Bender at the Bon Parisien (A Novel)

by Pres Maxson

  “No I’m not.”

  Renard continued, “But you know where it is, no?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the bartender said defiantly, committing to his lie. He turned to leave.

  Peukington’s man paused in disappointment before dashing after him.

  “That’s a shame,” Renard persisted as they walked. “Monsieur Peukington will be very unhappy to hear that. You do know who he is, don’t you?”

  Victor remained silent as they walked, not exactly knowing where to go. He wanted to get safely home but didn’t want to lead Renard to his apartment.

  Peukington’s man continued, “He’s a man who knows exactly what he wants. Do you know what you want, Victor Lacquer?” Renard asked as he tried to keep pace with Victor. “Really think long and carefully about the next thing you tell me. A misleading statement might set off a chain of events that you can’t stop.”

  The bartender walked on, expressionless.

  Renard continued. “We’ll be everywhere. We’ll be in your bar. We’ll be with you on your walk home. We’ll be in your apartment. And most of all, we’ll be with Trudel.”

  Victor stopped. Renard knew much more than the bartender had expected.

  “What does Trudel have to do with this?” Victor asked.

  “You don’t think that you’ve brought her into the situation? When something like this happens, we do not only approach the thief, but we also find anyone they might trust.”

  “I don’t trust Trudel,” Victor responded quickly.

  Renard snickered. “Having a lover’s spat?”

  The bartender ground his teeth. “What did Fleuse and Jacques say when you approached them?”

  “I haven’t yet,” Renard answered, stepping in front of the bartender.

  For the first time, Victor noticed how much taller Renard was than he.

  Peukington’s man continued, “Like I said, I’m here to give you the first chance to come clean.”

  Victor again tried to move past Renard, but this time the man calmly extended a hand and stopped Victor from walking away.

  “I am going to be completely honest with you. Are you ready to listen?” Peukington’s man said calmly.

  Victor nodded with resignation.

  “Good,” Renard began. “I know how much that coin is worth, and I can guess how much it means to you. I think that we could help each other in this endeavor.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, consider that I might be willing to make sure that you are still compensated if you help me get the coin back from those two monkeys.”

  Victor remained silent.

  “What would you do if I told you that you could still retire? Is it safe to say that was included in your plans?”

  Victor raised an eyebrow.

  “You won’t have to be associated with guys like Fleuse and Jacques anymore. If Trudel is starting to get under your skin, then you can forget about her as well. Or, you could marry her and never worry about life again. I don’t care. But, we are willing to help you get there. You will just have to help us first.”

  “Why would you offer anything like this to me?” the bartender asked.

  “Victor,” Renard still sounded relaxed. “I am a big fan of peaceful resolutions.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” the bartender snickered, touching his sore wrist.

  “Right. Sorry about that. Can you blame me, though? The coin is worth a lot and you weren’t exactly making things easy for me.”

  “Why should I believe you? How do I know that you won’t just get the coin and leave me high and dry?”

  “Because like me, Monsieur Peukington is true to his word.”

  “Really? I’ve heard he’s cutthroat,” Victor said doubtfully.

  “I guess that you will just have to trust me. Ask yourself, can you really afford not to?”

  Victor stood in silence, thinking.

  Renard continued, “Do you really want to roll the dice on your future and safety any more than you already have? How about Trudel’s?”

  Victor remained silent.

  “No one has to get hurt here,” Renard continued. “Just give me what I want. All you have to do is tell me where the coin is.”

  Victor took a deep breath. After his involvement with stealing and hiding the coin, he didn’t truly believe that Renard would honor their deal. Plus, Fleuse and Jacques trusted the bartender from the beginning. He hadn’t betrayed them before, even though he’d weighed the option, so he wasn’t about to do it now.

  Victor broke out in a dead sprint.

  “Victor!” Renard shouted angrily, watching him run for a moment. “Where are you going?! Haven’t I made it clear enough that you have nowhere to go?!”

  Victor’s mind raced. He knew that he couldn’t outrun the man for long, so he tried to reach a more public place. He dashed up a stairway along the river, figuring there might be others on the bridge. Hearing Renard’s footsteps closing in, he was disappointed when he reached the top and saw no one.

  As he continued running over the bridge, Victor could feel the man’s fingers brushing the back of his windbreaker. Before he could think of his next move, Renard brought him to the hard pavement. Victor rolled in pain. When he opened his eyes, the stranger was upon him.

  “I’m not playing around anymore!” Renard growled as he hit Victor violently with his fist.

  The bartender let out a cry as he felt the man lift him to his feet and violently push him to the side of the bridge.

  “For the last time, asshole,” Renard hissed. “Where is it?!”

  Victor squirmed to run but couldn’t move. He felt his spine crack as Renard pushed him harder against the cool metal rail.

  “Wait!” Victor exclaimed as he tried to steady himself and scrambled for something to grab.

  But, it was too late. His center of gravity shifted over the rail. Renard tried to change his grip, and the bartender’s jacket slipped through his fingers. Suddenly Victor fell free of Renard’s hold. Before the bartender realized what was happening, he was falling toward water.

  Chapter XIV.

  The air in the bar was cold. Still positioned between the curtain and the group, Renard stood motionless as all eyes came to rest upon him.

  “You killed Victor?!” Trudel shouted.

  Renard said nothing.

  “Trudel, dear,” Fleuse sighed sympathetically while moving toward her.

  Trudel let out a primal shriek and reached for her highball glass. She hurled it in Renard’s direction, not caring that there was still a finger of whiskey left inside. Peukington’s man instantly ducked for cover as the item sped by his head and shattered on the wall behind him.

  “Hey!” I yelled instinctively. Janie shielded her head, although she was nowhere near the shattered glass.

  Pistache dove under a table as Trudel stood in a rage. She also threw an ashtray toward Renard, then an empty wine glass, but he continued to dance out of the way. A container full of cocktail napkins and straws, another two glasses, and a beer bottle sped his way.

  “We were in love!” Trudel spat. “You took him away from me!”

  “Trudel, dear …” Fleuse tried, approaching her cautiously. She jumped when he put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Get off me!” she yelled through tears. She stormed toward a table and lifted a chair above her head.

  “Darling, no!” Fleuse yelled, diving out of the way.

  “I’m not your darling!” she exclaimed as she pitched the chair at Renard. Huffing, she picked up another one. I was impressed with her strength.

  Renard dodged projectile after projectile. “Would you just listen?!” he screamed more than once.

  After a few chairs, the opera singer stooped to pick up the safe. She hoisted it into her arms, but unsurprisingly couldn’t throw it like she had a chair. She mustered a deep breath and heaved it toward the man, but couldn’t keep her balance. Unable to let it go properly, she came crashing down on a t
abletop with the safe. She lay sobbing among the splintered pieces of the shattered table when Janie and Fleuse arrived at her side.

  “Are you okay?” Janie asked as she clasped Trudel’s hand. “Let’s get you up.”

  With Fleuse’s help, Janie was able to get her to her feet.

  “Let’s find somewhere to sit you down,” Fleuse suggested.

  “Good luck,” Pistache said, still hiding under a table. “She just destroyed half the chairs in here.”

  “Listen,” Renard tried to explain. “I didn’t intend to or even want to kill Victor Lacquer!”

  “Horseshit!” Trudel spat through the tears.

  “Think about it!” Peukington’s man continued. “Why would I want to get rid of my best lead?!”

  Pistache leapt from hiding. “So she throws some bar stuff at you, are you going to kill her next?!”

  “Of course not,” Renard angrily shouted.

  “Well, don’t act so surprised that I’ve posed the question. It is obvious that the game has changed now.”

  “How has the game changed?” Renard asked. “You still stole something and I need it back!”

  “Yes, before it was about this damned coin. Now it is about murder!” Pistache yelled. “Is anyone getting out of this bar alive unless we produce the coin? And then, what will happen? You might kill us anyway!”

  Janie sat down with Trudel. Although they spent time beating each other up in the card game, I saw Janie pat the opera singer’s hand.

  Trying to diffuse the situation, I slowly came out from behind the bar.

  “I’m not trying to leave right now,” I cautiously explained. “Let’s all try to calm down. Everyone grab a chair, sit at a table, and let’s just talk about this like adults.”

  No one moved.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what,” Pistache ranted on, staring at Renard. “I sure don’t plan on letting this go on any longer. I’m taking off.”

  “Jacques,” Renard spat. “We’ve been over this. You know I can’t let you walk out of here right now.”

  “Who says that you can stop me?” Pistache hissed back.

  “Jacques,” Fleuse muttered quickly.

  “What?!” Pistache said out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Jacques,” Fleuse said again.

  “Dammit, Fleuse! What?!” Pistache yelled, snapping his head toward the clockmaker.

  “I don’t think you want to go.”

  “Why the hell not?!”

  “Well look,” Fleuse said with a motion toward the splintered table.

  The safe sat exactly where Trudel fell with it. It was resting on its backside, and I had to turn my head to see the dial. To all of our astonishment, the safe’s door had finally popped slightly open.

  “I don’t believe it,” Pistache said quietly.

  “I did it,” Trudel whispered proudly with tears still on her face.

  Pistache rolled his eyes at the woman.

  “Well for God’s sake,” Janie said. “Someone just look inside the damned thing.”

  Renard approached the safe. He knelt beside it and slowly peered inside. “Wow.”

  “What’s in it?” Fleuse asked.

  “Uh …” Renard said with a chuckle. “This might not be easy. Let’s get it up.”

  Fleuse stood to help, but Renard quickly continued, “No, stay where you are. I need the American to give me a hand.”

  All eyes on the room landed on me just in time to witness my surprise. “Me?”

  Renard began to position himself over the safe to lift it. “Yes you. I just need help moving this. Let’s get it up to the bar, then we can sort through the contents.”

  “Well, what’s inside?” I asked again, joining Peukington’s man.

  “Yeah, is the coin there?” Janie echoed.

  “I don’t know,” Renard answered. “Have a look.” He tilted the safe in my direction so I could best see through the open door. Light from the overheads splashed across the inside of the safe. I almost gasped when I saw not one, but many glistening coins of all sizes and metals. Each one was different.

  I slowly knelt as I registered the scene. “Treasure,” I whispered in awe.

  “It’s got to be Victor’s collection,” Pistache muttered.

  “His collection is bigger than that,” Fleuse said.

  “I thought he’d sold most of it off,” Trudel answered.

  “Did he ever mention any part of the collection here?” Fleuse asked her.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “It would make sense that he didn’t store it all in one place,” Renard muttered.

  “I guess,” I said.

  “C’mon, help me move this thing,” Renard urged.

  I stooped across from him, and we lifted the safe. The door swung freely as we moved it to the bar top. The others migrated in our direction. We carefully placed the safe on the bar. I heard fabric ripping as we turned the object toward Renard and the others.

  “Oh, honey,” Janie gasped lightly, almost smiling. “Your shirt.”

  My good sleeve had momentarily been caught on the door, and a tear nearly separated the cuff from the rest of the sleeve. “Damn,” I uttered.

  “Were you still planning on wearing that shirt after this evening?” Pistache asked.

  Janie chuckled. “It’s seen better nights.”

  I sighed. The shirt was pretty much already ruined, but it was still my favorite blue plaid. I rolled the cuff to keep it from catching on something else.

  Renard went to work. Opening the door as widely as possible, he began removing coin after coin. He did so two or three at a time, giving each handful a quick glance before grunting and setting them aside. For the moment, it looked as though he no longer cared about anyone leaving through the curtain. That is, it seemed that way until Pistache took a step in that direction.

  “Just a moment, Monsieur Pistache,” Renard motioned in his direction without looking up.

  “Damn it,” Pistache said. “Make me a drink, American.”

  “You name it,” I answered.

  “Just whiskey.”

  “What’s that?” Fleuse asked as he casually pointed at something Renard had removed from the safe without much thought.

  “Looks like a napkin or something,” Renard grunted as he examined another handful of coin.

  Fleuse approached and picked up what indeed was a cocktail napkin. Casting a critical eye over the top of his glasses, he held it delicately.

  “Why was there a cocktail napkin in there?” Janie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Fleuse replied. “There might be something written on it.” He carefully unfolded the thin paper until it was only one ply. Low and behold, there was a drawing on it, lightly traced in pencil or faded pen.

  “What is it?” Trudel asked.

  “It looks like a layout of this room,” Fleuse said as he continued his examination.

  “Maybe it’s a map, like, a treasure map,” I said half-jokingly.

  “Maybe,” said Fleuse. “There are people’s names placed all around the room.”

  “Whose names?” Renard asked.

  “Well, just people,” Fleuse continued. “Look here’s Trudel.”

  “Am I on there?” Pistache asked.

  “No, but I am,” Fleuse mentioned. His name was next to Trudel’s at the bar area.

  “Who are the rest of these people?” Renard asked.

  “Actually, I don’t know,” Fleuse answered as his finger traced lines from name to name, placed at tables around all corners of the room. “Susan, Lillian …”

  “Hussies,” Trudel spat quietly.

  “This is where we usually sit though,” he added.

  I leaned in for a closer look. “I love how he’s drawn a star where he stands. Kind of a ‘you are here’ indication like a map at the mall,” I observed.

  “Yeah, that’s funny,” Janie said.

  “Hmm,” Fleuse laughed a little. “Yes.”

  “What
did Victor mean by this seating chart?” Renard asked.

  “Well, let’s be fair here. Are we assuming Victor even drew the map?” I said. “Is there a name on it? Any indication that it was his?”

  “Well, no,” Fleuse answered.

  “Why not put his own name behind the bar?” Janie asked.

  “He didn’t need to know his own name,” Pistache said with contemptuous tone.

  “Well, he didn’t need to know Trudel’s or Fleuse’s either,” I pointed out. “But they’re there.”

  Renard had resumed the coin inventory.

  “He’s just jealous that I’m on the map and he’s not,” Trudel stated.

  “I am not,” Pistache said.

  “So maybe this was a seating chart for some kind of event?” I offered.

  “There aren’t events in here,” Trudel said.

  “Surely, hotel guests must have occasions. Maybe Victor was supposed to be planning something.”

  “This place is pretty slow usually,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Fleuse added. “Just doesn’t seem right.”

  “It’s not here,” Renard said, rejoining the conversation. He sat with the emptied safe in front of him. There was a significant amount of currency piled on the bar in front of him. I didn’t recognize any of the coins as euros, or even francs.

  “Damn it,” Pistache whispered with an eye roll and a swig of his newest libation.

  “Are you sure?” Trudel asked.

  “Positive,” Renard said.

  “If your boss kept it on his person at all times,” I began, “then how would you know exactly what it looked like? There are a lot of coins there.”

  “Well, he had the item pretty well documented,” Renard stated. “Plus, a lot of these aren’t even French. Truly, this has to be part of Victor’s collection. There is no way that this is bar money or anything.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think it was,” I said.

  “Well,” Renard said as he gently shrugged. “I guess I’ll take a drink too.”

  * * *

  Bees’ hearts beat faster when there’s honey in the hive. I read one of Janie’s cocktail-napkin poems that she’d left on the bar. She’d completed several one-liners as she scribbled throughout the night. I don’t know how she’d remained so relaxed.