Queen of the Trailer Park (Rosie Maldonne's World Book 1) (6 page)

14

I couldn’t wait until the cubbies were in bed so I could get hammered.

Before the kids officially crashed, I poured myself a little
pastaga
to get the night started, while serving Pastis a big portion of Whiskas mixed with some organic cat seeds.

The events of the day had made me understand that money helps you see straight—or at least it heals partial blindness. All those things in the stores and on the street that we only half look at, or don’t see at all, come into full focus, into your consciousness, just by the mere fact that the kitty is full.

They say love is blind—I’ve never understood that bullshit, even though I’ve said it myself. Well, money renders the world visible. Here was the proof: for the very first time, I’d seen organic cat seeds.

I made some rice pilaf first. When the rice began to brown, I threw it in a pan of salted water with some saffron. I cut up the chicken into chunks and poured myself a second glass of pastaga.

Pastis finished his meal in the blink of an eye and then decided to put on a real show, jumping in every direction. The dance of a full belly. He made us all laugh. I was almost afraid he’d fall into the frying pan where I was simmering some finely sliced onions.

I marinated the chunks of chicken in some coconut cream and hot water, then sprayed them with olive oil and sprinkled on some cumin.

I ate potato chips to help me digest my drinks while I continued to fry the onions, to which I was about to add the chicken, now deliciously covered in a creamy sauce. When the onions started to turn a rich brown, I added the chicken and sauce, as well as a few coriander seeds, and finally a bit more water. It turned into a kind of soup.

At seven o’clock exactly, it was ready, and we all sat down around the table.

I opened a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, and a bottle of Champomy for the little ones. It was a real feast. While the children dug into some
fromage frais
, I made a start on the bottle of vodka.

After that, I was in no state to think clearly, so instead of putting the babas to bed, I decided we’d go on a trip. We all freshened up. I thought it would do us good to see a few friends at Sélect. It’s a long walk downtown, and I’m not sure I took the most direct route.

As we headed up a small, sloped street in the center of the city, I noticed (despite being tipsy) that something was not quite right about my surroundings.

Guys in black suits strode up and down the street, ringing doorbells. I thought I spotted one of the cell-phone idiots from the Hôtel de Provence, but I couldn’t be certain.
Listen up, you crazy broad, you’re going insane. You’d better haul your ass out of this paranoia ASAP.

I walked into Sélect, laughing, and Mimi immediately saw I was half-stewed. She got me a seat in the back. She was too busy to talk long, but she asked how I’d managed to end up with a fourth kid.

“I’m a fast worker,” I replied.

“Make sure Tony doesn’t catch sight of you in this state. Can I just point out this is the only job you’ve got? I don’t think you could cope without it.”

Having to depend on the manager of this place always put me in a bad mood. But now I had my stash, which I hadn’t even counted or properly hidden yet.

“To hell with him. He should stop thinking I’m going to kiss his ass.”

“Mom!” Sabrina threw me a dirty look. “You’we curthing again.”

I stood with as much dignity as I could muster. “Never mind all that. I came to tell you something important, Mimi, but you’re just such a bi—” I glanced at Sabrina. “Such a busybody.”

“Just as charming as ever. We’ll talk about this tomorrow when you’ve come to your senses.”

“And you can tell that other . . .” I searched for words that wouldn’t be censored by Sabrina. “That
Johnson
that if he needs me, it might be worth his while to apologize.”

I left with my entourage, trying not to look too unseemly on our way out the door. A few steps farther on, as I turned and flipped the bird at Sélect—the most pointless of gestures, but as free and as satisfying as they come—I noticed a guy in a black suit heading into Sélect. He definitely looked like one of the thugs from the Hôtel de Provence.
Come on, you silly old broad! You’re hung up on this. Paranoid. Snap out of it!

The children hadn’t noticed a thing.

It was then that I saw something that sobered me up immediately: the second thug was hiding in a corner of the entranceway . . . and he was holding a gun.

I turned as fast as I could, but I got the feeling that he’d seen me and wasn’t at all happy about it.

He followed the first guy into Sélect, slipping the gun into his pocket. It seemed as if he had something really important to tell his partner. And what could that really important something be?

“Hey, listen up, I’ve found her!”

But who, why . . . why me? What was this shit all about? All this just because the kids had messed with these dudes back at the hotel?

I didn’t hang around. We scurried down the street.

The little ones were laughing, but I was whispering, “Shush! Shuuush! There’s a witch behind us. Hurry, we have to run faster than her!”

We got a move on. The stroller was racing full speed ahead, but it was what pulled me forward and kept me upright.

15

We ended up back at the trailer quicker than you could say Jack Robinson, and I put the nippers to bed, my heart pounding wildly. All this for something I’d probably just made up in my head. But the first rule my mom ever taught me was to trust my intuition.

Mission accomplished, right?

I washed the dishes, trying not to make too much noise, but I shouldn’t have worried. That kind of sound soothes them to sleep.

I waited for them to drop off. After drying the last glass and putting it back in the cabinet, I could hear the snores drifting from their tiny room.

I sat on the bench seat in front of my small table and emptied out the envelopes containing my miraculous loot. I counted the bills, making small piles.

Incredible but true: each envelope contained twenty-five thousand euros—twenty-five sets of ten one-hundred-euro bills each. Well, except one that contained a bit less, short what I’d already spent at lunch, at the Hôtel de Provence, the grocery trip, and my cell phone. I was down around five hundred, what I’d normally spend in a month.

That made a total of €149,500. I started talking to my mother, but she wouldn’t understand unless I converted it to francs. In francs, it was around a million. A million big ones. A million in cash. Not bad, huh? Like in
Indecent Proposal
. I’d never seen it, but a friend of mine had told me all about it when I was a kid.

A million, Mom! I got myself a thousand thousand. What am I going to do with it all? You have any ideas?

I racked my brain and leafed through a catalog, trying to get some inspiration. I could hear the children breathing. Simon was restless and moving a lot. He was panting. Soft, wet gurgles sputtered from his mouth.

Before dawn, I went outside for a quick smoke and to look around for Pastis, who I saw coming out of the second-floor window of the abandoned railway station. That’s what gave me the idea.

I quickly stuffed two thousand euros in my handbag, then grabbed the plastic bags with the envelopes. I had to act fast. It wasn’t daylight yet.

I climbed onto the roof of my trailer and discreetly entered the second floor of the old train station, through the same window Pastis had used.

He’d gotten in through a small empty pane. I put my arm through and found the latch to unlock the window. I held it half-open and quickly slipped inside.

It was unbelievable. All the office furniture was still there from when it was a working station. It all looked shabby. It was weird nobody had ever squatted there.

I looked around, hunting for a good hiding place—a hole, a corner, a panel—and then finally I pulled open a deep drawer in a broken desk. I stuck the bags in the back and closed the drawer. Mum’s the word. I improvised a false bottom.

On the way out, I wiped out the traces of my footprints in the dust, closed the latch on the window, and pushed the shutters against it. Pastis wouldn’t be too pleased, but tough luck.

When I got back to the trailer, Pastis ran between my legs, climbed on top of the table, and suddenly starting having convulsions.

He spewed his guts out all over the Formica tabletop. Not particularly pleasant.

I put a bowl of water down for him and knew I had to clean up the mess before I finally went to bed.

It was a quarter to four, and I’d have to wake the babies at seven. I couldn’t waste any more time. I realized that Pastis wasn’t used to eating so much and that I should give him smaller portions.

Luxury is something you have to get used to gradually. At least for some of us. Because I was OK, thank you very much. I’d gotten used to it right away.

Thursday: Fairy Tales Really Do Exist

16

The alarm clock sounded. I went through my daily routine. Except I didn’t just have a hangover—it felt like the DTs. I downed three espressos. Why deprive yourself?

A tune ran through my head assuring me I would be loved forever. As long as the stars were above my head, I should not doubt it. Thanks, Mom—message received one hundred percent. Love you too. She’d moved on to the Beach Boys, another of her favorites. Especially “God Only Knows.”

At eight o’clock, under a fine rain, we headed off for school, the tune repeating in my mind.

The first stop was daycare, where I left the stroller. Then the elementary school, where I gave everyone the cold shoulder. I was actually on time. Nobody would be able to say a word to me today.

When I got home, I realized I’d hauled ass around town with my raincoat on inside out. What a hot look.

It was nine o’clock. I took a moment to have a good look at myself in the mirror, and I wasn’t too pleased with what I saw. In fact, that was why I hadn’t done so earlier. I’d have quite a job trying to cover up the effects of the previous night.

I pulled out my cosmetics bag and got down to applying my colors. My lips coated in ruby red, eyelashes in purple mascara, eyelids in mauve and silver eye shadow, cheeks with orange blush, and a little bit—well, a layer or two—of concealer. The music continued in my head. I felt somewhat better, though my appearance wasn’t what was really bothering me.

I hung up my raincoat. I wouldn’t be able to put it back on now, since the inside was wet. I’d have to wear my old fluorescent-pink jacket. Not the most suitable thing for a visit with the cops. I decided I’d go to the store later and buy myself a coat, jacket, and new raincoat.

I made more coffee and turned on Chérie FM, the type of station that might play today’s song. I painted my nails while waiting for the coffee. Sure enough, the Beach Boys came on.

It was their song “At My Window.” They sang about the birds flying up and down and around, and a little bird coming to the window . . .

Wherever Mom was, she was managing to control the radio to impart something important. I’d have to make sure I decoded the message, though I didn’t know how to go about it. The messages were pretty contradictory today.

I heard a car engine. A knock at the door. I looked at my Swatch. Ten o’clock exactly. I quickly swallowed the dregs at the bottom of my cup and stepped outside. “You’re on time. That’s cool.”

The boss looked exasperated and raised his eyebrows. I didn’t know what this guy’s problem was. It seemed I couldn’t open my mouth without pissing him off. It had become a knee-jerk reaction.

Jérôme gave me a quick wink, but he didn’t say a word. I think he was too scared I’d make fun of him. He was just as cute as ever. He opened the rear door for me. Nobody spoke during the ride over.

When we arrived at the police station, they gave me a plastic cup of water and asked me to wait, offering me a seat outside an office.

After what felt like ages, I finally went into the corridor and shouted, “So, are we doing this today or what?”

Just then, some guy dressed to the nines stepped out of the elevator. He threw me an appreciative glance and came toward me. “What’s going on? Is someone taking care of you?” At my shake of the head, he boomed, “Borelli!”

A door opened and Jérôme’s boss appeared.

“I believe this young woman is waiting for you.”

Borelli stammered, “Yes, Commissioner.” As he stepped in front of me to get to his office, he shot a quick glance at his boss and muttered under his breath “dumbass,” then said in a clear, loud voice, “If you want to follow me, Miss Maldonne.”

I gave the commissioner a dazzling smile as I stepped into the office, reserving a more tight-lipped yet triumphant smile for Borelli. It was then that I remembered why I was there. I flopped down into a seat. It’s terrible how easily we can forget the gravity of things.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. “What is it you wanted to show me? You—”

Borelli cut me off. “Cool it. We need to start over. Let me remind you of procedure here. I’m the one who asks the questions. Is that understood?” So we started over. “Surname? First name? Age?” And so on.

He opened a drawer, and with a pair of large tongs he pulled out a pile of transparent plastic bags. Pierre’s things.

Right away I recognized the little boy’s bib overalls, tiny sandals, favorite stuffed toy—an old, dirty, yellow rabbit.

As Borelli asked me if each of the objects belonged to Pierre, I nodded. He continued asking a whole bunch of questions. Useless questions in my book. Most of all, he wanted to know about the famous Alexandre.

I asked him why they weren’t looking into Véro’s ex. It was obvious he was a total nut job. At one point, he’d cut up her couch into a million strips. But Borelli told me to keep out of it, that he was doing his job, and that I didn’t have to worry. No stone would be left unturned when it came to tracking down Pierre. He also wanted to know if I’d ever heard of a man called Djaïd Allaoui. They had no clue what he did for a living, but he’d been known to sleep in the yard of the daycare.

I didn’t know him.

Borelli gave me back my cell phone and thanked me. They’d made a copy of all the messages and numbers stored in its memory. They didn’t need it anymore.