Bender at the Bon Parisien (A Novel) (20 page)

“Let’s
have a break from the game,” the tourist finally announced.

“Yes,
I’m good with that,” his wife agreed.

“It
was just getting fun!” the pickpocket exclaimed, clutching the prize in his
pocket.

*        *        *

Pistache
knew he couldn’t leave immediately. That kind of behavior would likely arouse
suspicion with Fleuse and Trudel. He assumed that Trudel hadn’t left earlier
for the same reason. The pickpocket had sat himself at a table with Fleuse to
let his nerves calm as he planned his exit. It should seem casual, even if maybe
a little abrupt.

Fleuse
was droning on and on about something, completely oblivious to any subtext in
the room. Trudel also seemed totally unaware of the circumstances. She thought
that she still had the coin. Pistache took a quick moment to revel in his
success. He quietly drank to his talents.

“Another
of the same, please,” the stranger ordered his drink, as he turned and once
again made eye contact with Pistache.

As
if a nail had been driven into his sternum, the pickpocket suddenly recognized
the man. He knew in that instant that this was the man from Lavaar Peukington’s
party. He stood instinctively, feeling the full gravity of the situation wash
over him.

As
the American bartender and Peukington’s man had a mindless conversation about
the drinking game, Pistache was flooded with certainties about his new
perspective on the situation.

This
man was not here by accident. All the subtle looks and smiles from the stranger
at the table throughout the evening had not been only the observations of a
good-natured bystander. In fact on the contrary, Pistache was now disheartened
to know that his every move had probably been watched. This man was also
looking for the coin and perhaps even knew that Pistache had it.

The
pickpocket knew he wasn’t leaving without engaging this man somehow.

“So
tell us, my friend,” Pistache exclaimed, already knowing the answer. “What
brings you in tonight?”

“Well,
I wanted a drink. I happened to see this place as I was walking by. It looked
as good a spot as any,” Renard lied.

Pistache
squinted at him, and a corner of the man’s lip rose.

“Well,
you couldn’t have chosen better, my friend.” Pistache weighed his options and
wondered how quickly he could make it to the door. He noted that this stranger
had actually placed himself in the way without appearing to threaten to anyone.
Pistache tried to steer the conversation in a new direction. “What are you
reading?”

“It
is a book of poetry. I found it at a book fair recently.”

“Very
cool,” the pretty girl, said.

“Oh
yes? Who wrote it?” Pistache asked, never taking his eyes off the stranger. No
time now to hit on the American girl.

“Various
authors,” the man said with a roll of his eyes, as if he knew Pistache didn’t
really care.

“I’ve
never heard of him,” the pickpocket answered laughing.

“I
liked the picture on the cover. Poems are short. They are easy to read,” Peukington’s
man pressed on.

“I
have actually always thought the opposite. They are kind of cryptic,” Pistache
said. Would he be able to find any way out at all?

“That’s
the beauty of them. I like to search for the subtle hints at meaning,” Renard
answered.

“That
always just frustrated me.”

“Not
me,” he answered with a step toward Pistache. The man was glaring at the
pickpocket through his own words. “It’s what I do. It’s like a code to decipher
or a treasure to uncover. I like the hunt almost as much as I like the eventual
feeling of discovery and release.”

Pistache
hated this man. “Aren’t you a deep one?!” he roared.

The
pickpocket couldn’t ignore the double meaning. If it’s a challenge this man
wanted, then Pistache would give it to him. He continued, “Have you read one
yet that you don’t understand?”

“No.
Eventually, I always figure them out.”

Arrogant
prick, Pistache thought.

The
stranger picked up his drink and smiled but didn’t take his eyes off of
Pistache. The pickpocket had to make a move.

“Well,
this brief exchange has gone on long enough without knowing each other. Jacques
Pistache,” he said, introducing himself through his teeth. “It’s a treat to
meet you, finally.”

“Julian
Renard, and it certainly is.” Neither man sounded at all sincere.

Pistache
knew that this evening was far from over.

Janie stood over me
in hysterics. My eyes could barely open. The lighting was suddenly too bright. With
furiously ringing ears, I somehow sensed the room raged on the other side of
the bar. My entire upper body was throbbing, and the dirty floor seemed to pull
at the skin on my face.

As
soon as she saw my eyelids flutter, Janie exploded even further, this time with
a bright look on her face. I clutched my chest at the center of the pain. I
became aware that I’d been mumbling fiercely. My heart hit my chest three times
harder than it ever had before.

“Honey!
You’re alive! Are you okay?!” Janie screamed as I felt her tears drip onto my
face. I raised my hand to wipe them from my cheeks. I forced my eyelids open. For
the first time, my eyes focused.

“I’m
not bleeding,” I rambled a few times, looking down for the source of the pain. My
face felt hot. “My chest hurts. My back hurts too. My legs feel heavy.” Voices
rung simultaneously like bells. I couldn’t tell if they were in my head or
coming from the other side of the bar.

“You
were shot! I thought you were dead!” Janie said through more tears. “I can’t
believe it.”

“Where
is all the blood?” I asked again as I glanced around. I craned my neck from my
crumpled position on the floor behind the bar. Slowly, my equilibrium was
returning to balance.

“I
have no idea,” she said through sniffles and nervous laughter. “It’s a
miracle.”

I
moved to sit myself up. Incredible pain, and I again grabbed my chest.

“Stay
down,” she said over sirens in my head. “They were fighting, but it’s mostly
over now.”

I
didn’t listen. Adrenaline rushed me into a rage. Code red. I pushed myself up
again, reaching directly for the rifle underneath the bar. Without thinking, I
grabbed it and climbed to a standing position. My eyes focused, and Janie clung
to my side, still sobbing. As quickly as I could, I clamored over sinks and
glassware onto the bar top. Janie looked on in horror. From my vantage point
high above the room, I took hold of the trigger, and carelessly aimed the gun
at the ceiling.

BANG.

The
room immediately froze. Sudden silence. My eyes had finally cleared. Peukington
sat in a chair, unconscious. Pistache and Fleuse were in the middle of propping
him up and tying him into a seated position. Where had they gotten rope?
Another chair lay in hundreds of splintered pieces on the floor nearby. Victor
was holding Renard’s arms behind him, clearly struggling before I brought the
room to a standstill. Trudel panted, as she clutched a wine bottle. I noticed
that it wasn’t broken, so I pictured her clubbing someone with it. I imagined
that must have hurt. A wine bottle is a dull instrument.

A
few ceiling tiles fell near me, a result of my gunshot.

“Are
you positive that was necessary?” Pistache said with an eerie calmness.

“ARE
YOU SERIOUS?!” I shouted at him. “That guy shot me! Do you think that I’m overreacting!?”

“Where
is all the blood?” Trudel asked, echoing my initial thoughts.

“Good
point,” Pistache noticed. “Zombie?”

“Listen
up,” I said, asserting my place over the room. “My wife and I just came here
for a good time tonight, but somehow we ended up in the middle of this! We have
never even wanted to find this thing! It’s all of you who forced us to stay!
How am I the one who wound up being shot?!”

I
heard Janie sniffle again, but she wasn’t cowering when I looked back at her
beneath me. I could tell she was mad.

“Now
this has gone on long enough!” I shouted. “I probably should have found a way
to get us out of here a long time ago, but I guess I’ve learned my lesson. I
have this rifle. It’s time this ends right now! Which one of you has this damn
coin?!”

Still
silence. They all looked at each other, waiting for someone to speak up.

“Seriously?!”
I screamed. “I just got shot over this thing, and you guys still are trying to
hide it from each other?!”

Still
nothing.

“Really,
why aren’t you bleeding?” Trudel asked again.

“I
don’t know!” I shouted. I couldn’t stop yelling. “We’ll worry about that later!
Seriously, who has this coin?!”

With
every breath, pain shot across my chest. Again I clutched the area in which I’d
been shot, but something felt different. I ran my hand over my chest, and felt
a small hard object in the left front breast pocket of the old black-and-white
checkered flannel from behind the bar.

Momentarily
distracted from the room, I reached into the pocket and closed my hand around a
small piece of metal. I removed the object, and opened my palm. There, sitting
in the center of my right hand, was a gold coin.

“Oh
my god,” Janie whispered as she covered her mouth.

“That’s
the coin!” Fleuse gasped.

“How
long have you had that, Peter?” Janie asked, completely shocked.

I
checked my shirt and torso again, and looked back at the coin. Just as it had
been described, it was scuffed with bullet markings and somehow maintained a
dull, antique magnificence. For a brief moment, I truly felt as though I was
holding a wealth of history in one hand. Suddenly, I believed it all
unquestionably.

“I
can’t believe I got shot in the coin.”

Fleuse
stood open-mouthed. “He got shot in the coin?” He echoed.

“Do
you know what this means?” Pistache said in a whisper loud enough for everyone
to hear. “The Napoleon story is true.”

“Of
course it’s true,” Renard muttered.

“Is
there some kind of magic linked to that thing?” Pistache muttered in disbelief.

“A
historic,
magic
coin,” Trudel muttered.

“No
wonder everyone who’s possessed it has been filthy rich!” Pistache mused.

Victor
and Renard still stood in silence, but I noticed Peukington’s man roll his eyes
at the others’ suggestions of magic.

“Honey,”
Janie started. “Seriously, how long have you had that?”

“I
… I have no idea,” I stammered, finally able to lower my voice.

“He’s
been hiding it the entire time!” Fleuse exclaimed.

“Or
maybe the coin is cursed,” Trudel added, still lost in thought. “This is not
the first time that someone has been shot with the coin in their pocket.”

“Don’t
be an idiot,” Pistache snapped. “It’s not like they die.”

“Well
true,” she answered. “But it drives people around it crazy. Look at all of us!
We’ve been mad over this thing for weeks! Monsieur Peukington shot this tourist
over it.” She looked toward Renard. “Does he do that often? Shoot people?”

Renard
thought for a moment. “Actually sometimes, yes.”

“Huh.
I was hoping that wasn’t ordinary behavior,” she answered.

“You
American rat,” Victor grunted at me. “Stealing from my bar.” He was clearly not
buying the magic coin discussion. Either that, or the magic coin was cursing
him and driving him mad to the point that he couldn’t pay attention to the
idea.

“I
didn’t steal anything from your bar!” I shouted.

“Except
that little guy that your wife took,” Pistache pointed out.

“I
know a thief when I see one,” Victor hissed.

“Didn’t
you steal the coin in the first place?” I sharply retorted.

“Yes,
he did,” Renard snapped.

There
was a moment of silence as everyone digested the situation.

I
looked down at the coin in my palm again. For the first time, I pictured myself
sipping a martini on the plane ride home, sitting first class. “I’m going to be
rich!” I whispered to myself from my spot on top of the bar.

Janie
was watching silently until my daydream became obvious. “Honey, please.”

“Do
the right thing here.” Renard snapped, finally wrestling out of Victor’s grip.
The old bartender didn’t try to restrain him. “Give me that coin, and we’ll be
all set.”

“What
makes you think we’re letting you leave with that?” Pistache asked Peukington’s
man. “You are severely outnumbered.”

Renard
ignored him. “I assume that you will return it to its rightful owner. Besides,
you said you didn’t even want the coin.”

“Well,
I didn’t,” I countered. “But, excuse me for feeling like you all owe me
something. I’m the guy that got shot on vacation in the middle of your whole
mess!”

“Well,
the coin protected you,” Pistache said. “So it’s really nothing, right?”

“Nothing!?
Are you kidding me?!” I exploded.

“It’s
not nothing,” Renard conceded, taking a deep breath. “Monsieur Peukington is very
sorry about that.”

“Sorry?!
What’s to stop me from calling the police right now about this whole thing?! In
fact,” I thought aloud as I looked at Janie, “I probably should call the cops,
right?”

“Yeah.
Actually, how have they not shown up yet?” Janie wondered aloud. “Especially
after a couple gun shots.”

“Actually,
no one’s calling the police,” Renard said. “Monsieur Peukington will not be
found at a crime scene.”

“You
know, Renard,” Pistache interjected. “The guy is going to be found pretty much
anywhere Fleusie and I decide to leave him right now.”

Renard
rolled his eyes again. “Okay, enough. Untie him please,” he said as he took a
step toward the unconscious man in the chair.

Victor
reached out and grabbed Renard’s shoulder. Trudel lifted the wine bottle, and
Peukington’s man backed down.

Victor
hissed at Renard, “You may have thrown me off a bridge, but I got you now. And
I have these two to help if I need it.”

I
had a tough time believing that Fleuse and Pistache had ever been too much help
in a fight.

“Peukington
stays in the chair,” Victor said frankly.

“I
know he’s supposed to be somebody,” I added cautiously, “but he did shoot me. I
think we really have to call the police.”

“C’mon.
What a rookie,” Pistache muttered, tightening up the tie-up job on Peukington.
“You don’t see any of us diving for the phone do you?”

Everyone
ignored the question.

“An
unfortunate act,” Renard said through gritted teeth. “One that renders you deserving
of compensation, I imagine. Monsieur Peukington will absolutely want to see you
cared for, in exchange for your discretion of course.
And the coin.
”

I
looked at Janie. She raised her eyebrow.

“If
you are offering to buy it back from me, then let’s make a deal,” I said,
trying to hide my fear of the situation. “Otherwise, I’ll just keep the coin.
That would be compensation enough.”

Renard
shook his head, and the others in the room all made various sounds of
exasperation.

“I
thought you didn’t want the coin,” Renard said.

“Well
I didn’t, at first. Then,
I GOT SHOT
.”

“You
have no claim to it,” Pistache blurted out, ignoring me. “The rest of us have
been grappling over this thing for weeks.”

“Excuse
me?!” Renard leapt a little as he spoke to Pistache. “Are you insinuating that
the rest of you have a legitimate claim to the coin?! You stole it!”

“Well
this American idiot shouldn’t walk out of here with it!” Pistache yelled back.

“He’s
not going to. Everybody take it easy!” Victor jumped in.

“Wait!”
I yelled over everyone. “What makes you think I’m not leaving with the coin? I
have a gun. I’m pretty much doing whatever I want right now!”

The
room was quiet for a moment.

“Your
gun is useless, barkeep,” Victor said calmly.

“What
do you mean?”

“It’s
a single shot rifle,” Renard answered for Victor. “It’s just a prop now.”

Feeling
silly, I sighed. My entire upper body ached with the breath. I managed, “Oh,
okay.”

“Come
on down here, honey,” Janie said reaching for my hand. At least I’d stopped the
brawl earlier.

“So,”
I announced in a much less threatening tone as I descended the bar top. “Thank
you to whomever wailed on this Peukington guy with a chair. Based on the broken
one on the ground, I assume that’s what happened.”

Trudel
spoke up. “That was actually your wife.”

I
looked to Janie. “Seriously?”

“Well,
he shot you. I lost my mind,” Janie said with a shrug.

“It
was pretty awesome, actually,” Trudel added.

“Quite
a girl,” Pistache said.

“Oh,
okay,” I said. “Wow, honey.” We moved out from behind the bar. “Well, should we
call an ambulance or something? I mean, Monsieur Peukington probably needs medical
attention, so …”

“Who
cares if he needs medical attention? He didn’t care about killing you,” Janie
answered coldly.