Gently French by Alan Hunter

rose from the piano, laughing, and picked up a glass that was standing on it.
    ‘That is all, my friends. I have business.’
    She pointedly raised the glass to me. I said nothing; she tossed off the drink; it was she who led me through the disappointed customers.
    We went out into the hall and she laid her hand on my arm.
    ‘So. Shall we go to your room, or mine?’
    I shook my head. ‘This isn’t social.’
    ‘Not social?’
    ‘No. I have some questions to ask you.’
    She gestured carelessly. ‘What else? But mustn’t we be comfortable while you’re asking them?’
    ‘Not so comfortable as you’re suggesting.’
    ‘But, my friend, that’s a matter of taste. If you don’t want to make love to me, foof, foof. But at least, let us discuss it sitting on a bed.’
    ‘We’ll discuss it in the office.’
    ‘I don’t like the office. To begin with, there is not even a couch. Then there are windows in the door and at the counter. We may as well go back into the bar.’
    ‘At the moment the office happens to be my office.’
    ‘Then I do not admire your taste.’
    ‘I am filled with regret.’
    ‘Huh-huh. How does one fill you with something else?’
    I opened the office door and she went in distastefully. But then she noticed the curtains for the glass panels.
    ‘Aha. This is not so bad. All it needs now is a soft mattress.’
    ‘Kindly wait here while I fetch my Inspector.’
    ‘But, my friend, for what do we need him?’
    ‘Let us just say to preserve the proprieties.’
    She put out her tongue and gave me a V-sign.
    I collected Dutt. When we returned, Mimi had drawn the office curtains. She was sitting on a chair turned back-to-front so that her skirt was pushed up to her crotch. She had her arms folded on the back of the chair and was staring maenad-eyed at space. She remained so while we took our seats and while I was leafing through her statement.
    ‘Madame Deslauriers?’
    ‘Uhuh?’
    ‘It would be nice to have your attention.’
    She hoisted her shoulders. ‘I didn’t get yours. Why do you expect me to give you mine?’
    ‘Doesn’t the death of your friend matter to you?’
    ‘Can you bring him back to life?’
    ‘I can perhaps discover who killed him. Or don’t you really want me to do that?’
    She swivelled the chair heavily. ‘Monsieur, what good will it do? If this little Rampant killed Freddy, no doubt he is sorry enough now.’
    ‘You don’t think he should be punished?’
    ‘He is punished already. He was thinking that Freddy would make him rich. But – pfft! – the job went sour. There was no money for little Rampant.’
    ‘So he was justified in killing Freddy?’
    ‘I do not know about justifications. But he is punished twice, because if there is no Freddy there are no more jobs to do for Freddy. Also, it is in part Freddy’s fault. He should not have taken such risks in dealing with Rampant. He should not have made him blow his top, huh? I think that Freddy was a lot to blame.’
    ‘Did Freddy have a temper?’
    ‘Who has not? And it was all the worse because he controlled it. A lawyer, you see. He did it with words. Ah, I can well understand what happened.’
    ‘You are saying he provoked Rampant.’
    ‘But yes. He was very angry after Rampant rang him. He lay on his bed up there, brooding, planning all he is going to say to him. At the time I am thinking this is perhaps not wise, better let a hard boy handle it for him. But I could not advise Freddy. My wisdom was not to interfere.’
    ‘And this was his mood when he set out.’
    She nodded. ‘And the rest I understand so well. He skinned this little man, this Rampant; his words were like claws into his brain. He was going to crush him, ha, ha. This Rampant will never cross him again. But they are all alone there. Nobody about. And little Rampant has a knife.’
    ‘You could foresee that.’
    ‘Trouble I saw. I couldn’t know it would be so bad.’
    ‘You feared violence.’
    ‘Yes, violence. Freddy’s