by Pres Maxson
“Pistache again, young lady,” Trudel said to Janie.
Janie continued after taking a sip. “Maybe the gears of the watch will melt and shrink up. Once properly cooled, they might become brittle. I don’t know. I just want to see it happen. This could work.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind seeing it fail, either. Melting a watch might be pretty cool to see.”
Fleuse laid his timepiece out on the bar, and Pistache carelessly splashed booze on top of it. It was way more than necessary. Before a split second had passed, the watch was lying in a full-fledged puddle of alcohol on the bar.
“Okay, hang on,” I said. “You can’t light that now. You’ll ignite the whole place.”
“So?” Pistache said with laugh, sounding reckless.
“Wait a sec,” I said. I reached for a bar rag and started running water in one of the sinks. I at least wanted to have a damp towel on hand and a basin filled with water. “Let me just be prepared for something to go wrong.”
Another thud. I looked up to see Renard standing on a chair, staring down at the safe on the ground.
“You’re so good, baby,” Janie said.
“Is there a fire extinguisher back here?” I asked myself. I hadn’t seen one when I was searching earlier.
“Now you’re just being ridiculous. We won’t need one,” Pistache said.
“Well, I don’t know. The last thing I need to be is the American who burned down Paris’ best little bar.”
“Just soak more than one towel,” Janie offered. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“That’s a good idea. Back up, Pistache.”
Trudel and Janie took a sip. I was quietly amused by their Pavlovian response to the pickpocket’s name. I blotted some of the excess booze.
“Well, don’t clean it all up,” Pistache protested. “We’ll need a good and hot situation here.”
I huffed. I was convinced that he was willing to burn the entire place down.
“Ready?” Pistache continued.
“Okay, I guess,” I answered, backing away a little.
With great flare, a match was lit and dropped on Fleuse’s watch and an audible “poof” accompanied its envelopment in flame. As I predicted, the fire extended to the bar top itself. The wood wasn’t burning, but I was instantly uneasy about it anyway. As the liquor allowed the flame to dance about half an inch above the bar, Fleuse’s watch started to change color.
“Ah!” Pistache exclaimed, loving the spectacle.
Janie leaned in to get a better look at the situation. It had only been a few short seconds, but I was nervous.
“Okay that’s enough,” I said. “Should be plenty.”
I thrust a towel over the watch and began to corral the flame. It worked to suppress it, but I grabbed a second rag from the sink and threw it on top as well.
“Hey!” Pistache said. “It wasn’t done yet!” In an instant, he grabbed the towels and threw them back at me. He then turned the bottle upside down over the tiny flame and doused the nearly extinguished ash with more booze. The entire surface of the bar directly in front of me jumped with flame.
“Jesus!” I exclaimed as I grabbed the last of the soaking towels and threw them on the bar. I squeezed all the water out to counteract the copious amount of spilled liquor, but found myself with outstretched arms trying to cover the entire surface area of burning material.
“Ha ha!” Pistache yelled as his eyes danced over his work. Janie and Trudel jumped up with matching exclamations of terror.
“Are you crazy?!” I yelled as I worked myself between him and the mini-blaze. I was suppressing much of the flame, but quickly noticed that the sleeve of my shirt was now part of the small inferno.
“Honey, your arm!” Janie yelled.
I hadn’t felt it yet. I instinctively thrust my arm into the filled sink. When I brought it out, I splashed excess water on the bar. Finally, I didn’t see any more flames.
“Are you okay?” Janie asked.
“Smooth, Jacques,” Fleuse muttered sarcastically.
“Did I get it all?” I asked as I recovered from the panic.
“What happened to the watch?” Pistache asked.
“Are you kidding right now?!” I erupted. “Give me that!” I yelled as I yanked the bottle of liquor out of his hand. “Get out from behind here!” I forcibly grabbed his collar and dragged him out from behind the bar. A little too drunk to stand his ground, he was easy to remove. “What is the matter with you, Pistache?” I yelled.
Janie and Trudel took a sip.
“Okay, Pierre. Take it easy,” Pistache said, defending himself only a little. “I just wanted to see what happened to the watch!”
“Honey, is your arm okay?” Janie repeated as she came to me to inspect the damage.
“No, it’s fine. I didn’t feel anything. It was just the shirt and the alcohol burning. It only lasted a split second.” I took a moment to look down at my arm. My favorite blue plaid shirt was missing a cuff and was singed mostly black from the upper right arm down. Plus, most of it was soaking wet from the extinguishing efforts.
“Your favorite shirt,” Janie said out loud as she felt the burned edges of the sleeve.
“I think you’ve improved it,” Trudel said with a smirk. “American fashion, hmph!”
“Well, maybe something at least informative came out of this,” I said, shaking the wetness from my new half-sleeve. “What does the watch look like?”
Everyone leaned in. The glass was no longer clear but covered in a brown fog. The band itself was badly burned. The face wasn’t even visible anymore.
“Looks like it’s ruined,” Trudel observed.
“I just don’t see how this is going to help with the safe,” Janie added.
Renard joined the group to peer at the charred timepiece. “Yeah, we won’t be able to do much with that. That was probably a nowhere road to head down anyway. Way to go, Pistache.”
Janie and Trudel took a sip.
“And you just stood by and let us do that?!” I furiously asked. “If you knew it was such a bad idea, why didn’t you say something?”
Renard looked to the Fleuse. “Would this guy have listened to any objection? Truly?”
“No,” Fleuse answered.
I was losing patience. “Okay, let me get this straight. So we just lit this joint on fire, the safe still isn’t even open, we have this cryptic letter, and no one really knows at all if the coin is even in here?”
“It’s in here,” Renard said.
“I mean, do we really know that? So far, I haven’t heard any actual evidence that it’s here,” I shouted.
“No, it’s in here,” Renard reiterated.
“And what about this lady?” Pistache interjected, as he pointed to the opera singer.
“What about me?!” Trudel exclaimed.
“Well, where’s Victor?” he persisted. “I don’t know what you did to him, but what if he had the coin on him when you dumped his body?!”
“I didn’t dump his body!” Trudel yelled.
“But you killed him!” Pistache answered.
“I did not! Just because some bullshit note pops up doesn’t mean that I actually did anything!”
“Then why would he write the note at all?” Pistache continued.
“Well, listen. We weren’t the perfect couple, okay? We’ve had some ups and downs.” Trudel looked at Janie and me. “You guys probably know what it’s like. Tell them.”
We looked at each other. “Maybe,” I said skeptically. “I guess we’ve had disagreements.”
Janie shook her head. “We have never fought so much that Pete has felt the need to send a message from beyond the grave to blame me for his disappearance, though.”
“Exactly,” I confirmed.
“What did you do to him, woman?” Pistache hissed.
“Nothing!” She yelled.
“Take it easy, Jacques,” Fleuse defended her.
&nb
sp; “And look at you!” Pistache turned his wrath to Fleuse. “You’ll be her knight in shining armor at all costs, won’t you? It doesn’t matter that she killed your long-time friend and lost the key to a world of riches and retirement!”
“I didn’t kill him!” Trudel yelled again.
“She didn’t!” Fleuse joined in. “Victor is probably out with some woman, like she said!”
“You take that back!” Trudel spat at him. “Victor is a good man!”
“A good man who you think might have taken off with the coin and left you?!” Pistache yelled. “Sounds like a motive for murder to me!”
I finally noticed Trudel starting to cry a little. Janie and I didn’t know what to make of it. Before I had the chance to try and settle the situation down, Renard again stepped forward.
“Okay everyone,” he began. “It’s time to calm down. This conversation is helping no one.”
Pistache didn’t appreciate Renard’s efforts to pacify the group. “What does any of this matter to you other than the coin itself? You’re just some rich guy’s lackey.”
“You’re right,” Renard answered calmly. “At least about part of that. I don’t care about you guys shouting at each other, but I do care about finding this coin. So can everyone please focus and get back to helping me get this safe open?”
“Why should we?” Pistache asked. “Truly. Why would we do that? If it’s in there, you’re just going to run off with it. Besides, this American idiot is right. How do we even know that the coin is here in the bar?”
“It is,” he said.
“C’mon,” Pistache huffed. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because,” Renard said with a sigh, “Victor didn’t have it with him when he left this bar for the last time. I’ve been pretty careful about this. I’ve tracked it up until here, and I don’t think it’s gone anywhere.”
“How do you know that Victor didn’t have it on him for his last shift?” Fleuse asked.
Renard took a deep breath. “Listen. Everyone stay calm when I say this. You’ve been going on and on for the last few minutes about this poor woman and the old bartender.”
Trudel wiped the tears from her eyes with a dirty napkin.
Renard continued. “She didn’t kill Victor Lacquer. It’s time to take it easy on her.”
“How do you know that?” Pistache hissed.
“I know that Victor hasn’t run off with another woman, and I know that he didn’t have the coin.”
“How?” Trudel asked.
“He’s dead,” Renard uttered bluntly. “And I’m the one who killed him.”
Chapter XIII.
Victor Laquer emerged from the Hôtel des Bretons into the cool dark air. It was almost three in the morning, and the Rue de l’Échelle was quiet. Another shift was finished in the bar.
Two weeks had passed since the bartender told Fleuse and Pistache about the worth of the coin. The two men were ecstatic at the value of the piece, and Victor was happy that he’d decided to tell them. The three men toasted each other and their futures. They planned to hide the coin together until they could sell it, but Victor was beginning to feel a creeping uneasiness.
No one had come looking for the coin. So far, the lack of consequences bothered the bartender. Why hadn’t Peukington hunted them down? Silence on his strolls home made Victor uncomfortable. A walk that was once treasured and charming was now haunting. Victor tried to convince himself that he was simply paranoid.
All of this weighing heavily on his mind, Victor turned into the blackness of the Tuileries. The bartender couldn’t ever remember it feeling this dark. His trek felt longer than it really was, he thought. Passages through the gardens were empty, but the bartender caught himself peering into them as he passed. He knew his imagination was getting the best of him.
Victor tried to distract himself with better thoughts, such as the riches of the coin. Even with a balanced split with Fleuse and Jacques, he would have enough to live out the rest of his days without being a bartender.
Victor was sure that Pistache would be broke quickly, even after his share. Fleuse would probably manage it well at first, but even he would likely spend the sum on something foolish. Victor thought the clockmaker would probably spend it all on a woman, likely an unrequited love.
Again, he noticed the silence.
A cab pulled up ahead and a few tourists spilled out. Their drunken laughter rung in the night’s silence and tore him from his reverie. He walked briskly toward them. They stood laughing on the sidewalk as one paid the driver.
Victor glided through them as they parted like a school of fish. The group seemed otherwise oblivious to him. Victor noted their lack of awareness and cursed quietly under his breath. He was starting to hate drunken people.
The bartender began across the Pont Royal. As he glanced up the river in the direction of the Île de la Cité, his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of someone turning onto the bridge behind him. Normally, he wouldn’t have taken note, but he’d seen this person among the tourists only moments earlier.
The stranger had broken away from the crowd and seemed to be following Victor. The bartender was uneasy. Why would someone take a taxi only to walk another few blocks? After a moment of reflection, Victor realized he couldn’t actually remember if the man had emerged from the cab or not. Had this man been waiting for him on the sidewalk all along?
Forgetting the mysterious figure was not easy, even as he turned the corner off the bridge and the stranger disappeared. Victor tried to calm his paranoia. Perhaps this was just another pedestrian.
The bartender glanced back as he trotted across the cobblestoned side street, heading for another turn. Alarmingly, the man had also turned the corner off the bridge behind him and was closer than before.
Victor stopped beneath a streetlight. He wouldn’t allow his imagination to run away. If this stranger was in fact following him, it was better to confront this person now. The darkness of narrow streets would not do.
The man’s gait immediately lessened, and he smiled at Victor as he approached.
“Victor Lacquer?” the stranger asked.
“Yes.”
“Julian Renard.”
“Okay,” Victor answered without expression.
“It’s certainly a pleasure to finally meet you.” Julian extended his hand.
“Are we supposed to know each other?” Victor answered, motionless.
“Not exactly.”
“Okay?” Victor was stumped.
“You are the bartender in the Bon Parisien, no?”
“I am.”
“I thought it was you. When I saw you walking, I just had to say something.”
“It’s very late,” Victor noted.
“The thing is,” Renard continued affably, “I was in there last week, and I lost a coin.”
The bartender shifted nervously.
“It’s not worth much of anything,” Renard continued. “But it’s a little rare, and it’s kind of been my lucky penny. You haven’t seen it have you? I would have come to the bar, but I just saw you walking by. I haven’t made it in yet.”
“Haven’t seen it,” Victor grunted.
“Are you sure? There were two other men in there when I was visiting. Maybe one of them found it?”
“Like I said, sorry. Haven’t seen it,” Victor said, turning away.
Suddenly, he felt the intense grip of Renard’s hand on his cuff. Victor looked back, only to find a very different expression. All kindness was gone.
“Victor. Are you sure that you’d like to proceed this way?”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed. “Get your hands off me.”
In one swift motion, Renard twisted Victor’s wrist behind his back and pinned him to the lamppost. The bartender winced but didn’t have enough time to actually make a sound.
“I’m giving you a chance Victor, an out. This is a free pass. Where is it?”
“Are you with Peukington?!” Victor exclaimed in a
gony. His wrist was beginning to burn, and the cold steel of the streetlamp pressed into his jaw. As he spoke, Renard was rifling through each of his pockets. “Help!” Victor exclaimed, though short of breath. Renard quickly silenced him with his free hand.
“Listen, you are making this harder than it has to be. You obviously don’t have the coin on you. I’m about to let go of you. Do you think that we can have a conversation like grown men?”
Victor nodded.
“Fantastic,” Renard said, releasing him.
Victor shook his wrist.
“Now, just tell me where it is,” Renard continued.
The bartender realized that he had two options. He could confess, and implicate both Fleuse and Jacques, or he could keep lying. If Renard never found the coin, Victor would still have a chance of retiring.
“Who are you?” Victor grunted.
“Again, I’m Julian Renard. Obviously, I am looking for the coin you stole.”
“I didn’t steal any coin.”
“Blah, blah, blah. Victor, I don’t know why you’re covering for these guys.”
“I don’t know who you are talking about.”
Renard raised his voice. “I’m talking about Jacques Pistache and Fleuse Newman, obviously!”
Victor was alarmed that he knew their names. “Have you been following me?”
“I have. Not for very long, though. I needed to get you completely alone and give you a chance to come clean.”
“Why would you give me that chance?”
“Of the three of you, you’re smart enough do the right thing. Let’s just get this resolved.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Well, I think I do. You’re not a criminal, Victor. You are a former accountant, a real professional. You are not the awkward pretender that Fleuse is, and you are certainly not the outright fraud that Jacques is. You’re a good guy. Why would you put yourself in such trouble?”
“I don’t have it.”
Renard paused and seemed to relax a little bit. “Excellent. I already know that but still, excellent. We are making a little progress now.”
Victor stared back at him. “How is that progress?”
“Well, you are admitting that you know of a coin.”