Simon Recovers

A crowd of men, Chacal all, have gathered around Simon to hear the tale of the alley. The men, fellows and friends, killed in the alley were both respected and capable. The two dead men served in Sedan during the war with Prussia. Gros George, the barrel-chested gangster also served shared time in Mazas prison with Charlton. These were hard men; violence was both part of them and their profession. That fateful night they were watching over and ‘protecting’ Chacal business interests.

         “He was a proper gentleman, though a little man.

         Rolled him easy, we did.

         Took his watch and his money, we did.”  Simon says through a rasp. His throat only now, days later, able to croak out sound. The teen is lucky to be alive.

         “The mark, he was alone in the alley?” Asks Poignardé, a Chacal in an oiled brown work coat.

         “Yes, when we got to him, sure. He was howlin’ out a folk tune.

         Before, before he was chattin’ up one ours.” Simon coughs as Benjamin places a cidre on the bar for him.

         “Which one of ours? Who?” Sabot asks from the stool next to him. He picks the cidre off the bar and hands it to the young man.

         “Monique, one of our fille en carte. They was deep in their cups at the Absinthe House.” Simon nods his head gratefully as he takes the glass from Charlton. 

         “He was gobbin’ loud and throwing ‘round money, just askin’ to be taken.

         Before Gros George was scrapen’ him over de’ cobbles he kep’ askin’ if we’s yours… ‘Charlton’s boys’.” Simon sips the cidre, the soothing liquid allows him to continue.

Sabot makes eye contact with a tall Chacal in his early twenties standing by the door of the brasserie. The unspoken message; retrieve the girl, needs no words. Sabot rarely leaves La Savane. Few know his son by name. Most beyond L’Chacal, would ask of him.  Beyond their territory his conspicuous son is the recognized Lieutenant.

         “Finish your tale.”

         “We was done wit’ him, we was on our way when he crept outta da shit in the alley. He was callin’ us back for what was his. Gros George wasn’t havin’ no guff from this one, no he was not. Sometin’ was diff’rent about him. He was swinging a stave an’ caught Louis in da’ knee. I got hit in the throat. Jus tryin’ to breathe I went black from there. When I came too, everything was bloody and burnt. Still smokin’, like nuthin’ I’ve seen before.” Simon begins to cough and his face turns red as he tried to breathe through his injured throat.

         “Give the man some space.” Sabot stands tucking his crutch under his arm and pats the young man on the shoulder.

The men around him disperse as directed.

         “Stay close, we still have questions for you.” Sabot says quietly in his ear before returning to his booth at the back of the bar.

Later that afternoon

The bell chimes as the Dandy enters La Savanne. He and Simon make eye contact, but no words are exchanged. The story of the attack has moved through l’Chacal like wildfire. All suspect the Dandy actions toward the Canal Rats are the root of the attack. Undeterred, he walks head high to the booth at the back of the restaurant. His father, the aging one-eyed revolutionary Nicholas Sabot, sits calmly with his back to the restaurant.

         “Father.” The Dandy nods and smiles as though his presence was expected.

         “Hmm. Sit.” Sabot grunts over a small glass of eau-de-vie.

Sabot says little, his shoulders and back frame the table like a giant turtle.  His son sits quiet, actively avoiding the potential volatility of his father. This tale must be heard from the source, he has little desire in hearing the information relayed or interpreted.

The welcoming bell chimes as the earlier dispatched tall Chacal enters followed by the petite fille en carte Monique. She is brought to the booth without delay.  In the seasons she has been in the employ of the Dandy and l’Chacal she has never set foot in La Savane. Her time and toil is spent in and around the Pigalle.

         “Simon, come sit.” Charlton calls out as the young woman stands uncomfortably at the edge of the booth shifting her weight nervously. Simon stands next to her briefly before moving around her awkwardly sitting at the edge of the booth.        

         “Is this the girl? The one you tol’ us of?” Sabot asks.

         “What’s this all about?” The girl asks uncomfortably.

         “Yes, this is her.” Simon wheezes confirmation.

         “Quiet you poxy twat.” The Dandy orders with uncharacteristic venom.

         “I ain’t got no pox.” Monique states indignantly.

         “Whatever, who is your maquereau?” The Dandy demands.

         “Gros George, but he’s gone t’ground. Simon, you run wit’m, you tell’m.” She states looking at Simon who nods affirmatively. 

         “Monique? Sit.” Sabot points to Simon’s seat. Simon shuffles out of the way offering his seat to the young lady.

         “Tell me of the gentleman you were entertaining and drinking with at Absinthe house last Thursday.” Sabot directs calmly through a voice of aged gravel.

         “I work each day and night. Thursday…” She trails off.

         “That night, this dead-eyed prick, young lookin’, but old-like.

         Proper an’ all, he wants to go place-to-place through Pigalle.

         Lots’o questions about l’Chacal.” She recalls.

         “What did you tell him about l’Chacal?” Sabot inquires.

         “Not a thing, I am there to part’m from his cash is all. He’s a dandy though. He’s throwin’ his money ‘round. I can drink most’ under the table and was deep in my cups, but not him. I tol’ him to keep his tone, else l’Chacal would end more than his night. I finished wit’m an’ got on my way. I din’t want to be in no alley w’dat one any longer than needed.”

         “What else, short, tall, dark hair, light?”

         “He wore a top hat and a tailcoat he did. Short man, dark hair, black eyes. A pink scar from ear-to-lip. He paid me w’dis.” She searches her reticule and hands a green envelope across the table.

         “Thank you lass, you and Simon, be on your way.” Sabot dismisses them.