Bender at the Bon Parisien (A Novel) (14 page)

As
Fleuse began to unlatch his watch’s wristband, Janie was craning her neck to
see.

“What
do you think, my dear?” I asked.

“I
don’t know. This could work,” she answered.

“Pistache
again, young lady,” Trudel said to Janie.

Janie
continued after taking a sip. “Maybe the gears of the watch will melt and
shrink up. Once properly cooled, they might become brittle. I don’t know. I
just want to see it happen. This could work.”

“Yeah,
I guess,” I said.

“Honestly,
I wouldn’t mind seeing it fail, either. Melting a watch might be pretty cool to
see.”

Fleuse
laid his timepiece out on the bar, and Pistache carelessly splashed booze on
top of it. It was way more than necessary. Before a split second had passed,
the watch was lying in a full-fledged puddle of alcohol on the bar.

“Okay,
hang on,” I said. “You can’t light that now. You’ll ignite the whole place.”

“So?”
Pistache said with laugh, sounding reckless.

“Wait
a sec,” I said. I reached for a bar rag and started running water in one of the
sinks. I at least wanted to have a damp towel on hand and a basin filled with
water. “Let me just be prepared for something to go wrong.”

Another
thud. I looked up to see Renard standing on a chair, staring down at the safe
on the ground.

“You’re
so good, baby,” Janie said.

“Is
there a fire extinguisher back here?” I asked myself. I hadn’t seen one when I
was searching earlier.

“Now
you’re just being ridiculous. We won’t need one,” Pistache said.

“Well,
I don’t know. The last thing I need to be is the American who burned down Paris’
best little bar.”

“Just
soak more than one towel,” Janie offered. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“That’s
a good idea. Back up, Pistache.”

Trudel
and Janie took a sip. I was quietly amused by their Pavlovian response to the
pickpocket’s name. I blotted some of the excess booze.

“Well,
don’t clean it all up,” Pistache protested. “We’ll need a good and hot
situation here.”

I
huffed. I was convinced that he was willing to burn the entire place down.

“Ready?”
Pistache continued.

“Okay,
I guess,” I answered, backing away a little.

With
great flare, a match was lit and dropped on Fleuse’s watch and an audible “poof”
accompanied its envelopment in flame. As I predicted, the fire extended to the
bar top itself. The wood wasn’t burning, but I was instantly uneasy about it
anyway. As the liquor allowed the flame to dance about half an inch above the
bar, Fleuse’s watch started to change color.

“Ah!”
Pistache exclaimed, loving the spectacle.

Janie
leaned in to get a better look at the situation. It had only been a few short
seconds, but I was nervous.

“Okay
that’s enough,” I said. “Should be plenty.”

I
thrust a towel over the watch and began to corral the flame. It worked to
suppress it, but I grabbed a second rag from the sink and threw it on top as
well.

“Hey!”
Pistache said. “It wasn’t done yet!” In an instant, he grabbed the towels and
threw them back at me. He then turned the bottle upside down over the tiny
flame and doused the nearly extinguished ash with more booze. The entire
surface of the bar directly in front of me jumped with flame.

“Jesus!”
I exclaimed as I grabbed the last of the soaking towels and threw them on the
bar. I squeezed all the water out to counteract the copious amount of spilled
liquor, but found myself with outstretched arms trying to cover the entire
surface area of burning material.

“Ha
ha!” Pistache yelled as his eyes danced over his work. Janie and Trudel jumped
up with matching exclamations of terror.

“Are
you crazy?!” I yelled as I worked myself between him and the mini-blaze. I was
suppressing much of the flame, but quickly noticed that the sleeve of my shirt
was now part of the small inferno.

“Honey,
your arm!” Janie yelled.

I
hadn’t felt it yet. I instinctively thrust my arm into the filled sink. When I
brought it out, I splashed excess water on the bar. Finally, I didn’t see any
more flames.

“Are
you okay?” Janie asked.

“Smooth,
Jacques,” Fleuse muttered sarcastically.

“Did
I get it all?” I asked as I recovered from the panic.

“What
happened to the watch?” Pistache asked.

“Are
you kidding right now?!” I erupted. “Give me that!” I yelled as I yanked the
bottle of liquor out of his hand. “Get out from behind here!” I forcibly
grabbed his collar and dragged him out from behind the bar. A little too drunk
to stand his ground, he was easy to remove. “What is the matter with you,
Pistache?” I yelled.

Janie
and Trudel took a sip.

“Okay,
Pierre. Take it easy,” Pistache said, defending himself only a little. “I just
wanted to see what happened to the watch!”

“Honey,
is your arm okay?” Janie repeated as she came to me to inspect the damage.

“No,
it’s fine. I didn’t feel anything. It was just the shirt and the alcohol
burning. It only lasted a split second.” I took a moment to look down at my
arm. My favorite blue plaid shirt was missing a cuff and was singed mostly
black from the upper right arm down. Plus, most of it was soaking wet from the
extinguishing efforts.

“Your
favorite shirt,” Janie said out loud as she felt the burned edges of the
sleeve.

“I
think you’ve improved it,” Trudel said with a smirk. “American fashion, hmph!”

“Well,
maybe something at least informative came out of this,” I said, shaking the
wetness from my new half-sleeve. “What does the watch look like?”

Everyone
leaned in. The glass was no longer clear but covered in a brown fog. The band
itself was badly burned. The face wasn’t even visible anymore.

“Looks
like it’s ruined,” Trudel observed.

“I
just don’t see how this is going to help with the safe,” Janie added.

Renard
joined the group to peer at the charred timepiece. “Yeah, we won’t be able to
do much with that. That was probably a nowhere road to head down anyway. Way to
go, Pistache.”

Janie
and Trudel took a sip.

“And
you just stood by and let us do that?!” I furiously asked. “If you knew it was
such a bad idea, why didn’t you say something?”

Renard
looked to the Fleuse. “Would this guy have listened to any objection? Truly?”

“No,”
Fleuse answered.

I
was losing patience. “Okay, let me get this straight. So we just lit this joint
on fire, the safe still isn’t even open, we have this cryptic letter, and no
one really knows at all if the coin is even in here?”

“It’s
in here,” Renard said.

“I
mean, do we
really
know that? So far, I haven’t heard any actual
evidence that it’s here,” I shouted.

“No,
it’s in here,” Renard reiterated.

“And
what about this lady?” Pistache interjected, as he pointed to the opera singer.

“What
about me?!” Trudel exclaimed.

“Well,
where’s Victor?” he persisted. “I don’t know what you did to him, but what if
he had the coin on him when you dumped his body?!”

“I
didn’t dump his body!” Trudel yelled.

“But
you killed him!” Pistache answered.

“I
did not! Just because some bullshit note pops up doesn’t mean that I actually
did anything!”

“Then
why would he write the note at all?” Pistache continued.

“Well,
listen. We weren’t the perfect couple, okay? We’ve had some ups and downs.” Trudel
looked at Janie and me. “You guys probably know what it’s like. Tell them.”

We
looked at each other. “Maybe,” I said skeptically. “I guess we’ve had
disagreements.”

Janie
shook her head. “We have never fought so much that Pete has felt the need to
send a message from beyond the grave to blame me for his disappearance, though.”

“Exactly,”
I confirmed.

“What
did you do to him, woman?” Pistache hissed.

“Nothing!”
She yelled.

“Take
it easy, Jacques,” Fleuse defended her.

“And
look at you!” Pistache turned his wrath to Fleuse. “You’ll be her knight in
shining armor at all costs, won’t you? It doesn’t matter that she killed your
long-time friend and lost the key to a world of riches and retirement!”

“I
didn’t kill him!” Trudel yelled again.

“She
didn’t!” Fleuse joined in. “Victor is probably out with some woman, like she
said!”

“You
take that back!” Trudel spat at him. “Victor is a good man!”

“A
good man who you think might have taken off with the coin and left you?!”
Pistache yelled. “Sounds like a motive for murder to me!”

I
finally noticed Trudel starting to cry a little. Janie and I didn’t know what
to make of it. Before I had the chance to try and settle the situation down,
Renard again stepped forward.

“Okay
everyone,” he began. “It’s time to calm down. This conversation is helping no
one.”

Pistache
didn’t appreciate Renard’s efforts to pacify the group. “What does any of this
matter to you other than the coin itself? You’re just some rich guy’s lackey.”

“You’re
right,” Renard answered calmly. “At least about part of that. I don’t care
about you guys shouting at each other, but I do care about finding this coin.
So can everyone please focus and get back to helping me get this safe open?”

“Why
should we?” Pistache asked. “Truly. Why would we do that? If it’s in there,
you’re just going to run off with it. Besides, this American idiot is right.
How do we even know that the coin is here in the bar?”

“It
is,” he said.

“C’mon,”
Pistache huffed. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because,”
Renard said with a sigh, “Victor didn’t have it with him when he left this bar
for the last time. I’ve been pretty careful about this. I’ve tracked it up
until here, and I don’t think it’s gone anywhere.”

“How
do you know that Victor didn’t have it on him for his last shift?” Fleuse
asked.

Renard
took a deep breath. “Listen. Everyone stay calm when I say this. You’ve been
going on and on for the last few minutes about this poor woman and the old
bartender.”

Trudel
wiped the tears from her eyes with a dirty napkin.

Renard
continued. “She didn’t kill Victor Lacquer. It’s time to take it easy on her.”

“How
do you know that?” Pistache hissed.

“I
know that Victor hasn’t run off with another woman, and I know that he didn’t
have the coin.”

“How?”
Trudel asked.

“He’s
dead,” Renard uttered bluntly. “And I’m the one who killed him.”

Victor Laquer emerged
from the Hôtel des Bretons into the cool dark air. It was almost three in the
morning, and the Rue de l’Échelle was quiet. Another shift was finished in the
bar.

Two
weeks had passed since the bartender told Fleuse and Pistache about the worth
of the coin. The two men were ecstatic at the value of the piece, and Victor
was happy that he’d decided to tell them. The three men toasted each other and
their futures. They planned to hide the coin together until they could sell it,
but Victor was beginning to feel a creeping uneasiness.

No
one had come looking for the coin. So far, the lack of consequences bothered the
bartender. Why hadn’t Peukington hunted them down? Silence on his strolls home
made Victor uncomfortable. A walk that was once treasured and charming was now
haunting. Victor tried to convince himself that he was simply paranoid.

All
of this weighing heavily on his mind, Victor turned into the blackness of the
Tuileries. The bartender couldn’t ever remember it feeling this dark. His trek
felt longer than it really was, he thought. Passages through the gardens were
empty, but the bartender caught himself peering into them as he passed. He knew
his imagination was getting the best of him.

Victor
tried to distract himself with better thoughts, such as the riches of the coin.
Even with a balanced split with Fleuse and Jacques, he would have enough to
live out the rest of his days without being a bartender.

Victor
was sure that Pistache would be broke quickly, even after his share. Fleuse
would probably manage it well at first, but even he would likely spend the sum
on something foolish. Victor thought the clockmaker would probably spend it all
on a woman, likely an unrequited love.

Again,
he noticed the silence.

A
cab pulled up ahead and a few tourists spilled out. Their drunken laughter rung
in the night’s silence and tore him from his reverie. He walked briskly toward
them. They stood laughing on the sidewalk as one paid the driver.

Victor
glided through them as they parted like a school of fish. The group seemed otherwise
oblivious to him. Victor noted their lack of awareness and cursed quietly under
his breath. He was starting to hate drunken people.

The
bartender began across the Pont Royal. As he glanced up the river in the
direction of the Île de la Cité, his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of
someone turning onto the bridge behind him. Normally, he wouldn’t have taken
note, but he’d seen this person among the tourists only moments earlier.

The
stranger had broken away from the crowd and seemed to be following Victor. The
bartender was uneasy. Why would someone take a taxi only to walk another few blocks?
After a moment of reflection, Victor realized he couldn’t actually remember if
the man had emerged from the cab or not. Had this man been waiting for him on
the sidewalk all along?

Forgetting
the mysterious figure was not easy, even as he turned the corner off the bridge
and the stranger disappeared. Victor tried to calm his paranoia. Perhaps this
was just another pedestrian.

The
bartender glanced back as he trotted across the cobblestoned side street,
heading for another turn. Alarmingly, the man had also turned the corner off
the bridge behind him and was closer than before.

Victor
stopped beneath a streetlight. He wouldn’t allow his imagination to run away.
If this stranger was in fact following him, it was better to confront this
person now. The darkness of narrow streets would not do.

The
man’s gait immediately lessened, and he smiled at Victor as he approached.

“Victor
Lacquer?” the stranger asked.

“Yes.”

“Julian
Renard.”

“Okay,”
Victor answered without expression.

“It’s
certainly a pleasure to finally meet you.” Julian extended his hand.

“Are
we supposed to know each other?” Victor answered, motionless.

“Not
exactly.”

“Okay?”
Victor was stumped.

“You
are the bartender in the Bon Parisien, no?”

“I
am.”

“I
thought it was you. When I saw you walking, I just had to say something.”

“It’s
very late,” Victor noted.

“The
thing is,” Renard continued affably, “I was in there last week, and I lost a
coin.”

The
bartender shifted nervously.

“It’s
not worth much of anything,” Renard continued. “But it’s a little rare, and
it’s kind of been my lucky penny. You haven’t seen it have you? I would have
come to the bar, but I just saw you walking by. I haven’t made it in yet.”

“Haven’t
seen it,” Victor grunted.

“Are
you sure? There were two other men in there when I was visiting. Maybe one of
them found it?”

“Like
I said, sorry. Haven’t seen it,” Victor said, turning away.

Suddenly,
he felt the intense grip of Renard’s hand on his cuff. Victor looked back, only
to find a very different expression. All kindness was gone.

“Victor.
Are you sure that you’d like to proceed this way?”

The
bartender’s eyes narrowed. “Get your hands off me.”

In
one swift motion, Renard twisted Victor’s wrist behind his back and pinned him
to the lamppost. The bartender winced but didn’t have enough time to actually
make a sound.

“I’m
giving you a chance Victor, an out. This is a free pass. Where is it?”

“Are
you with Peukington?!” Victor exclaimed in agony. His wrist was beginning to
burn, and the cold steel of the streetlamp pressed into his jaw. As he spoke,
Renard was rifling through each of his pockets. “Help!” Victor exclaimed,
though short of breath. Renard quickly silenced him with his free hand.

“Listen,
you are making this harder than it has to be. You obviously don’t have the coin
on you. I’m about to let go of you. Do you think that we can have a
conversation like grown men?”

Victor
nodded.

“Fantastic,”
Renard said, releasing him.

Victor
shook his wrist.

“Now,
just tell me where it is,” Renard continued.

The
bartender realized that he had two options. He could confess, and implicate
both Fleuse and Jacques, or he could keep lying. If Renard never found the
coin, Victor would still have a chance of retiring.

“Who
are you?” Victor grunted.

“Again,
I’m Julian Renard. Obviously, I am looking for the coin you stole.”

“I
didn’t steal any coin.”

“Blah,
blah, blah. Victor, I don’t know why you’re covering for these guys.”

“I
don’t know who you are talking about.”

Renard
raised his voice. “I’m talking about Jacques Pistache and Fleuse Newman,
obviously!”

Victor
was alarmed that he knew their names. “Have you been following me?”

“I
have. Not for very long, though. I needed to get you completely alone and give
you a chance to come clean.”

“Why
would you give me that chance?”

“Of
the three of you, you’re smart enough do the right thing. Let’s just get this
resolved.”

“You
don’t know me.”

“Well,
I think I do. You’re not a criminal, Victor. You are a former accountant, a
real professional. You are not the awkward pretender that Fleuse is, and you are
certainly not the outright fraud that Jacques is. You’re a good guy. Why would
you put yourself in such trouble?”

“I
don’t have it.”

Renard
paused and seemed to relax a little bit. “Excellent. I already know that but
still, excellent. We are making a little progress now.”

Victor
stared back at him. “How is that progress?”

“Well,
you are admitting that you know of a coin.”

“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.