Queen of the Trailer Park (Rosie Maldonne's World Book 1)

by Alice Quinn

  Sabrina sat near his feet, pretending to play. The guy glanced at her without paying too much attention.

  I picked up my cell and dialed Jérôme’s number.

  “Jérôme?”

  “Rosie?”

  “Cricri.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I’m a bit busy here. What do you want?”

  “I have him.”

  “What? What do you have?”

  “Not what—who!”

  “Who?”

  “The ogre, the monster, Alex, Véro’s boyfriend!”

  “Véro’s boyfriend? No way!”

  “I swear, Jérôme, he’s here. He’s standing right in front of me.”

  “Listen, Rosie—”

  “Cricri.”

  “Yeah, listen, I don’t want this to play out like last time. I don’t want to come down there for nothing again, OK? You can’t just play games with the police.”

  “Hurry up, Jérôme. If you don’t step on it, he’ll get away!”

  “How do you know it’s him? You told me you’d never met him.”

  “Simon recognized him. I’m telling you, you need to get down here. We’re at the McDonald’s at the crossroads by the high school.”

  I hung up just as Sabrina was finishing the fortieth trip around Alex’s ankle with the twine. She came back to our booth giggling.

  The man’s feet were bound to a pillar. He could move, but he was hopelessly a prisoner of the place. And believe me—that white nylon string was next to impossible to break.

  Even Simon was having trouble holding in the laughter.

  “Come on, chickens. Let’s go sit somewhere else. We’re too close to the string. Simon, you hide behind the stroller.”

  The five of us took our food to the other side of the restaurant. Restaurant is maybe too classy a word for where we were, but hey. It was our life.

  Alex moved farther ahead in the line, not yet able to feel the string around his ankle.

  I hoped against hope that Jérôme would show up before Alex realized we’d got him. I prayed just as hard to Saint Expeditus, knowing full well we don’t always get what we wish for. But couldn’t I please just get what I wanted this time? That’s exactly how it turned out. The inevitable . . . happened.

  Just as he was about to place his order, Alex/Luc stepped forward a little bit too quickly and noticed something pulling on his ankle. He looked down, touched his leg, and discovered he was caught up—hook, line, and sinker. He looked shocked and hollered, “Hey . . . What . . . What is this shit?”

  His dark eyes scanned the other customers around him. A group of teenagers looked down toward his feet and tried desperately to hold in their laughter.

  Berger suddenly turned to face Sabrina. He made the connection between the little girl he’d seen playing earlier with what was now happening to him. He was livid.

  “You! You’re in big trouble!”

  He headed toward our group, his eyes on Sabrina. He hadn’t spotted Simon.

  Fortunately, the string was too short for him to make it all the way over to our table. Good thing we’d relocated to the other side of the room.

  He got as far as he could and fell flat on his face. His red face made a striking contrast against the yellow floor tiles.

  The youngsters couldn’t hold back any longer and broke into fits of loud laughter.

  “Ha ha! What a jerk!”

  “Ha ha! So embarrassing!”

  Berger stood up quickly. He began cursing, first launching insults at the crowd and then laying into Sabrina. As he did so, he caught sight of Simon, and then his eyes met mine. So now he knew exactly what was what.

  He stomped over to the bins of eating utensils, grabbed a plastic knife, and tried to cut the nylon string, but to no avail. He was deranged. He was trying to pull his foot free, trying to undo the knots. He had the look of a hunted man. He figured out where the other end of the string was tied and rushed toward the pillar. Not a total idiot, then. But the knot I’d tied around the pillar was just as good as Sabrina’s. I looked at the door. Still no Jérôme. I stood up and ran toward Berger, grabbing a chair on my way. It looked like he was just about to loosen the knot, so I whacked the chair into his legs. The other customers stared at me in disbelief.

  “Did you just see that chick?”

  “Insane. What do they put in the cheeseburgers here?”

  67

  Several people stood up and backed away from the scene. Berger was flat on his face again.

  Sabrina started yelping, “Help! Don’t let him go! He’th a gangthter! He hit my mommy!”

  Simon, who didn’t seem scared any longer, joined Sabrina in screaming. He took some trays off the top of one of the trashcans and started throwing them at the ogre’s head.

  “Ogre! Be cawwwfffuulll! Police! Waaa weep! Waaa weep!”

  The manager came over, looking pissed.

  “Ma’am, please calm down or I’ll be forced to call the police.”

  “Don’t fuck around! Call them!”

  “Mommy! You curthed!”

  “I know, sweetie! Sorry! Don’t fudge around. Call them. That’s exactly what we need! Call the fudging police!”

  “Ma’am, this is a public place. You can’t just bring your family disputes down here. You’re putting the lives of our customers in danger. Surely you understand that. I mean, you just threw a chair. You could have really injured someone.”

  While this was going on, Berger had managed to stand up, clearing aside all the trays that’d been thrown at him.

  But he didn’t stand a chance against my Sabrina, the most intelligent of us all. Without anyone noticing, she’d been walking in wide circles around the ogre and the pillar, holding a new length of string high above her head. Berger tried to make a move toward the exit but stumbled. Sabrina tightened the string. He was screaming at the top of his lungs again, trying his hardest to escape from the spider’s web. Sabrina gave me the end of the string and I pulled with all my might, forcing Berger closer to the pillar. There was no way out of the maze.

  While he cried out furiously, the kids and I joined in. Except we were shouting for joy.

  The twins looked on from their high chairs, sucking on their fries and enjoying the show with smiles on their tiny faces.

  The manager was now standing there trying to give me advice.

  “Is this about alimony? You know, there’s a solution to every problem.”

  I didn’t answer. I was still pulling on the string, wrapping more around Berger and the pillar. The manager followed me.

  “I understand, four children, he’s not paying up. It’s got to be hard. What are you going to do? A pretty girl like you . . .”

  What a jerk. He was trying to make a move on me! It was neither the time nor the place.

  But I’d gotten too close. Berger had managed to make his way to me and my end of the string. He lunged at me, smacking me in the chops.

  I went down like a sack of shit, landing on top of the ketchup dispenser. Red sauce everywhere. A gasp from our spectators. Panic all around me. They thought it was blood. Berger stood above me, kicking me in the side of the head. The people cried out . . . but nobody stepped in.

  Berger stopped abruptly, panting, and whimpered, “You leave us alone, OK? Let us be!”

  He was sobbing at the same time.

  If I hadn’t been so busy trying to protect myself from him, I’d have found him pathetic. Maybe even felt sorry for him.

  Then off he went again. Another huge blow to my head. Stars danced around my face . . . and I was out like a light.

  The noise of sirens woke me. I’d only been out for a few seconds. Berger turned away from me. He was watching someone approaching. I could only see a silhouette. It was Jérôme, my hero, my savior. I could just make him out.

 
Berger turned to Jérôme, stammering, “It wasn’t me . . . I didn’t see a thing . . .”

  What was he talking about?

  A gunshot. The bullet tore past me. Then total silence, everything moving in slow motion. The crowd surged toward the exit as Berger slowly turned to face me. In his tear-filled eyes I saw a plea for help. I lowered my gaze. He fell on his side, still in slow motion. I looked at him again.

  He mouthed something to me, but it was just syllables: “Mmmaaa . . . Fiyaaa . . . Gaaagaaa . . . lo . . . Oh!”

  On his way down, he’d hit his head on the corner of a table, which collapsed on top of us, sending more trays crashing. Everything returned to normal speed just before a tray hit me in the face. More stars. Curtains.

  I came to on a plastic bench seat.

  Gaston was looking down at me.

  I later learned that Jérôme had shot Berger, who was now in a coma at the hospital.

  When Jérôme had realized what a state I was in, he’d called Gaston, because there was too much going on and he didn’t have time to deal with me.

  Gaston had shown up within a few minutes in the famous Jag. He took me to the emergency room. The children came with us. I asked him to call Mimi so she could take the kids, but he told me he’d deal with it.

  They all waited for me while I had an X-ray and one of the nurses bandaged me up. There wasn’t much wrong with me, just a couple of bumps and bruises. I’m a tough cookie.

  Gaston took us all back to the trailer, and I put the little ones to bed. My eye was swollen. I put some butter on it and then made a poultice from some mud, which I placed across my eyebrow. This was my mother’s recipe. I lay down. Time for some peace and quiet.

  I heard Gaston fussing over the cubbies. They hadn’t gone to sleep yet. It was getting late. I told him to go home.

  I thought back on what had happened that day. The whole bribe business had been settled. I didn’t know if d’Escobar was going to have to resign, but I had a city hall work contract in my purse, and I hoped that if there was a new mayor, it would still be honored.

  As for the job for the Russki, I’d have to wait to find out what that was all about, but it had come at exactly the right time. I could do with the cash. But what about the diamonds? What was that all about? Oh well, everything in good time . . .

  I was still worried about Véro. And a key witness had just been eliminated. How would we know for sure now whether Berger had had anything to do with Pierre’s disappearance? But Véro hadn’t killed him—at least that was something.

  And the ogre was out of action for the time being. A little voice in the back of my mind had always thought Alexandre had something to do with the kidnapping. If that was the case, the kids and I had done a great thing today. We’d stopped him. Maybe he’d confess and say where Pierre was. If he made it. And what if he didn’t?

  As for what would come next, I’d have to request an interview with child services to see Léo, Mimi’s teenager. I wanted him to stay with me. I hoped the fact that we lived in a trailer wouldn’t count against me.

  I didn’t have the same problem with Simon. I just needed Michel to sign the papers so I’d have permission from both parents to keep him until Véro had made a full recovery.

  When I thought about it all, I realized that everything was still a complete mess. There were so many problems left to deal with.

  And there was still something bugging me about that day’s events, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. On the surface, it looked like things were falling into place. We’d gotten the guy who’d kidnapped Pierre.

  But where was Pierre?

  It would have been better had Jérôme not been so trigger-happy. We could have gotten a confession out of Berger. Then again, it wasn’t Jérôme’s fault. This was his first really serious case. Pulling the trigger had likely saved my life. Berger had been acting so crazy, who knows what he might have done? One more kick to the head and I’d have been room temperature.

  I just wished I knew what Luc Berger had been trying to say before he passed out. It sounded like . . . Gaga? Did he mean Lady Gaga? The singer? No. It couldn’t have been a song. My mom would have told me.

  Maybe he was trying to tell me where Pierre was? If only I could lip-read. My ears obviously weren’t to be trusted.

  Wednesday: A Gift from Mickey D’s

  68

  When I woke up, I noticed the swelling around my eye had gone down considerably. It had to be the butter and the clay. What a crazy awesome tip. On the other side of my skull, it was total calm, radio silence. No song. No words. No music. It was as if my brain had had a meltdown. No! That can’t be good! Is Mom angry with me? Why hasn’t she sent me a song? How am I supposed to get by without her clues?

  I felt like an orphan all over again.

  I called Benjamin, my buddy from the power company, and asked if he could come over and lend me his tools. I had to get hooked up to some current. I wasn’t going to let a small thing like this get me down. Come on, pull yourself together. Get the job done now. It’ll make you feel so much better.

  I told him I had a new trailer, but that I wasn’t hooked up to anything. I didn’t even have any water. He said he’d come over and would bring his friend who knew something about plumbing. His offer was kind, but I wanted to do it myself. I didn’t like the idea of witnesses.

  “Fine, I’ll leave all the equipment under your trailer. I’ll come by tomorrow and pick it up. Just leave it in the same place so I can find it.”

  “You’re such a cool friend. You should come over for a bite one night. I’ll make one of my famous stews.”

  “No worries!” he said.

  He knew I didn’t have a penny to my name. I could tell he didn’t want me to go out of my way for him.

  I took the twins to daycare. The older ones would stay with me today—they didn’t have school on Wednesdays.

  I bought a couple of baguettes, because the bread from the night before was rock hard. The three of us returned home around midday. The mailman had already been by. There was a letter in the box, all wrinkled up, covered with weird handwriting.

  I recognized it as Véro’s, but it looked really wobbly, like she’d just scribbled blindly all over the page. There was no margin, and the words were small and packed in close together. It was difficult to make out.

  The letter had been mailed on Friday. She had still been in hiding on Friday. She must have used the outgoing mail service in the offices.

  Cricri, I want to die. I don’t deserve to live. But I need to tell you the truth, so you can tell Simon someday . . . and Pierre, if he’s ever found. I beg you, please don’t let this go any further.

  This has to stay between me and you. But since you’ll soon be like a mother to Simon, I want to tell you the whole truth.

  That Monday, Alex came back from the bike ride without Pierre. He was crying and smashed out of his head. And like the total idiot I am, I went ahead and comforted him. You know, it was the first time I’d ever met a guy who seemed kind. He never screamed, never hit me, and here he was crying like a baby. But when he actually opened his mouth, he said the most horrible things. I was so scared. I asked him what he was talking about. And Pierre? Where was he? What had he done with my child?

  He repeated his name. Pierre. And he said it was all his fault. But that I’d see. He’d fix everything. It was all going to change.

  He said I’d love him. He said I’d get better. I screamed for Pierre. He said he didn’t know anyone called Pierre. Can you imagine what was going through my head? He was crazy. He could have been capable of anything. He was crying. He was asking forgiveness. I asked him what he’d done. Why did he need forgiving? Had they both had some kind of accident? Why wasn’t he with my little boy? I asked if Pierre was dead. I needed to know the truth.

  I began crying, but he just scowled. He said he didn’t know a P
ierre. That there was no Pierre. I demanded to know what was happening. Was he dead? Had he killed him? I yelled and sobbed, trying desperately to get him to tell me what had happened. Where was Pierre? It got more and more confusing.

  He said his name wasn’t Alexandre, but Luc. He was like some kind of monster.

  You get it, Cricri. You know me. You know how unhappy I am most of the time, right? What was I supposed to expect?

  I should have known that five minutes of happiness would lead to me paying for it for the rest of my life. That’s something I should have known. That’s how I knew the worst had happened, you see? That’s how I knew I had to kill Luc Berger. I wanted my Alex back. The nice guy. The one I knew. So I killed him. No looking back. I whacked him over the head with my cast-iron statuette. The one on the sideboard. You know the one. He fell to the floor, but Alex didn’t come back. So I left Simon with my neighbor and made a run for it, leaving the body lying there on the kitchen floor. I wandered the city with the empty stroller, looking for Pierre. I thought I saw Alex outside the bakery. But it couldn’t have been him. I had just killed him. My mind was so mixed up. I didn’t know where I was. You know, I’ve never told you this, but sometimes I lose control of myself. The empty stroller . . . it was too much. I ran down to the precinct to report him missing. This had to be the right thing to do. I mean, it was true. He’d gone. They had to start looking for him. Later, they must have realized there were holes in my story. When I reported his disappearance to the police, I just didn’t have the courage to tell them I’d killed a guy. I was so confused. I was so completely devastated and so ashamed that I went to hide down at Midi. I tried calling you all afternoon, but you never answered.

  I want to put an end to it all. I’ve already tried. If I don’t have it in me to slit my wrists, I’m hoping I’ll die of starvation. I haven’t eaten in days. I want to die. That’s what I want most. If you find Luc’s body, at least you now know it was me who murdered him. I know I’m mixed up and my memory has been playing tricks on me, but I know I did this. Please take good care of my Simon. Tell him I loved him, but that Mommy was sick.