Bender at the Bon Parisien (A Novel) (18 page)

“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.”

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 efforts. 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.”

“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 is,” 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.

“I’m
not through with you, Pistache,” Peukington added without removing his gaze
from me. Pistache fell silent. “I’ll ask again, and hopefully this time I won’t
be rudely interrupted. Are you a thief?”

“No!
Of course not!” I was panicking.

“He
is!” Pistache yelled despite the instruction from Peukington.

“American,
you say that you don’t know anything,” Peukington noted coldly, ignoring
Pistache.

“I
don’t, and I’m not a thief! I have no clue what Pistache is talking about! I’m
just on vacation!” I exclaimed with my hands in the air.

“So
give me the coin,” Peukington stated coolly.

“I
said I don’t have it,” I pleaded with desperation. “My wife and I were in here
just to get a drink and things have gotten way out of hand.”

Peukington
looked analytically for a moment.

Pistache
lowered his brow. “He is a liar too,” he said softly. Peukington looked to
Pistache.

The
pickpocket continued, “I pulled this off him.” He reached into his jacket
pocket and pulled out the small statue from earlier in the evening. I was so
nervous and flustered that it took a moment for my eyes to focus on it. It was mini
Balzac.

“What
is that?” Peukington asked as he kept the gun pointed at me.

“It
usually sits on the shelves behind the bar,” Pistache explained with an evil
tone. “But, he had it in his pocket.”

I
barely knew him, but I was instantly feeling betrayed.

“So
you lied,” Peukington said to me.

“I
can explain that,” I stammered.

“No
need,” Peukington said with an eerie calm. “It will be easy to check your
pockets for the coin when you are dead.”

“No!”
Janie interjected. “I gave it to him! As a present!”

“So
you’re a thief too?” Peukington asked, now addressing Janie. I felt somewhat
relieved though, knowing that he hadn’t moved the gun off me. “Is this some
sort of criminal convention in here?!”

“No,
it was just something, an innocent little gesture. Something to remember
tonight by!” Janie pleaded. “We thought we would have been out of here hours
ago. We would have actually been back and asleep by now. The figure was
nothing. Just a little souvenir!”

“I
doubt you’ll be needing a souvenir to remember tonight,” Peukington said with a
smirk. It was as close to a smile as he’d come so far.

“It
wasn’t supposed to be a big deal!” she again shouted.

“Kind
of feels like a big deal now, though doesn’t it?” he answered.

“Well,
you guys can have it back!” I started again. “See, no harm, no foul! It’s not
like it’s worth a million euros!”

“True,
but it’s the entire principle of the thing,” Peukington went on calmly. “Now
that I know you two are criminals as well, how do I know you didn’t take the
coin either?”

“We
didn’t even know about the coin!” Janie yelled.

“Well,
something tells me you didn’t know about that little Balzac either when you
walked in here, but you saw him and took him. Maybe you saw the coin and
slipped that in to your pocket as well.”

“I
didn’t!” I shouted.

“Believe
me,” Janie added. “We would have given it back and gotten the hell out of here
by now.”

“Yeah,”
I added. “I know you all say it’s worth a lot, but we’re on vacation. We were
at the Louvre today for Christ’s sake! We’re not involved in some kind of
international get-rich-quick scheme!”

“I’ll
tell you what,” Peukington said. “If you give me the coin right now, you can
both head off into the night and get one last drink at some all-night club.
I’ll even send you on your way with a few euros to pay for it.”