The Quirk (32 page)

They stopped in a small town for a simple lunch. François abstemiously limited himself to a single glass of wine, and the other two shared the rest of the bottle and were feeling relaxed and mildly festive when they returned to the car. They got into the backseat together, and the afternoon became a chauffeur-driven tour of spectacular Burgundy country. It was getting dark when they came out of the hills into Lyon.

“I know a good cheap hotel about 15 miles south of here,” François said. “We can stop there and be all set for an easy run into Marseille tomorrow.”

Something he had read made Rod wonder if it was wise to let François decide where they would stay, but after the cheerful afternoon it was only a fleeting thought, and he made no objections. They had another good meal and more wine, and when they had finished he was in the mood for a convivial evening. But he found that he couldn’t play off Patrice as usual. Was his boy still disapproving, still worried?

François pushed his chair back from the table. “You two have a good time. I like plenty of sleep.”

Rod withdrew his attention from Patrice long enough to remember his stipulation. “You better let me have the keys,” he said. Because the distrust that inspired the arrangement had been in abeyance all day, he felt obliged to add an apologetic note. “Don’t get me wrong. I trust you, but that’s the way we said we’d do it, and we might as well stick to it.”

“Help yourself.” The keys were tossed onto the table. They all shook hands and wished each other goodnight.

“One thing about him,” Rod said when François was gone, “it’s awfully easy to forget he’s around.”

“I could say that about everybody when I’m with you.”

Rod looked at his boy lovingly. “We’re all right, monkey. I guess we’ll have an early night too. This isn’t the liveliest village in France.” He looked around at the empty provincial dining room. “The deserted inn. A perfect place for skullduggery.”

When they’d locked themselves into their small room, Rod put the money and the keys in a sock and tucked the little bundle under the head of the mattress. He looked at Patrice and laughed. “I feel pretty silly, but I have to put the money somewhere. It’s a lot to leave lying around.” They undressed and got into the double bed and lay quietly together. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, baby. Have I said that before? It’s true. If I were starving to death, I still wouldn’t be able to do this if you weren’t with me. It’s not the sort of thing you’d do with a lady wife.” He hugged his boy and gave him a tender kiss.

Patrice couldn’t shake off his sense of unworthiness; it seemed to affect his muscles, impeding free movement. If he were as heroic as he had dreamed of being, ready to sacrifice all for his love, he would find a way to simply vanish. His misery was aggravated by the fact that he had won Rod’s sexual surrender with the artificial and practiced wiles of his debauched boyhood. Self-condemnation was hardening into sexual disgust. He was sick of his body and made no response to Rod’s kiss; it hadn’t even given him an erection.

He had had an intimation the night before that something of the sort was in store for him when Rod had pleaded a delayed hangover and had gone to bed very early. He had stayed up alone, glad for an excuse to avoid physical intimacy, trying to find some solid ground between Gérard’s doctrine of absolute evil and his own lost vision of absolute purity. If it existed, he suspected he would find it sterile and cold.

Now he felt himself being lulled to sleep by the motion of the road that remained in him and for the first time in his life felt no compulsion to offer satisfaction to a willing male. He wondered what would happen if Rod wanted him and was asleep before any further move was made.

The next day they drove down into a new gold and silver landscape of vineyards and olive groves framed by the dark exclamation points of cypresses. The air had a bite in it despite the bright sun, and it was full of sharp, pungent smells. Rod was intoxicated by it and by the new shapes and forms unfolding before his eyes.

“It’s terrific,” he exclaimed. “I’ve been down here before–but when I was a kid–with my mother and sister. We’ve got to come back, monkey. It’s got such guts, much better than Italy. We’ll let François here make us some money, and we’ll come back for a couple of weeks later on. There’s so much to look at. Is it a date?”

“Of course,
mon ami.
It’s a date.”

They smiled at each other. Rod saw Patrice’s eyes suddenly glistening as if they had filmed over with tears, and the boy turned quickly to the window and exclaimed over an old farmhouse they were passing. Rod gave Patrice’s shoulders a hug. He supposed it had something to do with their big night. They hadn’t had time to follow it up and learn where it was leading them. He felt as if he had left bits of himself scattered all over Paris. It seemed reasonable to make plans that didn’t include Nicole, but that didn’t mean that he would exclude her in serious ways. She was teaching him that they could be independent within their relationship. That was what he wanted. At least he thought he did. He gave Patrice another hug.

They stopped for lunch in the tree-crowded square of Aix. By midafternoon they were driving through the center of Marseille toward the Vieux Port. Rod had never been there and was disappointed. He had expected something exotic and vaguely Eastern, but this was just another hustling heavy northern city. A few palm trees here and there looked like bad jokes. François turned into a side street within sight of water and boats and parked the car. With a quick movement he withdrew a small gun from the glove compartment and slipped it somewhere inside his clothes. It happened so quickly that it took a second for Rod to convince himself that he’d really seen it.

“Hey,” he exclaimed. “What’s that for?”

“I’m not going to shoot you. Don’t worry. The people here are a bunch of nuts. You never know. I don’t come down here for my health.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. I’ve been enjoying myself until now. So what’s the program?”

“I have things to do. You have time to take in a movie if you want. We can meet at 8 o’clock. There’s a restaurant called Le Pecheur du Port right around the corner down there. Turn left at the end of the Cannabiere and go along a little way until you come to it. You can’t miss it.”

“I thought you said we’d be together except for half an hour.”

“That was before I knew you were going to cover yourself. You get the keys. What more do you want? I can use the time for business. You might as well give me the dough now.”

A sudden thought struck Rod. “How do I know you don’t have another set of keys?”

François made a little mirthless sound of laughter. “I wondered if you were going to think of that. You’re not dumb. I haven’t.”

“Thanks for telling me that piece of information. However, I still like the original idea of half an hour better.”

François hitched himself around in his seat and looked at Patrice. “Listen, old lover of mine. Will you explain to your boyfriend that people know me? Why would I want to fuck up for 1,000 lousy bucks?”

“I have said that. He can decide for himself how he wants to handle it. You made an agreement. Why not follow it?”

François stared impassively out the window, drumming his fingers on the back of the seat. “OK, if that’s what you want. What I don’t see is how you’re going to manage to part with your money even for half an hour.”

“I can stand being nervous for half an hour. Three hours might throw me into a breakdown.”

“Funny. Well, we don’t have to sit in the car. We can
all
go to a movie. Or maybe we should go take a room and have a daisy chain if we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. Jesus.”

François got out. Rod winked at Patrice, and he winked back as they followed. It was colder than it had been in Paris. Rod closed his raincoat over his chest, and Patrice buckled his cape while François locked the car. He came around the end of the car and dropped the keys into Rod’s hand.

“You might as well have them in case I get kidnapped,” he said.

Rod had had time to decide that their leader was reacting convincingly and satisfactorily. He pulled the money out and handed it to him in a closed fist. François glanced at it and quickly pocketed it.

“I must’ve done something right. Thanks. Eight o’clock at the restaurant. You better eat something while you’re waiting. I don’t like to hang around when the job’s done. We’ll be driving all night.”

They shook hands, and François was swallowed up in the flow of pedestrians surging around them. Rod turned to Patrice. “OK, baby?”

“About giving the money? I think so. I’m glad you’re not carrying it anymore. What did he say about shooting you? Does he have a gun?”

“Didn’t you see it? He pulled it out of the glove compartment.”

“Your eyes are very good for this adventure. Tell me if anybody starts to shoot me.”

“Don’t worry. My money’s gone, but nobody’s going to get you. At the moment I must be the poorest friend you’ve ever had. Do you love me despite it all?”

“Yes,
chéri.
I almost wish your money was really gone so that I could do something astonishing for you like murder my grandmother and give you my inheritance.
Tiens.
Why haven’t I thought of that before?”

They found a film Patrice wanted to see. Rod tried to concentrate on it while forebodings of destitution fluttered around his heart. Patrice, and to some extent François, had convinced him that the deal was on the level as far as he was concerned. Still, it was strange to be watching a movie at a jumping-off place on the Mediterranean without enough in his pocket to live for a week. His thoughts turned automatically to his parents and cables for help, but he sternly suppressed them. He and Patrice would somehow make it. He kept his arm around his boy’s shoulders, seeking protection as well as offering it. Nobody at home would believe any of this. The thought made him briefly pleased with himself.

It was dark when they came out. A bitter wind was blowing, but they made a detour to make sure the car was still there.

“I knew it would be, but still–” Rod said, noting that the splash of paint on the curb lined up with the mudguard as it had before.

It was almost 7:30 when they reached the restaurant. It looked unpretentious, but a glance at the bill of fare revealed that it was expensive. At Patrice’s suggestion they ordered a single portion of bouillabaisse, which he maintained would be enough for two, enough to get them through the night’s drive. It turned out that liberal additions of bread to the soup made it a meal, of sorts. The clock on the wall was approaching 8
P.M
., and they were halfway through their bottle of white wine when a blast of wintry air announced François’s appearance in the doorway. He glanced around the room and crossed quickly to them and, without taking off his coat, dropped into a chair they had kept for him. Rod saw immediately that, to the extent his neat expressionless features would permit, he looked worried.

“Everything OK?” Rod asked, trying to sound casual despite the sudden agitation of his heart.

“Sure. That is, not exactly. Something’s funny. People aren’t where they’re supposed to be. Getting around in taxis doesn’t make it easy. If–”

“Where’s the money, for chrissake?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve still got it. That’s what’s funny. I haven’t been able to turn it over.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Rod found that he had been leaning forward tensely, and he sat back with a sigh of relief. “Let’s just forget it. If it didn’t work, it didn’t work. Give me back my money and we’ll maybe try it some other time.”

“That might suit you, buster, but it’s not good enough for me. Do you have any idea how much this trip costs? I didn’t come down here for nothing. There’s a lot of red tape in this business. You have to go through channels. If I had the car, I could take some shortcuts, check things out. Let’s make a deal. I want the car. If I haven’t got things squared away in half an hour, I’ll call it quits. Three quarters at the most.”

“No. The hell with it. It’s my money. I want it back. I don’t want you taking any risks with it.”

“Who said anything about risks? If I don’t make the right contacts, nothing happens. Right? If I do, we’re in business the same as before. So we’ve lost an hour. So what?”

“What can you do in your car that you can’t do in a taxi?”

“Don’t be dumb. There’re certain places I can’t have a taxi driver take me. Have you forgotten where you are? One more body on the sidewalk isn’t going to bother anybody very much. The taxi drivers are all part of some mob. I’ve had to do a lot of walking. When I find a taxi to take me someplace else, the lead’s cold. The minute I saw there’d been a slipup, I should’ve dropped it and come here. I’ve been wasting my time.”

As they talked, Rod’s disappointment at losing the opportunity for easy money weighed more and more heavily against caution. He’d been counting on it. Whatever the difficulty was, it apparently was a technical one, not something inherently wrong with the project. François’s being here proved that he wasn’t trying to pull any funny business. “If you take the car, you really think everything will be OK?”

“I’ve never had any trouble before. I told you it was unlucky to change the way I operate.”

“If you go on having trouble, you swear you’ll drop it and bring my money back?”

“Listen. You can meet me outside at 9 o’clock. I wouldn’t keep a dog waiting around on a night like this.”