The Girl Who Made Them Pay

by Tikiri Herath

  Since when do waiters walk around with naked knives in their belts?

  In a quiet voice to the side, Fred ordered mint tea and date cakes for everyone. He turned and flashed his grand smile at me again. “You will absolutely love the cake, I assure you, mademoiselle. They make it almost as good as I do. Haha! Almost.”

  I smiled back politely. “I’m sure I will,” I said, feeling my stomach constrict slightly.

  “The trick is to keep the oven temperature low and leave the cake in longer. That is what makes it moist. And that is the most important thing, isn’t it?”

  I nodded noncommittally.

  “So tell me, how do you keep your cakes moist?” Fred smiled in earnest. “Do tell.”

  I shot Luc a worried look. Was he talking about real cakes or the delivery we’d bought with us?

  Luc gave a miserable shrug.

  “Well,” I said, turning back to Fred. “Using the best ingredients always helps, but when I make my island fruit cakes, I soak them in rum and let them marinate for a while. That makes them really moist.”

  I felt Luc gently squeeze my elbow. Fred fixed me with an unhappy expression.

  What?

  “That is a very interesting idea, indeed. A very interesting but foreign idea,” Fred said, shaking his head. “You see, we do not endorse alcohol in baking, mademoiselle. Or in anything for that matter.” He looked at me sadly.

  “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean any—”

  Just then, the waiter came, carrying a bronze tray with a fancy teapot and cakes.

  Fred made a grand gesture of serving us tea, and we drank in silence for a few minutes. The waiter, however, didn’t leave. He stood silently behind us, like a mysterious jinn waiting for his master to call for him.

  I tried not to look at Fred. I wanted to leave this place, and leave it fast. Tetyana’s quick-thinking street smarts were all they had to rely on back at the house, but even she might not be able to tackle Zero, with or without Win’s help.

  Luc cleared his throat after a sip. “This is delicious tea, Monsieur Fred.”

  “We use the best in the world.” Fred smiled happily again, all his teeth showing. Something about it made my body and mind go on full alert like I had to prepare to defend myself. From what exactly, I didn’t know.

  “This is the tea of the Berbers, the first settlers of Morocco,” he said, turning to me. “Did you know the Berbers can be traced back to almost four thousand years ago? Four thousand years of North African history in this cup of tea. Imagine.” He paused and looked at me. “Now, tell me, my dear friend from across the Atlantic, how old is the United States of America?”

  I stared at him silently. We don’t have time for this.

  “Only two hundred and thirty odd years, I believe,” he said, smiling prettily. “You’re a very young nation indeed.”

  I gave him a frozen smile. He calls himself a historian and he forgot all—

  “Well, of course, you must not forget to take into account the aboriginal cultures that survived well before that.” He winked at me.

  “Ahem.” Luc cleared his throat, louder this time. “Is this a good time to get into business, Monsieur Fred?”

  “Absolutely, we can discuss business at any time you desire, Monsieur Luc,” Fred said, spreading his hands out as if he’d never suggested anything different.

  “Okay, then.” Luc lowered his voice and pointed discreetly at the cake tray in the middle of the rug. “The merchandise is secured inside there.”

  That was my cue. I pulled the dishcloth off with a swoosh, and my make-believe cakes beamed under the light, looking tantalizing and devilish, just like they were supposed to. Our job was over. It was time to go back.

  “Ah!” Fred said, “How delightful. Are these your creations, mademoiselle?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. Despite their looks, the cakes smelled to high heaven. And for good reason. I wondered if Fred smelled them too.

  After our group huddle near the attic with Tetyana, I’d followed Win to the basement. She was right. There was nothing edible in there. On top of what she’d already discovered, I found a gallon of petrol in a rusty can in a corner.

  With Win’s help, I picked up what I could use and walked into the kitchen. Within half an hour, I’d made a dozen barely risen, tasteless, toxic cake-like objects. Since I couldn’t find any baking pans in the kitchen, I used leftover aluminum foil instead, just like I had for my very first batch of real cupcakes in Goa a long time ago.

  Once the cakes were baked, I hollowed them out, inserted Luc’s small packets snug into the holes and covered them back up. Then, as Luc and Win watched, fascinated, I used the smashed potatoes to make yellow swirls of topping on each cake.

  “You must tell me the origins and name of these exotic sweets,” Fred said, looking at me expectantly.

  “Er,” I gave Luc a side glance, “these are cupcakes.”

  “They look simply delicious,” Fred said. “It would be a great honor for me to try your Americaine cupcakes.”

  His hand hovered over the cake tray and, before I could say anything, he plucked the biggest cake and bit into it.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “No!” Luc and I leaped up at the same time.

  But it was too late.

  Fred’s face went red as he spat into his napkin. He doubled up, moaning. I watched horrified, my hand on my mouth. He didn’t move for several seconds. The waiter stepped closer, hovering over Fred.

  When he straightened up, Fred’s face was a mix of confusion and disgust. Spitting out a delicacy brought by a guest was probably the most impolite thing he’d done that day. That was also probably the healthiest thing he’d done that day.

  “I’m so sorry,” I spluttered. “I didn’t mean for you to eat it.”

  “They conceal the merchandise,” Luc whispered, taking a second cake and splitting it open. The white packet jutting out of the pastry was unmistakable. He pulled the packet out, wiped it clean with his napkin, and deposited it on Fred’s plate. “Vous voyez? You see now?”

  Fred stared at the packet for five long seconds. Then put his half-chewed cake back on the tray like it was a live grenade.

  “What, in god’s name, did you put in that?” Fred said, turning to me. “Pray tell.”

  “Petrol.”

  He looked at me shocked and wiped his mouth, grimacing. “Petrol?” he whispered.

  “So the dogs won’t smell the other stuff,” I said.

  Fred stared at me for several seconds. A rivulet of sweat ran down my back. I thought of the dagger on the waiter’s belt and the gun on Fred’s. They’re going to finish me right here, right now. And do it so politely too. I braced myself.

  “Brilliant,” Fred said finally. “Absolument brillant.” He paused. “And I thought the traffic fumes were particularly bad today.”

  I watched him warily. He was watching me too, his face intense.

  “Mademoiselle Julie,” he said, looking straight into my eyes.

  I clenched my sweaty palms into fists. I didn’t come this far to go out quietly. I’m ready to fight if I have to.

  “Will you work for me?”

  I looked at him in surprise.

  “I may be just a pied-noir, but I can assure you, mademoiselle, that I pay better than anyone else in this business, even the local Belges.”

  It took me a few seconds to collect my thoughts. “I er—already work for someone.”

  “Would that be our dear Monsieur Luc here?” Fred said.

  “No,” I said. I couldn’t get Luc into any more trouble. “Someone in London. Someone who won’t let me go easily.”

  “I wouldn’t either.”

  Fred surveyed me with curious eyes.

  “Where are you really from, mademoiselle?”

  “Many places,” I said, looking directly back at him. I can play his game too, I thought.

  “Is Julie your real name?”

  “It is now,” I said, not waverin
g in my gaze.

  Fred was quiet for a minute, rubbing the white packet between his fingers thoughtfully.

  I took a deep breath in. We could stay here and play all day, but we don’t have time.

  I was about to get up when he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a Swiss Army Knife. Next to me, Luc recoiled at the sight. Like he’d done this many times, Fred deftly snapped the knife open, sliced a corner of the plastic packet and shook a few drops of the powder onto his plate. He slid his finger over it, sniffed it, and put a trace of it on the tip of his tongue.

  We waited. It seemed like Luc had stopped breathing at this point.

  “According to your reputation, Monsieur Luc, you don’t disappoint your clients,” Fred said. He paused dramatically. “And that is indeed correct.”

  Luc let out his breath.

  “Monsieur Fred,” I spoke up. “If you’re happy with the merchandise, we need to take our leave now.”

  Is it just me, or did the waiter move closer?

  Fred, pretended to stretch, exposing his gun again.

  “I would be happy to let you take your leave, mademoiselle et monsieur,” he said. “If you would kindly promise one thing.”

  Luc and I glanced at each other. What does he want?

  “Bring me more.” Fred tapped the white packet.

  Luc remained silent.

  “I know you’re a good-hearted, honest French boy.” Fred’s voice had turned slightly darker. “I’ve been watching your work for a while now. Maybe if I tell you I give a percentage of my profits to charity, that will motivate you?”

  Luc wasn’t even meeting Fred’s eyes. I could feel him breathing fast.

  “It’s how I give back,” Fred said with a chuckle. “I see nothing wrong in giving some of my profits to the famine charities back in Africa.” His smile widened as he turned to me. “Here’s a small history fact for you, my young American friend. When Algeria rebelled against their colonizers starting in nineteen fifty-four, the streets ran with the blood of one and a half million of my Maghreb brethren. Now, don’t you think I’m a kind man to attempt some sort of reparation, mademoiselle?”

  I gave him a blank stare.

  He’s mad. Totally insane. We don’t have time for these games. I’ve got to get back to Katy.

  “Shall we say midnight tonight, then?” Fred said with a confident smile, though Luc hadn’t even responded. There was an evil glint in Fred’s eyes. It had always been there, I thought, masked by all that fake civility.

  Luc’s face had gone slightly pink. I knew he’d only had time to grab a few of his packets when we ran from London and all that was now inside the cakes.

  Fred settled himself comfortably into his cushions, still watching Luc intently. “You know, I heard some interesting news through the grapevine recently.”

  I felt like I was in the company of a cobra, its head spread out, swaying this way and that, toying with us before it moved in with lightning speed to sink its fangs in us.

  “I heard a van full of girls crossed the border recently.”

  I gasped. If Fred had heard me, he didn’t show it. His eyes remained firmly on Luc. He didn’t even blink.

  “Coincidently, Europol are searching for a murder suspect who supposedly fled a brothel in London, leaving behind the dead body of a young police officer.”

  How does he know all this?

  “I understand you don’t have many options, Monsieur Luc,” Fred said, in a steely voice. “We can protect you. This can be lucrative for you and me. For all of us.” He bowed slightly in my direction. “We will, however, need more batches than this. Many more. Can you do this?”

  “It will be difficult,” Luc mumbled.

  “Nothing in life is easy, Monsieur Luc.”

  Luc fell silent.

  “Do we have a deal?” Fred said, smiling a smile that could charm a snake.

  The waiter was now right behind Luc and me, inches away.

  Luc was cornered. He sighed and nodded.

  Fred offered a clawlike hand across the rug. Luc looked at it for a few seconds before offering his own limp one. Fred beamed. He turned to me. Feeling like I was about to touch a slippery reptile, I gave my hand. Instead of shaking it, he took it and brought it to his lips.

  I suppressed an urge to retch.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  When we returned to our street, we hardly recognized it.

  The tinted police vans, the patrolling officers and the sniffing dogs had vanished. Except for the wooden barricades stacked on the side of the street to be picked up later, it was like they’d never been here.

  It had taken us less time to return to the house, partly because we no longer needed to dodge into side alleys, and partly because we ran all the way back, nonstop. The only pit stop we made was to retrieve Bibi’s robe from its hiding place at the neighboring building.

  I was just about to crash through the back door of the house when Luc pulled me back.

  He put a finger to his lips. I nodded and turned the knob quietly. We stepped into the kitchen and stopped. An eerie silence.

  “Do you think they packed up and left?” I whispered to Luc.

  Luc shook his head. “Van’s still parked out.”

  We stood silently and listened. Though it was midafternoon, it was dark inside the house and no one had turned on the lights. I couldn’t hear anything, but something in my gut said the house wasn’t empty.

  Not all was right.

  Luc bent down and removed his shoes, taking care to not make a sound. I pulled my heels off as well and tucked them under one arm. Luc reached over and picked up the knife lying on the kitchen counter, the one I’d improvised to mix the cake batter earlier.

  He motioned me to get behind him. We tiptoed to the second floor, Luc holding the knife and me holding up Bibi’s robe so as to not trip or fall.

  We weren’t prepared for what lay on the second-floor landing.

  Zero’s door was flung open but he wasn’t inside. No one was.

  The meal container on the table had been ripped open and everything had been devoured, like a pack of dogs had attacked the food. There were fresh curry stains all over the table and crumbs of naan on the floor. On the corner of the table lay my beautiful chocolate roll, half-eaten, icing smeared all over the packaging.

  Disgusting, I thought. But where is everyone?

  That was when I heard a noise. I strained to listen. Something or someone was upstairs on the third floor.

  Luc motioned that he’d go up first. I hiked up Bibi’s robe, clutched my shoes tightly so they wouldn’t fall, and followed him.

  Halfway up, I heard slow, heavy breathing coming from the third floor. A few more steps up and Luc froze. I crept up next to him and nearly gasped. We could only see part of the third floor from where we were, but that was enough.

  At the top of the stairway, with his back to us, was Zero holding a gun to Win’s head. She looked pale. On the other end of the landing, we could see part of Tetyana, and she looked furious. She was looking straight at Zero, but her gun was pointed at someone or something else.

  No one was talking.

  Zero was breathing heavily, swaying from side to side. Tetyana’s eyes flickered only for a semi-second as she caught sight of us, but her face remained still. The two of them stood in this silent standoff for half a minute.

  Zero spoke first. “You know I kill everyone.” His voice slurred and unsteady.

  “One bullet in her is one bullet in him,” Tetyana snapped.

  “Do I care?” Zero said. “Shoot the dickhead.”

  “Right!” Tetyana barked. “If he didn’t have the password for our account, you’d have shot him by now. Did you think I wouldn’t figure that out?”

  “You whore,” Zero slurred. He swayed from side to side.

  I watched him in alarm. He was still under the influence of the drugs. He buckled and leaned on Win for support. It was like watching a full-grown bull crush a slender young calf. Wi
n pushed and tried to stand upright despite Zero’s weight on her.

  “Let her go!” Tetyana commanded.

  Zero clutched Win by the neck. He was choking her now. She tried to wiggle out, but he had a death grip on her. She struggled, gasping for air.

  “You’re going to kill her, you bastard!” yelled Tetyana. “Let her go! Now!”

  The image of Win lying on the ground at the London square flashed across my mind. My mind raged. The image of the bloodied yellow blouse of that girl in the warehouse came next. Something in me snapped.

  “Aargh!”

  Before I knew it, I bounded up the steps with a warrior cry I didn’t know I had in me and slammed my shoe heel to the side of Zero’s face. Once. Twice. Three times.

  “Let her go! You bastard!” I screamed as I slammed him, aiming for his ears, his eyes, and his throat. Zero let go of Win in alarm. She folded to the ground.

  Zero roared in fury. “You she-devil!”

  He reeled back and stared at me stupefied. And that moment was all I needed. I raised my heel and aimed at his right eye. A direct hit.

  Through my eye slit, I vaguely saw a hand come crashing down. I ducked just in time. With a surprised yell, Zero fell with a thud to the floor. Tetyana shouted something. I heard a holler from Luc.

  Adrenaline was pumping in my red-hot blood now. I jumped on Zero’s back and rained blows from my heel onto the back of his head. I dug my knees in, kicking him whenever he tried to get back up. “This is for Bibi, you dick!” I screamed with every blow I gave. “This is for Katy!” “This is for Win!”

  But that robe became my liability.

  It severely limited my vision and movement. I wasn’t ready when he twisted around and pulled on it with force. I felt myself come crashing to the ground on my back. I couldn’t see anything but I kept hammering, screaming, fighting with every ounce of energy I had.

  Zero’s movements were sluggish but strong. He slammed a fist down but hit the floor instead. I kept punching, sometimes hitting flesh, other times air.

  Suddenly, with a blood-curdling cry, Zero fell on me, squeezing the breath out of me. His hands went to my throat and tightened. I was trapped. I writhed under him, gasping for air.