by Verner Jones
“So, are we just going to go up to Celine’s door and say ‘We were passing by. Thought we would drop in and see how our share of the Mostel Star is surviving and oh, bye the way, can you do a little shimmy with this, and see if you can turn it into something we can spend?’” Stipe looked down at her with a sideward glance.
“Sarcasm is not one of your outstanding features, Marta. But yes. I think that is going to be the general idea. We may have to persuade her by some means, I’m still working on that. Anyway, we should go find her apartment. I’ll know how best to deal with her once we are face to face. Come on, it’s this way.”
At the entrance of the three-storey building Stipe paused, looked around the immediate vicinity and read the occupancy tags for each floor. Apartment 82 had been left blank. He rang the intercom buzzers for the other two apartments. A zinging sound came from the door, releasing the electronic latch keeper, while simultaneously a voice from one of the intercoms requested to know who was there. Stipe ignored the call and pushed the vestibule door open. Inside, the hall was brightly decorated with hues of lemon and tangerine on the walls with a patterned tiled floor and hardwood staircase leading up to the subsequent floors. Stipe took to the staircase quickly in case the occupant on that floor came to investigate who was trying to get in. On the second floor the door of apartment 82 confronted them face on at the exit of the staircase. Two pictures of horses grazing in open pastures flanked the doorway; homely touches that made the hall feel like an extension of the apartment rather than a common area. Stipe dropped the holdall he was carrying onto the doormat and rapped the door. Nothing stirred. No one came to answer.
“I want us to be inside the apartment when Celine returns”, said Stipe.
“Fine. But how do you propose we get in?” Marta looked at the mat and crouched moving their bag to one side. She lifted the mat looking for a key. A spider scurried past her looking for safe haven causing Marta to flinch. No key was forthcoming. Marta’s actions prompted Stipe to look behind the pictures. As he disturbed the second frame a latchkey fell and jingled onto the tiled floor and landed at the toe of Marta ‘s shoe. She picked it up and offered it to Stipe.
“Well done,” said Marta.
Stipe took the key and they entered a spacious lounge with clean-cut lines of modernistic furniture in a room with a ceiling that was at least four metres high with windows on two walls that reached up to the sculptured cornices. It looked tasteful and felt expensive. The Mostel Star money had been spent well.
“This is what we’ll do. We make ourselves comfortable and wait for her to return a sort of home from home situation only with a menacing edge. When she arrives I want you to do everything I say without question.” Stipe reached into the holdall and removed Marta’s handgun and gave it to her. “Make sure it isn’t loaded. When she enters I want you to be sitting in that swivel chair with the back facing her. Then when she sees me you turn to face her and generally point that thing in her direction. We have to have some sort of scare tactic to make her realise we mean business.” Marta took the gun reluctantly, flicked her eyebrows removed the magazine and walked over to the swivel chair for a practice.
“You mean like this?” Marta sat in the chair and spun around to face Stipe holding the gun with both hands and locked arms.
“Hi Celine you bitch. Get down on your knees now and tell us what you did with our money before I cap a round into that pretty bosom of yours.” Marta looked for a response and found one in the reproachful look on Stipe’s face. She lowered the gun.
“Something like that, Marta, but without you saying a word, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Right. Pull the chair closer to the fireplace. It’s a more central position and closer to where I think she will be. I’m going to the kitchen and see what’s to drink in the fridge.” Stipe left the room thinking about Marta, ‘That girl takes on a new personality when she has that gun in her hand.’
An hour later Stipe heard footsteps approaching the entrance door and an excited child chattering. Stipe nodded to Marta who took up her position in the swivel chair. Stipe grabbed the beer he was drinking and laid out of view on the sofa as if the apartment was his. He wondered if Celine would reach for the latchkey that should have been behind the picture or would she have her own having left that one in case of emergency. He cursed silently knowing he should have replaced the key. Her suspicions would be alerted. She would know something was wrong. Stipe listened eagerly. The chatter continued unabated with Celine interspersing the conversation with the occasional ‘Yes dear’. The door opened much to Stipe’s relief and Celine, with a young child beside her, made her way towards the kitchen with a bag of groceries held in front of her. Stipe waited until she had took a couple of paces past him before he spoke.
“You’d think they would do a home delivery service in a neighbourhood like this. It’s quite a trek up those stairs carrying such a heavy bag, Celine.” The voice stopped Celine in her tracks and the groceries fell from her grasp spilling across the floor. She faced Stipe with an expression that was out of a Hitchcock movie.
“Wha… Wha… How did you get…”
“Don’t you worry yourself about details like that, Celine. Oh, bye the way, remember Marta?” Marta kicked gently against the floor revolving the chair to a slow stop facing Celine. She had both feet on the lip of the chair with her knees in the air and her hands with the pistol in it pointing directly at Celine.
“Hello Celine.” The initial shocked look hardened. The boy had stopped talking and had drawn closer to his mother. Celine put a protective arm around his shoulder.
“Yes, I thought you would remember Marta. You became close friends didn’t you? Stipe lifted himself off the sofa took a swallow from his beer bottle and placed it on a side table. Send the boy into the bedroom, now, and then sit in that chair.” Celine regained enough composure to react calmly to Stipe’s demands. She comforted her son and instructed him to do his homework in his room and then sat as directed. With her son out of the way her mood became relaxed, she’d met tough people before. In her previous line of work she’d contended with gangland bosses down to brawling bar buddies. They were all tricks to her and she had turned every one of them. These two would be no different once she got an angle on them.
“ If you’ve come for the money there is very little of it left. I was cheated when I sold that Star thing. I’d met this man he said he wanted to marry me. He was young and fresh. We sold the jewel to a crooked dealer friend of his. I only managed by pure luck to get any of the money from the creep before he disappeared. And to think I left Henrick for that fool.” Celine had forced a tear to roll down her cheek. “How is my Henrick? I wish I could go back to him.”
“Well I’m sure he would like to have you back, Celine if it wasn’t for the small matter that he’s dead.”
“Dead! But how?”
“That’s not important now, but let us say that it was his last wish that we find you.”
“So you've found me. Now what?”
“To be honest, Celine, I don’t for a moment believe one word you have said, but we are going to let you keep what ever you made on the sale of the Mostel Star on condition that you introduce us to your contact as we have an item that he would be very interested in.” Celine paused a moment searching for an excuse.
“That is impossible. I only met the man once and it was Charles’s friend. I can’t remember where we rendezvoused. It was dark.” Stipe chose a cushion from the sofa and tossed it to Marta.
“Go and put a bullet in the boy’s leg.” Marta caught the cushion and stood without saying a word and started to walk towards the bedroom.
“You’ve got about twenty seconds to remember before your son becomes a cripple. What’s it to be?” Marta continued her walk ignoring Celine who was watching her every pace. Her voice was shrill and pleading when she spoke. “Don’t do that. I don’t know how to get in touch with him. I would tell you if I did.” Marta chambered an imaginary r
ound into the breech and kept a steady pace towards the bedroom making sure Celine observed her; not sure what she was supposed to do once inside with an empty gun.
“Please, Stipe, I can’t help. Don’t hurt my son.” Marta reached the bedroom door and turned the handle. “Don’t, don’t go in, Marta. I’ll find a way. I know a man who knows him well. He will be able to direct you to him. It’s the best I can do, please Stipe.” Stipe caught Marta’s attention and she stopped at the door entrance.
“What’s his name and where can we find him?” Celine hesitated trying to calm herself.
“His name is Sebastian. He drinks regularly in a café on the Rue De Nevers. I’ll show you how to get there. It’s across town.”
“How about we go together. Get your coat. We’re leaving.
26
At the entrance to Antone & Schuller a cleaning lady was bagging the proceeds of her trade into a yellow bin liner. Having just swept the hall the only thing left to do was a little mopping and she would be finished for the day, not that anybody would notice the effects of her efforts in a building that was steadily decaying, like the business of its two ground floor occupants. Zoran approached the cleaning lady and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and gave him an unwelcome look. She didn’t like to be disturbed when she was cleaning.
“Which is the office of Antone and Schuller?” The man had a threatening tone and she felt intimidated by his presence. She cowered out of his way at the same time indicating to him it was at the end of the hall. He followed the direction her hand was pointing in. As he drew closer, the legend on the office door became legible and he was surprised to see that Antone & Shuller were private investigators. It sent his already spiralling mind into overdrive concocting connections between the trio that needed to be answered; he was in no mood to be toyed with. Zoran entered the office without knocking and was greeted by an empty vestibule with sparse furniture and two further doors both with lights on inside. He chose the door on the right knocked and entered. A man in his late forties wearing horn-rimmed glasses was putting on his jacket as Zoran intruded his space. Startled, the man finished dressing, focused on Zoran and continued collecting his belongings.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you the person who has been dealing with the affairs of Henrick van der Meen?” The man thought for a moment and picked up his briefcase.
“I think you need my partner next door. I have no recollection of that name. As it is I am going to be late for my appointment. Speak with Antone. He will be able to help you.” The man opened the door waiting for Zoran to leave. Believing the man to be telling the truth, Zoran thanked him and left the office. The solicitor indicated to Zoran the door he should try and left the building hastily. Zoran rapped Antone’s door and waited this time to be invited in. A distant call invited him to enter. Zoran did so, and smiling, approached Antone’s desk surveying the person who had stood from his chair, trying to gain the measure of the man from a first impression. As he approached, Zoran felt the man scrutinizing him. His body language spelt uneasiness. He looked edgy.
Hello. My name is Zoran. I have come to see if you can help me in a small matter.”
“Yes, I heard you talking to my partner. I assume that small mater has something to do with Henrick van der Meen. It seems that Mr van der Meen has a popular following since his untimely death. What is your connection with Mr van der Meen?”
“It’s of a personal matter of which I would rather not reveal.” Zoran’s eyes bored into the man as he spoke. Antone shifted uncomfortably in his chair. There were hard, chiseled bruised lines on this man's face. It wasn’t a face that would take no for an answer.
“I can’t promise you anything, Mr. Zoran, but ask your questions.”
“You say he has a popular following. Who else has been in touch with you about Henrick?” Zoran’s voice was direct and authoritative, an interrogators voice. Antone found himself unable to withhold the information. Client confidentiality. Bullshit, he thought. This man was scaring him. The previous two people had corrupted his morals by inducing him to accept a bribe and now this beast was going to hurt him for sure if he didn’t co-operate, he could feel it. Maybe he shouldn’t have chosen this line of work and gone into banking like his mother had wanted. It was a safer profession altogether.
“A young couple were in here recently. They wanted to know about an investigation I was conducting for Henrick.”
“What was it?” Antone was in free flow now.
“I had traced a woman that Henrick was involved with. They wanted to know her address. I gave it to them.” Zoran put two and two together and came up with the woman in the apartment on the Grachtengordel.
“Give me the address.”
“This is highly unorthodox. I don’t think Henrick would want his personal information divulged.” Zoran leaned forward in his chair and growled his response. “ Give me the address!”
Antone shifted his gaze from Zoran. Feling unable to stand up to him and powerless to resist he located the file and gave the information to Zoran. Zoran questioned him further. Antone reluctantly proceeded to tell Zoran everything he knew about Henrick, Celine, Stipe and Marta. Zoran listened and evaluated. A clear picture had developed and he knew that his next stop would be in Paris. Zoran thanked him and offered Antone his hand. Antone was perspiring when he limply took the hand on offer and let Zoran shake it. He knew it was an empty gesture. If he hadn’t co-operated it would probably have been a fist that confronted him. Zoran left with a directive formed. Antone slumped back in his chair almost close to tears. He sat a moment and then selected a piece of paper and started to write his resignation. He wasn’t cut out for this work. He decided that when he was finished he would give Steven a call. He needed to be loved not bullied and in Steven’s arms that was what he felt.
27
The traffic was liquid along the Quai De Conti, which cut the journey from Celine's apartment to the Rue De Nevers by ten minutes. Celine was pensive throughout the journey talking only to give directions to Stipe who was driving her car. Just before the next junction, Celine instructed Stipe to pull the car into a vacant parking space.
“It’s the Blue Light Café a few shops along this street.” Stipe observed the outside of the café which had several pavement tables with blue and white checked table cloths covering them, while a waiter who looked harassed served coffee and plated food to one table, while being hailed by a customer from another. On first impressions it looked a trendy sort of place, amidst a sea of sleaze; one that he felt Celine would frequent.
“Let’s go and see if your friend Sebastian is inside, Celine.” They left the car with Celine walking in the middle of them. Once inside several people greeted Celine as she approached the counter. It was indeed familiar territory for Celine and Stipe felt some way to being reassured that Celine was telling at least half of the truth. The barmen beamed as Celine took a seat at the bar and beckoned for Stipe and Marta to do likewise. He leaned over the counter and kissed both her cheeks. Stipe surveyed the customers and the establishment. They all looked well healed, business types, not the sort of clientele that the surrounding area portrayed, or the place where crooked jewel deals were instigated. Something didn’t add up. The lights were on green but the barriers were down. He watched Celine and wondered what she would say next. After the waiters exuberance in seeing Celine had dissolved, Celine ordered drinks as if they were on a social reunion rather than a woman under intimidation. When they settled Stipe started to ask about her co-conspirator but was cut short by Celine’s interruption.
“I’m afraid I’ve a confession to make.” Stipe squinted. Marta took a deep breath. “There is no friend of mine named Charles or Sebastian for that matter. You were too scary for me to handle threatening my son like you did. I had to get him safe and us somewhere where we could talk and where you couldn’t do me any harm, like this café, where I know most of the people who are in here.”
“If you think you are safe Ce
line, you’re wrong. We’ve come a long way and I’m not in any mood to be fucked about. Tomorrow is another day and if we don’t get what we want now it will be the day that sees your son crippled before we even start talking to you again about how you disposed of the Mostel Star.”
“That’s just it. I haven’t.” Celine sipped on her Campari and Soda and watched the surprised look engulf Stipe.
“What do you mean you haven’t?” said Stipe, moving to the edge of his seat.
“I mean I haven’t sold the stupid thing. It’s still in my wardrobe back at the apartment.”
“Well how have you been living all this time? It can’t be cheap to stay where you are staying,” said Marta who had centered herself between the duo. Celine flicked her head to face Marta, her eyes sorrowful, portraying a woman unaware at the time of stealing the Mostel Star of how difficult it would be to dispose of it and get anything near like its worth. Celine became reminiscent.
“I had a stash of money that I saved from Henrick. I’ve been living off of that.” Marta and Stipe checked each other out. This part hadn’t been in their plan. Stipe scrambled his thoughts together trying to think what to do next, at the same time wondering if life would ever get back to being simply getting up in the morning, doing a days honest work, and coming home in the evening; average, easy, routine. Marta grabbed Celine’s bottom jaw and turned her face to within inches of her.