by Pres Maxson
“Well, I myself didn’t know at the time either. I had to take it to the collectors shop to get it appraised. I haven’t met with them yet on it.”
“So how much is it worth? I didn’t know that you could move to the South of France because of the price of one coin.”
“Well, this is no ordinary collectible. As a coin itself, it’s already valuable. I was glad to hear the initial estimates, but I did some digging of my own. See, this particular coin has had articles written about it, files kept on it. It’s the stuff of lore.”
* * *
Over several more drinks, Victor laid out the entire story for Trudel. He detailed everything from the coin itself to Peukington’s family. When it was finally over, they sat in silence for almost an entire minute. With the warmth of multiple drinks and fresh cocktails in front of them, Trudel finally broke the quiet.
“Fleuse is going to be thrilled,” she said. “Are you going to split it all evenly?”
Victor took a sip and shifted. “We haven’t really spoken about it yet.”
“Well that’s important, don’t you think? What if they want to give you less?”
“They won’t.” Victor didn’t believe himself as he said it. He had known Fleuse for a long time, but his new friend Jacques wasn’t a trustworthy person.
“So when are you planning on seeing them next?”
“They are going to stop in tomorrow on my next shift. They don’t know that I’ve had it appraised already. They think that it’s going to happen tomorrow morning.”
“Why didn’t you tell them?”
“Well, at first I was going to immediately. I called off the first part of my shift today just to be able to get it done early. I was curious.”
“So why didn’t you go running to them with the good news?”
“Well, I wanted to be able to do a little digging on my own. The appraiser mentioned in passing the Napoleon story. He didn’t think it was really the coin, but I didn’t tell him it came from Peukington, either.”
“I see. How are you going to sell the coin?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“What if Lavaar Peukington comes looking for it? He’s not the kind of person who’d be understanding about any of this.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Victor said with a laugh. “I’m thinking that we’ll all take turns holding it. That way, if someone is suspected, he may not have it on him.”
“You could always give it to me to hold,” Trudel said with a casual shrug of the shoulders.
Victor snickered. “Sure.” He took another drink.
“Don’t laugh about it! Why is that so crazy?!” Trudel bristled again.
“You were serious? Why would I give it to you?”
“Obviously you can trust me! I would never be suspected by Peukington!”
She had a point. As his girlfriend, she wouldn’t be entirely beyond suspicion, but Trudel was removed from the situation even more than he was. Still, he was not sure if he were truly able to trust her. Their relationship was not always perfect, and Victor worried what might happen if they experienced one of their fights while she had the coin.
“I can’t believe it’s taking you this long to think it over,” Trudel said.
“Sorry. Truth is, I’d pretty much assumed that I’d stash it in the bar somewhere for safe keeping.”
“The bar?! Why there?”
“Well, I don’t want it in my home, do I?”
Trudel shrugged and took a drink.
“I mean, I don’t need someone like Peukington in my house,” Victor continued. “There would be plenty of places in the bar to hide it. I’m there all the time, anyway.”
“Like where in the bar?”
“I don’t know. There are tons of places.” Victor had actually already considered many specific hiding places in the bar. He wasn’t about to tell Trudel, though.
“I think I’ve heard enough.” Trudel stood and collected her purse from the back of the chair.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Victor asked.
“Have a nice time down south.”
“What? Are you mad or something?”
“Victor, you have never put my needs first.”
“We haven’t even been going out that long!”
“You are one selfish prick. I hope that thing is a bad penny and only brings you bad luck.” Trudel started to walk away.
Victor finally stood. “Where is this coming from?”
Trudel turned back to him. “You ask me here to tell me your plans for the future. They don’t seem to include me. Good luck with whatever hussy you wind up with next.”
“Another hussy?! There’s only you!”
“Are you calling me a hussy?!”
“What? No! You’re crazy. There’s no one else!”
Trudel had reached the door. Without turning she said, “Yeah, yeah, there’s always some hussy!”
She was gone.
Victor stayed in the café for a good while longer. As baristas meandered past over the next hour or so, he sheepishly made eye contact just long enough to indicate the need for another drink. In hindsight, he considered it a mistake telling Trudel about the coin.
Victor had also thought of withholding the coin’s worth from Fleuse and Jacques. As he sat and drank, he weighed his options. He had ruled out giving the coin to Trudel to hide, but he realized the potential in leaving town. The others would likely never find him.
Chapter XII.
The safe hit the crimson carpet with a thud.
“Nope,” Fleuse said dryly.
“Can you get any higher?” Renard asked me.
Already standing on the bar, I searched for another avenue. “Well, this is about the highest point in the room for me to stand on,” I replied. “What if we try to hit it with something?”
“Pistache, drink,” I heard Janie say as she threw an ace down. A casual game had begun anew when it became obvious that six people were too many to try and open a safe. I found it a little funny that I could not discern whether or not Janie said the word “Pistache” because she played the ace or she was telling Pistache to take a drink. I peeked out of the corner of my eye to realize that it was both.
Pistache was actively helping us with suggestions here and there, but it was apparent that this guy could not resist a good drinking game.
“Spades,” he muttered, taking a swig of his latest cocktail before offering us a new idea. “The leg of a chair might work well as a kind of lever on the combination dial.”
Willing to try anything, we agreed. Renard sat the safe upright, and tilted a chair against it.
“This is not going to work,” Trudel muttered before playing the two of spades.
“Here goes,” Renard said simply as he thrust his foot on to the seat of the chair. A sharp crack sounded loudly as one of the legs of the chair splintered and a nail pulled away from its framework. It was a good effort, but the safe was knocked backwards and the chair upended.
“Hmm,” Renard thought out loud.
“Note to self,” Pistache said without looking up. “Don’t sit in that chair.”
“So, Jacques,” Janie asked.
“Yes?” the pickpocket answered.
“Show me a trick.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, one of your sneaky ‘get someone’s watch’ magic tricks,” she said as she played a card.
“He’s not a magician!” Renard shouted from across the room as he made another awkward attempt with the chair on the safe’s door.
“Ah, I see,” Pistache answered. “You are looking for some sleight of hand.”
“Exactly.”
“A magician …” Pistache glanced at Renard who again looked our direction, “I mean pickpocket, never reveals his secrets.”
“Oh come on,” she said as the game continued. “We’re all friends here.”
“We are?” Trudel asked.
“Well we are after all this,” I muttered.
�
�Sorry, ma cherie,” Pistache said to Janie.
“Just go ahead, Pistache,” Renard chimed in again from his spot with the safe. “She’ll get a kick out of it. Haven’t you been trying to impress her all evening?”
“It’s true,” Janie added flirtatiously. “I’ll be impressed.”
Pistache looked at me. I shrugged. He was annoying, but Janie was flirting with this guy whether I liked it or not. I threw some whiskey in a glass and downed it immediately.
“Ok, I’ll teach you one thing,” he said, sighing.
“Excellent,” she said as she put her cards down.
I heard another leg splinter from the chair.
“It’s called the Sailor’s Revenge,” Pistache explained.
“Okay,” Janie answered. “What is it, and why is it called that?”
“Well, it’s said that sailors developed it to lift the key to the rum cabinet.”
“At least it has a cool name.”
“It’s pretty simple, really. But, it takes a lot of practice. Watch closely.” The pickpocket turned to me. “Would you hand me a bottle cap?”
Plenty of beer bottle caps were lying around. I immediately found one on the floor behind the bar.
“You see,” he continued, nabbing the item from me. “You pick up the object with your thumb and forefinger and close the rest of your fingers around it, like this.”
I handed Janie a second bottle cap. The game of Pistache had been momentarily suspended.
“Got it, that’s easy enough,” she said, mimicking his actions.
“Good. Now as you turn your fist, work the item between your middle and ring fingers. You’ll want to move it through them, to the back of your hand, pinning it with the backs of those fingers. Simultaneously open your hand, exposing your empty palm.” As he described it, he opened his fist and spread his fingers apart. The bottle cap had vanished.
“That’s a good trick,” I marveled.
Janie tried it, and noisily dropped the bottle cap instantly.
Pistache smiled. “Kind of. Relax your hand more,” Pistache advised.
She tried it again, this time using her other hand to try and steady the object. “I don’t get how you do it so fast,” she noted.
“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t use your other hand. You never want to get in the habit of trying to rely on it. Someone will always be looking at your other hand. I told you it takes practice.”
Janie dropped the bottle cap again.
“The key is to perform it in one fluid motion,” Pistache went on. “If your hand stays moving, no one will be able to stay focused on the sleight of hand. That way, even if a corner of the bottle cap is peaking through your fingers, it will be hard to see.”
Janie dropped the bottle cap yet again. “I’m not getting it.”
“Well, I didn’t say it was easy, ma cherie.”
Again, the chair splintered under the weight of another awkward attempt at opening the safe.
“That didn’t work,” Fleuse muttered the obvious to Renard as he gazed at the situation.
“That’s true, Monsieur Newman,” Renard answered through his teeth. “Thank you.”
“I am going to need another beer,” Pistache said with disappointment as he moved on from the sleight-of-hand trick. The game was burning through drinks.
Janie was still transfixed on the bottle cap without showing any signs of improvement.
“Wait a minute,” the pickpocket asked me. “Can you make a Feu du Saint Denis?”
“I have no idea what that is,” I answered.
“It’s a flavored whiskey shot, and the top of it is on fire.”
“Who was Saint Denis?” I asked.
“He was a saint.”
“Huh, okay. Let’s try and keep the lighting of fires to an absolute minimum,” I responsibly suggested. As a bartender in college, I was familiar with making drinks like these. They’re hard to get right, not to mention dangerous.
“Well, think about it,” Pistache persisted. “What if there was a way to somehow use the fire to open the safe?”
Everyone was attentive. I didn’t like the idea of lighting a fire, but with one million euros at stake, I figured I couldn’t stop the pickpocket.
“I can’t believe I’m still playing this game,” Trudel muttered. She had never put down her cards. No one paid any attention.
“That’s a terrible idea,” Renard sounded as the voice of reason. He apparently didn’t want any fire in the bar either. He was too busy setting up the scene for another go with a chair. He was putting more care into it this time though as he searched for the exact angle for proper leverage.
“It’s not such a bad idea!” Pistache disagreed. “Maybe we weaken something that can give way in the lock.”
“Or we wind up melting it shut,” Fleuse offered. He still stood with Renard and the chair.
“Fleuse is right,” Trudel offered.
“Thank you,” Fleuse said, touched by the attention from Trudel.
“Well for whatever it’s worth, I don’t love it either,” Janie added.
Pistache scoffed. “Go back to working on your bottle cap trick.” He nodded in Janie’s direction, but spoke next to Trudel. “Keep your friend quiet.”
Janie gave him a little scowl and threw the small metal item at him lightly. He didn’t react.
“Take it easy, Jacques,” Fleuse said in defense of the ladies.
“Bite me, Fleuse. I can take care of myself,” Trudel spat.
“Well,” Pistache continued, “it looks like your chair thing is working really well, so maybe you should keep going with that while I make a Feu du Saint Denis for everyone here who likes me.”
“Let’s just hear him out for a second,” Fleuse said to Renard after a moment of reconsideration. He turned back to Pistache. “Ok Jacques, what do you propose?”
Pistache looked my way. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“No, come on back.”
He scurried around the bar and joined me. Snagging a bottle of whiskey, he carelessly swung it from the shelf. “Let’s see,” he wondered aloud. “Do you see any poison du poisson?”
“I have never heard of that, either.”
“It’s serious stuff,” Fleuse interjected.
“He’s right,” Pistache answered, standing on his toes to search the liquor bottles. “It’s a spirit extracted from a fish only found in the Mediterranean. It’s the highest-proof liquor there is. Just a dash is perfect for this drink, but even as much as a shot of poison du poisson straight up will cause memory blackouts almost immediately.”
“It’s said that you wouldn’t be able to walk within the hour,” Fleuse added, hands in pockets.
Janie’s eyes widened as she shook her head at me.
“Maybe we should steer clear of that stuff, then,” I suggested.
“Found it!” Pistache exclaimed.
He pulled a dusty bottle from the back of the shelves. Dark amber liquor sloshed inside as he set it on the bar.
“Why would anyone have that around if it’s so dangerous?” I wondered.
“A lot of people like the Feu du Saint Denis, American,” the pickpocket answered. “Can’t make one without this. It really looks and smells about like regular whiskey. It’s illegal in the United States, you know.”
“Is there at least a warning on the label?”
“You worry too much,” Pistache said.
Another thud.
“We need a big hammer,” Renard said, having just tried dropping the safe again. “Is there a tool chest anywhere back there?”
“I have not seen one,” I replied as I picked up the bottle of poison du poisson as Jacques set up shot glasses. He was right. It smelled just like ordinary whiskey, which fueled my fear of the drink.
“I never saw Victor back there with a hammer or tools,” Trudel added. “Pistache, young lady.”
Janie took a sip of her drink. “Diamonds,” she countered.
“Ah, here we go!” Pistache excl
aimed as he flipped a bottle in his hand.
“Now the trick with these,” Pistache said as he grabbed the bottle from me and began mixing, “is to gently trickle the high proof alcohol over the top. Just a touch only. This way, it lights easier because it has not mixed completely into the body of the drink.” With that, he struck a match and whisked it across the row of drinks with a dramatic flare. Each one glowed a gentle purple flame. “The flavor will be there after the burn.”
“Yeah, that’s great, but I agree with Monsieur Renard,” I said. “I don’t think this will help us with the safe. You could do more damage than good. What if something melts?”
Pistache didn’t have a good answer. He picked up one of the shot glasses, blew the tiny fire out, and drank it.
“You know what we could do,” Fleuse interjected. “How about we run an experiment?”
“Somebody do these with me before they burn out,” Pistache said barely listening. Fleuse walked to the bar. Everyone except Renard grabbed a shot glass. Janie stared into hers distrustfully.
Reassuring her, I said, “I know from making drinks like these that the flame burns off the high-proof stuff. It’s been going long enough now. We’re okay.”
“I’m just trying to avoid waking up naked in a park,” she joked.
“Which park are you thinking?” Pistache asked, smiling.
We all blew out the flame, and drank the contents.
“So what kind of experiment?” Janie asked Fleuse as she placed the empty shot glass on the bar with a knock sound.
“Yeah, I don’t follow,” Pistache said.
“Let’s see just how hot this booze burns and its effect on intricate metalwork,” Fleuse suggested. “We might be able to tell if it will cause more harm than good. We can use my watch.”
“You don’t want to do that,” I warned. “It’ll probably trash it.”
“Yeah, I bet you built that, right?” Trudel added.
“No,” Fleuse said with a smile as he unfastened the wristband. “I make clocks. This is an inexpensive little thing. Funny, isn’t it?”
As Fleuse began to unlatch his watch’s wristband, Janie was craning her neck to see.
“What do you think, my dear?” I asked.
“I don’t know. This could work,” she answered.