The Quirk (31 page)

“It’s time,” Patrice said. “The note says 12:30. We’ll be only a few minutes late.”

They paid and set off at a brisk pace. Patrice guided them across a maze of intersecting angled streets and along the straight line of the rue Babylon, and in just less than the ten minutes he had predicted, they were standing in front of a golden oak door. Rod pushed the bell, and François appeared before them.

“Hi there. Come on in,” he said, brisk and expressionless. “You’ve brought your cute friend. I get it–the buddy system.” He shook hands with both of them, and the cold contact reminded Rod of how much he disliked him. He couldn’t imagine François’s doing anything decent or straightforward or without calculation. He was made for petty cruelty and shady deals. He led them across an entry and through double-glass doors into a vastly overfurnished room, all dark upholstery, dark pictures, and bric-a-brac. A tall old man rose at their entrance. A round little old woman was embedded like a raisin in a great cake of a chair. “My grandparents,” François said and performed careless introductions. They all shook hands with each other. “Go ahead and start lunch,” he said in French to the old people. “I have some business with my friends. I’ll join you in a moment.”

The old man bowed in a courtly fashion in front of the little old woman, and the couple marched through another pair of glass doors into what Rod saw was a darkly furnished dining room. François waved his visitors into chairs that engulfed them in upholstery.

“Been thinking my deal over, have you?” François asked Rod. “You’re a smart cookie. You can’t beat it. Did you bring some money with you?”

“Of course not. I don’t know anything about it. You’d better explain a few things.” Rod was observing the old couple seated at table within the frame of the glass doors, performing like actors in a silent film. He noticed the ceremony with which they treated each other to exchange remarks. Absurd and old-fashioned but charming compared to their grandson’s brusque manner.

“The less you know, the better for you, mister,” François said in his fake Americanese. “You’ve got the picture. You invest your capital at 100% interest. What more do you want?”

“How do you do it?”

“I take a little trip and do some people a favor. How much have you got?”

“I was thinking about maybe $1,000. It depends.”

“A grand, huh?” François appeared to ponder it but was obviously impressed. “None of these bums around here have any dough. That’s why they stay bums. It’s nice to talk to somebody with some class. When can I have it?”

“I haven’t said that you can. I’m still waiting to hear what you do with the money.”

“Listen. You don’t want to know, see. You’re still worrying about letting your money out of your sight? I could maybe fix that.”

“How do you mean? If I don’t let the money out of my sight, how come I won’t know what you’re doing with it?” He saw the old man lift his glass to his tiny wife and suddenly wondered if his rebellion would look to an impartial observer as unwarranted as this youth’s rejection of the old couple’s charming ways. Could he too be considered an affront to decency and simple morality? He glanced at Patrice and wondered if they should leave.

“It’s not quite that simple,” François commented with a thin smile. “A real team. All right. The kid’s pretty, but he’s a lot tougher than he looks.

“Do you want to do it?” Rod asked his boy.

“I don’t see why you should go with him. He’s obviously not going to tell us what it’s about, but I think you can trust him.”

“Why should I?” he turned back to François. “You have a car?”

“Of course. We’ll drive down.”

“OK. If you let me keep the keys when we’re separated, it’s a deal.”

“Cagey, aren’t you.” François seemed to hesitate. “Taking taxis. I don’t like to change my routine. It might be unlucky.”

Rod saw the old woman rise from the table and gather up dishes. The grandfather dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and looked at the group in his living room. Rod felt like an intruder, a spoiler.

“What did you do with the message I left you?” François demanded.

“Nothing.” Rod felt for it in a pocket and pulled it out. François reached for it and tore it into several pieces and made a ball of it and dropped it onto the table beside him. “We don’t want to leave things around that could prove a connection between us.”

“That’s pretty dumb. What about the
caissière?
”

“You don’t have to worry about her. I tip her plenty. She wouldn’t want to lose a good customer.”

“Do you ever get into trouble with this business of yours?” Patrice asked.

Rod saw the old man rise and come to the glass doors and open them. “Your grandmother is about to serve the roast,” he said.

“I’ll be there when I’m finished,” the grandson replied curtly. The old man caught Rod’s eye and seemed to like what he saw there and continued into the room toward him. Rod rose politely. The old man was dressed in a dark business suit and an old-fashioned hard collar and wore a gold stickpin in his necktie. His mouth looked surprisingly sweet and youthful under a neatly clipped white moustache. He reached into an inner jacket pocket and withdrew a wallet.

“You’re an American?” he asked. “Fine people. I’m always pleased when François makes friends with Americans.” He opened what turned out to be a leather folder containing two photographs and handed it to Rod. The latter looked at young intense faces, a man and a girl. “My son. François’s parents,” the grandfather explained. “Perhaps he hasn’t told you. As far as we can learn, they were killed by the Germans the day before you Americans liberated Paris. Having their child to care for gave us a reason for going on living. Life is hard and cruel, but we’ve found our consolation in him, in giving him the chance in life that his father didn’t have. That’s why I’m delighted he’s making American friends. You are, after all, the leader of the world today.”

“I’m not much of a leader,” Rod mumbled uncomfortably, returning the folder. Why didn’t he clear out? He was ashamed of being here under such false pretenses.

“You must forgive me if I’ve embarrassed you with private matters. The old can never fully understand the young. If François has certain shortcomings, we must always remember that he has had the great handicap of being brought up by people so much older than he is. Are your parents living, sir?”

“Yes.”

“You’re very fortunate.”

“I’m sure I am,” Rod agreed in deference to this grave exposure of the old gentleman’s tragic preoccupations. He hadn’t felt particularly grateful for his parents’ survival for some time, but in this land of orphans, he was beginning to be aware of something lacking, a break in the chain of tradition that left everybody terribly exposed and dependent on their individual capacities for improvisation. He was, in a sense, an orphan too. This awareness had the effect, perhaps intended by the old gentleman, of softening his feelings toward his partner in whatever crime they were planning.

“I don’t want to interrupt you young men.” The old man returned the folder to his inner pocket and shook hands with Rod. He turned to Patrice, who rose, and shook hands with him. He stopped briefly in front of his grandson. “Try not to let your food get cold.” He returned slowly to the dining room and closed the doors behind him as the old woman placed a platter in front of his place at table.

Rod faced François. “Is that it? We leave in the morning? You’ll have $2,000 for me at noon on Monday?”

“Check. If we leave by 9
A.M.
, we can be in Marseille by Sunday afternoon without getting arrested for speeding. You’ll have the dough, won’t you?”

“Of course. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

Rod asked a few more needless questions as he tried to convince himself that this simple transaction was going to solve his financial problems. He tried to get Patrice to take part in the discussion, but there seemed nothing to say. They agreed to meet in front of Patrice’s building, and François let them out.

As soon as they were in the street, Rod threw an arm around his boy and gave him a big hug in a burst of relief at being back in the familiar world. “Is everything all right, baby?”

“It seems so. If the weather stays like this, it will be very pleasant driving to Marseille with you. I wish François didn’t have to come with us.”

“Yeah. For a minute there I almost wanted to back out of it. The old boy was so nice and sad that it seemed shitty to use his place for that kind of deal. But hell, it’s not my fault François is the way he is.
I
didn’t launch him on a life of crime.”

“No, it’s not your fault,
chéri
.” Day before yesterday it would have hurt Patrice to hear his god resort to such a banal justification, but he was still suffering too deeply from his own imperfections to judge another’s.

“Don’t you think it was a good idea to suggest going with him?” Rod asked, anxious to feel that Patrice was in this with him.

“Perhaps, but I don’t worry about that part of it. He’s been around very long, and I’ve never heard that he cheats or lies about money. Of course, if he says nothing, it’s easy not to lie.”

Rod chuckled, welcoming the mischievous note. “He’s got saying nothing down to a fine art. Do you have any idea what it’s about?”

“No. It’s difficult to imagine what could make such a good profit. He surely makes as much for himself as will make for you. A few years ago it might have been something to do with the black market but there’s little of that anymore. I suppose it must be drugs, but I thought drugs were organized on a very big scale.”

“Me too. The Mafia and all that. A thousand dollars is peanuts to them. I guess having dollars is the main thing. Think of it, monkey. In a month we might have $5,000 and no more worries until money comes in from the show. That’s what counts.”

“It does. I’m thinking of it.”

“We better grab a bite to eat. I’ll take care of the money when you go back to work.”

When he was alone Rod called Nicole. She said that she was feeling much better than she had been before.

“The doctor says that tomorrow I can go back to all my wicked ways. Shall we have a Saturday night celebration, my beloved?”

“God, sweetheart, I’m ready for one but here’s the thing. I’m going away for the weekend with some guys I know. It’s too complicated to explain, but it may be a way of making some money.”

Going away for the weekend to make some money? How very mysterious.”

“Making money is the most mysterious thing I know. At least it has nothing to do with my work. How about tonight?”

“I think we mustn’t, my darling. I feel so nearly right that I wouldn’t trust myself, and the doctor says not before tomorrow. How are all of Germaine’s glorious plans for you?”

“She was beginning to get tiresome. She was acting yesterday as if she were planning to take over my whole life. I told her not to bother.”

“I’m rather relieved, my darling. If she’d turned you into a success overnight, I would have felt left out of it.”

“Oh, listen, speaking of money. I’ve decided to move my stuff into the studio later today. It’s silly to go on paying for the hotel. I’ve just found my new roommate is a friend of Gérard Thillier. I gather you know what that means.”

“I have an idea. Is he a beautiful blond child?”

“No. Small and dark. Very nice. You’ll like him. Germaine was planning to get me hooked up with Thillier. That was another thing I didn’t want. I feel as if everything is getting organized again after some sort of total catastrophe. I guess your trouble threw me for more of a loop than I realized. I’m sorry about the weekend, honey. We’ll make it Monday, won’t we? I’ll call you as soon as I get back. You can go on using the hotel if you want to leave a message.”

“Shall I make a date for dinner later if Beauty calls again?”

“Sure. Anytime. Get lots of rest and be ready for a big night. I love you, sweetheart.”

He went to the bank and left with all the money he had in the world folded into a small wad of cash provided, in defiance of currency controls, by a family friend on Rod’s assurance that it would be returned at the beginning of the week. Germaine’s money was his only cushion against something going wrong in Marseille.

He and Patrice were out in front of the building the next morning a bit before 9 o’clock and had been waiting only a few minutes when an inconspicuous four-door sedan drew up and François signaled to them. Rod sat in front with him. Patrice dropped a small bag containing their few necessities into the back seat and sat beside it.

Now that they were embarked on the venture, Rod wanted to see the best in their leader, and he immediately approved of his driving. François maneuvered expertly through the morning traffic, getting ahead of the pack without taking risks. They were soon passing Fontainebleau and heading south. The passengers settled down for the long trip, having offered to take turns at the wheel and been turned down. The day was less dazzling than the last two, but the weather was good for driving. Rod and Patrice found plenty to comment on in a winter landscape of great charm and frequent beauty. François joined in from time to time. Rod began to feel that the omens were auspicious–he was going to make some money without having to work for it, with a pleasant drive through France thrown in.