Queen of the Trailer Park (Rosie Maldonne's World Book 1)

by Alice Quinn

  “Well played, Rose!” exclaimed Gaston, which made me feel pleased, even though we still had a lot on our plate.

  The Big Boss yelled and jumped in pain.

  “But . . . You have done me vrrrrong!”

  “Search all three of them,” yelled Gaston, throwing himself on the Big Boss, somehow managing to immobilize him.

  I moved toward the two thugs and went for their pockets.

  Gaston shook the boss. “Who are you?”

  The boss didn’t answer. Then Gaston spoke to him in a strange language.

  53

  It sounded like Gaston was pretending to speak Russian.

  He uttered, “Poslushay, ty. Ostav Rozu Maldonne v pokoe, torgash, a to tebia poimeyut. Ponyal?”

  He told me later it really was Russian, and that it meant: “Listen, you. Leave Rose Maldonne in peace, you peddler, or I’ll have you. Get it?”

  My Gaston had style.

  Oddly enough, the Big Boss didn’t respond in Russian. He gasped for air. “Thisss isss no fair. It is she who . . . She rrrrobbed us of ourrr cash . . . and . . .”

  I jumped in. “Don’t believe him, Gaston! I haven’t stolen a thing! I found this money. It’s dirty money. A bribe for the mayor to build a casino.”

  “Yourrr mayorrrr is an imbecile . . .” continued the Big Boss, his voice faltering.

  Gaston was holding him by the throat.

  “Ve vill build the fuuuuuucking casiiino somevherrrre else! Therrre is no shorrrtage of places! But ve neverrr leave our money and everrrything else for some whorrre to spen—”

  Gaston added pressure to his grip, and the big guy lost consciousness without finishing his sentence. I helped Gaston lift the three bruisers into their car. We locked all the doors after putting all kinds of crap—sand, stones, grass, chewing gum, and even the contents of a box of candy—into the gasoline tank.

  Then we threw their keys into a drain hole. Gaston started heading toward the store again, but I called him back.

  “Gaston! Come back! There’s no point buying anything in there now! If they get free and call for backup, we’re screwed. Come on! Look at this—we need to get rid of all these!”

  I had a pile of guns hidden under my coat.

  We hit the road. Vroom, like a rat out of a sewer pipe. Every time we saw a trash can, Gaston stopped and I threw in a gun, wiping it first for fingerprints.

  We got rid of four weapons this way. I also had a cell phone I’d picked up. It was sitting on my lap. Gaston stopped the car on the side of the road, put on his glasses, and began pressing buttons on the cell.

  “Gaston! This is no time to play crazy games!”

  “I’m not playing, Rose, you’ll see.”

  His eyes were glowing, and he quickly put a finger to his lips.

  “Shh! Yes? Is that Victor? Gaston Contini here . . . Yes, thank you . . . Well, hello there, old friend! Yes, it’s me . . . Well, you know, the fame . . . Yes, it’s true, time flies . . . No, I don’t know the guy. Yes, he lent me his cell phone . . . I’m sorry, I don’t have time to come by and see you, but I do have something to ask of you—or, rather, it’s an errand I’m running on behalf of a friend. Rose Maldonne . . . No, you don’t know her. Yes, one of your constituents. Oh, no, not that sort of favor! She wants to give you back something of yours that she found . . . No . . . It was a payoff . . . Yes, hush-money . . . That’s . . . The sort of stuff that comes in little brown envelopes? . . . Yes, yes, the pleasure is all mine . . . Interested? She wants to give it back tomorrow at your city hall meeting. It seems she’s furious about it all. She’s been attacked twice in a row by some seriously creepy people—of Russian origin, I think . . . Would you believe they don’t want her to give it back to you? . . . No, she wants to see you first. Afterward she’ll do whatever you tell her . . . OK. Tomorrow morning. Eight thirty at city hall.”

  I signaled to him.

  “Wait, no . . . Eight forty-five would be better for her . . . Wonderful! Bye, then, old friend! See you soon! That’s marvelous!”

  He hung up the phone and threw it out the window.

  “Gaston! Have you been talking to Saint Expeditus? Did he put you up to this? It seems like you never stop saving my ass. Do you really know the mayor?”

  “Yes. We went to elementary school together. I never much liked him. Anyway, you have an appointment with him tomorrow morning at eight forty-five. Now it’s up to you.”

  “But . . .”

  “What?”

  “I’m having a crisis of conscience.”

  “What about?”

  “Oh my God! Have you seen the time? Quick, drop me off at the Midi Health Insurance office—and you need to get the kids!”

  While he drove, I went over my concerns. Either I was going to my appointment with the mayor, where I’d blackmail him—he’d have to give me what I wanted if he didn’t want me telling everything to the media. Or I forsook my personal goals so the truth could come out and justice be served. That would certainly put an end to this shyster mayor’s political career.

  But who on earth would be elected afterward? Maybe someone even worse? Sure, but at least I’d have done something good for the community for once in my life. Like Joan of Arc. And wouldn’t Ismène be proud of me?

  Ismène?

  Why would I even want her to be proud of me? She wasn’t my mother, as far as I was aware.

  54

  This was an impossible dilemma. I decided to banish all thoughts of the whole thing for the time being, or my head would explode.

  I’d have plenty of time the next day, when I was actually speaking with the mayor, to decide on my plan. Gaston dropped me off in front of the Midi Health Insurance building. I thought about all the things I hadn’t had time to buy. I had a few skiing vacations booked, but no clothes or equipment to use on them. I wondered whether they’d give me my money back.

  I walked straight into the office building. I took a number to wait in line, just like at the deli counter at the grocery store.

  After some time, I started getting agitated and approached a teller to ask where the restroom was. I wanted my behavior to seem totally normal. In fact, when I walked in the direction of the corridor, nobody even noticed me. Just next to the restroom, there was a door. A closet. I’d already opened a few similar doors down this particular corridor. Bingo—the next door led to a service stairwell.

  I’d gone down a few steps when I heard someone coming up. I rushed back up the stairs and into the restroom. I came out again a few seconds later once the footsteps had passed.

  I retraced my steps, opened the door to the staircase, and walked down. I ended up in a basement, some kind of huge storage area. Was it the archives? Must have been. These offices had been here for more than sixty years. They were sure to have accumulated a ton of stuff.

  I heard the door open above. Someone was heading down.

  I looked at the time. This place closed at five o’clock, and it wasn’t five yet.

  I was in a panic, desperately looking for somewhere to hide.

  The rows upon rows of shelves obscured my view. I couldn’t see if there were any closets or anything at the back of the room. The shelves were like a labyrinth. I thought I could hide between the files and move around the room, just avoiding the other person. Like you see in the movies.

  My idea was to hole up down here until the place closed and then hunt for Véro. One of two things could happen: either there’d be no Véro, and I’d be left to wait for the cleanup team and then have to get the heck out of there. Or I’d find Véro and talk with her so I could understand what had happened and convince her to come with me.

  Whoever had come down was searching through records, filing papers, and moving up and down the aisles. I had to be on the lookout. I didn’t want any surprises. I was second-guessing their every move.

  Th
at’s when I made my huge mistake. As I walked backward, I bumped into a table on which several boxes of files were stacked. They fell straight off and onto my toe.

  I couldn’t help but let out a little cry. Even though I tried to keep it in, it was still a cry. I knew whoever was there had heard it. They’d stopped moving, maybe to listen for any more noises.

  That’s exactly what they got. I was hurt so badly I had to take a look at my toe and make sure it wasn’t bleeding.

  I took off my shoe and leaned against the table so I could get a better look. It turned out the table had a missing leg. That’s probably why it had been pushed into a corner, so it wouldn’t fall down. Unless, of course, a great big pumpkin belly went and put all her weight on it to check on an injured toe. Suddenly the whole thing collapsed—with me on top of it.

  That was it. Now I’d really done it. However, I managed not to open my mouth, for once. Though it was surely a lost cause by this point.

  I got back up again as quick as lightning. I needed to get away from the corner and duck behind another shelf. The other person—I could see now that it was a fairly attractive woman in her thirties—now stood in front of me.

  “But . . . What . . .”

  She couldn’t find her words. I think she was slightly scared but also reassured to see I was a woman.

  “Yes? What are you staring at?”

  “I know you!” she exclaimed. “Didn’t you ask where the restroom was before?”

  “Yeah, I got lost! And I really hurt my toe!”

  “Oh, you poor thing! Come with me. Well, it’s a good thing I found you—we close in five minutes! What would you have done, trapped down here all night? What a mess! Come on, let’s go!”

  I wasn’t moving, so she came toward me.

  “Is it sore? Can you walk? Do you want me to call for help?”

  I had my eye on a big, heavy-looking box of files. I thought that if I gave her a massive blow to the head, I could still go about my plan. Suddenly we heard a creaking sound coming from a closet right next to us, behind a shelf. We were both startled and turned to get a closer look. We walked toward it.

  The door opened slowly. We heard a sigh. Véro emerged, unsteadily, then fainted at our feet.

  55

  Véro was lying right in front of me while the bewildered employee gawked.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!” the woman exclaimed. “What’s happening?” She started screaming, “Help! Help! Somebody help us!” Then she gave me orders. “Grab her by the ankles. Yes, that’s right, go look for some water, quickly, and call for help.”

  I was dumbstruck. I couldn’t move a muscle. She sighed loudly.

  “Fine. You stay here. I’ll go. Lift her head and talk to her.”

  Off she went back up the staircase.

  I sat down on the floor and put Véro’s head in my lap. I stroked her hair. I talked to her gently. I didn’t know if she could hear me, but eventually her eyelids opened and her unfocused gaze became fixed on me with an expression of pure suffering.

  “I . . . him . . . I . . . ki . . . !”

  I gently put a finger across her lips.

  “Stop talking nonsense, Véro. Let’s get you better. We’ll get your strength back. You’ll have all the time in the world to say whatever you want.”

  That’s when I saw her wrists. They were slashed, covered in congealed blood, as if someone had been hacking away at them with a blunt blade.

  I was grateful I had come down here. She was in such a state that if I hadn’t found her when I did, she might not have made it. We wouldn’t have been able to talk. Not to mention that I would’ve had trouble finding help if I’d been trapped in the building after it closed.

  The ambulance arrived in five minutes. Some of the staff welcomed me and treated me kindly. They all still thought that I’d gotten lost looking for the restroom. The general opinion was that if I hadn’t gotten lost, the employee would never have found me there, nobody would have walked into the corner, and Véro would be dead.

  They asked if I wanted to go to the hospital to see about my toe. It wasn’t hurting anymore, so I said no. I couldn’t leave my kids with Gaston for that long.

  I went back up to the Hôtel de Provence. When I got there, the children and Gaston hadn’t eaten yet. I ordered room service and invited Gaston to stay and eat with us. And then I collapsed in tears in the bathroom. I didn’t want the kids to see me like that. I was wondering what Véro meant when she said “I ki . . .”

  No . . . I did not want her to finish that sentence. She’d killed him? Who? Alexandre? Was that what Michel had been trying to say?

  Michel was an idiot, though, right? Was I going to believe him and betray my best friend?

  Gaston knocked on the bathroom door. “Rose? The children’s dinners are here.”

  Chirp . . . chirp . . . My cricket cell.

  I headed back to the main room after giving my nose a good blow.

  “Hello? Yes, it’s me . . . What? You’re downstairs? We’re just about to eat . . . If you like . . . OK.”

  I hung up.

  “It’s a friend of mine, Ismène. She works at city hall. I invited her up.”

  I dialed room service again to ask for an extra plate, and I also asked if they could maybe bring up another table, because the one we had was getting to be a little small for all our guests.

  Ismène knocked. She immediately saw my red eyes and looked sideways at Gaston. I set the record straight and told her what had happened at the sports store with the Russian.

  Ismène and Gaston ended up becoming the best of friends. They drank scotch after scotch and patted each other on the shoulder as if they were old army buddies. Suddenly she exclaimed loudly, “No way! You have got to be kidding me! That’s not you!”

  “Uh . . . it is! Gaston Contini. That’s right!”

  “Wow, this is awesome. I never thought I’d ever actually meet someone as famous as you. That I’d be on a first-name basis with you. Cricri! You could have told me who your buddy actually was!”

  She pulled out a piece of paper from her bag and got him to sign an autograph. Gaston happily obliged.

  “There was a photo of me in the paper the other day, so a few people have stopped me on the street. I’m not normally famous enough to be giving out autographs. I’m not an actor, you know. Not everybody is interested in poetry. If I manage to sell two hundred copies, I’m considered a bestseller. Fortunately, when journalists (and there aren’t many of them) come looking for me and see my shack, they think the place is abandoned. They think it’s a hoax.”

  “Why? Where do you live?”

  “The old perfumery building. There’s a big house on the grounds . . .”

  I joined in. “You should see the place. It’s a real castle!”

  “Yes, but it’s still in its original condition,” said Gaston. “Regardless, I’m very happy there.”

  “Well, if nobody’s interested in poetry, Gaston, where do you get all your dough?”

  Her questions were starting to sound like an actual interrogation. I was now looking at Gaston suspiciously too.

  “You’re some detective, aren’t you? I don’t mind telling you: my parents worked at the perfumery. Both of them. That’s where they met. When I was fifteen, I left home. I didn’t want to end up like them. I traveled the world, I did lots of odd jobs, and I wrote a few poems, which were published in small magazines from time to time. Of course, it wasn’t enough for me to live on. But sometimes destiny plays tricks on you. I wrote in French, but one night I was having a bite to eat with this musician in Canada who was on tour with some American superstar singer.”

  “What singer?”

  “I can never remember their names. I should, though—it’s an easy name to remember. Like the Virgin Mary or something. She changed my life.”

  “Don�
�t tell me you’re talking about Madonna!”

  “That’s right. Madonna!”

  “And?”

  “The musician guy was bilingual. We had quite a lot to drink. I recited my poems for him. I was young at the time, and I loved doing that. He was having a marvelous time, translating them as I was going along. But then he began humming alongside the words. The next day, he played it to the diva, and she liked it.”

  “No way! You wrote one of Madonna’s songs?”

  “Well, they only kept seven verses in the end. And they changed everything. At the time, I was rather annoyed, but they managed to get me to sign a contract. And the next year, the money started pouring in. I get a lump sum every year now. Crazy.”

  “Did you meet Madonna?”

  “I was with her for a few weeks during her tour. We didn’t see a lot of each other. She was always working. But I found her to be very friendly. I didn’t know at the time that she was going to absolutely murder my text.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Nothing. I continued on my travels. The only difference was I was always in the black with the bank. It was incredible. Then one day I got tired of it all, so I came back here. The old folks had both died. Real estate was down. I bought the whole place for a song. Since then, I’ve been living there with my ghosts. I continued to write my poetry, got recognized in the field, and won this prize. I must confess I’m rather proud of that prize.”

  “Shit, Gaston, you’re too modest!” Ismène said, poking him in the ribs.

  There was a knock at the door. We assumed it was room service again and cried out in unison, “Come in!”

  The door opened on Jérôme Gallo instead. My knight in shining armor—just a little too late, as usual. When he saw I had guests, he took a step back, seeming anxious.

  “Jérôme! Come in! Do you want to eat with us?”

  Without taking much notice of his expression, I grabbed the phone to call room service. We definitely needed another plate.