Brainquake (30 page)

“Who took you to the charter plane?”

“Friend.”

“What does this friend do for a living?”

“Makes drops.”

“What kind of drops?”

Father Flanagan felt his heart stop beating.

Paul whispered: “
Tear drops in the Seine, Ivory Face in the rain
.”

“Talk to me, Paul. Focus.”

“
Ivory Face’s pain. Tears are in vain
.”

“Focus!”

Paul struggled to.

“How’d you get to Paris?”

“Flew.”

“Was it your idea?”

“Hers. She was born here. On this barge. Lafitte delivered her.”

“So this barge was the safest place you could hide?”

“Yes.”

“Lafitte welcomed you as a friend?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell him you were fugitives?”

“No.”

“And because of how he lived, he didn’t know. No TV, no radio, no phone. Did you feel safe here?”

“Yes.”

“Then, in heaven’s name, why would you shoot him?”

Paul ached to say,
He asked me to!
But he’d given his word.

“Your bag,” the Inspector said. “Who was the money in it for?”

Zara had told him if Paul was a bagman, he’d never talk. Bagmen were trained to be fanatically closed-mouthed. It was drummed into them. But then they were also trained to be loyal. And when a crack appeared in the dam…

“Who, Paul? Who?”

If Paul mentioned one name that the police could work on, it would lead to more names. Names involved in dope, labor, politics. It could be the biggest coup in the history of the Paris police.

“We just need one name, Paul.”

Michelle was all mixed up again. She had never mentioned the bag to the Inspector. She made sure Paul’s job was never known. She’d counted on the Inspector pounding away on Paul about shooting Lafitte. Nothing else. Just Lafitte. She counted on the surgeon bringing in the news any minute that he was dead.
Goddam it, the plan depended on Paul’s shooting Lafitte dead!

“Just one.”

Paul remembered so clearly the Boss telling him to pick out a bag and he picked the black one and he didn’t deliver the mail to Philadelphia and he wondered why because he had always delivered the mail right on schedule.

“Who, Paul?”

The strange tune was getting louder. The rumble stronger.

“Shelley…”

“That a first or last name?”

“Last.”

“What’s his first?”

“Percy…”

The Inspector had lost Paul again. He shoved aside the bag, picked up the sketch one of the cops had pulled off the wall and brought to him. He held it up in front of Paul, who stared at the baby.

“You remember this, Paul?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you murder the woman who drew it?”

Paul blacked out for several seconds. The strange tune got louder inside his head. Light made it sparkle. When he could focus again, the Inspector was holding a plastic bag up in front of him. The Luger was in it. For a flash, the Luger became Lafitte’s face, begging.

“Recognize this Luger?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Lafitte.”

“Did you steal it?”

“Gave it to me.”

“Why?”

“To…to…”

“Why?”

“Stop his pain,” Paul whispered.

“What?”

“Stop his pain!”

“What pain?”

“Cancer.”

“You’re lying.”

“No.”

“If he gave it to you,
when
did he do it?”

“Today.”

“Where were you?”

“On deck.”

“Just out in the open, he handed you his gun and asked you to shoot him?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think so, Paul. I don’t believe that. I think he showed you where he kept his war trophies, and when you needed a weapon, you went there and took it.”

“No.”

“Maybe you were too drunk to remember.”

“Don’t drink alcohol.”

“I see empty champagne bottles, Paul, looks like you had a real party here. Are you telling me you didn’t drink any of it?”

“Maybe some.”

“A lot?”

“Don’t remember.”

“How much did Lafitte drink?”

“A lot.”

“He got drunk?”

“Yes.”

“Michelle helped him to his room?”

“Yes.”

“You know what I think, Paul? I think you all had too much to drink. I think she did tell him why you came to Paris, that the two of you were wanted by the police. And then you didn’t feel safe anymore.”

The flute, the strange melody, louder. Closer.

“You stole the Luger. You were angry. First you shot at the baby.”

Now he could identify the tune. It wasn’t strange at all. It was
Frère Jacques
. He didn’t like it. It had killed the baby’s father. It had made Ivory Face alone in the world, except for her baby.

“You were afraid Lafitte would tell the police in the morning when he was sober. Michelle trusted him, but you didn’t. Is that right, Paul? Answer yes or no.”

He could barely hear the question.
Frère Jacques
was hot lava slowly filling his ears. He tried to marshal willpower to stop the lava, but it kept coming. He wanted someone to stop the tune. He saw the Boss and she spoke gently,
Paul, do you want me to kill that tune before midnight?
Yes. Yes. Yes.

“Yes,” said Paul.

“So you decided you’d kill Lafitte and started toward his room. Michelle tried to stop you. She hit you, scratched your face, trying to stop you. Is that right?”

He’d never felt her nails or punches. Whatever she did was to help him. She was always there to help him. Hoppie appeared and said,
Paul, tell them she was there to help you. She was there to help you, wasn’t she?

“Yes,” said Paul.

“You pushed her away and went into his room. She hung onto you, trying to stop you. He was still in his clothes, dead drunk, snoring.”

Lafitte was in such a terrible position on the bed…a twisted scarecrow’s head against the wall, feet spread out across the bed, still in his uniform…

“Yes,” Paul said.

“You aimed the Luger at him. She tried to wrench it from your hand, she pounded your hand. You pushed her away, hard. She picked up the ashtray from the table. She hit you on the head as you pulled the trigger and shot Lafitte. Paul, listen to me: Do you remember pulling the trigger of the Luger?”

It terrified him.
Do you remember pulling the trigger of the Luger?
He saw the bullet hole in the baby’s crib.

“Yes…”

Michelle’s fists clenched. This was it.

“
Inspector!
” the Surgeon called out.

Lafitte tasted blood trickling from his mouth. Eyes saw only blackness. Ears heard silence. But he hadn’t lost his sense of taste. He had tasted his own blood before. Always warm. Now it tasted cold. Cold meant fear. Fear to face Jean Bourgois again. Fear to ask forgiveness.

Gray shadows moving in the black. It was Bourgois.

Lafitte spoke through the blood: “Jean.”

But Lafitte went cold. He couldn’t hear his own voice.

* * *

The Inspector entered the bedroom. Blood and sputum were trickling from Lafitte’s mouth. His eyes were still open.

“He’s going,” the surgeon said.

“Father,” the Inspector called out.

The priest rushed in, stepped back to make room as Gautier left with his crew and equipment.

Father Flanagan began:

“
Dóminus vobiscum…dóminus noster Jesus Christus, Filius Deu vivi
…”

“Jean…” Lafitte gurgled faintly.

“Hold it, Father! Please!” The Inspector sprang to Lafitte’s side, called out through the doorway: “Bring both of them in here right away!” He bent over, looking into Lafitte’s eyes. “
Lafitte, can you hear me?
”

“Jean…Jean…”

Michelle and Paul were brought in, a cop on either side but both keeping an eye on Paul.

The Inspector spoke into Lafitte’s ear, his voice catching:

“Wasn’t it Balzac? Who said, The heart of humor lives long without guilt?”

A weak movement of the dying man’s mouth, covered with blood. Lafitte’s lips curved into the ghost of a smile.

“Sainte-Beuve,” Lafitte gurgled.

Michelle was horrified. She prayed that these would be his last words.

The Inspector pushed in very close.

“
Lafitte—can you see me?
”

Like shifting smoke, the grayish fog slowly formed into a blur…and slowly the blur began to take shape and he saw the face of his old friend. Lafitte managed a tiny nod.

Swiftly the Inspector positioned Michelle so that her face was in front of the old man.

“
Do you see this woman?
”

She saw her face reflected in his glassy eyes.

Another tiny nod.

“Michelle…Jean Bourgois…granddaughter…”

The Inspector pulled Paul in front of Lafitte. The two cops anxiously kept hold of his arms.

“
And this man?
”

Lafitte looked into Paul’s gray eyes…saw Paul’s bandaged head…like a nightmare saw Michelle hitting Paul on the head with something…and Paul falling…

“Hank…Smith.”

“
You met him through Michelle?
”

Lafitte shifted his gaze and in her blue eyes for the last time he saw her grandfather swimming for his life…saw himself abandoning the man he loved…heard the bursts of the Schmeissers …and remembered the kind, forgiving eyes of Jean Bourgois, as blue as Michelle’s. He pushed the word out of his mouth:

“Yes.”

“
They threw you a party?
”

Lafitte’s smile was more pronounced this time.

“Yes.”

“
You got drunk
.”

“Yes.”

“Did Michelle bring you into this room?”

“Yes.”

The floor under Michelle undulated. She knew what the next question was and she couldn’t stop it.

“
Lafitte—did Michelle tell you that she and Hank Smith were wanted in New York for murder?
”

Her plan, so carefully constructed and reconstructed, engineered and improvised, teetered. The Inspector was doublecrossing her. He had known all the time she was lying. He was going to get the truth out of Lafitte. For the baby’s sake she prayed to God to make Lafitte die before he could answer. God heard her.

In pain, Lafitte closed his eyes and said nothing. He looked dead.
Oh thank God!
thought Michelle.
Thank you!

The Inspector shook him. “
Lafitte!
”

Lafitte was silent.

The Inspector shook him harder, then even harder.

Slowly Lafitte opened his eyes. Michelle gasped. He wasn’t dead. She was.

“
Lafitte—hold on!
” the Inspector shouted. “
Just for a few seconds! Did Michelle tell you they were wanted for murder? Michelle and Hank! Did she tell you they were wanted for murder? Is that why he shot you?
”

Years of guilt flooded Lafitte’s heart because never had there been a way to atone for his betrayal.

His last word before death would prevent the desecration of Jean Bourgois’ name:

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes.

God bless you, Zozo
.

The surgeon made it official after a moment.

“He’s dead.”

Michelle screamed, throwing herself on Lafitte, and weeping.

Paul looked down at the body. He was glad Lafitte would never have any more visions in yellow. But why did he say…?

“
Dóminus vobiscum…dóminus noster Jesus Christus, Filius Deu vivi
…”

Father Flanagan continued the chant. The Inspector slowly brushed a hand over his old friend’s face, closing Lafitte’s eyes, and kissed him on the brow.

As she lay sobbing on the body, Michelle’s mind had never been so clear, so alert. She knew that the Inspector would testify for her. She would wear a black veil all the time in New York, especially in the courtroom. She would make sure no news photographer got a picture of her face. The only photo of her in existence would be the blur of her taken in the ambulance in Central Park. She would change her name, leave the country, be safe for the rest of her life. Her baby would grow up without ever knowing his mother had been tried for murder, even though she had won. Her baby would never know that.

Gently she reached out and caressed Lafitte’s bloody mouth, kissed him on the cheek. She mustered her strength, knowing the stage was set, knowing now all she needed to do was bring out a brainquake in front of the cops.

Now it all depended on Paul’s jackal.

She wheeled and lunged like a wildcat at Paul, yelling:

“
You killed him, you bastard!
”

With her fists she pummeled Paul’s face like a trip-hammer. Father Flanagan halted his chant. The Inspector grabed for her wrists but she tore them free.

“If you had to kill someone, you should have killed Eddie!”

She ripped open Paul’s cheek with her nails.

Paul stammered: “I…I saw him…I tried…”

“It was Eddie who wanted to hurt us!
Eddie!
”

Another slap.

“Eddie!”

The burly cop seized her. She screamed.

“Paul! Help me!”

The brainquake came with rumbles and flute, loud and louder. In reddish-pink Eddie pulled out a holstered gun. Paul butted him in the stomach, seized the gun, shot him—shot Eddie
.

The burly cop dropped dead.

Eddie whipped out a second gun. Paul shot him
.

The moustached cop dropped dead.

Eddie grabbed Paul’s arm. Paul shot him in the shoulder.

The Inspector fell to the floor.

Eddie ran out. Paul ran after him. From the gangplank, Eddie aimed at him. Paul fired
.

A slender cop fell with his gun on the gangplank. Shots were fired at Paul by cops near their parked vehicles.

Bullets hit the gangplank. Paul crawled to the body, crouched behind it. Bullets sent chips flying. Paul emptied his gun, firing at Eddie near the mobile lab. Eddie’s hand seized Paul’s gun hand. Paul slammed Eddie’s hand away, saw the hand belonged to the boy he had murdered in the Battery. Paul tossed the empty gun away, seized the boy’s gun near the body, shot the boy in the face, saw with horror it was the Boss’ face. Paul spotted Eddie running toward him on the barge roof, took aim, fired. To get away, Eddie jumped into the river
.