by Pres Maxson
“Cough up the coin?” Victor asked, smiling.
“I’m leaving,” the clockmaker announced defiantly.
Victor stepped in front of him. “And where do you think you’re going?”
Renard looked on with marked interest.
“Anywhere. This place is a dead end.”
“I’ll let you walk out that door if you prove somehow that you don’t have the coin,” Victor said.
“Let me?!” Fleuse yelled. “Victor, we’re on the same side!”
“Listen,” the bartender went on. “This guy threw me off a bridge. We’re beyond just hiding something.”
“I don’t know where it is!” Fleuse yelled.
“Still,” the bartender answered. “It’s time to put this whole thing to rest, and no one leaves.”
“And how do you suggest I prove that I don’t have the coin? Are you going to search me or something?! Or do you want me to just stand naked in front of you?!” Fleuse was livid.
“Impressive display, Fleuse,” Pistache remarked snidely.
“Well,” Victor answered. “It would be great if you simply produced the coin, or told me who had it.”
“For the last time! I have no idea!”
Fleuse moved around the bartender and began his departure. Victor didn’t even react. Expecting resistance from Renard, I immediately glanced to the man, whose placement near the curtain was unchanged. Only this time, he didn’t move. He didn’t even raise his head to break his stare at the carpet in front of him.
Fleuse stopped in his tracks and gasped. A tall man stood in the doorway, expressionless. I had never seen him before. Fleuse’s entire demeanor changed instantly. He had been furious only a moment before, but the clockmaker was immediately tamed.
“Are you …?” Fleuse barely managed. Immediately, he blindly thrust his hand out behind him to feel for the nearest chair. When he found it, he grasped it and fell into the seat.
“And you are?” Trudel snapped.
The man’s icy gaze surveyed the room.
“My name is Lavaar Peukington.”
Chapter XVII.
Julian Renard sprinted through the narrow alley in the restaurant’s kitchen. Men in white jackets and hats stared at him as he passed, frozen in their duties. They’d also heard the gunshots from the back room, but didn’t dare rush through the door at the rear of the space.
Renard thrust the door open. A single light bulb swung lazily over a card table in the otherwise blackened room. A man in a suit lay face down, slumped over on the card table. Blood pooled slowly around him, staining the playing cards beneath him. Lavaar Peukington stood across the table from Renard, wiping a revolver with his bright white pocket square.
“What took you so long?”
“What took me so long?” Renard answered. “I was at a table right there, just like you said. How could I have possibly been any faster?”
“Aren’t you going to start cleaning this up?” Peukington asked, nodding at the body. Blood had begun dripping over the side of the table on to the floor.
Renard wheeled around and looked back at the cooks, all of whom still stood and stared. Looking back toward Peukington, he finally managed, “but sir. They have seen everything.”
“Don’t worry. They won’t say anything,” the businessman said, eyeing the kitchen staff. The cooks immediately went right back to their work. “You should be concerned with other matters at this moment.”
“Of course sir. What happened here?” Renard asked, shutting the door behind him.
Peukington tucked the revolver under his jacket and delicately removed his drink from the table.
“He was stealing from me.”
“What did he take?” Renard gingerly lifted the dead man’s wrist to confirm his condition.
“Actually, nothing yet,” Peukington answered, taking a sip. “We’ve been trying to get a deal done for some time, but I discovered that he was being dishonest.”
“I see. You should probably leave, sir,” Renard suggested. “If anyone else heard those shots, we won’t want to have you found here.”
“I think I’ll be okay,” the businessman replied. He owned the entire building, and all the tenants knew Monsieur Peukington’s nature.
Renard looked around the dark edges of the room. “Is there another light in here? This would be easier if it wasn’t so dark.”
Ignoring the question, Peukington again sipped from his drink. “Let me ask you. Do you remember anyone funny at the gala over the weekend?”
Renard thought back.
“I’m not sure what you mean?”
“Anyone out of place?” Peukington clarified.
“Not particularly. Why?” Renard circled the body, wondering how best to lift the man. Thinking twice about becoming covered in blood, he removed his jacket.
“My coin is gone.”
“Your Napoleon coin?” Renard asked without looking up from his task.
“My family’s coin,” Peukington stated coolly, removing a cigarette from his jacket pocket.
“Right. You think you lost it at the party?”
“I don’t think I lost it at all. I think it was stolen.” Peukington lit his cigarette.
“Don’t you carry it on you at all times?” Renard asked, searching from something in the room in which to wrap the body.
“Yes. I think it was taken right out of my pocket.”
“Are you sure that you just didn’t leave it in another jacket or something?”
Peukington shot him a look of complete frustration and leaned toward him. His eyes sparkled as he hissed, “Do you think I’m the kind of person that would make a fuss over something if I made mistakes like that?”
“Right.”
“No, it was in my coat pocket when I went downstairs,” Peukington continued. “I’m sure of it.”
“So you were pickpocketed? Is that what you are saying?”
“That’s what I’m saying. What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for some trash bags to wrap up this guy.”
“I have an area rug in an office upstairs that I hate.”
“Okay, I’ll run up. I’ll worry about the blood after I get him out of here.”
“Plan for a long night. As usual, this place has to be completely scrubbed down,” Peukington answered. “There can’t be a single drop left in here. I am using this room to play mahjong tomorrow.”
Renard thought carefully, thinking back to the coin before leaving the room. “So you’re sure that you never took your coat off?”
Peukington drew on his cigarette. “Here’s the bottom line: I want you to get it back for me.”
“Okay,” he said, gently pulling the dead man’s head up long enough to see the anguished expression on his face. Renard didn’t react. “There were quite a few people at that party. Do you have a lead on who it may have been?”
“I did go through the security footage, and I have a hunch when it happened. The man who did it was a crasher. I don’t know his name because he wasn’t invited, and he claimed to have met me previously. I doubt that, though. It appears that you may have spoken with him directly at the gala as well.”
Renard thought back. He couldn’t conceive of who it could have been. “Interesting,” he mustered.
“I’ll make sure you have access to the footage from the evening. It should give you a better idea of who to target.”
Renard nodded along.
Peukington paused before taking a sip of his drink. “I’ll make sure you are provided with all the documentation I have about the coin as well. I have several enlarged pictures of it for insurance reasons.”
“Why not just claim the loss?” Renard asked.
“It’s far more important to me than money. It is more valuable than money. It has been in my family for generations.”
“I know,” Renard answered.
“Excellent, now regarding your fee. As you know, I’m a fair man. You will be rewarded for your successful eff
orts. I’m willing to pay you eighty thousand euros for the coin.”
Renard almost choked and placed his hand on the table to steady himself. Immediately feeling blood, he recoiled and noticed his handprint in the mess. Monsieur Peukington rolled his eyes.
“Thank you, sir,” Renard stammered.
“Of course,” Peukington said, smiling.
Now Renard wanted the coin more than anything. He reached to straighten his tie and accidentally wiped blood on the knot. Again, Peukington scoffed at his carelessness.
“Try to keep it together, Renard.”
“Yes sir, of course. Sorry about that.”
“Just get this taken care of. And tell the bartender to get me a fresh one of these on your way upstairs,” Peukington remarked, shaking the ice in his glass.
“Of course. One last thing. What should I do with the person who has your coin when I find them?”
“I honestly don’t care what happens to the person who took it. Rest assured, I’ll kill him myself if I ever find him at one of my parties again.”
Chapter XVIII.
“Do you have it?” Peukington grunted at Renard.
“Not yet,” Renard answered with a sigh.
“You’re Lavaar Peukington?!” Fleuse stammered. Apparently, everyone except Janie and I regarded this man as a little bit of a celebrity.
“Where is it?” Peukington asked simply. He was skipping all formal introductions.
“Hey, I recognize you!” I interjected. “You’re the bust!”
The man looked at Renard. Neither spoke.
“Right here,” I continued, pointing at the dignified man in bronze behind the bar. “This is you.”
Peukington rolled his eyes.
Renard spoke for him. “That’s Napoleon, idiot.”
“Oh.” There was a resemblance, though.
“I have followed these people relentlessly, sir,” Renard answered Peukington’s question. “I don’t believe any of them actually have it right now.”
“But someone must know where it is,” Peukington eyed everyone suspiciously as he spoke.
“I don’t disagree with that,” Renard answered. “After my altercation with the old man Lacquer, I actually think that it’s somewhere here in this room.”
“You mean when you threw him off a bridge and left him for dead?!” Trudel exclaimed.
Peukington gritted his teeth and subtly rolled his eyes.
Renard ignored Trudel. “The way that everyone flocked in here the moment the light came on indicates that they think the coin is here as well.”
“What about hotel security?” Peukington asked.
“Unless someone saw you come in,” Renard answered, “we’re clear. No cameras at the entrances, and none in here.”
“Who are these two?” Peukington nodded in our direction as he sized us up.
“They are Americans. They’re staying at the hotel,” Pistache joined the conversation.
Peukington grunted as he looked my direction before shifting his gaze to the pickpocket.
“Jacques Pistache,” the gangster greeted him.
Janie and Trudel took a sip.
“Nice to see you again,” Peukington said.
“You barely saw me the first time,” Pistache smirked.
“Don’t get smart. I have no patience for any of this. No one speaks anymore unless I am asking you a direct question. Especially Pistache,” Peukington said, as he steadily moved toward the bar.
Janie and Trudel took another sip.
The gangster directed his attention back to Renard. “So, how are these American hotel guests involved?”
“Well, they weren’t at first,” Renard said calmly.
“Bad luck,” Peukington muttered toward me.
Renard continued, “I think they were just looking for a fun night. But, I can’t rule them out since they were apparently in the bar alone for some time before any of us showed up.” He nodded toward me. “He has been behind the bar all night also. He may have found it and is hiding it.”
“I didn’t,” I immediately said quietly. I was afraid of being accused of speaking out of turn, but the impulse to clear my name was strong.
Peukington’s eyes shown as he thought. “I am tired of all this already, and I’ve only been here for a minute.” He reached into his dark coat and produced a short-barreled pistol, sleek and black.
He held the gun in the air as he spoke, showing it off to the room. “I did not come here to have a good time. I didn’t even come here to talk to any of you. All I want out of this moment is my property to be returned to me. No one will get hurt, as long as everything goes exactly as I want it to. So here’s what we’re going to do: no games, no tricks, just … give … me … the … coin.”
Silence.
Janie was locked in on the gun. I knew she was scared, and I hated the fact that we were in this position. She’s tough, but went pale as soon as Peukington produced the weapon. I stood frozen behind the bar as well. No one in the room blinked.
“Hmph,” Trudel snorted and took a drink.
“Madame von Hugelstein. Something you care to say?” Peukington asked.
“Listen,” she managed frankly. “I’ve been through a lot tonight. I’ve heard about you, but you don’t scare me. I’ve lived through the occup …”
“The occupation, yes I know,” Peukington cut her off. “Trudel von Hugelstein, the amateur opera singer. I know everything about you.”
“I am a professional,” she snorted.
“Of course you are. Your dependence on that belief is borderline sad but completely necessary for you to continue through your pathetic existence. Do you know how I became who I am, Madame von Hugelstein?”
She stared back, offended.
Peukington continued, “Well, it sure wasn’t by wishing I was successful. No, I identified what I wanted, and I went out to get it every single time. I met people like you along the way. But, do you know what happened to them? No, of course you don’t because no one does. No one remembers the people who fail to accomplish anything real in their lives.”
“Dick,” Trudel spat.
“You know who else people don’t remember? Here’s your answer: anyone who stands in my way. They just fade into history. Those people probably won’t even be mentioned by name in my biography. So it’s time that I ask you, Trudel von Hugelstein: do you want to be someone who lets a stupid little coin be the thing that keeps them from ever being remembered?”
“I don’t care if I’m in your biography or not,” Trudel said with a snide tone.
Peukington looked at her for a moment, seemingly sizing her up. The entire room remained silent.
Peukington didn’t let it last. Deciding that Trudel was a dead end, he raised the gun. Pointing it directly at Pistache, he cocked the hammer back.
“Jacques Pistache,” Peukington began anew.
Janie and Trudel took a sip.
“Why wouldn’t I shoot you right here, right now?” the gangster asked, slightly cocking his head.
“Because I don’t have your coin?” Pistache answered, finally sounding nervous.
“So shooting you would do nothing?”
“That’s right?” Pistache said, unsure he’d said the right answer.
Peukington raised an eyebrow.
“I mean,” Pistache continued to stumble. “It wouldn’t exactly do nothing; it would kill me. So you’d end my life … obviously. But because I don’t have the coin, it would mean nothing.”
“So your life is meaningless?” Peukington asked.
Flustered, Pistache stammered, “Actually, yes. Meaningless … kind of. I don’t know. Pass? Next question?”
“So what’s to stop me then? Let’s say I love killing people. Are you giving me a free shot?”
“Uh … no?” The pickpocket changed his tone. “For a guy who said he didn’t like playing games, you sure do seem to love playing this one with me.”
Peukington didn’t budge. “The thing i
s,” the tall businessman said as he tilted his head slightly, “you started this whole thing when you lifted the coin off me. Truth be told, you are the only one here that I actually want to kill.”
“Oh God!” Pistache exclaimed. “It won’t do you any good. You’ll just have a dead body and still no coin.”
“It might be fun, though,” Peukington said. “The world might be better off without you. You’re a pest.”
“Yeah maybe,” Pistache pleaded. “But when you search my body for the coin, you won’t find a thing. Then, you will have wasted all your time, and there will be blood everywhere. It’ll be pretty bad.”
A beat passed as Peukington seemed to contemplate the scene.
“Kill him anyway,” Trudel added wryly. “I don’t think that I would mind seeing it.”
Pistache was panicking. “C’mon! Someone back me up here. Fleuse, say something. Victor!”
“How do we know you don’t have it, my friend?” Victor answered. Fleuse’s silent expression proved he had the same reservations that Victor had.
“Guys! I don’t. You can trust me!”
“I knew you were dishonest from the moment you walked in this bar for the very first time,” Victor said.
Pistache was sweating.
“You stole my watch off me tonight,” Fleuse added with disappointment.
Pistache was at his wit’s end. “My friends! I’ve only always been on your side. Fleuse, you have to know I was just having a little fun tonight. I was obviously going to give it back!”
Fleuse subtly shrugged and remained silent.
Pistache added, “I’m not the only dishonest person here, though! The American behind the bar is a thief too! He probably has it!”
“What!?” I yelled. “I do not have it!”
Peukington instantly shifted his gaze and the gun to me. I felt a wave of goose bumps as a rush of cold swept across my body. Nobody had ever pointed a gun at me before. I was officially scared.
“Are you a thief?” Peukington asked methodically.
“Yeah, he is!” Pistache accused again, quick to deflect attention.