Illustration from Boris Vian's Manual Saint-Germain des Prés
VI
THE SLEUTH IS IN THE BOOTH
We got a bit of a chill after hearing the news from Defato. Gary was in a daze.
“From what Nick said, it seems there was nothing on Petrossian. At least nothing of any interest.”
“I gathered as much,” I reply.
“Lucky they gave him a good going over at the Zooty Slammer,” says Gary.
“That depends,” I say. “If they didn’t find what they were looking for, there’ll probably be more trouble coming sooner or later.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Wolf died in that phone booth,” I say. “If he had something compromising to hide, that would be the perfect place to stash it.”
“I’m not following you,” says Gary.
“He must have been expecting something,” I say. “Judging from how fast the gang acted, if he were carrying drugs or documents – anything compromising, for that matter – he would have wanted to get rid of it as quickly as possible. And even though he got himself killed, I don’t think the assassin is part of the gang.”
“Why not?” asks Gary.
“Different M.O.,” I say.
He looks at me suspiciously.
“Now listen, Rock. If you get mixed up in this business with all these wild ideas of yours, then you’re running the risk of getting duped. We can’t be sure if the guys who killed Petrossian aren’t part of the same outfit that abducted you. We don’t even know if they found what they were looking for.”
“That doesn’t hold water,” I say. “They killed Petrossian with drugs. Two hours later, they take off his clothes to look for evidence. Next, Defato tells us that he had nothing on him. Well, I have a few ideas about that. I’m going to give it to you slowly because you’re not always too quick to catch on.”
We’d stopped in the hallway in front of Nick’s office, but Gary decided to take me further on down the hall.
“Come on,” he says, “we’ll pass by the Bureau of Missing Persons. I’ve got an idea of my own. Anyway, continue with your theory.”
“First of all,” I say, “the killer left as soon as Wolf was dead. The fact of the matter is that he was poisoned. Also, Wolf didn’t have a drink with him in the phone booth, so he must have been drinking at the bar or at a table. He went to call somebody and he died right there in the booth, all alone. Ergo, the killer didn’t search him.”
“Not bad,” says Gary.
“Then, Defato admits to us that Wolf had nothing on him. And when it comes to investigations, cops know their business.”
“O.K.,” agrees Gary.
“Third, those guys who assaulted the hearse did so for a reason. Thus, they knew that there had to be something to look for. Fourth, I’ll bet you ten to one that they were the guys Petrossian was calling and that he wanted to hand over whatever he had. Then he dies at the same moment. When you were in the booth did you notice if the phone was off the hook?”
“Yeah,” says Gary.
“Good. That proves that he didn’t have the time to tell them what he had hid or where he had hidden it. You follow me? Do you see why?”
“Sure,” says Gary. “If he had told them, they wouldn’t have gone after the corpse. They would have gone straight to the Slammer.”
“Now you’ve got it,” I say.
Gary looked at me, and I was flattered by what I saw in that look.
“Buddy,” he says, “you’re way ahead of me. To come to those conclusions with that nasty lump you have on you’re head… Now that’s what I call real athletic activity!”
“That’s what woke me up,” I say. “We’d be smart to head over to the Slammer before those other guys come to the same conclusions as us.”
“Crap!…” remembers Gary. “I wanted to show you something at Missing Persons. We’re almost there. Going back to the Slammer would really sidetrack us.”
“It’ll just take a few minutes,” I say. “Should we tell Defato?”
“O.K. Let’s try to find out just what we’re looking for,” says Gary. “Damn it… I guess we can come back later. Let’s go.”
We jump onto the elevator.
“Full speed ahead,” Gary says to the attendant.
He tips him a dollar and in less than two seconds we’re in the lobby. I dart out with Gary hot on my heels. We get in the car and speed off. I drive away in perfect synchronization, making all the green lights, and park the car right after we pass the Slammer. But it’s closed, so I enter through the bigger building that houses the club and whose door is right next to the Slammer’s. I’m in luck: Lem is there chatting it up with the night porter.
“Lem,” I say, “can we get in through the side door? It’s real important.”
He looks at me, rolls his eyes up, and finally passes me the key.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “It’ll just take a minute.”
It takes me less than ten seconds to get to the phone booth. The place is shrouded in a sinister darkness and there’s an odor of stale tobacco in the air that that’s truly nauseating. I intentionally avoid looking around the joint. The contact’s been cut and there’s no dial tone. I spark up a match in order to get a better look. I stretch out my neck like a contortionist to get a glimpse behind the phone. Nothing, as far as I can tell. Shit! It can’t be anywhere else. I stop to think things over and then get down on the floor.
There’s a little shelf-like piece of wood where the phone lies, and stuck underneath it with four gobs of chewing gum is an envelope.
Just as I yank it loose I hear the wheels of a car come to a screech outside the building. I fly like a bat out of hell, moving even more quickly than before. The front door of the main building swings open just as I close the side door to Lem’s Place. I pass the key back to Lem, who’s waiting there for me.
“Take cover,” I say.
I gather up all my force and reach the main exit almost instantly. Gary saw me coming. Fortune was smiling on me: the car door is still open. I’m able to jump in and he flies off like the wind just as my ass hits the seat. The whole ordeal causes quite a bit of noise in the streets, but I think they must have simply taken us for a couple of scared kids because nothing happens and no one fires at us.
“I’ve got it,” I say to Gary. “It’s an envelope.”
“Are you kidding?…”
He tenses up and looks back in his rearview mirror. He accelerates so quickly that our bodies are hurled back into the seats. The car takes the next turn at such a sharp angle that it feels like it’s going to snap in two and then Gray slows down and comes to a stop.
“Get out,” he says. “Hurry!”
Gary’s already out and hailing a taxi before I even have the time to catch up to him. We jump in the cab and Gary gives the driver his address.
“Why not my place?” I ask.
“For two reasons,” he says. “They saw you. Either that or they’re friends of Petrossian and they know who you are. They didn’t abduct you just by chance.”
“Alright,” I say, looking regretfully at my car as we leave.
“In this situation, it’s better not to go back to your place and run the risk of them catching you there. Then again, they may not know either one of us, in which case it doesn’t matter if we go to your place or mine.”
I nod my head in agreement and pull the envelope from my pocket. Gary rips it open. Let me tell you, kids, if you could have only seen what was in that envelope…
Copyright: TamTam Books 2009
Translation by and copyright: Paul Knobloch
