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

by Alice Quinn

  “Sure would,” he replied.

  The judge sized the pair of them up. “Sorry, my little ruffians, no can do! First of all, you”—he addressed Teddy Pirla—“if you really are the pyromaniac, there’s not a lot I can do for you. You’ll be doing a long stretch. And you, my friend”—he looked at Victor Falso—“with an armed-hostage situation, kidnapping, obstructing a judge and officers of the law, and creating misleading evidence . . . you’ll be in the can for some time too, I’m afraid.” He raised his voice as if to let us all know he was in charge again. The big boy was back. “So let’s get on with it! Come on!”

  He stood up and glided toward the door, and we all followed. The whole troop. Teddy Pirla was clutching Sabrina’s hand, and Victor Falso was watching them both carefully.

  The lowly lawyer with the nail-biting issue lifted his head, interested in the sudden movement and the fact that something might finally be happening. Was it nearly his time in the courtroom spotlight?

  46

  As the door to the courtroom opened, I surveyed the scene: a majority of the police officers were in snooze mode, the journos were ready for action—any action, and the mega-armed special forces super-stylish cops were ready to get trigger happy at the drop of a hat. A nervous cop jumped up, on edge. The elite shooty cops looked on the ball.

  Judge Amblard was the first to exit the antechamber with Victor’s revolver in his hand. (It wasn’t actually Victor’s—it belonged to the security guard who’d been on duty that morning.) The defendant’s snively little lawyer squeezed past us all and slipped out of the building without so much as a kiss-my-ass. Guess he didn’t want the spotlight after all.

  The judge watched him, unmoved, and then stopped in his tracks. He suddenly seemed drained, his eyes reddened. He lifted his hand up to quiet the crowd and spoke to the armed super pigs.

  “Please, officers, put away your weapons . . .”

  They did as they were told, but some seemed pissed off about it. They’d been tightly wound and ready for a good blowout.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a statement to make,” the judge continued in his haughty, official-sounding voice. “Thanks to the intervention of two highly talented specialists in their field, Rachel Amar and her associate, Rosie Maldonne, the following has been brought to my attention. There has been a dreadful error in terms of suspect identification.”

  Victor stood behind him, looking wigged out and tiny compared to the judge. Teddy was nearby, holding Sabrina’s hand. I wasn’t all that pleased about this hand-holding business, but Sabrina seemed to trust him. I didn’t, though, not wholeheartedly. I mean, the guy was a racist frootloop who’d been pulling mental fire-starting tricks all over the place.

  Rachel Amar just wouldn’t let it drop. She wasn’t going to let me get the better of her. The broad was all over me like a rash, up in my grille, talking in my ear, stopping me from getting in on whatever was happening around us. I always like to know what’s what, and I was failing to get the full picture because she wouldn’t shut up. The judge was talking and I couldn’t catch a word of it. I made sure I was standing next to my baby girl, just in case Teddy Boy decided to do anything wack.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you see,” Rachel said to me, “the cure is nothing more than a bonus—”

  “Get out of my face!” I said.

  “Listen, you’ve been going around psychoanalyzing people with your cheap tricks, and it won’t fly with me. I actually know what I’m talking about. I can see right through you.”

  I felt a sense of calm wash over me. “Really? I don’t think so. I think you’re scared.”

  She was losing face. “Wh-what? How’s that?”

  “You know full well. Maybe you’re afraid that I’ll shrink your head! You’re afraid! But what are you afraid of? Success? Curing your patients? Reaching your goals in life?”

  Her eyes widened. It was as if she’d been hit by a wave of truth. She stammered, “Fe-fe . . . fear . . .”

  The judge was full of emotion. He was really giving his speech everything he had. I started listening again.

  “Destiny often chooses to take the long and winding road. How could we possibly know that the day the Full Moon Pyromaniac set alight his final blaze would be the same day a child, tossing and turning on the tumultuous rapids of life, would uncover a talent that would liberate this man? Fate often deals us the strangest of cards!”

  The journalists were exchanging concerned glances. They didn’t have the foggiest clue what was happening. How could they?

  I heard one of them whisper into his cell phone, “I can’t dictate any of this to you. We can’t use it—it’ll never make copy. It’s too obscure!”

  “It’s odd that I never considered, over all these years, that I might actually be afraid of something . . .” said Amar, her voice trailing off dreamily.

  “OK! That’s enough! We’re done! You’ll have to zip it!” I said, making a sweeping gesture with my hand.

  But she went on, anyway. “I can’t believe how your remarks might have really set the ball rolling . . .”

  “Um . . .”

  She was speaking with more and more confidence. “What’s so fascinating in these cases, you know, is that . . .” And she leaned in to whisper a ton of professional secrets to me in a dull voice. The problem was 1) I wasn’t listening and 2) I wasn’t listening. First off, there was a hell of a lot of noise in the room, and second, I wasn’t interested in what she had to say.

  But I didn’t want her to lose all hope or her fear to get any worse, so every now and then I nodded and threw in a couple of “Hmm, hmms”—but I was really listening to Judge Amblard. I’d missed the beginning of his speech because of her and I wasn’t going to be missing any more of it. The guy was on fire (not literally, despite it being a possibility in this case).

  “In truth, my dear brothers and sisters, let me tell you this! He is a wise man who presides over the destiny of even the most insignificant of his sheep, and even wiser he who guesses his intentions . . .”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not following a word of this. I just don’t get it,” the journalist said into his cell phone.

  “Dear Rosie, please!” cried out Amar, making me jump. “It is OK if I call you Rosie? I have a proposition for you.”

  47

  The judge beckoned some police officers to him. A group approached with Borelli leading.

  “Well done, Maldonne,” he mumbled in a muted voice, giving me a begrudging thumbs-up as he walked past. “Well played.”

  They cuffed Teddy the fire-starting repairman and Victor the false pyromaniac (Falso indeed!) and off they went. They had some difficulty separating Sabrina and Teddy, but as soon as it was done, I pulled her toward me. Mine, all mine.

  The worst yelp I’d ever heard suddenly echoed around the courtroom. I was sure there’d been plenty of screaming in that place over the years, but this sound was gut wrenching to hear. It was our Teddy, nutball extraordinaire, who was blubbering and wailing like nothing I’d ever known. All the cops, rubbernecking members of the public, robed lawyers, and important court people, as well as the journos and photogs, stood staring, flabbergasted.

  The desperate yelps disappeared with the pyromaniac (and the ordinary maniac) as they were hauled out of the room and down a long corridor to . . . well, the cells, I guessed.

  As soon as we were outside in front of the courthouse, the whole world and its dog came for us. There were TV broadcasters, crowds of onlookers . . .

  “You must listen to my idea!” shrieked Rachel Amar, catching hold of my arm. “I’m sure you’ll accept. What would you say to us writing a book together? On the Full Moon Pyromaniac? I think my bank manager would be pretty pleased about it, at any rate. Because I don’t know about you, but I’m always in the red.”

  “I don’t even bother saying it anymore. I don’t know when I was last in the black.”

  “So, you see? It’s a great idea, isn’t it?”

  “I have to
admit something first. And when you hear this, you won’t want to have anything to do with me again.”

  “What now?” asked Rachel, sounding wary.

  “I fell in love with your colleague, Robinson . . .”

  “But why should I even give a damn?” she replied, exasperated by my weird-ass behavior.

  “All things considered, Madame Amar, I don’t think book writing is my thing. You’ll have to do it on your own. I don’t even know that Teddy guy. It’s my daughter who knows all the details on that one.”

  As we slowly climbed down the steps, I looked up to the sky and felt a sense of freedom. Wow! The bluest of blues! I took Sabrina by the hand and made sure she was holding on tightly. With Rachel at my heels, refusing to give up on the book idea, I marched straight ahead.

  “I-I have another idea, but I dare not ask you about it,” stammered Rachel Amar, letting out a fake giggle like a prissy teenage girl.

  “I get why everyone thinks you’re such a brainiac.” I said. “These ideas of yours are coming fast and furious, aren’t they? Unbelieeeeevable!”

  “How would you feel about being my mentor?”

  I knew by this point that she’d gone beyond reason and was maybe unhinged. “Ha! I’d love to be your mentor!” I squeaked sarcastically.

  I don’t think she got my ironic tone, because she seemed to mellow out some. Did she actually believe I was going to do it? We all wound up, naturally, in front of Gaston’s Jaguar. He was double parked, patiently waiting for us.

  He lifted up his nose to greet us. His head had been buried in a book, as usual. This time, it was a notebook in which he was furiously jotting down his opera ideas. I was disappointed not to see Linus. So he hadn’t been able to forgive all the lying. I thought it showed a distinct lack of kindness on his part. They were only little white lies. His feelings clearly weren’t strong enough to power through our first minor hiccup.

  The paparazzi cameras were still going off all around us. Flash photography—what a nightmare!

  I was getting ready to hop inside when the shit hit the fan.

  Big time.

  48

  Directly in front of the courthouse, with a heap of cops, newspaper folks, and half the goddamn town watching, they nabbed us. They took us. As simple as that. Sabrina and me.

  I didn’t see it coming. None of us did. It was me they wanted, but Sabrina just got caught up in it all because she was holding onto me so tightly.

  So this huge tanklike metallic-gray car came to a halt right next to me, its tires screeching, accompanied by the smell of burning rubber. By the time I’d lifted my head to check it out, I’d been picked up by giant hands (hard to say how many, but at least four) and hooded. Sabrina was still holding onto me as I tried to fight them off. The two of us were thrown into the back of the tank like we were no more than a couple of sacks of grain. The door was slammed behind us. I heard the motor turn and whoosh . . . we were off.

  My mother’s song came back to me. This was more than a couple of raindrops, and the day was far from over. We were up crap creek without a paddle, and I’d had enough of it all.

  “Where are we going, Mommy? Who are the naughty people? Are they baddieth?”

  Luckily, Sabrina was up close, right next to me. I couldn’t see her because of the bag (or whatever) over my head, but I could touch her, feel her, hold her in my arms. I was too petrified to dare take the bag off and risk the consequences.

  I stroked her hair. “Don’t worry, my big girl. We’ll find a way out of all this.”

  “Zatknis!” screeched a harsh, aggressive voice from the front of the vehicle.

  Oh no! Was that Russian he was speaking? It couldn’t be! It hadn’t all started up with our Russian friends again, had it?

  “You guys aren’t Russian by any chance, are you?” I asked.

  “Shit yorrrrrrray mooottthhh!” continued the same voice.

  “Mommy, he uthed a bad word!”

  “No, I don’t think he meant to, darling. It’s his accent, sweetie. Just listen to the way he rolls his r’s.”

  For that, I got a crack to my skull.

  Calm down! Don’t get your panties in a wad. Analyze the circumstances here. Don’t let these guys get to you. You have Sabrina with you and you need to protect her.

  It was a Russian accent.

  If this is the Russian Mafia again, at least I know what I’m dealing with, although I have no clue how they’ve gotten mixed up in this story. I can handle it, though. I know what I’m doing here.

  “Um, monsieur?” I put on my sweetest, girliest voice.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Do you know Piotr and Marco? They’re two friends of mine.”

  They whisked off the hood. There were two guys sitting up front and three of the bastards lolling behind us. I didn’t know any of them from Adam.

  “Marrrrrrco and Piotrrrrrrr?” one of them asked. “You know?”

  “Of course I know them! They’re both buddies of mine! I know them well!”

  “You wrrrrrite file on them, analyze theirrrrr psychological prrrrrofiles, call them crrrrriminal. You rrrrrrrresponsible they prrrrrison. You grrrrrrrass.”

  What in the fuck was this all about now?

  “I didn’t write a word about them. I can hardly even write my name half the time.”

  “Psychoanalysis and crrrrrrriminality,” the guy boomed.

  Psychoanalysis and Criminality. Rachel Amar’s book! Could this get any more bizarroid? I doubted it. Lordy, lordy.

  “Rrrrrachel Amarrrr wrrrrote book,” I explained, using the same accent as them in an attempt to communicate better. “Rrrrachel Amarrrr grrrret psycho woman. Not me. Me maid. Me no good.”

  “No. You Rrrrachel Amarrrr!” he insisted.

  “Listen, people have been making the same mistake from the outset, and I don’t know why. It seems everyone wants me to be Rachel Amar, but the truth is that I replaced her usual housekeeper. That’s it. It really is. I ended up staying at her house with my kidsters because there was a lot of cleaning to do and I live far away. But I’m not a shrink. I’m not in the slightest bit shrinkified. I didn’t even finish high school. I took tenth grade about four times and then flunked out! I can’t even remember. What do you want with Rachel Amar, anyway?”

  He understood me. His response was to point to his temple with his fingers and mouth the word boom. I was glad Sabrina hadn’t seen it.

  The pack of badasses, front and back, started chewing the fat. It was half in Russian, half in French, and I couldn’t keep up. They weren’t just passing the time of day. This was some serious discussion and they were furious.

  Nobody bothered to take any notice of us while all the talking was going on. I scanned around me. We were on high ground, a hill or mountain, surrounded by pine trees. It looked like Estéral. Somewhere near Mandelieu or La Roquette. We weren’t far from home. I was trying to think of a way I could hold Sabrina in my arms, open the door quietly, slide out, and roll onto the road without injuring ourselves and before any of these Russian asses got overexcited with a gun. But I suppose those things only ever work in the movies, right?

  I held Sabrina very hard, found the door handle with my fingers. and waited for my intuition to tell me when it would be a good time to go. GO! But a huge mitt took my fingers off the handle and released it. The door opened and Sabrina and I were pushed out. I swear the car didn’t even slow down.

  All I can say is, I figure being thrown out of a moving car is worse than a kick in the gonads.

  49

  It happened so quickly, I didn’t have time to think. Luckily, my reflexes were good enough to hold Sabrina tight to my chest as we fell. My body helped cushion her. Instinctively, I made sure I fell on my back. I had to do what I could to protect Sabrina. My right arm and shoulder took most of the blow.

  We were lying on the side of the road, not moving. It took me several minutes to realize what had happened. Good news: we were away from the bad boys. At least they
hadn’t pushed us out of the other side of the car into oncoming traffic. Be grateful for small mercies. Earth, dry grass, and soft leaves had helped cushion the fall. Not a lot, but every little bit helped.

  Bad news: I’d lost a shoe. I didn’t take the news well. It was a golden peep-toe, wedge-heel beauty of a shoe! Honestly! I could have died there and then. Those dickheads really had no idea how long it takes a girl to find a shoe that hot. And at that price? I had to take a few minutes out to mourn.

  Second piece of bad news: my wrist was swelling up and turning a dirty purple color. It was starting to look like a party balloon.

  The second piece of good news (and this far outweighed all the bad news put together): my Sabrina didn’t have a scratch on her.

  “We’re like The Indethtructibleth,” she squealed. “We can jump out of flying carth and not even hurt ourthelveth!”

  “You’re right. I guess they could make a movie out of this strange life we lead, Sabrina!”

  “Yeah, but we could do without all the bad guyth, though, couldn’t we, Mommy? They’re thearching for Madame Amar tho, they can do that magic.”

  “What magic? What are you talking about?”

  “Make her do a dithappearing act, Mommy, like with magic thowth.”

  “Where are you getting all this from?”

  “They thaid it in the car! You never lithen when people thpeak.”

  “Oh, they said it, did they? When was that?”

  “In the car! Didn’t you hear them?”

  “Yes, yes, of course I heard them. What did they say, exactly?”

  “They thent my friend Pirate Teddy Anorak to make her dithappear in a ball of flameth. Like in a magic thow, you thee? The thent them both to prithon. That’th what they thaid, anyhow. They all came over from Ruthia on purpothe to get their guy back! Now I underthtand my friend Pirate Anorak a bit more and thome of the thingth he thaid.”

  “Like what, honey?”