The Little Black Cigarette Chapter 3
Chapter 3: The Plan
To read chapter two: The Proposition click here.
Or, if you’re later to the party, read chapter one: The Rendezvous click here.
Cecile insisted on helping me get dressed for the evening, well intentioned considering my lack of knowledge in the area. She carefully twirled and pinned my hair back away from my face, letting some blonde strands fall and brush against my chin and naked neck. We opted for no jewelry, partially because we didn’t have any, but also because we couldn’t imagine anything that could compete with the dress’s high standards. She spent some time trying on the newest editions to her closet we had purchased that afternoon, modeling them animatedly for me while I drank champagne and danced without restraint. I felt weightless. We decided on a simple maroon slip for her night out with Boris.
Five minutes before 20:00 I slipped on my silk gloves and kitten heels. My hands shook under the pressure I felt, the only thing holding me together was the tight fabric tapered around my bodice.
“Goodness, you have to pull yourself together. You’re beginning to sweat! Here,” Cecile handed me tissues and I dabbed the back of my neck, leaving two pressed between my armpits. She was fanning herself as well, we smoked one more Poppy and took the elevator down to Pierre and Boris.
Boris ran to Cecile as the doors opened, kissing her hands and cheeks in a bent-over, unconcealable fever. He rushed her out to a car, holding her hand, practically skipping. She yelled gaily over her shoulder, Bonne chance! I waved them off and stepped out into the beginning of my own night.
Pierre, his hair freshly cut and shaved, was dressed in a deep navy blue, complimenting the soft golds and creams he dressed me in. His jacket, a soft velvet with black lapels matched his bow tie and fit snugly around his athletic frame. He was tasteful, calm, and for the first time I felt myself unable to draw my eyes away from him. He was holding a small briefcase to his side.
“How beautiful you look, all eyes will be on you tonight,” his voice was enchanting.
He took my gloved hand and led me out to the car, opened my door and held the bottom of my gown as I climbed gracefully inside.
“You wear the dress more than it wears you, absolutely stunning. But there is one more thing I’d like to add if you will let me?” He unlatched the briefcase filled with freshly printed American bills and pulled out a small elegant box. Inside was a ruby pendant, which he took in his hands and draped around my neck. It sat perfectly on my chest. I felt brand new.
He sighed with pleasure.
“It’s as if it was made for you.”
We drove down Avenue de Champs-Elysees towards Place de la Concorde, which had been closed off by police, but we were granted access and proceeded around the practically empty roundabout. Press had gathered behind temporary blockades as men and women were dropped off one by one outside the massive columns of Hotel de la Marine. When it was our turn, Pierre exited the car and walked around to open my door. I lifted my gown and stepped out into camera flashes and suppressed whispers.
“This wasn’t quite what I imagined from your description,” I said with a smile, not wanting to be caught scowling by any photographers.
“Just take the night as it comes and enjoy yourself. I know I’m enjoying every moment of you.”
We entered through a courtyard in the center of the hotel, if it could be considered a hotel at all. Pierre graciously told me its history, having its doors closed to the public for 230 years to date. The courtyard was covered by a glass ceiling, letting in the last of the remaining daylight. The glass, Pierre went on, was constructed to imitate a jewel, see how each of the panes redirects the light from outside? It towered above us as a pyramid, as if it was a massive chandelier multiplying the light. It cost over three million just to be set in place, magnificent really. He was beaming. We moved through different ceremonial salons, each busy with guests and waiters carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and drinks in quaint crystal. The walls were gilded and large chandeliers hung heavily above, still preserved elegantly from the 19th century. We passed by a crowded terrace overlooking the Concorde and the Tuileries, I wished to stop but Pierre seemed determined to carry on.
Just as I was going to ask what the purpose of this gathering was, we came to the heart of the hotel. A 400 meter squared room, its floors dressed with Persian rugs beneath large glass showcases. Its ceiling, reaching far above our heads, was painted with pastel blues that were broken up by gold cornices. Over 6,000 pieces of art, Pierre was entranced immediately, The Al-Thani Collection. It was extremely controversial at first. Negotiations went on for what seemed like years, deciding which European capital would house the collection. Paris was decided, and they signed an agreement for twenty years. Twenty years the imperial jewels will be kept right here. How lucky we are to be here for opening night. Pierre approached a waiter, ordering us both ruby negronis which we sipped while weaving in and out of the crowd, stopping momentarily at each display.
Pierre seemed uninterested by most of the artifacts. Antique carpets, astrolabes, Korans and manuscripts, Persian miniatures. It wasn’t until we reached the jewels that he grew anxious.
We were stopped gazing at a Cartier devant-de-corsage brooch when a man approached us from behind.
“Splendid isn’t it? It shines as if it had just been set today.” The man, dressed in an ivory tux, inserted himself between Pierre and I. “Monsieur Aymard! What a pleasure.” He greeted Pierre with bezos as I stood by awaiting an introduction that never came.
“The whole collection is really quite stunning, I’m happy to see them finally find a home.” Pierre spoke monotonously, as if the man was a nuisance.
“And the crowd! What an impressive turnout. I’m sure you’ve seen that the Scalise brothers are in attendance.”
“Oh are they? I hadn’t noticed. I must find them and say hello, if you would excuse me.” Pierre left me with a squeeze on the hand, his acquaintance smiled at me salubriously and followed closely behind.
Left alone, I ordered another drink and found my way to a table of assorted cheese and fruit, away from the crowded middle walkways. I scanned the room in search of Pierre. Most of the men wore black, making it easy to spot Pierre’s ivory dressed friend, which led my gaze to Pierre. He was greeting two gentlemen in gray tuxedos with maroon vests, one of whom I recognized as the agitated Italian from the club. They nodded at each other familiarly and exited through a doorway at the back, out of sight.
“Exhilarating isn’t it? It’s quite a shock experiencing it for the first time.” A woman beside me said in a heavy English accent.
“I’m sorry?”
“All the people! So fashionably dressed like yourself!” I turned to her, as she apologized for her interjection, “I’m Elizabeth.”
I took her gloved hand in mine.
“Your face is the only one I can't seem to place. See over there? That is Count Bernard and his wife Alexandria, together they own most of the 8th arrondissement. And that way, the woman in the yellow gown? That is Christiana, her father is in business with the Spanish World Bank. And you? Who might you be?” Her judgment struck me unexpectedly.
“Oh, Anna Sullivan, I can’t say I’m the daughter of anyone. I came to accompany—”
“Yes Monsieur Aymard, I saw you both enter earlier. What a lovely pendant you are wearing! Quite the gentleman isn’t he?”
“I can’t say I know him well, but yes a gentleman of sorts.” I began to feel her presence was one of interrogation rather than pleasure.
“Well, I have known him for years and even I can’t say I know him well. That one is full of surprises you know, you never quite get what you might expect.” Her eyes narrowed. I simply nodded and brought my drink to my lips. “Anyhow, it was a pleasure to meet you! Truly, a friend of Pierre is a friend of mine, though a foe to many. Enjoy your evening, and stay away from the oysters, they might have you heading home early.”
And just as mysteriously as she came, she was gone.
I felt the weight of hundreds of eyes as I decided to distract myself with the displays again. A foe to many. What does that make me? It felt like hours had passed since Pierre left me alone in a room full of strangers. I was out of place. Elizabeth was gorgeous, and confident as I watched her approach the Count and Countess. She smiled, throwing her long brown hair back from her shoulders as she laughed inorganically. She had the attention of every person she passed, and seemed taller than her actual height, gliding effortless as she walked. She was satisfied by our conversation, whereas I was left to ponder my company. My face started to grow hot as the room closed in around me. I needed air, and with Pierre still missing I hurried out of the room into a smaller salon where I had seen the terrace.
Instead of another negroni, I reached for water. I counted my breaths in hopes to slow them, as my psychiatrist had taught me a year earlier. Six, seven.. Boxes of my grandparents belongings being hauled to storage. Thirteen, fourteen.. Empty family room, for sale sign, scratched linoleum floors, a box of matches. Twenty one, twenty two.. Spilled vodka, ash stained jeans, Cecile’s voicemail. Thirty--
“There you are! I had begun to worry you’d been taken away by a charming prince of sorts!” Pierre rushed up behind me, placing his hand softly on my back. “Anna? Are you okay? You look flushed!” He took my glass of water and held it out for me.
“You left me, I know no one here and you left me for who knows how long, to talk to that man. You know I recognize him?” I was breathlessly forcing words from my mouth.
“Anna I’m sorry, it was only for a moment. I’m sorry to have left you like that!” He took my hand but I pulled it back away.
“And that Elizabeth--”
“Elizabeth! She’s here? What did she say to you?” He set the glass down. “Nevermind that, as long as you are okay.”
Pierre put his arms around me and brought me into his chest. His warmth calmed me for a moment.
“Let’s go, let’s leave. I’ve shown enough of my face tonight. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”
“I’m sorry, I’m better now. Really, I don't want to ruin the night. You should stay--”
“No, the night would only be ruined if I was not with you.” He called for the car and we left quietly.
Noticing I still hadn’t settled down yet from my panic at the gala, Pierre insisted on coming up to the suite to talk it over. While he was right, my uneasiness was no longer with him but with myself. I hadn’t put myself into high stress situations over the past few months with the fear I wouldn’t be able to handle them. With that in mind, I was disappointed that I couldn’t control my thoughts. I was disappointed I had ruined what could have been the most special night of my life, and I was even further disappointed that I had begun to care about such things as antique dresses, ruby pendants, and vile women named Elizabeth. When had I become so bothered?
Upstairs, Pierre opened the larger French windows to the terrace and let the breeze in. He pulled a bottle of Bordeaux red out from the wine fridge and poured us both a glass. I finished it in two sips and poured another while he went to freshen up in the bathroom.
“You know I’ve been wondering,” I yelled to him in the other room as I made a home on the couch, “How much is this place per night? I’ve never stepped foot, let alone stayed comfortably, in such a beautiful room. Well, I can hardly call it a room.”
He came back with only his dress shirt on, the top few buttons undone so that his chest was able to breathe. His lightly tanned skin looked soft to the touch, I caught myself staring only to look away sheepishly.
“If you must know, the suite is twenty thousand a night. You pay mostly for the views I think.” He sat next to me on the couch, lighting us both a Poppy.
“Twenty thousand!” I grew red with embarrassment. I was so far out of my comfort zone that none of it felt imaginable. “How can you afford all of this? And tonight, the guests at the gala, they’re all people you know?”
“Yes I’m friendly with them all, well most. My father created a fortune selling and trading jewels internationally. It’s a family business of sorts.”
“Of sorts?” I had never heard of a family business with such liquidity.
“My grandfather owned a small jewelry shop in Paris from the 1930s until his death in 1963. He worked the shop alone, mostly cleaning pieces for clients and sometimes resetting old gems and stones. It was his craft you might say, he treated it like an art. Anyway, when he died suddenly my father had just been born and my grandmother couldn’t continue the business so she hired someone to care for the shop. When my father finally came of age he took over and expanded it into what you might consider a luxury empire, working closely with high end fashion conglomerates. My father is more of a businessman than an artist you see.”
“And you? What does that make you?”
“Incredibly lucky. I would be lying to you if I said I agreed with my father. There was beauty in what my grandfather did, the joy he got from taking something old and making it new again, maintaining its history and worth. You can still find people in Paris with fond memories of his kindness and hard work. He was a humble man and it was a shame I never knew him. But, as you have experienced, I enjoy the life my father created for my family.”
“It would be hard not to enjoy all of this.” I was surprised with the words leaving my mouth, finding I had grown fond of the man sitting next to me each time he turned his eyes on mine.
“Yes, very fortunate indeed. As a boy, I spent summers running around Paris searching for my grandfather’s old friends and business partners. I wanted to know more about where my family came from, and my father..well my father wasn’t around much and if he was he certainly wasn’t speaking about my grandfather.” He took a sip of his wine and poured another glass, topping off mine as well.
“One of my grandfather’s closests friends, Florian, was very sick when I started to spend time with him. We exchanged letters when I went away to school, he cared deeply about my academics, more than my own family did. Anyway, we grew close and he told me many stories about my grandfather, his interests and pastimes. In his last years Florian mentioned my grandfather’s growing obsession with a certain collection of which many missing pieces passed through the back of his shop. The last time I saw him he gave me a box that my grandfather had given him just a day before he was murdered in a mugging outside his shop.”
“He was murdered? Your father never told you?” I sat up from the slouch I had drunkenly fell into, taking off my gloves.
“Like I said my father isn’t much of the talking type. After Florian passed away a few days later, I opened the box and found different sections of jewelry that looked as if they had been dismantled from bigger pieces, you know smaller gems and diamonds that looked older than the city itself.”
“And the collection he had an obsession with? Was that the same collection--”
“The Al Thani Collection, yes. The same one we saw tonight. I confess, tonight was more business than pleasure.” He watched me intently as I processed what he was telling me. “That ruby you’re wearing, it’s one of the gems I found in my grandfather’s collection. I’ve been following the pieces my entire life, trying to put together my grandfather’s last years.”
I took the ruby in my hand, letting its weight rest in my palm.
“I have five others just like it. Some diamonds as well, emeralds that have been reshaped to hide their history. I’ve gathered that what was in that box from Florian was the payment my grandfather received for not only his craftsmanship, but also his silence.”
“You don’t think his murder was a mugging.”
“No. No, I don’t. From my grandfather’s private books I was able to decipher five pieces of the collection that surely passed through his hands. The Shah Jahan Dagger, inscribed Imperial Spinels, the Arcot II diamond, the Taj Mahal Emerald, and a Ruby and Pearl choker, all of which are the most sought after pieces on the market. Each has a broken history, they go dark in different years, resurfacing in completely estranged areas of the world.” He got up from the couch, pacing slowly in front of me. “I trust you. I trust you with intimate details that I haven’t shared before. I want to share them with you.” He stopped to face me, picking up the empty bottle of wine from the table. “Ah, we’ve finished it. Should I grab another?”
“Sure. I would really like to get out of this gown, give me a moment?”
“Of course, take your time.”
I left and realized all I had to put on was the slip I had been wearing beneath the gown, and the gown itself posed a problem being that it wasn’t meant to be taken off by the person wearing it. I rolled my eyes at the remembrance that Cecile had helped me before the gala. I was standing in the center of the room, arms stretching behind me hoping to find a fastener or zipper of sorts, when Pierre walked in.
“Ma chérie, s’il vous plaît, let me help you before you pull a muscle.” He walked slowly up behind me, putting my arms to rest with his hands on my shoulders. His fingers were warm on my chilled skin. He began unbuttoning my dress with a careful rhythm. With my back fully exposed, he brushed my hair away from the nape of my neck, kissing my naked skin just once before he left the room. I stood alone for a moment, pretending his lips were still there, before stepping out of the dress and hanging it properly.
When I returned I found him sitting on the floor, back resting against the couch with a heavy pour from another bottle of red wine. I sat behind him, placing his head on my lap with my legs brushing the sides of his arms. He closed his eyes, relaxing his neck so the weight of his head rested completely in my hands. I ran my fingers through his hair.
“What do you hope to find? Do you think the collection will lead to who killed your grandfather?”
“I know it will. For the past five years I have been tracking one man, trying to get close enough to ask him about my grandfather. The problem is he is a bit of a myth, only showing himself through whispers and headlines in the newspaper. We simply call him, The Jeweller. He funds high risk heist exhibitions all over the world, and is the only man who, people say, knows where the missing pieces of the Al Thani Collection rest. He might even have them all in his possession. I’m not entirely sure he is a real person, he may even be a series of different people that all use the same pseudonym.”
“How do you begin to find someone without a name? Without a face?”
“You keep your ear to the ground. The best thieves are the ones you never hear about, yes? The ones that have never been caught. But at some point everyone must get caught, luck runs out eventually, even for the best gamblers. Are you familiar with the Antwerp Diamond Heist? From almost a decade ago?”
“Yea I think I remember seeing something on the internet about it, people say it was the greatest robbery in history.”
“The leader of the heist, Mr. Leonardo Notarbartolo, used to run one of the most notorious groups of thieves in modern history, they called themselves ‘La Scuola di Torino’ The School of Turin.”
“Italian,” I said, remembering Pierre’s not-so-pleasant friend that seemed to follow us everywhere.
“Oui, Italian. Anyway, when he was caught, Notarbartolo refused to give up the names of the four other members in his team, three of them were caught anyhow due to some uncharacteristic mistakes they made. They must have gotten too comfortable I suppose, never get too comfortable.” He took a sip of wine and patted my leg as if I needed the advice. “Notarbartolo did allude to his team being hired by someone he referred to only as The Jeweller, which at the time the investigators and public assumed to be the man’s occupation, but to anyone in the underground that was a direct name of the genius behind the heist.”
“Still, that doesn’t seem like much to go on. The man seems to be very good at hiding his identity.”
“Yes of course, I thought the same. But you hear stories, people see things, and sometimes details start to match up. There is an old underground folktale, about how The Jeweller used to sell opium hidden inside babushka dolls after the second World War, and that is how he gained his footing and developed his fortune. He is also known to give his hired men a five Roubles coin to put in their left shoe while performing a heist, an old Russian good luck charm. Between these stories and some digging myself, I’m quite convinced that The Jeweller is someone high up in Russian society.”
“How does a Russian get into business with, what did you call them? The School of Turin?” It was hard to keep all the details Pierre was giving me from fading into the alcohol soaked parts of my brain. I reached for a Poppy to help me sober up as Pierre went on.
“I wondered the same thing, so I decided to do some footwork on The School of Turin and Notarbartolo himself. Nortabartolo’s cousin, who they say is more like a brother of sorts, is next in line to be the head of the Sicilian mafia.”
I choked, causing me to go into a coughing attack of smoke. Pierre started laughing, squeezing my legs as he looked up at me joyfully from between them.
“Yes, I was surprised too! The Cosa Nostra! I had never imagined myself intertwining with such dangerous people. But they really are quite delightful, if they like you that is.”
“You’re friendly--the Italian mafia likes you?” I started laughing as the high hit me. None of this seemed real anymore.
“No! Not the entire Italian mafia! Just the Scilian syndicate, a smaller gang within the Italian Mafia. They weren’t at first, probably thought I was a snitch of sorts judging by my family name and clean past. But I earned their trust easily with some jobs I performed in England. That’s where I met the Scalise Brothers and that’s when things started really connecting for me.”
“So you aren’t connected with the Italian mafia, just with some of them,” I smiled down at Pierre, his hooded eyelids peering up towards me, “and you’ve done a series of jobs for them?”
“Well I could open doors for them without drawing attention because of my family’s many connections in the fine jewelry market. So I would simply get friendly with important figures, and the Scalise Brothers would do the rest. Funny fellas actually, the Scalise Brothers. That’s who you saw the other night, the twitchy Italians in the gambler hats.”
“I can see how they couldn’t do the charming on their own.”
“Yes, pretty amatuer thieves to say the least, but they have a good family name. Their uncle was Jerry Scalise, the American who carried out the Marlborough Diamond robbery in the 1980’s, he was caught of course, but the diamond was never recovered. It was rumored he and his accomplice had mailed the diamond directly after the robbery to his sister in New York, and judging by the amount of money the brothers seem to throw around I think that may have been the case.”
“What brings the Scalise Brothers to Paris then?”
“Would you believe me if I told you they had never been and desperately wanted to see the Eiffel Tower? No? Of course not. Well we started running into a jam. People talk as they do, and many were starting to put together that my presence came before a lot of easily executed robberies, so in the middle of our last job we sort of just up and left. Getting out of England was the easy part, but unfortunately my charm left a hole that I couldn’t fill with logical answers. Elizabeth was my last mark and she is a lot smarter than I had been led to believe.”
“That explains the interrogation I experienced at the gala then.”
“Yes, and she was right to do so. We were going to rob her family of millions by the end of the month.”
“But why Paris? Where does the Al Thani Collection come into the equation?”
“Well Paris was easy for me to escape to, it is my home. But the Scalise brothers are here on business and they need my help. This job is the one I have been waiting for for the past five years, it’s the reason I got in with the Cosa Nostra in the first place. The Jeweller is making another move for the collection and he is using his old friends, the Italians, to do it.”
I got up from the couch and made us both a cup of coffee as the day turned. I don’t know what I had expected from a man like Pierre, I suppose there were assumptions made that categorized him inaccurately in my mind. The pompous way he spoke, his lavish lifestyle, even the way he wore his hair with a bit too much product, had all led me to write him off as a shoddy man with a trust fund. But the more he let me in, this facade faded away. I could see his troubled, broken childhood even amongst its luxuries. The disconnection from his family’s past he so terribly wished to mend. The naive assumption that finding answers would somehow make the emptiness fade away. Not only did I find a sort of empathy with his stories, I stumbled into an intimate bond with someone that I could only logically call a stranger. Lips that were once tight and stern, were suddenly lush and kissable. Touches that were once unwelcomed, became a desirable offense. My coldness towards him melted away and I was left with an emphatic need to give him anything; everything if it came to it.
“What is your plan? Actually, what is the Scalise Brothers’ plan?” I asked kindly, hoping he wasn’t beginning to feel he'd said too much.
“I never know their dealings, only what they need from me. That keeps me from getting into too much trouble if it comes down to it. I didn’t hear of this new job until Friday evening when I was approached at the club. But it will all happen tomorrow, their part as well as mine.”
“What are they asking you to do?”
“There is a private viewing tomorrow of the collection, reserved for those that made a hand selected list by The Qatari Foundation. I, of course, made the final list. Most of the collection will still be where we saw them tonight, in the former tapestry room in their display cases, but the more valuable pieces, namely the jewels, will be moved into a high security vault in the back of the hotel. The viewing will be held inside the vault. What the brothers have asked of me is to simply disengage the motion sensors just inside the vault.”
“Disengage motion sensors? During the viewing? How do they expect you to be able to do that!”
“Well they’ve given me a small spray bottle, made to look like a breath freshener, that will work to desensitize the sensor for a limited amount of time. I assume they will be making their move later that night, when the hotel has closed.”
“And they think you will be able to walk in and start spraying this unknown substance without any of the security becoming aware?”
“Well, ma cherie, that is why you are going to come along. They insisted I bring a distraction, and seeing as we have already made a public appearance, bras et bras, it shouldn’t be a problem for you to accompany me.”
“Ha!” I handed him his coffee and joined him on the floor. “Is that the real reason I was brought along tonight?” I recalled Pierre’s satisfied expression when, upon leaving the gala, he said he had shown enough face.
“But Anna, this is where things will begin to get complicated. I need you for this, and I need you to follow my directions exactly as I tell them. Any mistakes could be more than costly, for the both of us.”
It was then that I realized I was involved now whether I could help it or not, and I certainly couldn’t. There was fear in Pierre’s movements, as he leaned towards me taking my hands in his, only the fear wasn’t for him, it was only for me. I hung on to his every word. We fell asleep there on the floor, waking up to the early Parisian breeze as it danced timidly into the suite.