Queen of the Masquerade (Rosie Maldonne's World Book 3)

by Alice Quinn

“I’m going to try to geolocalize him,” declared Laroche.

  “Geo what? Ah! You mean find out where he is? You can do that too? This is just amazing! The skills!”

  “It’s my specialty,” he muttered, seemingly self-conscious in front of Bintou.

  “Great! So, while Gaston is getting his special pump and you’re geofinding people, Léo and I will go to the hospital and visit Mimi. She must be wondering what I’ve done with her son by now. And the blasted telephones haven’t been working. I bet she’s worried sick if she’s been trying to get ahold of us.”

  I entrusted them with my bambinos, and Erina, Léo, and I set off to see his momma.

  Luckily, the hospital is on pretty high ground and they hadn’t been too badly affected by the weather. The electricity had been on and off, like in the rest of the town, but they had backup generators.

  Mimi’s operation had been a success. Her left wrist was in a splint and she’d been told to stay lying down as much as possible to help with her back pain. She’d be allowed to go home in two days’ time. She’d need Léo to help her with all the day-to-day stuff. There wasn’t much she could do in the way of shopping, chores, and the rest of it, and she’d been told to rest up. Doctor’s orders.

  “The world has turned upside down on me, Léo,” she muttered. “I couldn’t have been more excited about the idea of spoiling you for a while, and now it’s you who’ll have to take care of me. I can’t even fasten my own buttons. I can’t use a knife and fork. I’m ridiculous. And cooking? You can forget about it!”

  He sounded embarrassed. “Please, Mom, it’s nothing. I’ll be glad to help you out. You know that. I like being useful.”

  I knew he’d be up to the task. She had a good son in Léo.

  66

  Gaston was back at the castle before us. He’d already gotten the pump into action, and the water was spilling out into his garden—as if it needed any extra! Better out than in, though!

  He’d even taken the time to pick up a few groceries. Saint of a man.

  We had scallops with roasted ham and polenta with a spicy sage sauce. Paradise on a plate. The munchkins were in ecstasy, not to mention Pastis. It’s not every day we eat like that, let me tell you!

  “My grandmother used to say there was no use not working on a full stomach, so this is just what we all needed, Gaston!” I said.

  “I think she probably said that there was no use working on an empty stomach,” replied Laroche.

  “No. Not my Ruth. And I like to say it the same as her,” I explained.

  What I meant was we’d all eaten well, so we could now get some serious work done. Isn’t that how it came across? And we could start with my trailer . . .

  “It doesn’t matter how it’s said. We need to be off now. I want to go back to my pad and see what can be rescued. Sorry to love you and leave you! Come along if you don’t want to be left!”

  “I didn’t want to say anything while we were enjoying that wonderful meal,” said Laroche, “but I’ve managed to locate the number. I mean, the person whose number it is.”

  Everyone’s eyes were on him . . . and then the questions started. All of us spluttering and stammering at once.

  Léo was the most frantic. He was fretting half to death that the big bad was still out there. The guy who had his eye on Léo’s Erina.

  I wasn’t really any less frantic. If this Monsieur Charles existed, he was going to pay the price for what had happened to my Sabrina. Even if he hadn’t given the direct orders, he was behind it. Nobody messes with my babies. I’d have his bones for breakfast sooner or later—and the sooner the better. If we got to him, we could crack the whole network! Smash it into smithereens.

  I decided that the trailer could wait another hour or so, and Gaston, Léo, Laroche, and I went off on the trail of a little red dot flashing in a grid on Laroche’s laptop. It was all very James Bond.

  We decided to go on foot. Laroche said it would be easier. No one-way streets to bother us. We headed in the direction of the city center. Laroche was in the lead. So far, so good. As he took a combination of lefts and rights, down small alleyways and through strips of public parkland, I realized that we were not all that far from Sélect. And that’s where we ended up. Of all the places.

  The coincidence was loopo insane. Léo couldn’t get over it either. I mean, that was where his momma worked!

  I stepped up to the front of the gang (we were a bit like a super cool gang by that point). I pushed the door open.

  Tony was the only person in the joint. He was standing at the bar, cleaning a glass with a cloth. The TV was on, but there was no sound.

  Normally, on a Saturday afternoon, the place is packed to the gills! You can’t move in there. But with yesterday’s awful flooding, it seemed that nobody had much of an inclination to be partying it up in a bar. They were more than likely at home, cleaning up the damage.

  But if Tony was the only person there . . . and the little red dot . . . that meant . . .

  No! I looked at my old friend, feeling devastated. Tony? No. Tell me it’s not true. Not Tony! Not him! No! I was bugging out. Brain overload. It just simply couldn’t be true. There was no way my Tony was the big boss of a trafficking, druggy, child-slavery ring.

  Could Monsieur Charles be Tony? No! Impossible!

  But what better cover? What better location? He was like Gus, the chicken guy in Breaking Bad! It was perfect! A traditional little café-bar, busy, a bit scruffy, rough around the edges, cheap beer, little concerts on a Saturday night . . . Who would ever suspect? What could be more banal, normal, run-of-the-goddamn-mill?

  Tony smirked at me and winked, but then he must have seen my face and his expression turned to one of concern. “Whassuuuup, chica? Do I have something on my face?”

  I was still too stunned to speak. As I stood there like a loser, he looked me up and down, head to toe, taking in the whole sorry sight.

  “What’s the deal with the outfit? It’s not Mardi Gras, is it? Someone could have reminded me!” He spotted my bandaged wrist. “Oh, Cricri girl, what’s with the arm? What did you do now? You badly hurt?”

  He looked to the others behind me. “Yo, Léo! How’s your mom doing? I haven’t had time to call up the hospital yet. Not today, anyway.”

  Next he spied Laroche. He gave him a bit of a jealous glare. He never likes it when I bring a guy to Sélect. “Can I get you anything?”

  Still no replies from any of us. We didn’t know where to take this thing next. I glanced around and noticed Emma’s Princess Sarah doll in her Superman get-up. She was sitting nicely on a bar stool, like a very miniature customer.

  “Oh, you found the doll?” I whispered. I’d lost all the power in my voice.

  “Yeah, I was hoping you’d show up. She must be missing it. Don’t forget it this time,” he replied.

  “Thanks.” I dawdled over to the stool and slipped it into my purse. “Does your phone work yet?” I continued, just for something to say, buying time.

  I didn’t know what to do, but I thought it might be worth a shot to get Borelli on the line. He’d be better equipped than me to deal with this right now. Finding out that one of your best friends in the world, not to mention the greatest boss ever, is a criminal mastermind was too much. Even for me. I was sick to my stomach.

  “No,” he answered. “It hasn’t been working since last night. The electricity has been a big pain in the ass too. My cell wasn’t working either, but I got a text about five minutes ago, so I guess the network’s back up again. And even though I’m on the latest deal with 4,634 gigamegakillerbytes or whatever, I still don’t have the Internet up and running. Not on my computer or my cell. I don’t know when they’ll get it all fixed. I suppose it’ll take some time.”

  His words seemed to cause a panic. Everyone except Gaston got their little talkie boxes out to check if they had a connection or not. It was almost an automatic reflex. When did we all become so cell obsessed? What a world! Mine was still out, but Laroc
he and Léo were managing to get a weak signal. We’d had no difficulties with Laroche’s lappy thing on the way over, so it must have just been this part of town. Also, Laroche must have had the best phone and computer stuff that money could buy, I was pretty sure of that.

  “One of you call Borelli if you can get a signal. Léo, you have his number!”

  Tony examined me and then his eyes moved to Léo. He was waiting to see what would happen next. But Léo didn’t even question me. He typed in Borelli’s number, glancing at Tony nervously as he did so.

  “Monsieur Borelli? I’m calling you on behalf of Rosie Maldonne . . . Yes. At Sélect, do you know it? . . . Could you come? As quickly as possible, please. It’s an emergency.”

  Gaston spoke up. “Could I have a little glass of rosé de Provence, please?”

  I think he was a little slow on the uptake and hadn’t figured out that Tony was our guy. Red-Spot Guy. He took his glass and went to sit at a table near the open window. I think he needed some air after the long walk.

  “It doesn’t look like you were hit too badly by the storm. Not much water made it this far, huh?” asked Gaston.

  Tony didn’t respond. He was too busy staring at me, a worried expression on his face. The tension was unbearable. Gaston was in another world. I hoped it was somewhere pleasant, for his sake.

  That’s when Laroche got out the cell. The cell. The badass cell. He banged it down aggressively on the bar and stared at Tony.

  Tony came across as being mega nervous. “Hey, you all seem a bit on edge. What’s the story here? I think I’ve missed an episode.” He was trying his hardest to give Laroche the hairy eyeball in return. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said.

  Laroche slowly picked up the phone and pressed a couple of buttons. He was calling the boss. If the geothermolocomoco was right, Tony’s cell would ring any second.

  Léo and I held our breath. Could this have gotten any more dramatic? We waited for the first ring, hypnotized by Tony’s every blink, twitch, gesture . . .

  And that’s when we heard it. A little tune coming from far away. It was that song from Carmen. The Toreador Song, according to Gaston. What did I know? It sounded real screwy in such a heavy, tense, murky atmosphere.

  My first thought was that Tony’s cell was in a jacket hanging up at the other end of the bar, or tucked away in a drawer somewhere. But just then, I noticed a half-empty cup of coffee on the shiny bar top. And then I heard the toilet flush, and a tap running . . .

  Someone was there. In the bathroom. Someone else was at Sélect. Someone other than Tony.

  My legs were doing that wobbly thing again. The emotion was too much. I stepped back and plunked my ass on a table, not taking my eye off the bathroom door. It was either that or drop to the floor. Léo and Laroche had the same reflexes as me and were now staring at the door marked “Toilettes.”

  The door opened and out walked Antoine, the cyclist. He came toward us with a cell phone in his hand.

  As he noticed us all looking in his direction, he gave us his usual jovial smile, but then I saw the worry flash in his eyes. The shoe dropped. The cell in Laroche’s hand, his own ringtone singing loudly, and our bizarre behavior . . . all of us fixated on him.

  Antoine pressed a button on his phone, and Laroche said slowly and calmly, “Call refused.”

  Antoine made out like he hadn’t heard and went back to his barstool. He finished his coffee, threw a two-euro coin down in front of Tony, and headed to the door.

  “Leaving already, Antoine?” I asked, my voice still weak. “Or should I say Monsieur Charles?”

  He stopped, turned to me, and tried to get a staring contest going between us, but his eyes were soulless, devoid of any feeling. Shark eyes.

  Then he made a run for it, bombing out of the bar.

  Léo lost it. Me too. We both jumped on him at the same time. It must have looked like a slapstick comedy as my head and Léo’s smacked into one another. I heard the crack. Léo fell to the floor, but I hung onto Antoine’s back, clinging like a limpet to a rock. I’d already had a little training at the body shop, and I knew Antoine wasn’t as strong as the greaseball who’d thrown me across the room the day before.

  “You bastard!” I shrieked. “You’re not going anyplace. You pricks had my daughter!”

  Tony so obviously didn’t have a clue what was happening. He’d never seen me like that, although he knew I had a certain, um, character. Laroche, who was not exactly the best street fighter, as far as I knew, was trying to get a punch in, but wasn’t quite managing it. He was seeking out the best angle. He never found it.

  Monsieur Charles slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a revolver. I should have known he’d be armed.

  “Let me go or I’ll shoot all of you fuckers!”

  My only response was to grip even tighter. I hoped, I expected, that someone would help me bring him down. Why was I still on my own here? But now that the piece had made an appearance, the others were even more hesitant than they’d already been.

  Panic flowed through my veins as I saw Tony bend down under the bar and pick up a bat. Antoine spotted him and didn’t take too kindly to the idea. He was spinning around with me still attached to his back like an oversized, brightly colored backpack.

  “Tony! Keep out of this, I’m telling you! Put that back or I’ll take you down. I mean it. Not just you, the whole fucking group of you. In an instant. Whacked. What choice do I have? You meddling fucks! Didn’t you know? When you dig in shit, you wind up stinking! I know what I’m doing here. You’ll each get a bullet and I’ll take what’s in the cash register. Not that I fucking need it, but it’ll be easy pickings.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Antoine,” snapped Tony. “I don’t know what it is you supposedly did, but don’t make this worse for yourself. Come on . . .”

  Antoine’s sinister laugh filled the room, and Tony quickly understood that this old bike boy wasn’t who he’d always claimed to be. I closed my eyes. I sensed that it was all going to end up very bad. His comment about digging in shit had gotten me scared out of my tree.

  Monsieur Charles flung his hand backward and caught my chin—a momentary lapse in concentration on my part. I crumpled to the ground.

  “Big mistake,” said Monsieur Charles, pointing his gun at my Tony.

  What he didn’t see was Gaston coming from behind like a sneaky sneaky ninja man. He must have sensed a movement, but it was too late. As Monsieur Charles turned around, Gaston did some kind of oddball scissor move around his neck. I don’t think I’ll ever get over how much of a kickass Gaston is. Nobody would possibly ever expect it. Especially a move like that! Both men fell to the ground. The gun flew across the floor and went under one of the tables. Monsieur Charles was still down with Gaston’s thighs wrapped around his neck. He was being choked! Death by thigh!

  I wondered how long Gaston would be able to hold him in such a position. I ran to the bar, grabbed a bottle of Campari from the nearest shelf, and rushed back to them. Using my good arm, I smacked Monsieur Charles over the head with it, with all the strength I could muster.

  He stopped struggling. His head had gone purple, and blood was pouring from him. I nearly peed my pants! Had I killed him? Oh no, it was just the Campari. That stuff looks and smells like blood. Grim. Gaston released his leg grip and stood up proudly. What a useful old fella to know. I’ve always said as much.

  “What on earth is going on here? Are you all high? What the hell was that?” asked Tony, in shock.

  “I know this man probably seemed innocent enough to you,” Gaston said, “but he’s one of the naughty ones, I’m afraid. Cricri will fill you in.”

  “Antoine? With his bike and his shorts . . . going around minding his own business? No!”

  I wasn’t listening. I’d just understood my mother’s song. It was from The Godfather! That’s right! Here he was! Another one! I was getting good at catching godfathers! My momma had done it again.

  I
ran to Léo to check on him (he was OK!) and asked Tony for some string. The fake-ass real-estate agent got tied up Sabrina-style, and as I finished, in walked Borelli and a beat cop. Just in the nick of time. Not. Thanks a lot.

  “But . . . I can’t . . . Jesus Almighty! Having yourself a good time again, Maldonne? Arrest them all!”

  And so once again I was back in Borelli’s office having to explain myself.

  I didn’t care, though. I had Emma’s Superman princess in my pocket for luck.

  67

  It took a while to give Borelli the full story. The big problem was that we didn’t have any proof to back it up. Just a phone with a number in it, which really didn’t mean much. We couldn’t prove where we’d found it or anything.

  Borelli simply let us go. I lucked out there. Because I guess breaking an innocent old cyclist’s skull open and then tying him up could get you into quite a lot of trouble in most places. Borelli explained that he was backlogged with work and couldn’t be bothered adding another file on me to his pile. More luck.

  I couldn’t believe we didn’t have anything on Antoine! Jesus! The only thing I could think of was to get Erina and Kholia to make a statement, but the cops would whip them off to a center in seconds. It wasn’t an option. I’d handed them the (or yet another) real-life Godfather on a silver platter. It was up to the dicks to sort it out now. Borelli would just have to do the job he was always claiming to be so good at.

  As soon as we were out of there, we headed for my trailer. Jobs to do! Tony wanted to come with us. He’d already closed his café, and he reasoned it might as well stay closed for the rest of the day. Besides, with all the flooding, folks were staying away anyhow. Tons of other shops and cafés were shut, so he didn’t see why he shouldn’t follow suit. I think he just wanted to hang around and check out my trailer.

  Bintou joined us. Erina stayed with Rachel Amar at Gaston’s place. They were on babysitting duty.

  Between us, we managed to push the trailer upright again. One less thing to worry about! There was a huge dent in it, but it was around the back, so you’d have to know it was there. I wasn’t too worried. It was looking the worse for wear, to say the least, but it was still solid, and once we’d put it back on its blocks, it was safe to venture inside.