Queen of the Masquerade (Rosie Maldonne's World Book 3)

by Alice Quinn

  I left the building. There was no way I was going to keep Lisa waiting for the sake of that loser.

  33

  In front of the school, draped across the hood of the Jag, I spied Léo (little show-off!) chatting with Gaston. I headed over to them, and, after we’d done the kiss-kiss-kiss-kisses on each other’s cheeks, we all climbed inside the ride.

  Gaston was flustered, almost giddy. He thundered, “I had Bintou on the telephone. Wonderful! Marvelous! I found something out about that truly exceptional woman! She attended one of the leading music schools in the country! She’s the most talented composer! Can you believe it? It’s splendid! I will write the tunes and sing them to her, and she will transcribe everything—the score, the libretto. I have a meeting with them later on today at your boss’s place. We’re going to work on it.”

  “Them? Really? Plutocracy?”

  “You mean ‘plural,’ Rosie. With Bintou and Laroche.”

  “And what does Laroche have to do with this? Laroche? Seriously!”

  “He’ll be producing. Didn’t he have a word with you already about this? He knows a lot of people who would be very excited about investing in an opera.”

  I shrugged, not knowing what to say to him. This whole poetry thing was going right over my head.

  Back in the apartment, Monsieur Electrifico was no longer lying on the ground. He must have woken, got back on his feet, and left again. So he hadn’t been all that hurt. Maybe he’d been playing it up? Making out it was worse than it was?

  Everyone was in the living room. The TV was on, but the sound had been muted.

  Gaston took a quick, slight bow and handed out pretty pink files to Bintou and Laroche. He was taking it all so seriously. He’s so formal!

  Sabrina was settled in the corner of the room, winding up a ball of nylon yarn.

  “Well, then! Let’s get to work,” barked Gaston. “Have you learned the words, Cricri?”

  “Gaston, listen up. It’s very kind of you, but I haven’t really had the time since yesterday.”

  He tsk-tsked. “That’s not OK, Cricri. I’m working on my end. I’ve got the tunes, I’ve now got an excellent musician who can do the orchestration, I’ve found my money guy . . .”

  “Why do you need a money guy, Gaston? You’re loaded to the max!”

  “Because this is a real project, Cricri! And real projects have investors. Don’t you realize that? I mean, it’s a dream come true! All the elements are finally coming together. You have to keep up, Cricri.”

  “Oh, don’t stress. It’ll be all right on the night,” I replied grumpily. “We’re still worried to death about that young girl, you know? Léo will explain everything to you, I’m sure.”

  Issue dealt with.

  On the kitchen table, there was the biggest plate you could imagine, covered in pastries. Wowsers. And next to it, a huge bag with the word “Chacok” on it. That was an expensive clothing store. The real good stuff.

  “Oh, I just couldn’t resist!” mewled Bintou, her eyes lighting up.

  She handed over the bag. It had a huge gift-wrapped box inside. I understood. No way! I didn’t want that to all start up again. Why couldn’t I just be left to do my job? I was there for a bit of cleaning. I just wanted to pocket the cash for it and sleep easy! Presto. Job done. Out of there. But here this woman was again trying to make me feel guilty or trying to buy my silence (or at least my shrink skills) with outrageous gifts.

  “Is that for me?” I asked, taking the box gingerly as if I believed it had a snake inside.

  “Yes!” squealed Bintou.

  I sat my weary ass down. “Sorry, but I just can’t,” I said firmly, and I pushed the box to one side and grabbed a pain au chocolat. “Anyone else hungry around here?”

  “We were waiting for you, Mommy!” bellowed Sabrina.

  The chickies got all over those pastries like ravenous little pups.

  Bintou was staring at the TV screen. “Oh, look! They’re talking about that crazed fire man again!” She turned the sound up.

  A police truck could be seen parked up in front of the city courthouse. There were officers standing around. They all appeared on edge. Jittery. One of them opened up the truck at the back and the famous (or rather the infamous) Victor Falso stepped out, shielding his eyes against the sun. He staggered a little. A TV crew was ready and waiting. They ran to meet him and stuck microphones and cameras into his face.

  “This is André Peautini reporting live from the city courthouse. I am hoping to speak directly with the suspect who has come to be known as the Full Moon Pyromaniac. Victor? Victor? How do you feel on the fourth day of your trial? Do you think you might break this stretch of silence today and finally speak out in your defense? Why have you chosen not to say a word? Does your silence mean something?” His brow was furrowed. I guess the interviewer was feeling the strain. “Um . . . can I just say . . .”

  Victor Falso stared straight into the camera. His look was intense. He didn’t utter a syllable. The journalist stepped back, at a loss as to how to act. The accused waltzed past all the other journos, TV crews, and general rubberneckers and strode up the courthouse steps, escorted on either side by two cops handcuffed to his wrists (trying to keep up).

  André Peautini wiped his brow and gawked at his team with an apologetic smile before pulling himself together and running over to a guy dressed in lawyer robes.

  “Monsieur! Monsieur! When is the ruling expected?”

  “We’re a long way from that!”

  The lawyer looked past Peautini and pointed at something. The journalist turned around to see what it was, and the man in the dress gave him the slip. Childish move, but it worked. The image cut and we were all treated to an ad for laundry detergent. I turned the sound back down again.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve thought about anything else that might help my particular case, have you?” asked Laroche almost timidly.

  Bintou was sitting next to him, and it gave me an idea. There was an orange dishcloth lying on the countertop. I passed it to them. I got them to each hold an end of it. Pastis sat on the counter as if he belonged there. He was watching the scene unfold with fascination.

  “Here! We’re going to try and get you both out of your usual habits, set you on the right track again. Agreed?”

  Two heads nodded vigorously.

  “All righty, we can do this. I think you guys are friends now, am I right?”

  More nodding.

  “Maybe even a little more than friends?”

  Pink faces.

  “Can you see your relationship here?” I held up the dishcloth.

  Still in perfect unison, they shook their heads. Vigorous shaking.

  “Look, the thing is bright orange. It’s pretty hard to miss!” I yelled, pointing at the cloth.

  “Ahhhh! OK!” Now they understood.

  “So, sit there and try not to let go of your end, OK?” I said, handing them each a side. “It’s like not letting go of a relationship, get it?”

  Léo walked in. “I can see you’re busy, but I’m heading off now. Erina said to meet at five o’clock.”

  “You mean, that’s what we think she said. But we’re not sure, are we? We’re not sure of any darned thing!”

  “Well, I’m sick of waiting for the cops to show up and help—or show up, period. What are they waiting for? The right time or something? I’m going to the fountain, and I’m taking her away from all that. And if she’s not there, I’ll just show up at her place, break everyone’s faces open, and leave. With her.”

  “And where will you take her?”

  “I’ll bring her here.”

  I thought about it for all of two seconds and reasoned: 1) we didn’t have all that much to lose and 2) he was probably right. Waiting for the police to show up or expecting the situation to straighten itself out would take ages. Those weren’t solutions. We had to take the bulldog by the horns. Did bulldogs have horns? What was the saying again? Whatever it was, we needed to g
et on this thing fast.

  “I’m coming, Léo! I’ll just finish up here and then I’m hot on your heels, sweetie! I’m up for punching a few people’s lights out this afternoon. I really am. If there are two of us, we’ll get the job done better and faster.”

  Just then, the telephone started ringing. My hand flew to my chest. I felt uneasy.

  Laroche and Bintou didn’t even notice how agitated I was. They were still holding the orange rag and staring at each other with big smiles on their faces, blocking my access to the phone.

  “Let go!” I screeched at them. “Come on! Let go! We’re done with the exercise.”

  I wanted to pick up the call quick, find out what was what, and then leave with Léo.

  They wouldn’t let go, though.

  I let out an exasperated breath. The telephone continued to ring on the other side of them.

  “OK, you can stop with the cloth thing. It’s over. We’ve been interrupted too many times now, what with Léo and now the phone. Just let go. We’ll do this some other time.”

  I tried to stretch out my arm across the cloth, but I couldn’t reach the phone. So I gave them my evil eye. The pair of them traipsed off without letting go of their bit of fabric.

  Still ringing. I picked up. I felt a bit doomy.

  Laroche and Bintou were now over on the sofa, side by side, both still holding the orange talisman. I’d invented a powerful game there (by accident!).

  “Yes?” I asked quietly.

  “Yes. Hello. Um, please excuse me, it’s . . .”

  “Linus Robinson,” I mouthed breathlessly. I pressed the mute button. I didn’t want him to hear how stressed I was. I needed to compose myself.

  I took a huge breath, pointed at Laroche and Bintou to stay quiet, and found the harsh military-style voice I’d used with him the last time. I needed something to mask my emotion, and this did the trick. Throat clearing followed.

  “Is that you, Linus?”

  “Of course, and is this Rachel?”

  “No, sorry, it’s not possible.” I hung up, ashamed, silent. So, that didn’t go too well. Grip-getting was called for. I glanced around, picked up my purse, and hollered out to whoever was listening, “I’m going out with Léo. I’m counting on you to take care of the children.”

  “Don’t worry, Mommy, I’ll play with the little oneth,” said Sabrina. “We have a prithoner.”

  “Really? Who is it?”

  “Oh, you don’t know him. We’re going to judge him.”

  “That’s good,” I replied absentmindedly. “But don’t forget that we’re against the death penalty in our family!”

  “We’ll thee. We haven’t dethided who’th judging yet. We have the prithon part done, though.”

  What a bizarroid game they were playing. But I didn’t have much time to think about it. Léo started pulling my jacket. He was getting frantic. I didn’t want all the glittery bits on my jacket to go all over the floor, so I followed him.

  Gaston caught up with us as we stepped out into the hallway.

  “Wait! Where are you going? I can take you. It’ll be a lot faster.”

  “That’d be great. We have to get to the fountain downtown. We’re already late!”

  34

  Just as the three of us walked out onto the street, we bumped into Borelli in his old cop car. Why had his ride never been upgraded? As soon as he spotted me, he started on me (as was his usual style).

  “Hey! I got your message yesterday, Maldonne! I passed by your place and saw your little note. Now there was a bright idea!”

  “Thanks, Borelli!”

  “That’s not what I mean, Maldonne! Where’s your head at? You’re just as naive as ever! Let me explain: You’re messing around with that little Albanian girl. There’s trouble brewing. And you’re a pretty recognizable woman. Especially around these parts. So, say you piss these guys off—just saying, it’s not the sort of thing you’d do at all—and they head over to your trailer and you’re not there. Fine! But just imagine someone had left some sort of a clue behind. Imagine someone had written a note explaining that you weren’t there but giving the address of where you were staying. That would be dumb, don’t you think? Deranged, even?”

  “Christ! You’re more paranoid than me!”

  “If it makes you feel better, call me paranoid. Anyway, I took the note down. Just to be on the safe side.”

  He asked us to get into the car with him. The cop car! As if. He wanted to take us down to the station.

  “Sorry, Borelli, but no can do. Not right away, anyhow. We have a meeting.”

  “Actually, it’s an order, Maldonne. There’ll be no discussion.”

  Léo looked nervous. Kids should be a bit antsy around the five-o, though, I suppose. I said to Gaston, “Could you go over to the fountain on the Rue Coste Corail and tell my friend to wait for me, please?”

  “Of course!” replied Gaston. “Just let me know when you’ve finished with this nice police officer and I’ll come pick you up!”

  So Borelli took us to the station under the pretext that he wanted to explain to us exactly what we were getting ourselves into.

  Once we got inside his teeny tiny office, he was super kind with us. Not what I was expecting. He offered me a cup of coffee and Léo a hot chocolate.

  “Hey, Borelli, what’s with the change in ’tude? You’re being super nice! I’ll have some of whatever you’ve been having! It’s weird.”

  “Ha! And you think I’m the paranoid one? I’m the same as I ever was. Listen, we know each other well now, Maldonne. I’ve grown to like you. We’ve done some good work together, you and I. But, honestly, you’re messing with me now.” His voice turned harsh, almost bitter. “You’re getting on my last nerve.”

  “Why the nasty talk, Borelli? I’m not a little kid, you know.”

  “Maldonne, you were the one who called me yesterday. It wasn’t the other way around, OK? So you’re going to listen to what I have to say. And it’ll do you some good, understand?”

  “Oh, come on! What’s your problem?”

  “I knew this was going to happen,” snarled Léo.

  Borelli paid him no mind and continued. He came across as being pretty stricto.

  “When you spoke to me about that girl and her so-called father, I checked some stuff out. You’re in some ugly business there, Maldonne. Very ugly! It’s something we’ve been investigating for a while. And we’re advancing. That’s partly due to you and the call you made to me yesterday. We know where they’re hiding out now, at least. But things are heating up and I don’t want you involved.”

  “Ease up! Let’s keep things polite here, Borelli! What’s the case, anyway? What are these guys up to?”

  “Drug smuggling, human-trafficking rings . . . The list is long and it’s all bad. Do you want me to continue?”

  “Surely you’re exaggerating!”

  “Do I look like I’m exaggerating? These guys bring these kids over from Albania and Hungary. They promise all sorts of incredible stuff to the parents. Schools, mostly. Or they just take the kids as debt repayments. And then the nightmare begins for these children.”

  “What happens?”

  “There’s a ton of scams, but what you’ve got yourself involved in is the worst of the worst. Trafficking. It’s very profitable. And there are a lot of buyers. You don’t want to know. Very often, they’re sent places to work. Unpaid, of course. I’ve seen it down here on the coast. Switzerland too. They’re sold to the highest bidder. Simple as that.”

  “Never! Slavery?”

  “Yes! Slavery! Sure, there are all sorts of prettily written laws in this beautiful and free country of ours. This and that has been abolished. That and the other is a crime. But this and that, and that and the other, are all still widely practiced.”

  “Jesus! I can’t get over this! They’re just tots!”

  “I know. A lot of them are used for begging. They’re the lucky ones, I guess. But another big problem we’ve been seeing i
s this mule business.”

  “Mule? What does that mean?”

  “Maldonne! You must have heard of the expression, with all the TV you watch! They’re called drug mules. It works best when the kids are little. They carry drugs, basically. Deliver them. Bring back money. Nobody suspects them because they’re so little. Innocent. They don’t attract attention. Who would imagine a little tot with supermarket bags was carrying a load of class-A drugs? The poor mites have to do this on a daily basis.”

  “That’s it!” yelled Léo, who hadn’t opened his mouth until this point, but was now making a good attempt at deafening us.

  “What’s it?”

  “That’s what Erina does! I’m sure of it! Like Dorian! But I don’t think she even knows what she’s carrying in those bags!”

  “The less she knows, the better it is for her, because when it comes to drugs, even minors are tried as adults, according to international statute. She’d be sent to juvenile prison. The fact that she was forced into it isn’t really taken into consideration. Even if she can prove it.”

  “That’s so unfair!”

  “That’s just the way it is. We don’t live in a fluffy world of rainbows and unicorns and Care Bears and whatever else you imagine. I bet she’d be in a heap of trouble with immigration before we even got started on the drug stuff. She’d be sent back to her own country, through all the official routes, and as soon as she landed back there, she’d be arrested for having traveled illegally in the first place! These things are taken very seriously.”

  “And what happens to these nippers when they grow up? When they’re too big for this mule work?”

  “Well, that’s when it gets really ugly, Maldonne. Especially for the girls. They’re never really allowed to leave the network. They just have to work in a different field. They become hookers. There’ll never be any shortage of work for them. Oldest trade in the book. More girls than boys go into it, but some boys too.”

  “OK, I’ve heard enough of these horror stories.”

  “No, you haven’t, Maldonne. I haven’t finished yet. I have to make sure you get my point here. I don’t want to see you poking your nose into this. Think about your daughters and keep on the straight and narrow this time. Sex slavery isn’t even the worst of it. Yes, it gets worse. Hard to believe, I know. If you’re sold to certain people, well . . .”