Bender at the Bon Parisien (A Novel) (9 page)

“A pickpocket?!” Trudel
yelled.

“Fill
them in, Monsieur Pistache,” Renard said calmly.

The
two men remained locked in a stare. The tenor between all the players had
shifted in the room. An atmosphere of distrust suddenly hung in the air.

“I
may not have been entirely honest with you all,” Pistache said, finally
breaking eye contact with Renard.

No
one moved.

“Let
me guess,” Renard said to Janie and me. “He told you that he’s a street
performer.”

“I
am
a street performer!” Pistache protested.

“Well,
true. But, not because you are passionate about your craft as a singer or
dancer or whatever.”

“I
knew it,” Trudel softly hummed.

Renard
continued, “Did he do some of his awful voices for you? Or maybe he tried to
teach you his version of tap dancing?”

Pistache
remained silent.

“Explain
it for them, Jacques,” the stranger said.

Pistache
did not say anything.

“Well,
I’ll take it upon myself to introduce you properly to the room.” He turned to
the rest of us and continued. “It’s all fake. It’s all meant to distract.”

Fleuse
blinked. “Do you two know each other?”

“In
fact, we do,” Renard answered, turning. “We’ve known each other for some time,
actually. Well, maybe that’s going a little too far. We have met, and I
definitely feel as though
I
know
him
. I can’t say how he feels
about me, though.” He turned again toward Pistache. “Actually, I don’t think he
remembers our first meeting.”

“Of
course I do,” Pistache finally broke his silence. Despite lifting his glass to
swig for some apparent courage, he was sounding remarkably more sober than he had
been even moments earlier. “Peukington’s party.”

“Oh!
Very good, Jacques,” Renard said. “I wasn’t sure that you recognized me.”

“How
could I miss you, the unassuming partygoer who had an issue with the valet? Was
that some kind of act?”

Renard
smiled and shook his head. “No. That guy was really terrible. When I got back
into my car, the seat was all …” He struggled for the correct word. “… adjusted.”

“I
figured it was your way of disarming strangers at your boss’s party.”

“You
were over-analyzing me. I was actually off duty when we spoke.”

“Well,
don’t think that I didn’t notice the way you rushed to Peukington’s side the
moment he entered,” Pistache said. “Or, how you happened to be right there to
help that guy off the floor. I don’t think you took your eyes off Peukington from
the moment he entered the room. In the moment, I thought you might have been
his lover!”

Renard
laughed heartily. “I see. Well, that’s fine.”

“Are
you his bodyguard?” Fleuse interjected, shyly.

“You
don’t see me guarding him right now, do you?” Renard answered without looking
in his direction.

Pistache
took a beat. I could see him choosing his words carefully, as if deciding upon
a move in a chess match. “When you came in here tonight, it took me a few
minutes to place you. But, the way you kept your eyes on us, I began to feel your
arrival was not an accident.”

“You’re
a perceptive person, Jacques,” Renard continued. “I’ll at least give you that.
But your drunken act only masks the real facts. First off, you really do drink
too much for someone who needs to rely so heavily on motor skills.”

Pistache
took a drink as if he were challenging Renard’s claims.

Renard
continued. “Let me guess. A decade ago, you could rattle off everything in each
of your pockets at any moment?”

Pistache
swallowed hard and didn’t acknowledge the challenge.

“But
nowadays,” Renard continued, “I’m guessing you have to pat yourself down as a
reminder of where you put everything.

Pistache
began to grit his teeth. Janie shot me another glance. She had been right. This
was better drama than anything we could have seen in a theater.

“Go
on,” Renard persisted. “Let’s see it. No one is going to do anything about it. You’re
not in trouble here. You are among friends. Plus, you like games, so this will
be fun.”

Pistache
stood motionless.

“C’mon,
Jacques. Play along. So, let’s hear it. What’s in your pockets?” Renard
repeated.

“Start
by giving my ring back,” Trudel snapped.

Pistache
began to reach for a pocket.

“Remember,
Jacques,” Renard said with a cautionary yet playful tone. “Announce everything
that you are going to present
before
you present it. That’s the game.
Can you really remember where you’ve put everything, or have you gotten too
sloppy?”

For
a moment, I thought Pistache would storm out. I then realized that Renard had
cleverly, albeit casually, positioned himself between the curtain and Pistache.
Given the pickpocket’s skeletal physique, it would have been foolish of him to
challenge the more substantive Renard.

Fleuse
and Trudel watched, seemingly holding their breath. I noticed each of them finally
sneak a drink of their cocktails.

“Since
we are just playing games here and having a little fun,” Pistache began slowly
without unlocking his stare from Renard. “We’ll start with my front jacket
pocket and Trudel’s ring.”

Trudel
leaned forward in time to see Pistache produce her ring from his jacket and
place it on the bar. She leapt up and seized it. As she repositioned it on her
finger, she glared at Pistache and retreated to her table.

“One
for one,” Renard smiled.

“In
my left hip pocket, you will all find an ace.” He pulled out the ace of spades.
Hoping for humor, he softly exclaimed “Pistache!” as he threw it down on the
bar. No one laughed.

“Well
done,” Renard said.

“I
didn’t take much from all of you tonight,” Pistache went on. “Truly, I was
going to probably give it all back,” he said as he reached in his pocket and
dropped Janie’s necklace and my watch on to the table.

“How
did you do that?” I asked. I hadn’t even noticed that my watch had walked off.
I immediately took inventory and realized that something else was also missing.
“And my wallet!”

“Take
it easy. Here,” Pistache said casually as he laid it on the bar for me.

“But,
how did you …?“

“A
magician never shares his secrets.”

“You’re
not a magician,” Renard snapped. “It’s all his distraction act. While he does
terrible impersonations …”

“Impressions,”
Pistache corrected.

“Whatever.
While he does terrible impressions, he wraps his arm around you, or makes up
stupid games to engage you, then robs you.”

Janie
was busy fastening her necklace. She gave me a look. For the first time this
evening, she was obviously not having fun. I considered grabbing her and running
for the door.

“Notice
that he’s also left the game,” Renard continued, breaking Janie’s and my silent
sidebar.

“I’ve
been right about everything so far!” Pistache protested.

“Not
exactly,” Renard answered. “You did not identify the last three items. It’s a
trick that you masked with conversation just now.”

“I
knew they were there.”

“Sure
you did. Anything else?”

“I
have Fleuse’s watch too.”

Surprised
at hearing his name, Fleuse checked his wrist and immediately raised his head.
He didn’t say anything, but the look of betrayal was boundless. He rose and
approached Pistache.

“Here
you go, my friend,” Pistache said. “I was going to give it all back tonight. I
was just playing around.”

“Okay,”
Fleuse mustered, examining his watch.

“There
should be more,” Renard urged.

“I
do have another ace.” He reached into the inside of his coat pocket. He pulled
out not one but two cards from our game of Pistache. Only this time, neither
were aces. He threw them onto the bar.

“See
what I’m talking about?” Renard asked the room.

Pistache
looked confused. He seemed to be silently retracing his steps.

“After
a certain point, you can’t keep track of what you take,” Renard said with a
smile. “I bet you didn’t even know that you accidentally nabbed two cards.”

“A
simple mistake,” Pistache said. “If that is the only one I made, then I’d say
I’m still doing alright.”

“If
that’s what you think,” Renard answered.

“Did
you see me do any of it?” Pistache asked him.

“No,
you still move pretty quickly for a drunk guy. But, I could see the
opportunities. I knew when most of them happened. I just couldn’t catch all the
details. I’ve been observing you for a few weeks. At first I could barely keep
up, but I’m familiar with your methods by now.”

“Who
are you again?” Fleuse finally spoke up.

“As
I said, Julian Renard,” he said as he made his way to Fleuse. “And you are
Fleuse Newman, the excellent clockmaker. It is nice to finally meet you face-to-face.”

“You
are familiar with my work?” Fleuse skeptically answered as they shook hands.
“Do you know one of my customers?”

“Fleuse,”
Pistache interrupted. “Are you missing this? He has been following us. Watching
us. You as well.”

Fleuse
looked horrified.

“I’m
afraid he’s right, Monsieur Newman,” Renard confirmed. “I work for a very
wealthy businessman. His name is Lavaar Peukington. Do you know him?”

“Obviously,”
Pistache muttered under his breath.

“Well,
maybe not so obvious,” Renard said. “I don’t know how close the two of you are.
I can’t be sure what you’ve told Fleuse here about your profession. After all,
you did just take his watch.”

“I
know who Monsieur Peukington is,” Fleuse answered softly with a nod.

Janie
and I watched in silence, frozen by the drama unfolding in the room.

“You
know that he knows who Monsieur Peukington is,” Pistache said to Renard.
“Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been following him.”

“Good
point,” Renard said.

“So
you’re … what?” Pistache asked. “His right-hand man?”

“Well,
I’ve worked for him for some time now,” Renard went on. “I’d say that I’m best
described as his renaissance man. I do many different tasks.”

“Why
have you been following Fleuse and Jacques?” Trudel finally spoke.

“Well,
I wouldn’t say that I’ve been following them exclusively.”

“You
follow other people, too?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.

“Well
not many, but some. I have been keeping an eye on you as well,” Renard said to
her.

“That’s
outrageous!” she sung. “Why?!”

“It’s
not
that
outrageous,” Pistache added with an eye roll. “Can’t you see
what he’s getting at?”

“My
particular assignment is to locate something very valuable for Monsieur
Peukington,” Renard went on.

“The
coin!” I heard Fleuse whisper in defeat.

Again
Pistache rolled his eyes. “Of course the coin, Fleuse.”

“What
coin?” Janie blurted out. I was curious as well.

“Well,
I believe Monsieur Pistache here took a coin from Monsieur Peukington a few
weeks ago.”

Pistache
finally slumped into a chair. He already knew the story.

“It
is a valuable coin,” Renard continued, “very old. You see, it has been in
Monsieur Peukington’s family for many generations. It began as a souvenir of an
important era in French history. It dates back to the reign of kings. It’s seen
revolution and violence, tyranny, the rise and fall of an empire, and so on. It
has been in the possession of Monsieur Peukington’s ancestors the entire time. Therefore,
it’s an heirloom, and he believes that it brings him
bon chance.
”

“It’s
his lucky penny,” I muttered.

“Honey,
let’s go,” Janie said as she broke my gaze.

She
was right. I wasn’t feeling great about being involved with this. Our fun night
in the bar had taken a very bizarre turn. I knew that it would be the stuff of
a great story later, but in the moment I was becoming increasingly nervous.

“Well,
thank you all for an incredibly entertaining evening. We’ll leave you to it,” I
said, reaching for Janie as we stepped out from behind the bar.

“Well,
hold on for one moment please, my American friend,” Renard said. His tone was
unthreatening, but he slowly stepped closer to the curtain, blocking our exit.
“The thing is, you can’t leave just yet.”

“Why
not?” I asked, fearing something terrible was about to happen.