24
Bernadette drove and they arrived with plenty of time to kill before their rendezvous with Beppi. They left the car close to Zup and walked back into the centre of Klein Basel, off on a leisurely tour of the stores along Claraplatz, busy on a chill but dry Friday evening in October. Bernadette bought a pricey soutien-gorge with a yellow flower motif and the same gift box of leckerli biscuits for her maman in the Midi that Aliette had bought for hers in Brittany. They walked down another street, had a beer and a bite. Then coffee at the next place. It got colder as they headed back to the drearier part of town, the sky lowering. It looked like there could be snow.
The two cops sat together on a bench by a bus stop on the Rheinweg promenade overlooking the river, surrounded by shopping bags. The air was colder by the water. Beppi Crerar showed up, looking suitably absurd and possibly obscene in jeans that showcased all. They strolled past the club and got in the car. Inspector Nouvelle commanded Beppi to sit still while Inspector Milhau fitted the listening post on his ear stud. The Tech guys at Division in Strasbourg had gone the extra mile and mounted a tiny plastic pistol on top of it, black and lacquered, an actual bit of boutique jewelry that would be perfect for a maverick commissaire out loose on a Friday night.
Beppi liked it.
Inspector Milhau waited in the car with the receiver as Aliette escorted Beppi down the street. When they were almost opposite Zup, she whispered, ‘Grosse Corvette, petite quéquette.’
Beppi blurted, ‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’
‘Shh!’ Aliette squeezed his arm. ‘That’s code, Beppi.’
Bernadette flashed the headlights once. The thing worked well.
‘Remember: you and Marty. What happened? That’s your basic question. You’re just looking for news of Marty. Because you care about him. And you had business with him. And this R. Be cool, but see if he’s part of the scene. You’d really love to meet him. OK?’
‘I’m there.’
‘If anything starts to feel not right, just start humming and we’ll be there.’
Beppi waved away the offer. ‘I know how to handle Swiss fags.’
The inspector was stern. ‘“La Vie en Rose”…au cas où.’ Just in case. ‘Got it?’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’
‘We’ll be here till midnight. If I don’t see you, you’re on your own for getting home.’
‘If you don’t see me, I’m having a real good time.’
Beppi sauntered up the street just like Jean-Paul Belmondo and rang the bell.
Aliette heard Adelhard squawk ‘Zup!’ Then Beppi was in.
Back in the car, she was pleased to hear Beppi Crerar, loud and clear and gregarious as he ordered a beer from Max. German, Beppi! They knew he was capable of the local dialect.
Beppi la Braguette switched to German as he began to chat up Max.
Aliette wondered how la braguette would translate. And what was that bizarre music?’
Shall I stay / Would it be a sin/ If I can’t help/ Falling in love with yoooou…
***
Inside Zup, Greta Garbo sipped champagne and grumbled. ‘Who put on that noise?’
Fred Astaire cast an urbane smile toward the door. ‘Adelhard.’
‘It’s horrendous!’
‘It’s his place,’ Fred responded. ‘He gets to spin the discs, my dear.’
Adelhard and Max adored Klaus Nomi.
Take my hand/ Take my whole life too…Because I can’t help / Falling in love / With you!
A deeply tender ballad camped up beyond forgiveness into a shrieking, dying Wagnerian swan. If you don’t like Klaus, it is hard to take. It put a damper on a Friday evening meant for fun. Fred and Greta were dressed superbly for a night of dancing. They had to be — otherwise, who were they and what did they mean? Fred has to have his tux on. Greta must be elegant, those lashes lushly suggestive, pencilled brows forever arch. Although, if truth be told there was nothing in Greta’s look and bearing remotely resembling Greta, and Fred was a less than average dancer. And Fred sometimes wished his Greta could be Ginger. Greta could have been Ginger — the possibility was there in his partner’s shiny glow, the rounded lines. But one must follow one’s heart and Fred knew that Greta was an ideal his love had lived for too many years without properly exploring, and so now there was no turning back. Fred accepted Greta for what she was. Fred knew he fit fine with Fred, except where it came to the smooth moves — something Greta mentioned mercilessly if she was feeling bitchy. Yes, they had their scraps, but they were settling into it and getting along in a difficult world. As often as domestically feasible, Fred and Greta retreated from their respective high-level, highly respectable lives, to meet in a place not far from here that was cheap but warm, and mainly discreet. Greta’s decorative tastes were not Fred’s, but forgiveness is essential in matters of love. They helped each other dress…and then undress after some carefree fun at Zup. ‘…What? What is the problem now, my love?’
Klaus Nomi had finally stopped, but Greta remained out of sorts. It was the newcomer. Over at the bar, chatting up Max — who was neglecting his duties. Greta wanted to know, ‘Why are there suddenly so many French in this place?’
‘Word gets around,’ Fred said. He was fascinated by the man at the bar.
‘Do we need them? This should be a much more private sort of club.’
‘Oh, they’re fun.’ Hadn’t they both enjoyed some fun with Martin? ‘This one’s huge!’
Greta sniffed, ‘Is that a reason to like somebody? It’s obscene.’
‘It’s just for fun.’
‘It’s an insult! Who do those people think we are?’
‘Personally, I like to meet new people.’
‘I need another glass. Max!’
‘Let’s switch to Scotch.’
‘I could kill him.’ Greta was getting a head of steam on. She pushed back her chair.
Fred urged, ‘Calm down. You don’t even know him…Where are you going?’
‘To get a drink. These fucking French will wreck everything.’
‘You sit still,’ Fred commanded. ‘The last thing we need is a brawl and police.’
Greta huffed, but sat. Then whined, ‘I’m not happy. Will you take me home?’
‘Oh, Greta,’ Fred sighed, rising, adjusting his bow tie and smoothing his tails. ‘Sit tight, my love. I’ll get you a nice drink.’
‘Adelhard!’ Greta screamed, but to no effect as Klaus Nomi’s unearthly voice swelled again, fortissimo.
***
In the car they were receiving, recording, but the screeching music made the listening doubly difficult. One cop’s German was sketchy, the other’s non-existent. But now here was another one wanting to meet Beppi. It was getting interesting. Aliette struggled to get the gist.
Beppi: Me and Marty, we had some business.
Max: Me too.
Other: Big business, it looks like.
Max: You’re such an old whore.
Other: Oh, Maxi, you know I’m just enchanted to meet your friend. Monsieur…?
Beppi: Beppi. Beppi Crerar.
Other: Beppi. I do admire your ear stud…Two Scotch-rocks, please, Max.
Max: Sure.
Other (Very close; in French.): Lovely. Wherever did you find it?
Beppi: Strasbourg. Little shop in the student ghetto.
Other: Strasbourg is one of my regular stops. I’ll keep my eye open.
Beppi: Your ears aren’t even pierced, man.
Other: Not for me, Beppi. I think my Greta would enjoy it.
Beppi: Oh. Yeah. OK… Better give me another one these, Maxi man.
Other: On my tab, Max… So Beppi, might one ask what business you and Martin were in?
Beppi: Art. Import, export, like.
Other: That sounds exciting. I dabble in art a bit myself. Poor Martin.
Beppi: Yeah, well, give me your card. I’m trying to pick up the pieces… Danke, Max… It’s not easy without Marty. He worked the Swiss side.
Other: I understand.
Beppi: Had a Swiss client all lined up. Big deal. Sad. After all my work. Guy’s disappeared.
Other: No, it’s not easy. Does he have a name? I could ask around.
Beppi: That’s a problem. R.
Other: R?
Beppi: That’s it. Marty was very cool as far as his side of the business.
Other: Business demands it, Beppi. The client is king. At least that’s how we see it. If Martin worked the Swiss side, as you say, he would have to know this.
Beppi: Sure. But I have a horrible feeling Marty and this client were into other things, you know what I’m talking about? I mean it’s what I’m hearing. I heard they partied here.
Other: All the best people do, monsieur. Eh, Max? Danke, dear. Keep the change and bring this one to Greta. And could you maybe whisper a little something in Addie’s ear? This music is very hard on Greta’s nerves.
Max: Not a chance. It’s Klaus Nomi night. You knew that walking in.
Other: Please? At least down to a dull roar… There’s a good boy.
Max: He’ll just scream at me.
Beppi: Mon Dieu! Nice ass! I been standing here for an hour and didn’t even notice.
Other: One of the nicest, monsieur. Your Martin was a big fan…Yes, I’ve known Martin to let himself become involved with his heart when it should have been just his head. Too many times, Beppi. We’re almost starting to believe this is a French weakness.
Beppi: Hey, monsieur meister, we know how to handle it. It’s our client I’m worried about.
Other: Tell you what, Beppi. I gather you’re not a regular. Is there a message? If he comes in. A discreet message, of course. For R?
Beppi: Well, I guess. You’re a nice old fag.
Other: Old and wise, monsieur. So?
Aliette Nouvelle struggled to hear. It was the noise of this Klaus Nomi — screaming.
Lightning is striking again! And again and again and again…
‘God, that’s horrible…’ Bernadette Milhau was cringing with each beat. ‘How’s he doing?’
‘Making contact.’ Obviously. Beyond that, the inspector shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
When the song ended, she heard a voice — a different voice — ask Beppi if he wanted to earn one hundred Swiss francs. Beppi’s reply was in French and very obscene. But he didn’t say no.