by Alice Quinn
We turned the grocery store upside down. I bought as many minutes as I could to top up my cell phone, and we went back to our place. I left a message on Véro’s answering machine to reassure her that I was taking care of Simon. I also told her the cops were looking for her, and I asked what it was all about.
It turned out I didn’t have to bother, because the cops showed up and answered some of my questions.
When they arrived, all the envelopes of cash were out in the open. I’d decided to count exactly how much there was, assisted by Pastis, the king of mathematics, and the twins, who’d suddenly taken a great shine to accounting too. Fortunately, Simon and Sabrina were busy in their room playing with their Happy Meal figurine and her treasures. When I heard the knock on the door, I shoved the envelopes and bills into the corner of the bench seat, under a pile of unpacked grocery bags, and went to answer the door.
I stepped out of the trailer, closing the door behind me so nobody could step in. Sabrina, who had immediately caught on that something interesting was happening, came and stood next to me so she could watch. Meanwhile, the twins and Simon had also come out to play.
It was them all right. The law.
“Hello. See, it wasn’t all that hard to find me.”
My comment had an immediate effect on Jérôme’s boss. I noticed the increasing rage, hatred, and frustration in his eyes.
“If you’ve got the address, it’s not hard at all. Lucky that my colleague here ran into you at the Hôtel de Provence.”
“Oh, come on, do we really have to make a big deal out of this?”
He almost choked. “Ma’am, you’re going to have to tone it down. We didn’t come down here for our own amusement.”
“Precisely. In fact, that’s just what I wanted to ask you. What is it you want with me? And what is it you want with Véro? Do you have nothing better to do than go running after young housewives?”
Jérôme gave me a look to let me know not to go there, not to make fun of his boss, but it just made me want to do it more. I felt strong and invincible now that I had all those euros in my trailer.
The boss rolled his eyes, then threw a look at Jérôme as if to say: I’ve done as much as I can, but I can’t deal with this.
Sabrina stared at each of us in turn, excited by the unfolding battle. The boss then said to me in a sinister tone, “You know the little kid, Pierre Lanoux, right?”
I laughed again, but I sensed some sort of drama, and my laugh trailed off, getting stuck in my throat. He continued, “Would you recognize his clothing?”
I suddenly imagined the worst. I had a vision, just like in a film, of the small, lifeless body of Pierre in the middle of a field. I shuddered. “What? Why? What’s going on? Where’s Pierre?”
But my voice was weakening. The boss flashed a sheepish look toward Jérôme and stretched out an arm to support me. I was fainting and I could just make out Sabrina shouting “Mom, Mom!” Then I wasn’t there anymore.
I regained consciousness, embarrassed. I was lying down, my head on the grocery bags covering the money, with Pastis stretched across my belly again. By some miracle—we so need them sometimes—the cops hadn’t thought, or hadn’t dared, to clear off the mess on the bench seat before laying me out on it.
13
As soon as I gathered my thoughts, I yelled, “Get out of here! You have no business being in my home! You don’t have a search warrant!”
Startled, Pastis ran to join the nippers outside.
Jérôme raised his voice. “OK! Please just calm down. This isn’t the movies. We only came in to get you a glass of water and make sure you were lying down. We couldn’t just leave you on the ground, could we?”
“Yes, absolutely, on the ground, that’s what you should have done if you’d been sticking to the law! I’m sick and tired of you cowboys who think you can do any goddamn thing you want just because you have a badge!”
“Told you,” said the boss. “I knew this wouldn’t go down well.”
“It’s no big deal,” said Jérôme. “She’d be pissed no matter what we did.”
“Say, would you mind not talking about me in the third person? I’m alive and kicking here, you know.”
“As if we could forget.”
Then it came back to me, the horrible business I’d been trying to avoid. I put my head down and couldn’t say a word.
I took several deep breaths, then looked up. “Please take a seat. You want some coffee?”
I’d bought myself tons of my favorite robusta. It’s cool to be rich and offer people coffee.
I would rather have done anything than listen to what they had to say. I was sure they were going to tell me Pierre was dead.
I think they understood what I felt, because they both accepted and didn’t say anything while the coffee percolated.
I tidied some of the kids’ belongings and threw some sweaters on top of the grocery bags and cash, making it look like I was freeing up a corner to give them more space. My mind was full of anxieties while the tots continued to play out front.
Selfishly, I thought, Shit, we were happy as clams for a while back there.
Fffflllrrreeecrssschhh . . . the coffeemaker indicated its job was done.
I served the coffee and swallowed mine in one gulp. I poured myself another.
The boss said, “It’s nice of you to take care of Simon.”
“Oh, you know, what’s the difference between three crib lizards and four, right?” I paused and then asked in a low voice, “What’s happened to him—to little Pierre?”
“We found a pile of kids’ clothes, all folded up, along with a teddy bear and a pacifier. They were on a bench where his mother said she’d left the stroller, when she came to report his disappearance.”
“Where?”
“In the square near that bakery, the Golden Baguette, just by the cathedral.”
“Oh! Yes, I know the place.”
“We need someone who knows the child well. We need to be sure those are his clothes.”
I held back the tears. I didn’t want them to see me crying. What a shock, having to learn all this officially via the cops.
“Can’t you do some sort of lab analysis to find out whose they are?”
“That’ll be done, but it’s going to take time. If we had someone who knew whether this stuff was his or not, it’d help us get things moving faster. And seeing as we can’t find his mother . . .”
“What about Alexandre?”
“Alexandre who?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never even met him. He’s her new boyfriend. He loves kids, apparently . . .”
The cops exchanged a knowing look.
“Oh, come on! You’re treating me like an idiot. You’d better tell me everything. If you don’t, I won’t talk, got it? Quid pro quo.”
“We’re in the middle of an investigation. We can’t reveal anything. But you’re required to give us any information that may help.”
I stuck my tongue out at them and then hunted around under the sink, where I’d put my cell to charge. I fiddled with some of the buttons and handed it over to them so they could hear my messages from Véro.
They were very interested and asked when I could go down to the station and identify the belongings. I pointed to the nose miners. “They’ll be at school tomorrow, OK? I don’t want to take them to a police station.”
“OK. A squad car will come pick you up at ten. We’ll have to keep you there awhile so we can take a statement. Can we also keep your cell?”
I shrugged, thinking, I have enough cash under my fanny to buy myself forty million cell phones.
They stood to leave.
Jérôme Gallo shook my hand as he stepped out of the trailer. His boss was already ahead of him, by the car. “Are you going to be OK?”
I nodded, an odd grimace for
ming on my face. I felt the pressure of his hand on mine, and I withdrew quickly. Careful, never let your guard down, I could hear my mother telling me. They’ll take advantage.
I sat on the cinder-block steps in front of my trailer and finally let the tears flow down my cheeks as I watched them drive away.
I couldn’t handle everyone having just disappeared like this. Véro, Pierre, and even Alexandre. I didn’t want something to have happened to baby Pierre.
The twins were bickering nearby, but I couldn’t see them. Sabrina approached me and stroked my cheek. “Mommy? Ith evewything alwight? Do you want a hug?”
I grabbed hold of her tightly, smiling to reassure her, but I don’t know if it worked.
Fortunately I bought a good bottle of vodka, because as soon as the little ones are in bed, I’m going to get canned.
Sometimes, there’s no other solution to life’s troubles. But before I could pour my first drink, I had to finish counting my cash, then find a great hiding place for it. I also had to make some canja chicken and rice. I’d promised the kids. Nelson, Sabrina’s father, had given me the recipe. He’d gotten it from his mother, who’d gotten it from hers, and so on and so on.
That was the worst thing. A child had vanished without a trace, but life had to go on without him.
14
I couldn’t wait until the cubbies were in bed so I could get hammered.
Before the kids officially crashed, I poured myself a little pastaga to get the night started, while serving Pastis a big portion of Whiskas mixed with some organic cat seeds.
The events of the day had made me understand that money helps you see straight—or at least it heals partial blindness. All those things in the stores and on the street that we only half look at, or don’t see at all, come into full focus, into your consciousness, just by the mere fact that the kitty is full.
They say love is blind—I’ve never understood that bullshit, even though I’ve said it myself. Well, money renders the world visible. Here was the proof: for the very first time, I’d seen organic cat seeds.
I made some rice pilaf first. When the rice began to brown, I threw it in a pan of salted water with some saffron. I cut up the chicken into chunks and poured myself a second glass of pastaga.
Pastis finished his meal in the blink of an eye and then decided to put on a real show, jumping in every direction. The dance of a full belly. He made us all laugh. I was almost afraid he’d fall into the frying pan where I was simmering some finely sliced onions.
I marinated the chunks of chicken in some coconut cream and hot water, then sprayed them with olive oil and sprinkled on some cumin.
I ate potato chips to help me digest my drinks while I continued to fry the onions, to which I was about to add the chicken, now deliciously covered in a creamy sauce. When the onions started to turn a rich brown, I added the chicken and sauce, as well as a few coriander seeds, and finally a bit more water. It turned into a kind of soup.
At seven o’clock exactly, it was ready, and we all sat down around the table.
I opened a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, and a bottle of Champomy for the little ones. It was a real feast. While the children dug into some fromage frais, I made a start on the bottle of vodka.
After that, I was in no state to think clearly, so instead of putting the babas to bed, I decided we’d go on a trip. We all freshened up. I thought it would do us good to see a few friends at Sélect. It’s a long walk downtown, and I’m not sure I took the most direct route.
As we headed up a small, sloped street in the center of the city, I noticed (despite being tipsy) that something was not quite right about my surroundings.
Guys in black suits strode up and down the street, ringing doorbells. I thought I spotted one of the cell-phone idiots from the Hôtel de Provence, but I couldn’t be certain. Listen up, you crazy broad, you’re going insane. You’d better haul your ass out of this paranoia ASAP.
I walked into Sélect, laughing, and Mimi immediately saw I was half-stewed. She got me a seat in the back. She was too busy to talk long, but she asked how I’d managed to end up with a fourth kid.
“I’m a fast worker,” I replied.
“Make sure Tony doesn’t catch sight of you in this state. Can I just point out this is the only job you’ve got? I don’t think you could cope without it.”
Having to depend on the manager of this place always put me in a bad mood. But now I had my stash, which I hadn’t even counted or properly hidden yet.
“To hell with him. He should stop thinking I’m going to kiss his ass.”
“Mom!” Sabrina threw me a dirty look. “You’we curthing again.”
I stood with as much dignity as I could muster. “Never mind all that. I came to tell you something important, Mimi, but you’re just such a bi—” I glanced at Sabrina. “Such a busybody.”
“Just as charming as ever. We’ll talk about this tomorrow when you’ve come to your senses.”
“And you can tell that other . . .” I searched for words that wouldn’t be censored by Sabrina. “That Johnson that if he needs me, it might be worth his while to apologize.”
I left with my entourage, trying not to look too unseemly on our way out the door. A few steps farther on, as I turned and flipped the bird at Sélect—the most pointless of gestures, but as free and as satisfying as they come—I noticed a guy in a black suit heading into Sélect. He definitely looked like one of the thugs from the Hôtel de Provence. Come on, you silly old broad! You’re hung up on this. Paranoid. Snap out of it!
The children hadn’t noticed a thing.
It was then that I saw something that sobered me up immediately: the second thug was hiding in a corner of the entranceway . . . and he was holding a gun.
I turned as fast as I could, but I got the feeling that he’d seen me and wasn’t at all happy about it.
He followed the first guy into Sélect, slipping the gun into his pocket. It seemed as if he had something really important to tell his partner. And what could that really important something be?
“Hey, listen up, I’ve found her!”
But who, why . . . why me? What was this shit all about? All this just because the kids had messed with these dudes back at the hotel?
I didn’t hang around. We scurried down the street.
The little ones were laughing, but I was whispering, “Shush! Shuuush! There’s a witch behind us. Hurry, we have to run faster than her!”
We got a move on. The stroller was racing full speed ahead, but it was what pulled me forward and kept me upright.
15
We ended up back at the trailer quicker than you could say Jack Robinson, and I put the nippers to bed, my heart pounding wildly. All this for something I’d probably just made up in my head. But the first rule my mom ever taught me was to trust my intuition.
Mission accomplished, right?
I washed the dishes, trying not to make too much noise, but I shouldn’t have worried. That kind of sound soothes them to sleep.
I waited for them to drop off. After drying the last glass and putting it back in the cabinet, I could hear the snores drifting from their tiny room.
I sat on the bench seat in front of my small table and emptied out the envelopes containing my miraculous loot. I counted the bills, making small piles.
Incredible but true: each envelope contained twenty-five thousand euros—twenty-five sets of ten one-hundred-euro bills each. Well, except one that contained a bit less, short what I’d already spent at lunch, at the Hôtel de Provence, the grocery trip, and my cell phone. I was down around five hundred, what I’d normally spend in a month.
That made a total of €149,500. I started talking to my mother, but she wouldn’t understand unless I converted it to francs. In francs, it was around a million. A million big ones. A million in cash. Not bad, huh? Like in Indecent Proposal. I’d n
ever seen it, but a friend of mine had told me all about it when I was a kid.
A million, Mom! I got myself a thousand thousand. What am I going to do with it all? You have any ideas?
I racked my brain and leafed through a catalog, trying to get some inspiration. I could hear the children breathing. Simon was restless and moving a lot. He was panting. Soft, wet gurgles sputtered from his mouth.
Before dawn, I went outside for a quick smoke and to look around for Pastis, who I saw coming out of the second-floor window of the abandoned railway station. That’s what gave me the idea.
I quickly stuffed two thousand euros in my handbag, then grabbed the plastic bags with the envelopes. I had to act fast. It wasn’t daylight yet.
I climbed onto the roof of my trailer and discreetly entered the second floor of the old train station, through the same window Pastis had used.
He’d gotten in through a small empty pane. I put my arm through and found the latch to unlock the window. I held it half-open and quickly slipped inside.
It was unbelievable. All the office furniture was still there from when it was a working station. It all looked shabby. It was weird nobody had ever squatted there.
I looked around, hunting for a good hiding place—a hole, a corner, a panel—and then finally I pulled open a deep drawer in a broken desk. I stuck the bags in the back and closed the drawer. Mum’s the word. I improvised a false bottom.
On the way out, I wiped out the traces of my footprints in the dust, closed the latch on the window, and pushed the shutters against it. Pastis wouldn’t be too pleased, but tough luck.
When I got back to the trailer, Pastis ran between my legs, climbed on top of the table, and suddenly starting having convulsions.
He spewed his guts out all over the Formica tabletop. Not particularly pleasant.
I put a bowl of water down for him and knew I had to clean up the mess before I finally went to bed.
It was a quarter to four, and I’d have to wake the babies at seven. I couldn’t waste any more time. I realized that Pastis wasn’t used to eating so much and that I should give him smaller portions.
