The Sûreté Agent Alan Truffaut leans against the limestone wall of an alleyway facing onto Rue Edouard. He packs his pipe with loose Basma tobacco. Striking a match, he lights it puffing an aromatic pull of the spiced smoke. He considers the morning’s alley discoveries and conversation at the Den du Turk. The cooperative yet evasive proprietress had no care of or concern for police presence in her opium den. In her mind it seems that she was only a simple businessperson with some privilege of responsibility to keeping her client’s affairs to their own. Then there is the cast of characters that emerging from the apartment door after more than an hour, relevant maybe but currently a curiosity.
A report will be due to Ashcrow in short order. His gut tells him these events are connected. The attack on Theo, the yellow scarfed boy and his attendant mother figure. The abattoir in the alley. L’Olympia has a soft white underbelly, but rarely does it spill into the light of day. From Passage Caumartin he observes Theo walking toward the hotel, he instinctively steps further from the street into the alley. Theo looks to be the picture of health on this warm afternoon. He observes the giant and the yellow scarfed boy departing a bakery on Rue Edouard. He then sees the older giant and lad turn toward an unseen call. Cassius and Henri walk toward them both friendly in body language and demeanor. They are too alike to not be related. The former Aéronaut will be his next stop after the detective approaches the group assembling on the sidewalk.
“Henri!” The young man turns at Truffaut’s call of his name.
“Do I know you monsieur?” Henris asked confused.
“Non, we have not been formally introduced, but you and your big friend have been on my list to seek out all week.
I am Agenté Alan Truffaut. I have been engaged in an investigation by a mutual acquaintance,” Truffaut states making eye contact with Ratka and Trapper, “in an unofficial capacity.”
“Who benefits from the investigation?” Ratka injects.
“Demian Ashcrow.” All stiffen at Le Chat Noir’s name.
“How can we help you agenté?” Ratka injects.
“Do you know Theo Fureter?”
“No.” Henri states.
“Shot in a duel in Square Louis a few weeks ago.”
“We rendered aid before he went missing. He and the stonemason up and disappeared.” Henri offers.
“He is alive, no longer missing. The stonemason?”
“Good for him. Yes, the stonemason joined us in the makeshift ambulance. Both were missing when we returned with Dr Rene.” Henri points to the spot where he parked the cart before seeking out the doctor. Truffaut is quickly connecting dots to the body found in the alley.
“How badly was he injured in the duel?”
“Well well now, I’d say dat man was minutes from his last when I went in after Henri.” Cassius injects.
Truffaut is quickly connecting dots to the body found in the alley compartmentalizing the information.
“Were you aware he was assaulted by four men?”
“No, but that is not a surprise.” Henri laughs.
“In the assault an item that could be a lead was stolen. Have you seen a yellow scarf?” The agenté asks realizing how silly the question seems.
All turn to Arron, “the boy has had that for an age.” Trapper states showing annoyance at the interruption. Arron touches the scarf absently with blackened tips.
“I gave the scarf to the boy shortly after he became our ward. It was a gift to me from a friend many years ago.” Ratka states.
“Have any of you seen a short gentleman with a scar from cheek to ear?” All clam up to the agenté. Arron is visibly disturbed.
“If this is the man that I have heard of, agenté you need to beware. He is much more than he seems.” Ratka says.
“In what way?”
“There is something unnatural to that one.”
“Unnatural? You don’t say. Tell me more.” The agenté probes.
“That is all agenté, I hope you find your scarf. This is not what you look for.” Trapper injects.
“Adieu.” The agenté raises his bowler offering a curt bow and click of his heals to the group before moving along the sidewalk.
Meanwhile
In the Hotel LeGrande Theo sits in the luxurious sitting area of his suite. No longer a converted medical bay.
“Each taste is sweet each scent is pleasant. I feel about to burst.” He remarks around to the empty room until he feels the familiar cold cross his skin.
‘You do not have to speak aloud for me to know what you think. I am you. Your thoughts and desire ooze forth like a foul sap.’ The stonecutter says leaning against the large picture window frame.
Is this what it means to be satiated, in surplus? Theo thinks mouthing the words.
‘It is.’ The wraith states shaking his head.
If so, why do we feed only on the celestial calendar?
‘There is no we, your satisfaction and health are byproducts of my own. The calendar coincides with points in which the path interweaves itself into this world.’
I have scores to settle, our interests align.
‘Do they? Who then and why?’ The stonecutter asks with genuine amusement and curiosity.
That low class condescending shit Charlton, that pompous assassin Alex Ecru, my miserly uncle, that little shit with the yellow scarf.
‘That is quite a list, what makes you think you can collect on any of these. Even the child bested you in the alley.’
Are we not ‘bound’ our successes shared?
Theo’s thoughts are broken with a knock on the suite door.
“Entrée!” Theo loudly yells as Agenté Truffaut opens the door with a smile, hat and cane in hand.
“Inspector Truffaut, I was expecting someone else.”
“May I come in?”
Theo moves to the side and offers an attendant bow. “Please”
“You look quite well.”
“My doctor, a magician!”
“Thank you. I have a few questions that will help with the investigation.” Truffaut observes Theo’s normally darting eyes seem tempered by rare, satiated calm. Nothing about his story satisfies. The angry facial wound seemingly healed.
“I have things to take care of this afternoon.” Theo deflects.
“Ah, yes, thank you. As do I. Have you been here the entire time? Recovering?”
“Of course, doctor’s orders.”
“Of course.”
“Remind me your doctor’s name? A member of the Aéronautique?”
“Yes, Aliberté.”
The agenté writes the information, already known, in his small black notebook.
“You have not left at all?”
“Oh, here and there once able. A visit to Longchamps Hippodrome for the races. But yes.”
“So, you have left, quite often it seems.”
“I guess.”
“Did your horse come in?”
“A win yes, though not a fortune.”
“I can get it from the Club. Though easier to ask, when not in this lavish suite, where is home?” Truffaut motions to the multi-room suite.
Theo, none too happy, offers his fourth-floor apartment address.
“Gloves, in summer. Keeping your skin soft for the ladies?” Truffaut points to the gloves.
Theo dissembles putting his hands behind him in an approximation of parade rest. There is an additional knock on the door.
“Entrée!” Theo loudly yells. He sees the housekeeper and waves a hand toward the closet. The hotel staffer brings Theo’s pressed laundry and high-gloss shined shoes in. The woman, visibly relieved when she sees Truffaut. The hotel staffer quickly hangs the items in a hall closet hidden behind a large mirror and excuses herself. Truffaut notes her discomfort and walks to the large window looking onto the square below. Afternoon sun casts long shadows and golden light across the suite. The smells of medical astringents replaced with mint and eucalyptus. From the vantage Truffaut looks on to the rooftop seeing the greenhouse, windows to each side are open to dissipate the summer heat of the afternoon. On the roof beyond he sees the pigeonnaire with his coop. The man stands, arms slack at the wrists over a rake. He is watching a woman, practicing a dance, ballet movements across a portion of the roofline with a liquid ease. The dancer sets, executes the dance and resets again. She is a picture of precision and form.
“You really do have quite the view from here.” The agenté states fixing his eyes on the out of place dancer.
“So, if you’re a gambler why Le Aéronautique and not the Jockey Club?
“Family connections. I care not for the balloons of Le Aéronautique. They are cold and dangerous. Games of chance are my vice.” Hey sates dismissively.
“A lucrative vice for the lucky. Potentially quite destructive for the unlucky. Oh yes, can you describe the yellow scarf? The one stolen in the attack. This will help quite a bit.”
“Oh, of course. It is a silk scarf. Yellow.”
“Any other details? How long is it? Are there any prints, sewn identification, decoration that will help identify the item? I am sure that someone as fashionable as yourself would know the details, current fashion of the season and all.”
Theo moves to the window to see what the agenté thought was so interesting. He sees the dancer and pigeonairre across the roofline. Looking to the street below he sees the big man and the boy, Henri and Cassius having a polite exchange. The scarf visible to him, no way the agent missed the shock of color on the street below. His skin goes cold and the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He sees the unwelcome stonecutter is still in the room leaning on the opposite window frame from Truffaut.
“Agenté, is there anything else I can answer?”
“Oh yes, were you out last night? Here and there and all.”
“I was at my apartment.”
“Agenté, have you any insight into the brigands who attacked me?” Fully aware that all in his fabrication is visible on the street below.
Truffaut considers his response looking back toward the dancer on the roof.
“Limited currently, however I have a few leads. A lot has happened in L’Olympia in the last week. I think we will conclude this investigation in short order.
That is all, thank you for your time.”
He turns offering a gentle bow, snapping his heals and holding his cane to his chest.
“I will see myself out.”
The door clicks closed and silence fills the room.
“I am sure you have something to say.” Theo says looking at the dancer on the roof across the Rue below.
‘This one, this one might be a problem for you.’ The stonecutter states.
“He is the least of my worry. I have coin in my pocket that needs to be put to use.” ‘I am fed, though late, content. You do as you will.’
Beyond the Inquiry