. And the past we’d shared.
Leila and Toni was something I couldn’t grasp. It was definitely Toni who’d picked up Leila. The super from the college residence had called during the afternoon, Pérol told me. His wife had remembered seeing Leila in the parking lot talking to the driver of a Golf convertible, then getting in. She’d even thought, “Hey, all right for some!”
Behind the railroad tracks of the Saint Charles station, stuck between the exit from the northern freeway, Boulevard de Plombières and Boulevard National, the Belle de Mai neighborhood was the same as ever. The way of life there hadn’t changed. A long way from downtown, even though it was only a few minutes away. There was still a village spirit there, just as there was in Vauban, the Blancarde, the Rouet, or the Capelette, where I’d grown up.
As children, we often went to the Belle de Mai. To fight, usually over girls. There was always a scrap going down. And a stadium or a waste land where we could lay into each other. Vauban against the Blancarde. The Capelette against Belle de Mai. The Panier against the Rouet. After a dance, a fair, coming out of the movies. It wasn’t like West Side Story, Latinos versus WASPs. Every gang had its share of Italians, Spaniards, Armenians, Portuguese, Arabs, Africans and Vietnamese. We fought over a girl’s smile, not because of the color of our skins. It created friendships, not hatreds.
One day, behind the Vallier stadium, I got really badly roughed up by a wop for eyeing his sister as we were coming out of the Alhambra, a dance hall in the Blancarde. Ugo had picked up a couple of girls there, and it made a change from the Salons Michel. We later discovered that our fathers were from neighboring villages. Mine from Castel San Giorgio, his from Piovene. We went off to grab a beer. A week later, he introduced me to his sister, Ophélia. We were paese, which made it
different. “If you manage to keep her, I take off my hat to you! She’s just a tease.” Ophélia was worse than that. She was a bitch. She was the girl Mavros had married. And look what a hard time she’d given him.
I’d lost all notion of time. I parked my car almost outside the apartment building where Toni lived. His Golf was parked about fifty yards up the street. I had a few smokes and listened to Buddy Guy. Damn right, he’s got the blues. A fantastic recording. Backed by Marc Knopfler, Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck. I was still hesitating to pay Toni a visit. He lived on the second floor, and there was a light in his apartment. I wondered if he was alone or not.
Because I was alone. Pérol had gone off to Bassens. Things were about to turn ugly. There was going to be trouble between the neighborhood kids and Mourrabed’s buddies. A bunch of really scary characters had appeared on the scene, provoking the kids in the project. They’d let the cops take Mourrabed in. They were well organized, that was obvious. The tall black kid had already been beaten up. Five of them had cornered him in the parking lot. The Bassens kids didn’t like anyone muscling in on their territory. Especially not dealers. Knives were being sharpened.
Cerutti couldn’t handle it on his own. Even with the help of Reiver, who’d hotfooted it there, ready to do the night shift after his day shift. Pérol had rounded up the teams. There was no time to lose. A few dealers had to be collared, on the pretext that Mourrabed had turned them in. The rumor needed to be spread that he was a squealer. That ought to calm things down a bit. We wanted to avoid the Bassens kids getting into fights with these scumbags.
“Go grab a bite to eat, take a breather, and don’t do anything stupid,” Pérol had said. “Leave it to me.” I hadn’t told him my plans for this evening. Not that I had any. I just felt that I needed to make a move. I’d made threats. I didn’t want to be like a hunted animal anymore. I had to force them to show their hand. To do something stupid. I’d told Pérol we’d meet up later and put our heads together. He’d suggested I sleep at his house, it was too risky going back to Les Goudes. I could believe that.
“You know, Fabio,” he’d said after listening to me, “of course these things don’t mean the same to me as they do to you. I never knew your friends, and you never introduced me to Leila. But I understand where you’re coming from. I know it isn’t just a question of revenge. It’s the feeling there are some things you can’t let pass. If you did, you wouldn’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror afterwards.”
Pérol didn’t talk much, but now he’d got started, he could be at it for hours.
“Don’t get yourself worked up, Gerard!”
“It’s not that. I’ll tell you something. You’re on to something big. You can’t hit out on your own and hope to get off scot-free. I’m with you. I’m not going to drop you.”
“I know you’re a friend. Whatever happens. But I’m not asking you for anything, Gérard. You know what they say? Beyond this point, your ticket is no longer valid. That’s where I am now. And I don’t want to drag you into it. It’s too dangerous. I think we’d be forced to do things that weren’t very clean. In fact, I’m sure of it. You have a wife and daughter. Think of them, and forget about me.”
I opened the door. He grabbed my arm. “No can do, Fabio. If they find you dead tomorrow, I don’t know what I’ll do. Something even worse, maybe.”
“I’ll tell you what you should do. Make another kid. With the woman you love. Then I’ll be sure there’s a future for the world.”
“You’re just a bullshit artist!”
He’d made me promise to wait for him. Or to join him, if I decided to make a move. I’d promised. That had reassured him, and he’d left for Bassens. He didn’t know I wouldn’t keep my word. No way! I stubbed out my last smoke and got out of the car.
“Who is it?”
A woman’s voice. Young and anxious. I heard laughter. Then silence.
“Montale. Fabio Montale. I’d like to see Toni.”
The door half opened. I must have switched channels again! Karine was as surprised as I was. We stood there looking at each other. Neither of us could say a word. I went in. There was a strong smell of dope.
“Who is it?” I heard someone say at the end of the corridor.
Kader’s voice.
“Come in!” Karine said. “How did you know I live here?”
“I came to see Pirelli. Toni.”
“He’s my brother. He hasn’t been here in ages.”
That was the answer! At last I had it. But it didn’t explain anything. I still couldn’t understand Leila and Toni. They were all here. Kader, Yasmine, Driss. Around the table. Like conspirators.
“Allah is great,” I said, pointing to the bottle of scotch on the table.
“And Chivas is his prophet,” Kader replied, grabbing the bottle. “Have a drink with us?”
They must have drunk quite a lot. Smoked quite a lot too. But I didn’t get the feeling they were having a ball. Quite the opposite.
“I didn’t know you knew Toni,” Karine said.
“We don’t really know each other. You see, I didn’t even know he’d moved.”
“So it must be ages since you last saw him...”
“I was passing and saw a light, so I came up. Old friends, you know.”
They were staring at me. Obviously, Toni and me as old friends wasn’t something they could get their heads around. But it was too late for me to change tack. Their brains were working overtime.
“What did you want with him?” Driss asked.
“A favor. I needed to ask him a favor. Anyhow,” I said, finishing my drink, “I won’t bother you anymore.”
“It’s no bother,” Kader said.
“I’ve had a long day.”
“Collared a dealer, I hear?” Jasmine said.
“News travels fast.”
“Arab telephone!” Kader said, with a laugh that sounded false.
They were waiting for me to explain what I was doing there, looking for Toni. Jasmine pushed a book toward me, still in its gift wrapping. I read the title without even picking it up. Death Is a Lonely Business by Ray Bradbury.
“You can have it. It was Leila’s. Do you know it?”
“She often mentioned it. I’ve never read it.”
“Here,” Kader said, handing me a glass of whisky. “Sit down. There’s no rush.”
“We bought it together,” Jasmine said. “The day before...”
“Oh,” I said. The scotch was burning my insides. I still hadn’t eaten anything all day. I was starting to feel exhausted. The night wasn’t over yet.
“Have you got any coffee?” I asked Karine.
“I just made some. It’s still hot.”
“It was for you,” Jasmine went on. “That’s why it’s gift wrapped. She wanted to give it to you.”
Karine came back with a cup of coffee. Kader and Driss didn’t say a word. They were waiting to hear the rest of the story, even though they already seemed to know the ending.
“I couldn’t figure at first what it was doing in my brother’s car,” Karine said.
That was it. It left me speechless. These kids had knocked me for six. They weren’t smiling now. They looked solemn.
“On Saturday night, he came to take me out for a meal. He does that regularly. Talks to me about my studies. Gives me a little money. A big brother, right? The book was in the glove compartment. I can’t remember what I was looking for. ‘What’s this?’ I said. It took him completely by surprise. ‘What? That? Oh, yeah, that... It’s... It’s a gift. It was for you. I was planning... to give it to you later. But you can open it now.’
“Toni often gave me gifts. But a book, well, that was a first. I didn’t know how he’d known what to choose... I was touched. I told him I loved him. We went to eat and I put the book in my bag, still in its wrapping.
�
�I put it there on the shelf when I got back. Then it all happened. Leila, the funeral. I stayed with them. We slept at Mouloud’s. I’d forgotten all about the book. At noon today, Jasmine came by, and she saw it. We couldn’t figure it out. We called the boys. We had to clear it up. Do you understand?” She’d sat down. She was shaking. “Now, we don’t know what to do.”
And she burst into tears.
Driss stood up and took her in his arms. He stroked her hair tenderly. Her tears were almost like a nervous breakdown. Jasmine went to her, kneeled, and slipped her hands into Karine’s. Kader was motionless, his elbows on the table, dragging manically on his joint. His eyes were completely absent.
I felt dizzy. My heart started pounding. No, it wasn’t possible! Something Karine had said had startled me. She’d referred to Toni in the past tense.
“Where is Toni?”
Kader stood up like an automaton. Karine, Jasmine and Driss watched him as he went and opened the French door to the balcony. I stood up and went closer. Toni was there. Lying on the tiled floor.
Dead.
“We were going to call you, I think.”
14.
IN WHICH IT’S BETTER TO BE ALIVE IN HELL THAN DEAD IN PARADISE
The kids were at the end of their tether. Now that Toni’s body was there in front of them again, they were cracking. Karine was still crying. Now Jasmine started, followed by Driss. Kader seemed to have gone off the rails completely. The dope and the whisky hadn’t helped. He gave little staccato laughs every time he looked at Toni’s body. As for me, I was starting to coast. And this wasn’t the time for that.
I closed the balcony door, poured myself a glass of scotch, and lit a cigarette. “OK,” I said. “Let’s start again from the beginning.”
But I might as well have been talking to deaf-mutes. Kader started laughing even more frantically.
“Driss, take Karine to the bedroom. She needs to lie down and get some rest. Jasmine, see if you can find some tranquilizers, Lexomil, anything, and give one to each person. And take one yourself. Then make me some more coffee.”
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