“It was only an observation.”
“Well, it was sort of an obvious observation. They’re French, aren’t they? They should have French doors. It only seems appropriate.”
“Yeah, well,” finished The Captain.
Melono knocked. They stood waiting for three minutes before they began to wonder if they had the right building.
“Maybe they just can’t hear it through the rain. Knock again.”
Melono knocked again. They waited again.
Two minutes later, Melono knocked again.
“Jeez, you’d think that they’d at least be ready for us to show up after all the trouble they’ve gone through to get us here.”
A minute later she reached out to knock again, but before she could, the door flung open.
“ Entrent, Mademoiselle et Monsieurs,” said the man standing in front of them. He wore a fancy, blue, silk beret, which seemed incongruous with the surrounding warehouse. As he held open the door, he made a welcoming gesture with his free hand, eyeing them eagerly.
“Come in, come in. Sinclair ’as been waiting impatiently for hours it seems. ’Ee told me to take you to ze foy-yay to wait for ’im.”
“If he’s been waiting on us for hours, how come we have to go somewhere to wait for him?” Captain Alex asked absent-mindedly as he stepped into the dank building.
“My name is Jacques, by ze way,” Jacques said in his rich accent. “Sinclair is a very busy man and ’as asked me to let you in while ’ee attends to… ozer business.”
Melono caught Jacques’s eyes traveling over Notmie and The Captain, taking note of what each carried with him. If Jacques found the combination of a mirror and a bottle of wine odd, he didn’t show it.
Now that he was out of the rain, Notmie took in his surroundings. They were standing in a small lobby-like area with a few raggedy chairs and a desk adorned with two vases filled with tiny French flags. A door was off to their left and a hall to their right. It didn’t seem to be a normal warehouse; it was actually more of an office.
Office for what? Notmie wondered before deciding he couldn’t come to a conclusion until he’d looked around a bit more.
“So, aren’t you going to take us to the foyer?” Captain Alex asked.
“Zere is no need. You are already ’ere. Zis is ze foy-yay in which Sinclair requested me to keep you until ’is arrival.”
Jacques seemed disinterested, as if he had spent the last three years on a cruise ship and had finally landed on the most boring place on earth. And perhaps that wasn’t too far from the truth; he was a bit too tan for this time of year.
Figuring that they would be there for a while, Notmie made himself comfortable on the compacted stuffing of one of the tattered chairs. Melono turned to Jacques, looking him defiantly in the eyes.
“Alex here needs to find a restroom. Is there one around here he could use?”
“What? No, I don—” began Captain Alex, but Melono whipped around to face him, silencing him at once with her stare. She used her hands to gesture a book opening and closing before turning back around to face Jacques.
Captain Alex understood, and Melono understood that he understood and Notmie understood that they understood one another (though he didn’t understand it himself) giving a sense of general understanding throughout the room that excluded Jacques. With that said, Captain Alex began acting out what he thought was appropriate.
“Oh yes, I do have to use the bathroom. Small bladder, you know? What am I saying, of course you know, you’re French.” He forced a goofy chuckle and patted Jacques amicably on the back.
Though Jacques was disgusted by these rowdy Americans, he agreed to show Captain Alex the way, giving Melono and Notmie firm instructions to “stay put” until he returned. Captain Alex followed him down the hall and out of sight, but not before glancing over his shoulder at Melono and mouthing “the notebook” as he nodded slyly.
“So, you two did read it,” Melono said casually, taking a seat next to Notmie.
“Yeah, I suppose we did. Did you leave it there intentionally?”
Melono just raised an eyebrow and shrugged a shoulder.
“I figured,” Notmie said, “since it just didn’t seem like you to leave something that valuable lying around when you know The Cap’n and I were near by. So, were you really talking to Nathan or just wasting time so that we could read it?”
Melono shrugged both shoulders now and a small smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “A little of both, I suppose. It was more like two birds with one stone. I’d read a hint saying that it was crucial I get Captain Alex to go to the bathroom once we were here, and I knew the best way to do that would be to let him know about the book and what it was. That way, all I have to do from here on out is act like the book’s given me some sort of insight, and he’ll do whatever I say.”
“Couldn’t you have just gotten him to drink some of that wine? That would have made him have to pee.”
Melono considered the idea for a split second before discarding it. “No, because then he would be tipsy, and that could cost us.”
“Melono, you remember what he told us back at The Squeaky Spoke. He takes his booze like a man. I doubt an entire bottle of wine would do a thing to him.”
Melono realized this was true. Had she let him know about the notebook for no reason at all? Then it occurred to her. “Right. But we need the wine for something else, and we need as much of it as we can get.”
Footsteps pounded overhead. Notmie and Melono looked directly upward, as if expecting to see the person responsible. They heard a door slam shut and moments later the door to the foyer where they sat burst open. Sinclair stepped forward, dressed in a suit, looking at the two of them.
“Just ze two of you?”
“No,” said Melono, “Alex is here, he just had to use the restroom.”
Sinclair seemed slightly put off, but quickly regained his composure and smiled at the visitors.
“You are Melono, zen; yes, no?” He stepped forward and took her hand, kissing it gentlemanly. “And you are Notmie, but we ’ave already met before.” Sinclair offered his hand for Notmie to shake, but Notmie didn’t accept it. Instead, he stared viciously at Sinclair.
“Where are Mae and Hal? You said you had them. We have the money, now let them go so we can get on with our mission.”
Caught off his guard by Notmie’s abruptness, Sinclair withdrew his hand and laughed uncomfortably.
“I see you are not one for ze small talk, no? Very well, we will skip to ze business. Follow me.”
Sinclair walked back toward the door from which he had entered and Melono followed.
Looking back over her shoulder, Melono saw that Notmie had stood up from the chair, but had not walked forward after them.
“What is it, Notmie?” she asked.
Notmie tilted his head slightly to one side and stared at Sinclair, though his words were directed at Melono.
“You know, I just remembered something. I had almost forgotten that this little french fry stole our limo right out from under our noses while we were eating quiche— his stupid country’s signature food! Why should I follow him?”
“I have no idea, Notmie,” Melono replied earnestly, “but just do it anyway.”
“Listen to ze fille, Notmie. She knows I will not ’urt you.”
“You stay out of this,” Melono ordered. “And I’m not ‘ze fille,’ so try referring to me like that one more time and see what happens.”
Sinclair was clearly surprised by Melono’s sudden threat. His congenial air faded.
“Come on, Notmie,” Melono said. “Why did we even bother coming if you’re not going to cooperate at all?”
“I will cooperate, but maybe we should wait until Captain—”
Sinclair cut him off. “If it is an explanation you want for ze limo incident, I can give you one. You want to ’ear; yes, no?”
Notmie stared defiantly at Sinclair, but said nothing.
“I tak
e zat as a yes, okay? We ’ad a very important place to be just an hour after we left in ze limo. Our car—’ow do you say it—sprang a leak, yes? I knew where you were going, so I arranged a ride to come pick you up. You do not zink I would leave you in ze middle of nowhere like lost little puppies, do you?”
Notmie threw his hands onto his hips, feeling excitement deep down at this opportunity to tell off Sinclair. “See, here’s the thing, Frenchy: your plan sucked; no ride came to get us and we had to hitch a ride with a random car that came by. You know, with Mae and Hal; the ones you’re holding hostage.”
“Silly, beautiful American,” Sinclair replied, though the courtesy he had shown just seconds prior was completely absent from his voice. “Do you really zink zat was an accident, a coincidence? Mae and ’Al ’ad been paid to come find you. I zought you would ’ave realized zis after you saw ze cash in ze back of ze car. I ’ad placed a call to my friend, Jacques—I believe you met ’im—saying I was going to take ze limo. I asked ’im to arrange a ride for you and ze Bald Captain Alexander, and I gave ’im a brief description of what you looked like. Indeed Mae and ’Al were lucky to find you so easily—I mean, really, lying in zee middle of zee road? Appears careless to me—but zat was just a bit of luck, and coincidence played no part.”
Notmie didn’t know what to believe. It had never once crossed his mind that Mae and Hal could have been accomplices to Sinclair. Was he being lied to? It was hard to be sure.
“Are you satisfied?” Sinclair asked.
Notmie looked at Melono, saw her eyebrows rise persuasively, then looked sternly again at Sinclair. “Sure.”
Sinclair smiled victoriously. “Zen what are we waiting for? Let us get a move on.”
He exited the room, Melono at his heals. Notmie followed begrudgingly.
“This better be worth it…” he grumbled.
Part 25
The Man of Action
Captain Alex set his wine bottle down next to the bathroom sink. He hadn’t originally planned on peeing, but now that he was here…
He washed his hands and fixed his cape in the mirror. Wondering if he had been in there long enough for it to be convincing, he fixed the little amount of hair that he still had on his head, using the rain water to help slick it down.
I doubt most people realize how heavy wet capes can be.
After checking to make sure no one was around (peeping through cracks in the wall and even holding a finger to the mirror to make sure it wasn’t two-way—a trick he’d learned from his mother when he was eleven years old and just beginning to develop the paranoia that served him so well nowadays), he undid his rain-soaked cape and hung it over a hook on the door. It felt good. Real good. What a relief to his knotted shoulders!
He turned to get a look at his cape-free backside, flexing his arms slightly as he did so. Seeing himself without a cape felt like looking at the scrawny kid in gym class who never got out in the sun, and had twiggy, pale legs accentuated by shorts that exposed far too much of his thighs. Mostly, that was because Alex was a scrawny man who never got out in the sun.
“Good God, this looks awful!” He instantly covered his mouth with both hands, hoping no one had heard him yell a thing like that from the bathroom. Surely someone had to have heard him. He decided he would wait a little while longer before he risked leaving the bathroom, hoping that if he’d been overheard, whoever it was would leave before he came out and had to face them.
He wrung out his cape as best he could before holding it under the warm air of the hand dryer. Considering he’d never once gotten his hands completely dry using one of those things, he was impressed with how well it worked on his cape. He focused on one section at a time until the whole thing was toasty and dry. He winced slightly at the weight of the cape on his shoulders again, but quickly forgot all about it as the warmth covered his cold, wet back.
Is it time for me to come out yet?
He was stricken with panic when it occurred to him that he may have already remained in the bathroom too long. Maybe Notmie and Melono were in some crucial situation just waiting for him to enter the scene and save them.
No, that’s just silly. They’re probably still waiting for Sinclair.
Either way, he decided it was time he left the bathroom.
Grabbing the wine bottle off of the sink, he peaked his head out of the door and scanned the hallway for any passers-by. No one, not even Jacques, was around. He headed back down the hall toward the foyer, his cape swishing lightly behind him. He expected to find Notmie and Melono waiting for him, perhaps sitting down and arguing about something stupid Notmie had said or done, but they weren’t there; the foyer was empty.
What now? Should I stay here and wait, or should I go looking for them, and if I go looking for them, where do I go?
But Captain Alex was a man of action. Or rather, he wanted to be a man of action, and as a man of action he figured he should do… action.
So, now the choice was between a hall and a mysterious door. A man of action would probably take the most mysterious route, so that’s what Captain Alex did. Striding bravely across the room, he reached for the door and pulled. It didn’t open. He tried again, but it wouldn’t budge. He would have to take the hall rather than the mystery door, but that just didn’t seem as exciting. And wouldn’t a man of action do his best to hurdle this obstacle and proceed through the door?
His thorough search of the waiting room yielded only a hairpin, a crowbar, a credit card, a battering ram, a screwdriver and an axe, but nothing he found at all helpful in opening the door.
“Dammit!” he yelled after he’d finished his meticulous search underneath the key ring lying on the desk. “I’ll just have to use my brain on this one. A man of action would probably do that, too.”
He went over to the door and tried one more time to pull it open, but it was still jammed.
“Think, Captain, think!”
He leaned his head against the door, deep in thought, and began absentmindedly fidgeting with the knob. Before he could realize what had happened, he was pulling himself off the ground and wiping off the front of his shirt. He stood up stiffly and hurriedly and made sure no one had seen his struggle, or how he fell on his face, or the “Push” sign posted next to the mystery door, which he now noticed with a flush of humiliation.
“Ach! That’s the oldest trick in the book! Why does that always happen to me?”
Where now?
He was standing at the beginning of another hall. At the far end was a door, and on his right, a staircase leading to who-knew-where. A man of action would obviously take the stairs, seeing as how they’re more physically strenuous, so Captain Alex began trudging up the stairs, though he was beginning to resent the “action” part associated with men of action. If he had known earlier today that he would later be called upon to be a man of action, he would have made a point of hydrating more…
If there is a God, these stairs will only go up one flight.
Finishing his ascension, he found no conclusive evidence in either direction of whether or not there was a God. Indeed, there was only one flight of stairs, but it was made up of precisely fifty-seven steep steps. He finally reached the landing, hunched over with his head drooping and a full-blown side stitch searing under his ribs. Holding himself up on the railing, he used his cape to dab the sweat off of his forehead.
If there is a God, he’s got a strange sense of humor.
Having just narrowly avoided a simultaneous hernia and brain aneurysm, Captain Alex hadn’t even bothered to look around at where the staircase had led him. Without lifting his head, there were already a few things he could gather about the room in which he was now standing. First, it was brightly lit, but not with the fluorescent lighting like the rest of the building, but a warm orange glow. Secondly, he heard water. It wasn’t the rain outside, which was also curious, because he expected to hear that in some capacity—it was still torrential last time he checked—but instead, it was a soft tinkling coming
from somewhere close by. Lastly, he noticed magenta carpeting underneath his shoes. He wasn’t one to be bothered by bad interior design, but this was not okay. Who had magenta carpeting? It seemed a bit extreme, even for a bunch of foofy Frenchmen. If the carpeting was this wretched, he could only imagine what the rest of the room looked like. It took an extreme effort, but he managed to lift his head to see the rest of what was most likely a decorating disaster.
But it wasn’t the multi-colored polka-dotted walls; nor the Zebra-stripped lounge chairs, nor the wall-sized tank full of exotic fish and a giant eel (who looked entirely unpleased with where his life was going), nor the hundreds of half-melted candles hanging from the ceiling on various wire mobiles, nor the random sheets of colorful fabric draped from place to place that caught The Captain’s attention. All of that melted into the background, secondary to the two people who were tied to furry pink chairs and the slender figure sitting comfortably on a blue inflatable couch with his legs kicked up on a blue inflatable ottoman.
Taking in the rest of the scene, Captain Alex saw, sitting on an inflatable arm table beside the inflatable couch, a small hand mirror propped up against a bowl of assorted fruits.
“Why, ’ello zere, Monsieur Jones. It is such a great pleasure to finally see you again… sweaty zough you may be.”
Notmie fidgeted, trying to adjust his ropes to a more comfortable position. Melono didn’t bother with the ropes; she only stared spitefully at Sinclair.
Captain Alex wasn’t sure what to do in this situation. It was just way too weird. Everything about it felt maliciously askew.
“Are you guys okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, we’re cool,” Notmie said, seeming more pissed-off than fearful. “Besides the fact that we’re tied to the world’s ugliest chairs in the world’s most tragically designed room with the world’s most troublesome Frenchman and the world’s most—”
“Zat will be enough world records for one afternoon!” Sinclair interrupted, grabbing an orange from the bowl of assorted fruit and chucking it at Notmie’s head.
It struck him in the temple, squiring directly into his open eye. As he screamed in citrus-induced agony, Captain Alex couldn’t help but admire Sinclair’s skillful aim with fruit.
The Fraud Page 29
