by T. M. Parris
“I’m in a cafe.” Zoe stood and turned to look out of the window, facing away from the guys with their backpack.
“You got the text?” asked Anna.
“Yeah, I got the text.”
“Well, stay put for a few more minutes then set off, okay? I’ll be there.”
“I think they’re here, Anna. I think they’re watching.”
“Maybe. But we’ll sort that out.”
“How? They’re going to follow me.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve done this before, Zoe. I know what to do. You just do as I say and it’ll be fine. Just do as I say.”
Now Anna had the knowledge and power and Zoe had nothing. She was in the woman’s hands. A woman she knew nothing about.
“And what then, Anna? What about after that?”
“We’ll talk about that later. Let’s just deal with this now. Once you’re safe we can discuss everything else. Okay?”
Okay? She was being reassuring, like she was talking to a child.
“How do they know where I live, Anna? How did they find out?”
“We’ll figure that out. One thing at a time, Zoe.”
“What does it mean, disappeared?”
“Sorry?”
“You said disappeared. That I’ll have disappeared by tomorrow. What does that mean?”
“I’ll explain it all later, Zoe.”
“Is it over?”
Pause. “Is what over?”
“Everything. My life here. Friends, family. It’s over, isn’t it?”
“It’s too early to discuss all that, Zoe. We need to get you in and then assess things.”
“But this guy, if they’re still after him, they’ll still be after me, won’t they? I mean, when does this end?”
“Zoe, we can’t be thinking like that right now.” There was tension in her voice though she was trying to hide it. “We’ll talk about it. We’ll make a plan. We’ll figure it out, but first we need to get you safe. So let’s just do that, okay?”
Okay? How many times had Anna done this before? How long had she been doing this? Was Anna even her real name?
“I’ve really messed up, haven’t I?” said Zoe. “I’m sorry. I made all this happen.”
“Don’t worry about that now. Just focus.” A neutral response but Zoe didn’t need to be told. She already knew she’d fucked up.
“Did Noah text?” Anna asked.
“Yes. He’s okay, I think.”
“Where is he?”
“At home.”
“Okay.”
“I spoke to Stella. The guy’s still outside our place.”
“Well, he can just stay there for now, as you’re not going home. It’s time to get moving, Zoe.”
“Yeah, sure.”
They hung up.
Why did she do that? Anna was trying to help her, but Zoe just lied about where Noah was. Her head was telling her, do what Anna says. Do exactly what she says and don’t hide anything. Leave all this to the professionals, the people who’ve done it before. But something deep inside her was saying something else.
They’d always got by, her and Noah, since Mum and Dad passed on. She’d always sorted things for the two of them. She’d always found a way.
The phone lit up. It was Noah.
“Hey, Noah! You all right?”
“Sure, sis. What’s up?”
“Everything okay with you? No trouble from Epée or – anyone else?”
“No, I told you that’s all cool. You all right?”
“Yeah, sure, you know me, I just worry. You going home now?”
“I guess.”
“Is Raoul still there?” Raoul was Noah’s best friend at the academy, a promising striker.
“Sure. We’re just packing up.”
“Will you do me a favour, bro? Will you go home with Raoul tonight? Tell aunt Lily you’re staying over?”
“What for?”
“I can’t tell you yet, but I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Sorry, Noah. But for me, can you just do that? Tell him something’s come up. His folks pick him up in a car, don’t they? Just ask, say it’s an emergency.”
“What’s going on, Zo? What emergency?”
“It’s nothing much. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Listen, you remember where we used to go skateboarding on a Saturday morning?”
A pause. “That was a long time ago, sis.”
“You remember where it was, though?”
“Sure, it’s—”
“Don’t say! Don’t say it out loud. As long as you know. Let’s meet there tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. Okay?”
Okay? Now she was doing it.
“Christ, Zoe, I’m going to have to skip training. You hate it when I miss a session.”
“Yeah, I know. But this is really important. It’s – I’ve got a surprise for you. Just don’t tell anyone else, all right? It’s a secret. Go straight there from Raoul’s. I’ll explain it all then. You trust me, don’t you? We’ve always looked out for each other.”
Pause. “Yeah. I guess. Well, I’ve got to catch up with Raoul.”
“You go, you go. Text me when you’re at his.”
“If you want.”
Noah was surprised but she knew he’d do what she said. Zoe should go now to do the walk as instructed, in and out, round and about, through the Japanese Garden. It was getting on for sunset but still light. She gathered her things and walked out. At the door she glanced back. One of the men in leather jackets was looking at her. Instead of turning towards the garden, she crossed the road and went into the shopping mall.
She’d been here many times before – it was one of her lunchbreak hangouts – but she never bought anything. She loved the palatial feel of the place – only Monaco would have chandeliers in shopping malls – and wondered what was wrong with people that they would spend this much on clothes and electronics when you could buy the same thing in France or Italy, or online, for so much less. She knew where she was going: an elegant lingerie shop on the upper floor. She’d been past it many times but today was the first time she went in.
Near the entrance, she browsed the bras and panties section, holding up delicate lacy knickers and checking sizes. An assistant came over. Zoe wanted something special to impress someone, she said. The assistant had plenty of ideas. Zoe got a brief glimpse of one of the men from the cafe hanging around outside. She was right! They had been watching her. But they weren’t going to follow her into a lingerie shop. She moved further into the store. She found an excuse to abandon the underwear search and instead went to the accessories section and picked out a bright orange scarf and some hair ties. She paid with a card, forcing herself not to look at how much they cost, and went down to the lower floor of the shop where she spent some time in front of a mirror pulling her hair back and tying the scarf over her head. She had some shades in her bag as well. Was that too much? Never mind. The whole effect was a little bit Grace Jones, but that wasn’t a bad thing.
Satisfied, she left the store by the downstairs door that led directly onto the street. Just as she’d hoped, the men hadn’t realised it was there, so when she turned and made her way back into the centre of Monte Carlo, she was alone. And she was still alone when she ducked into an underground car park through an unmarked vehicle-only exit, walked through to the other side, and took the internal stairs up into the bank.
Chapter 38
Gustave was crazy. Of course Pippin already knew that, but Gustave had been on a new plane of craziness, a strange light in his eyes when he’d marched Pippin from his room with the gun in his jacket poking Pippin in the back. A tram and then a bus, Pippin doing what he was told. Could he have run for it? Would Gustave have the nerve to draw a gun and shoot someone in plain view in a crowded street? Pippin wouldn’t put it past him.
They ended up inland from the coast, in a village. Clem was waiting in a car as the bus pulled in. He stared at Pippin but didn’t sa
y a word. He drove them to a run-down farm building. No one was there to see them.
Since then Pippin had been locked in a dark room. They brought him food every now and then. No furniture, just bare floor. Pippin tried to sleep, but he would wake again, cold and stiff, with no idea if it was day or night. Occasionally, he heard the two of them talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying. It always sounded as though they were arguing. Then they both came for him and pulled him to his feet.
It was light outside as they got in the car. They ended up at another deserted lock-up. The van was different but the goods were all in the back. Well – almost all. Gustave and Clem worked together to tape Pippin’s hands behind his back and shove him in. The doors slammed and they set off.
It was a long journey on a fast road, that was all Pippin could tell. The engine droned. The floor of the van vibrated. The smell of exhaust fumes drifted in. Pippin rolled around and dozed amongst the packaged artwork. Then they slowed, turned, manoeuvred and came to a halt. A door slammed and footsteps walked away.
Silence. Then another slam, more footsteps, and the back doors of the van opened. Clem was standing there, his huge form filling the space. He stepped forward and cut the tape from Pippin’s hands with a knife. He stood aside, a silent invitation. Pippin took him up on it, jumping to the ground and stretching his legs. They were parked at an out-of-town shopping mall. The stores, some distance away on the other side of the car park, were lit up, still open. It was mid-evening, maybe. Clem passed him the remains of a half-eaten ham baguette. Pippin accepted.
They stood in silence while Pippin ate. Then he said:
“Gustave?”
Clem pointed to a DIY store but didn’t elaborate. He stared into the distance. Pippin was aware of the power of the man, a still force. Clem must have organised the hideout, the change of vehicle. Such practical considerations passed Gustave by. Eventually Pippin asked him:
“Why didn’t you just take the stash on the first night? You had the keys. You could have driven off in the van and disappeared.”
Clem turned to him slowly. “He said he had contacts. Plans for the paintings.”
“Do you believe him?”
The suggestion of a shrug. “I didn’t want to get fingered for murder. If the loot was with me, they’d put the body on me too. I won’t take the rap for him.”
“Where are we going?”
“West.” Clem nodded towards the autoroute, lit up behind them. “Marseille, like he said.”
“You know people, Clem. You shifted that Swedish Impressionist piece. What’s stopping you taking off right now?”
A hint of a smile. “Gustave took the keys to the van. Gustave has a gun.”
“You have a gun. You had both guns. You must have given one back to him.”
It didn’t make sense. But Clem had a question of his own.
“So it’s true? You took the portrait?”
A long pause.
“Yes, it’s true,” said Pippin. “It was Henri that planned it. I didn’t know what he was doing until we were inside the place. He was going to take his fee and the painting.”
“But he told you about it.”
“He needed someone else to help get it into the van, and sell it on later. He wanted us to split it fifty-fifty, whatever I could get for it.”
“But then you decided to take the lot.”
“Well, once Gustave had murdered him, he wasn’t going to want it. What can I say? I’m a thief.”
“It’s a bad idea to steal from other thieves.”
“You expected me to hand it over to Gustave? The man’s crazy.”
“So where is it?”
“It’s safe.” Pause. “You think you can shift it?”
Clem’s eyes bored into him. “Yes, I can do that.”
“Well, then. Same offer as Henri made me. We go halves. I won’t share with Gustave, though. The guy tried to kill me. He’s a lunatic.”
Clem was still staring at him. “You could have got away,” he said. “You could have disappeared when you swiped the painting. But you went back somewhere Gustave could find you.”
“I didn’t think the Freeport would release the list. I didn’t think you’d find out it was gone. I thought you and he would just take the loot between you. Or just you.”
A turn of the head indicated that Gustave was returning, pacing towards them grim-faced with heavy bags in both hands. He clocked that Pippin’s hands were untied.
“This is all very friendly,” he said.
Clem reached for the tape and retied Pippin’s hands without saying a word. Gustave stared at Pippin with contempt and loaded the bags into the back. Clem manhandled Pippin up into the back and slammed one door. But then he turned to Gustave.
“What’s the plan, Gustave? In Marseille. Time to tell me. You have buyers lined up, or a safe hiding place for this?”
“What’s your problem, Clem? I said I did, didn’t I? What’s this little weasel been saying to you? You think you can trust anything from him?” He glanced again at Pippin. “You should do his ankles as well.”
He walked round to the front, leaving Clem to climb in and tie Pippin’s ankles together. Clem slammed the door shut. Footsteps round to the front. After a pause the engine turned and they were off again.
More fast-moving road. The sound changed. A bridge or a tunnel. Then they slowed. Stop, start, stop. They were in the city. Slow turns, hesitations. He could hear people talking – they were in an area with pedestrians, busy streets. At one point they jerked to a halt and Pippin heard shouted conversation with someone outside. Then they started again and made a series of sharp turns. They were going up a hill, steep enough to make the packages slide to the back. One of Gustave’s bags fell open and the contents rolled out. Pippin felt around. A heavy-duty plastic container full of liquid. It was too dark to see what it was.
They stopped. A door slammed. Footsteps, and the van door was unlocked. Both doors were thrown open. Gustave was standing there, his arms wide like Christ on the cross. Some breeze was blowing, making his hair rise. Behind him was nothing, distant lights below and an expanse of darkness, obsidian black.
“This is it, Pippin! This is where we tell people what it’s all about! This was meant to be! Can’t you feel it? Come on, I know you’re more than some sneaking thief. I always knew that.”
He shoved his DIY purchases back into the bags and walked off with them. Pippin shuffled forward and managed to stand, leaning on the door of the van. Some eerie background light was coming from somewhere. In front of them was a promontory, a patch of grassy open space that dropped down dramatically on three sides. Pippin looked round the door of the van and took a breath. Rising high above his head was a huge church, its arches and brickwork brilliantly floodlit, its immense tower topped by a golden statue of the Virgin. It was the church in Gustave’s painting.
Pippin looked round wildly. The whole scene was Gustave’s painting: the hill, the city below, the ocean beyond, the promontory. The only things missing were the crowds of people and – no. Pippin went cold. Surely not that. Not even Gustave would do that. He was an artist himself, for God’s sake. But Gustave was moving with demonic energy, unpacking his bags in the middle of the open space.
Clem was standing back, watching.
“Clem, you know what he’s going to do!” shouted Pippin. “You know what he’s got there! He’s going to burn it! He’s going to burn everything! He’s mad!”
Gustave turned. “The world is mad, Pippin! This will show people how! We’re waking them up now! Feel that sea air! Come on!”
Gustave stepped into the van and pulled out one of the large framed packages. He handled it as if it were rubbish to be hauled into a skip. Pippin worked his wrists but they were fastened tight.
“Clem! Stop him!”
Finally Clem woke up and strode over as Gustave manhandled the frame.
“Gustave. Stop. This isn’t the plan, you know it.”
Clem h
ad his hands up, blocking Gustave’s route. Clem was broader, stronger than Gustave. He could knock the guy down. But Gustave seemed high on something. When Clem stopped in front of him, he threw the frame onto the ground. It landed on its corner and twisted, making a cracking noise. Pippin felt sick. Clem had his hand on Gustave’s shoulder – but then something inexplicable happened.
Gustave’s hand came out of his pocket holding something small wrapped in plastic. He pulled at it and grabbed at Clem’s face. He reached for the back of Clem’s head and pushed it forward into his other hand. Clem was stronger but Gustave was quick, taking him by surprise. With horror Pippin recognised the manoeuvre; he’d done something similar in the Freeport.
Clem sagged. All you needed was one deep breath of the stuff to go dizzy. Then you could be controlled into taking another one and it was over. It was almost comical, the big muscle man being lowered to the ground by skinny arty Gustave. With Clem lying prone between them, Gustave turned to Pippin.
“You want some too? This is good stuff! You know that. You showed me how to use it. Not hard to find it if you know where to look. That was the easy part.”
He came up to Pippin and stood over him with the handkerchief. The fumes were escaping into the air. Pippin got a whiff; that alone made his head buzz. He shook his head.
“So you’ll be a witness, then,” said Gustave. “Good. We need those.”
He gave Pippin a long look before stepping up and getting another canvas out of the van. Pippin had no choice. Trussed up like this he wasn’t going anywhere. He sank down and watched Gustave heave on the mighty frame, pulling it down and dragging it bumping over the rough ground.
Gustave flung the piece down on top of the first one and came back for more. Pippin watched. Back and forth went Gustave, building his bonfire, finding some source of energy in his madness, years of anger funnelled into this futile act of destruction.
“You know, you could help,” he said one time, stepping up past Pippin to grab more of the loot. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t excite you.”
Pippin shook his head. “This isn’t where I’m coming from. This is mad. All art is precious. Yes, it’s valued all wrong but that doesn’t change its real worth. It’s society that’s wrong, not the art itself.”