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| Room for two clowns and Elmer the Safety Elephant. |
Louis Shalako
Hubert
had just hung up the phone, and LeBeaux had just come out of the shower, with
steam in the air and in a ratty old housecoat. He was barefoot and with the
hair all freshly slicked-back, which gave the thing a whole new perspective,
for some reason. Sharing a bedroom, and the bathroom, it was like having a
brother, all of a sudden. You learn something new every day, but Hubert was an
only child. It was an interesting insight.
He’d
been spared this much, at least while growing up.
“Ah.”
Hubert had just been on the line with their local police detachment here in
Bagneres de Luchon. “We have an appointment, in order to pay our respects, at
four p.m. sharp. I reckon that’s about the time the chief goes home,
four-thirty, five o’clock or so. It’s his clock around here and I reckon we’ve
got about ten, fifteen minutes of his time. I’ve actually been speaking to a
Sergeant Dampier, who seems all right. He has accepted our purpose here, ah, at
face value.”
At
least for the time being—
Insofar
as that went.
Courtesy
calls were de rigeur, it was in the
manual and everything. There might even be good reasons for it. A kind of
bureaucratic politics at work, just for one example; and trying not to step on
too many official toes for another.
Having
arrived shortly before noon, after locating their bags and finding a taxi,
finding a meal and a room, specifically one with two beds, its own bath, and a
telephone, (and fuck the cost), they had a few hours to kill.
“So.
Where would we go to pick up some fishing gear.”
Hubert’s
mouth opened. He shut it again.
LeBeaux
had an idea, which was not always a bad thing.
“Why
don’t we have a look in the phone book. In a town of this size, there can’t be
too many places.”
He
opened up his suitcase and pulled out a fresh notepad. He had a pen clipped
just so, in the inside breast pocket.
“I
think we should rent a car. It doesn’t have to be much, it just has to get us
around for a couple of days. Three, at the most.” It was either that or take a
cab everywhere, and having it sit out front with the meter running at all
times—and with the driver’s ears flapping like crazy.
“That
seems fair enough.”
LeBeaux
was looking over a colourful printed pamphlet, a three-fold it was called.
It
appeared to be a menu from a local restaurant.
 |
| "...how do I feel about fried chicken..." |
“So. How do you feel about fried chicken, uh, poulet brut, avec frites en julienne, et une salade du jardin et la soupe du jour?”They could go out, or phone in an order.
In the meantime, it was Hubert’s turn for a nice, hot shower.
***
The
chief’s name was Yves-Francois Gilbert, and he seemed friendly enough.
Naturally, he knew all about the famous Maintenon, honoured son of this remote
little community in the Pyrenees. A small, slight man in an impeccable uniform,
he had the grizzled side-whiskers that were only to be expected in a gentleman
of his age, with a five-o’clock shadow in pepper and salt tones, the mustache
tending to white rather than grey.
The
chin was small and round and the ears were big and pink.
The
eyes were an intense blue and probably didn’t miss too much.
“So,
you want to see the place where Gilles disappeared. Huh. Well, it’s a free
country.”
“Er,
yes, sir. But also, due to certain circumstances back in Paris, we would also
like to absolutely rule out any suspicion of foul play. We understand the body
has not been recovered yet?” Hubert was doing the talking for the moment.
“We’re not criticizing, we’re just kind of asking.”
“Ah,
no.” The chief nodded, thinking it through. “That freezer thing? Yes, that one
does seem very strange.”
So,
he knew about that then.
He
glanced at the clock—
Thereby
helping Hubert to win a small bet with LeBeaux. In a small place like this,
Inspector Gilbert could reasonably expect to be home for dinner, most days at
least. Being chief was a day job. It was a Tuesday. The kids were still in
school, with a week or two still to go. The crops were planted and the tourists
were still thin on the ground. Routine would rule supreme. The two of them were
anything but an emergency. An unwelcome distraction, perhaps. A pain in the
ass, more than likely—
A
bit of a joke, possibly…
“We’re
hoping to rent a car. We bought a map, and the gentleman at the general store
has given us directions. We understand it is private property up there. We have
the phone book, but we were wondering if you could help us out with a list of
names. People who may have known, or seen, or interacted with Gilles.” More
than just what was in the original incident report, which really only had about
three or four names, Gilles, his nephew, the original attending officer, and
his sergeant. There were no other witnesses.
Gilbert
inclined his head.
“Yes,
of course, I will put somebody on that right away. I take it you’re staying
overnight?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,
come around tomorrow and Dampier will have something for you.” Again, that
glance at the clock. “Honestly, I ran into Gilles downtown one morning, but we
basically just talked about the weather. Said hello, shook hands, and went on
our way—”
Hopefully,
someone would have a little bit more
than that, but it seemed unlikely.
Taking
his cue, Hubert rose and they indulged in another handshake.
“Thank
you, sir.” And now, they were off—for a good meal, a beer or two, and perhaps
to take in a little of the town while they had an off moment. “It’s been an
honour meeting you.”
“Hey.
I’ve just had an idea.”
The
pair turned back as the chief rummaged in a desk drawer, coming up with small
ring with a couple of keys on it.
“Take
the limo.”
There
might have been a bit of a wry humour in it. The limo turned out to be a
primitive little yellow bug of a vehicle that could never have seen serious
police use.
…and.
They
stood in the parking lot looking down at it. It would be cheaper than taking a
taxi everywhere they went. Other than that, there wasn’t much to be said.
“…the
limo, eh…”
“Holy.
That must be for when the circus is in town—” LeBeaux had a point. “What the
hell is it.”
 |
| LeBeaux: always thinking of his stomach. |
It was, in point of fact, the Citroen 11, with front wheel drive, skinny tires, a pissy little engine, not even two litres, and one had to wonder just how that would be, with any kind of a load aboard, going up steep hills in icy conditions, rain or snow or sleet. The only positive attribute would be the cabriolet top. It would make it easier to jump out and push the thing on the up-hill grades. He had no doubt of its ability to get back down again, assuming it had brakes and everything. Hopefully.
“Nice.
We can put the top down and enjoy the sunshine…” Hubert was more amused than
anything. “Honestly, we should have taken a rental. They’ll see us coming for
miles away in this fucking thing—”
“I’ll bet the schoolkids just love it.”That had to be it—some senior officer,having the rank and nearing retirement,going around to all the schools and educating the children on the hazards of playing in traffic,the dangers of flying kites around power lines, the importance of staying away from railroad tracks,and of course, cold, fast-flowing water…Elmer the Safety Elephant, tusks and all.
The back seat would be just big enough to squeeze it in.
...just one of our readers here at Long Cool One Books...
“Ah.
The community safety officer. Of course.” Pretty much every detachment of any
size had one. “I wonder how many clowns will fit in here.”
There will be room enough for the two of us, but Hubert bit back on that one as it hit a little too close to home.
“I don’t know about that, but we could go over to the fire hall and see if we can borrow their Dalmatian…” There was something about the tone.
LeBeaux gave him a strange look, running out of words all of a sudden. There was, after all, a serious reason for their being here today.
Huh.
There was nothing for it, but to climb in and see if the blasted thing would start.
It did, and a thin blue cloud appeared in the rear-view mirrors. Hopefully that would clear up a little, as it was still on the choke.
“God help us now.”
“Where to, mon ami?”
“Let’s try the Old Pines Restaurant. I’ve been thinking of that fried chicken ever since we got here.”
***
The next day had dawned, bright and clear if a little chilly first thing.
After learning the machine and the map a little, LeBeaux took them out of town. There was a fork in the road, and he took the right, which clearly led up…and then around again to the right, in a hairpin turn. The slope was relatively gentle, and he wasn’t trying to go fast. There also wasn’t much sense in using top gear, and the motor had its own distinctive burbling note.
The next turn was a hard, very hard left. The grade was steeper now. The actual corner was the worst, like a short piece of a broken corkscrew. You could only go so fast, and of course, of course he was in the wrong gear. The speed dropped off alarmingly, she simply didn’t have the torque, and when he floored it, the engine began to ping, also rather alarmingly.
Hastily, he dropped from third into second and it seemed a little better. He would only try first gear as a last resort as getting it into first had been something of a bitch so far.
All of this while trying to keep it on a narrow ribbon of semi-pavement, riddled with patches on patches, more recent pot-holes and all crumbling away at the edges.
“Whoa. Whoa.”
“I see it.” They were coming up on a cart piled high with boxes of produce and wooden cages with what looked like live chickens in them.
“Going to market.”
“Yeah.” There was another tight turn coming up and LeBeaux geared down yet again. “Okay. What’s next.”
It was only a few kilometres out of town, but it had occurred to Hubert that time, speed and distance equations meant something just a little bit different in this part of the world. Also, Hubert was finding that with the top down, getting any kind of a look at the map was difficult, opened up and then folded down into quarters as it was.
“Fuck, slow down.”
LeBeaux laughed.
“Relax, buddy. We got all day.”
“I think that was my point.” Hubert was politely, or perhaps pointedly, ignored.
A lorry appeared in the lane up ahead, again coming down, towards them, and it became apparent just how narrow this badly-paved stretch actually was. Considering the vehicle, possibly loaded, and the slope, LeBeaux decided the truck had the right of way.
LeBeaux pulled her in tight to the rock face to their right and the other machine barely scraped past, the driver giving a cheerful nod of acknowledgement. Holding it with the brake, he crunch-crunched it into first, slipped the clutch, rolling back now on the slope, and then he let it out with a bang. The vehicle began juddering near a stall at low revs, somehow the engine overcame its own internal inertia and then they were shooting gravel from the right front tire...rubber squawked and then they were on the road again.
“Would you like me to drive for a while?” It was just a thought—
“No.”
END
Louis
has books and stories available from Kobo.
See his works on Fine Art America.
Here is the #superdough blog.
Thank
you for reading.
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