Bender at the Bon Parisien (A Novel) (22 page)

Pistache
couldn’t believe his luck. Here someone else had perfectly set up a
dangerous-sounding situation. In that brief moment, the pickpocket wondered if
Fleuse could actually hear his thoughts.

As
some voiced their objections, Pistache watched Renard. He was consumed with the
safe but not inattentive to the happenings at the bar. The pickpocket continued
his plan undeterred. He was sure that Renard would not catch him with the coin.
As Fleuse laid his timepiece out on the bar, Pistache liberally dumped the
booze all over it.

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

“So?”
Pistache couldn’t help laughing. That might actually be handy. If he burned the
bar down, he might be able to disappear into the night with the coin.

The
American bartender continued to protest but finally caved in. He stood at the
ready with wet towels as Pistache threw a lit match on to the bar.

It
wasn’t enough, and Pistache was disappointed. The situation was not nearly
chaotic enough to keep Renard from noticing Jacques as he handled the coin. The
American bartender jumped in with a towel, but the pickpocket was determined.
He threw the towel back at the American, and poured more booze over the flames.
The pickpocket really needed to go for the gold.

Bingo.
The bar top practically exploded.

“Jesus,
are you crazy?!” the American yelled.

“Honey,
your arm!” The pretty girl shouted as her husband’s shirt caught fire.

The
American bartender jumped in front of the pickpocket to douse his sleeve in a sink.
Pistache dove out of the way, and simultaneously slipped the coin into the
front pocket of Victor’s old shirt behind the bar. Peukington’s man never saw
him. The deed was done.

“Smooth,
Jacques,” Fleuse muttered sarcastically.

He
didn’t know how right he was, the pickpocket thought.

Pistache took a step
toward me, rededicated to aiming the gun in my direction. I tried to focus my
eyes on the barrel, but all the night’s alcohol kept my vision from working
properly.

“I
see what you’re trying to do here, Victor,” Pistache said with an icy stare in
my direction. “You think that by telling me the coin is worth nothing, I’ll
just walk out of here.”

“It’s
worth nothing,” Victor said flatly.

“Do
you think you’re saving this American’s life?” The pickpocket said. “I call
your bluff. If you’d known the coin was worthless, you wouldn’t have come back
here tonight.”

Everyone
looked to Victor. The former bartender sighed and admitted, “Okay, well it’s
not worth nothing. But, it’s not worth one million euros.”

Finally,
Pistache broke his stare. “I’m through with taking your word for it. When this
tourist hands me the coin, I’ll get a second opinion.”

Victor
grunted in defeat.

“Nice
try, friend,” Renard said to the old bartender.

“I’m
not your friend,” Victor snapped.

“Don’t
forget,” Renard hissed. “You need me.”

Pistache
interrupted their sidebar. “Maybe it’s just worth a little, and maybe it’s
worth a lot. Either way, it’s time, American. I’ll take it now and be on my
way.”

I
stared into the pickpocket’s eyes. His look was unwavering, and his hand was
steady. Concluding that he might actually pull the trigger, the coin suddenly
felt heavier in my sweaty palm.

“Go
ahead, honey,” Janie said softly to me. I’m not sure if anyone else heard. I
looked at her, and she seemed to have a reassuring, confident gaze. The last
thing I wanted to do was bring her any more distress.

I
took one last glance at the coin, and flipped it in the pickpocket’s direction.
As it spun away from me in the air, I saw my dreams of riches go with it. It
had been fun being a millionaire, if only for a moment.

He
flawlessly caught it with his non-gun-wielding hand and immediately pocketed it
inside his jacket. Janie smiled sympathetically at me.

“Thank
you very much!” The pickpocket said pleasantly as he instantly stashed the gun
as well. “How about one last drink for the road, tourist? A toast in
celebration, really.”

I
didn’t move.

“What
exactly are we celebrating?” Trudel asked irreverently.

“Me,
obviously,” the pickpocket answered.

“I’ll
pass,” Victor hissed.

“Suit
yourself, old man.” Pistache shrugged and swiftly moved to the bar area as
everyone stood by watching. Snagging a random whiskey bottle from the myriad of
glassware that we’d left on the bar at various points in the evening, he poured
himself a highball.

Janie
winced. “Eww.”

“What?”
Pistache asked.

“Um
… you’re not even going to use a clean glass?”

“My
dear, I’m not that worried about it,” Pistache exclaimed with a cheery tone.
“After all. I’m rich now.”

“Where
are you going to go, Pistache?” Renard violently snapped.

Pistache
smirked and laughed as he took a sip. He didn’t answer further.

“Do
you think we won’t find you?” Renard added.

“Actually,
yes. I do not think that you’ll find me,” the pickpocket answered. “See, this
time I won’t have these two to share the prize with.”

Victor
stood in silence.

Fleuse
hadn’t said anything in quite a while. He listened to the verbal sparring and
occasionally shifted his gaze to Peukington’s body in the chair.

“Cheer
up, Fleusie,” Pistache sneered. “I’ll send you a few euros from my beach-front
hut in South America.”

“Fitting,
I guess,” Renard said. “One of your friends here already sold you out. Seems
right you’d do the same.”

“Like
I was given a choice,” Victor answered snidely. The others seemed to already
know, or at least didn’t seem to care.

“I’ll
put it to you,” Renard continued to Pistache. “Hand me that coin right now,
Jacques, and you walk out of here without a care in the world.”

Pistache
huffed in amusement. “I’m already walking out of here without a care in the
world,” he said as he took another drink.

“I’d
say you’re walking out of here carelessly. There’s a difference,” Renard said
as he walked toward the bar. He grabbed a glass and poured himself a little brandy.
“Just ask your friend here.”

Victor
huffed softly.

“Let
me save you all the trouble,” Pistache said with a grand gesture. He had the
gun back in hand. “You throw Victor off a bridge, and that’s supposed to scare
me? Let me tell you. Jacques Pistache has been thrown off a bridge before.
Actually, more than once.”

“Why
am I not surprised?” Trudel muttered.

“I
know everything you are about to tell me,” the pickpocket continued for Renard,
“and I get it. You’ll hunt me down. Blah blah blah.”

Renard
just stared.

“Come
find me if you can,” Pistache continued. “I showed up at that party unafraid,
and I’m not afraid now either.”

“If
that’s the way you’d like it to be,” Renard said plainly.

“As
for the rest of you,” Pistache took another drink. “Our goodbyes can be more
cordial.” He looked around the room and settled on the old bartender. “Victor,
I don’t blame you for taking Renard up on his deal to walk free. You’ve got
some fight in you, but you are a numbers guy. Don’t get discouraged, you’re not
meant for this kind of stuff.”

Victor
looked at the ground.

“You
ran a good ship here,” Pistache went on. “This American guy here did alright,
but you were the crown jewel of the Bon Parisien. I trust it’ll never be the
same, but I won’t be here to find out.”

“If
you ever do come back,” Victor answered, “these guys will be waiting. And, so
will I.”

“I
don’t doubt it, friend,” Pistache answered, not sounding threatened by the
former bartender. He turned to the opera singer. “As for you Trudel, I’m sorry
that I never got to hear you sing.”

“Rot
in hell,” she snapped.

The
pickpocket smiled. “From one performer to another, I think you should keep at
it. You might make it one day.”

Trudel
took a drink and stared at the man with distaste.

“As
for you two,” Pistache said with a turn to Janie and me. “You’re okay, American.
I don’t detest you. And if I may say so, your wife is beautiful.”

Janie
rolled her eyes.

“My
little flower,” Pistache said as he danced toward Janie. “If you’d met me
before him, I assume things would have been different.”

“Right,”
Janie said.

“Send
me off with a soft embrace,” he said as he opened his arms to her.

Much
to my surprise she actually leaned in and gave him a small hug with a pat on
his back. When Pistache lingered, she shifted awkwardly. Finally raising her
eyebrows and rolling her eyes again, she sighed, “Okay, Pistachio. That’s
enough.” Leaning away, she shook her head and shot me a smirk.

He
smiled as he backed off. “That was all I needed, my sweetheart,” he said. “Travel
safely on your way home, and always think of me when you think of Paris.”

I
scoffed. “Get the hell out of here, man.”

The
pickpocket turned to Fleuse. “And Monsieur Newman, what more is there to be
said?”

Fleuse
stood silently.

“Like
I said, cheer up. I’ll see you again someday. We’ve been through so much, and
I’ll always count you among my closest and best friends.”

“Okay,
Jacques,” the clockmaker managed.

“Of
course,” Pistache continued, “I’m very sorry that you’ll have to find a new
jewel man. I think you’ll discover that my talents are not easily replicated in
others, but I believe that you will make do somehow. Good luck, my friend.”

“Sure,”
Fleuse said without luster. He was clearly offended by Pistache’s betrayal.

“Everyone,
check to make sure you still have your watches before he goes,” Renard jabbed.
He sounded like he was kidding, but I absolutely checked my watch and wallet.

“Good
one, Renard. I’ll miss you too,” Pistache said before addressing us one last
time. “So that’s it, everyone.”

He
dramatically finished the last drop of his drink. He winced and looked at the
bottom of his empty glass. “Well, it was no
Esprit de la Nuit
!” He
tossed it into the wasteland of broken tables and chairs. It shattered as it
landed, piercing the quiet that had settled over the room.

The
pickpocket moved to the curtain. Turning to the rest of us, he patted the coin
through his coat pocket and took one last deep breath of satisfaction.

“
Adieu,
mes amis
,” he said as he theatrically opened the curtain. And in another flourish,
Pistache and the coin were gone.

*        *        *

The
group stood in silence for several moments, exchanging looks and digesting the
finality of the events. My head was spinning. I knew it would hurt in a few
short hours. I couldn’t believe how much booze we’d consumed. How were we still
standing?

“So
that’s it?” Trudel asked.

“It’s
over,” Victor said.

“Not
for me,” Renard said with a shrug.

“Is
Peukington going to come after us?” Trudel asked.

“No,”
Renard answered. “At least as long as none of you help Jacques from here on
out.”

“We
don’t even know that guy,” I said.

“You
have the least to worry about, tourist,” Renard said.

“Thank
god. Why’s that?” I asked.

“Because,”
Janie said with a brave step forward, “this guy shot you.” She nodded at the
chair. “Not to mention, he did it in front of five people.”

“Well,
luckily,” Renard answered her, “no one is hurt. That being said, Monsieur
Peukington appreciates your silence on this entire matter.” He’d begun untying
the unconscious man. As soon as he did, Peukington moaned and shifted in the
chair.

“What
happened?” Peukington groaned.

“I’ll
fill you in, sir,” Renard answered as he helped him to his feet.

“Where’s
Jacques Pistache?”

Janie
and Trudel took a sip.

“Like
I said, I’ll fill you in, sir. But in the meantime, we have to get you out of
here.”

“Where’s
the coin?” Peukington grunted.

Renard
didn’t answer him as he hoisted the man’s arm around his shoulder and neck. The
two started for the curtain. Peukington stumbled with nearly his full weight on
Renard. When they reached the doorway, they both leaned heavily on the frame as
Peukington’s man turned his head.

“Remember,”
Julian Renard said. “We appreciate your silence. Stay away from Jacques Pistache.”

Janie
and Trudel took another sip.

Renard
swept the curtain aside and the men limped through.

Everyone
remained silent for several seconds and finally exhaled when it was evident
that they were gone. I took a look around the bar. The place was trashed.

“We
are in so much trouble, honey,” I said to Janie.

“Maybe
we should slip out before the concierge starts for the day? We’ll tell him that
we left before any of this happened.”

“That’s
not a half-bad idea,” I said.

“Well,
I think I’ll call it a night,” Victor said, walking toward the bar. He began
raking up as many of his coins as he could carry. “If everyone is done stealing
things for the night, I think I’ll take what’s left of my coin collection with
me.”

“Here,
I can help you,” I offered.

“Don’t
touch anything,” the old bartender snapped. “I can take care of it myself.”

We
all watched as he stuffed his pockets and finally turned toward the curtain.

“Where
the hell are you going?” Trudel said.

“I’m
disappearing. I don’t trust those guys for one second not to try and come after
me.”

“They
said they’re after Jacques, not us,” Fleuse said.

“Still,”
Victor said, “I’m not taking my chances. I’m making myself scarce.”

“Don’t
you think you owe me an explanation?!” Trudel screamed.

“Trudie,”
he snapped. “They threw—”

“I
got it,” she snapped. “They threw you off a bridge. Who cares? You didn’t die
or anything. What about us?!”

“No
thanks,” Victor said coldly. “See you around, Fleuse,” he said with a nod. He
parted the curtain and walked through. I doubted that the Hôtel des Bretons
would ever see their bartender again.