The bar fight from Sieste in Peace

‘Maybe Louanne was killed because of the valuable thing Véronique says she hid?’

The change in my mother was remarkable. All curiosity left her eyes, and she stared at me with a mixture of concern and mild panic. Her gaze shot to François, who happened to look her way at the same moment. His eyebrows drew together as well, and with a silencing gesture to the person he’d been speaking to, he came our way.

‘Something wrong, Flora?’

Maman shook her head, but her voice wavered when she said, ‘N-no, no. There’s nothing.’

‘Is this about Louanne again?’ He turned towards Léon and me. ‘I told you before, the only thing you’ll achieve is to upset people. You won’t find anything new.’

‘Not even if the motive is greed?’ Léon said.

His unexpected words had me narrow my eyes. I thought he wanted me to stop looking? Then why was he trying to aggravate François? And why was he succeeding?

François lost all colour except for the red veins on his nose. Even the tipsy blush on his cheeks disappeared. His gaze snapped to Cédric. ‘Do they… I mean, how have they… You were in much deeper than me. You should—’

‘I can’t believe she’d disrupt our plans like that.’ Jeanette came up on my other side and made me jump. ‘Who does she think she is, costing us thousands of euros because of some hunch?’

Desperate to get back to eavesdropping on the conversation happening on my other side, I tried to appease my friend. ‘I know. And the fact that they listened to her!’ My voice was breaking, and I took another sip of water. ‘I should ask her what arguments she used. But look at it this way – if she hadn’t stopped us, we’d never have found out about the value of the ugly mural, and you wou—’

‘Isn’t that her?’

My head snapped towards the entrance. Véronique had indeed come in, wearing a sparkly red dress that poked my green-eyed monster into raging action. It showed off her willowy figure to perfection, and here I was, snotty-nosed, nursing a headache, and bespectacled, to top it all off. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Léon had noticed her too. How could he not? She made quite an entrance. Even Cédric and François had stopped talking to see what I was glowering at.

‘Hey!’ Jeanette called out to someone bumping into her. He turned unsteadily to apologise but flinched when he recognised me, his dramatic blue eyes widening.

And then I remembered what I’d seen and heard. The elusive bit of information that had made me determined not to give up my search, even though I couldn’t remember what it was. Now I knew.

‘Yves! That meat grinder—’

He gulped in air as he backed away. ‘No! He didn’t mean it that way. He said… It’s not…’

Without explanation, he turned and jumped towards the exit, but both François and Cédric were in the way.

‘Ouh lá,’ Cédric said, but François, whose colour had risen along with his temper, fuelled by the alcohol in his blood, grabbed the young man by the collar.

‘If you don’t apologise this instant,’ he growled, ‘I’ll—’

Yves tore himself free and stumbled backwards. He turned to run, but this time it was Thibault who was in his way. If only he’d mumbled an apology, that would have been the end of it, but with tension mounting, he shoved Beau’s shoulder.

Before anyone knew what had happened, Yves was sprawled backwards on the floor, staring up at an angry Beau. My jaw dropped. I’d never known my puppy of an assistant to be so aggressive. What was going on?

The entire bar had stilled, not used to anything other than friendly discussions on a Friday night.

François was at Beau’s side in an instant, forming a front against Yves. ‘You see what happens to disrespectful people?’

Behind me, I heard the barman push himself around the counter, but Léon had already offered his hand to Yves. Yves used it to pull himself to standing, but then shoved Léon backwards into François while he tried to make his way to the exit.

Cédric, wine in hand, mumbled an ‘Eh, not fair’, but it was Beau again who flew at Yves. Two elderly ladies saw the bundle of limbs coming towards them and jumped aside. Beau’s momentum threw Yves off course, and they slammed into one of the barrel tables. Glasses and bottles crashed to the floor. A few men in suits jumped out of the way of the splattering wine, but with everyone pushing forwards to see the fight, a domino effect had people behind the suits bumping into other tables, knocking over more wine.

Some of the people further back, who couldn’t see what was going on, started pushing against the flow, launching those at the front into the line of fire. A woman caught the edge of Yves’s fist that was meant for Thibault, and her husband took a menacing step forward. He grabbed one of the wine bottles and swung at Yves, who was too busy dodging Beau to notice. The bottle flew from the man’s hand and hit Charles Cochon, the butcher, in the arm. Charles drew himself up and glared at the man, who cowered and turned to care for his wife.

Yves dodged the wrong fist and went down when Beau punched him full on the mouth. Véronique screamed. Cédric, still casually holding his wine, winced at the sound so close to his ear and said something to her that earned him an open-mouthed scowl.

All this happened in a matter of seconds. I caught sight of my mother, who was clearly debating whether it was wise to start mayoring, but when Charles Cochon charged at the bottle-slinger with a barstool, she couldn’t very well stand aside and do nothing. With a whoop, she threw herself in front of Charles, waving her arms and making herself as big as possible, reaching just about to Charles’s midriff. Physically, she might not mean much, but she can death-stare with the best of them. Charles knew what was good for him and lowered the barstool.

François, who had been charging at Yves the moment he went down, now barrelled into the caring husband, and the two of them tumbled to the floor, becoming instantly soaked with Beaujolais wine. Léon worked his way forward to pick them both up but took a punch to the arm. He staggered sideways into a table, grabbed one of the fallen bottles, and weighed it in his hand, casting calculating glances at it and Beau’s skull.

Enough was enough. Not particularly trusting Léon’s aim nor the effect a hit would have on either of them, I hopped off my barstool. Unfortunately, that meant my eyes were now lower, and I couldn’t see over Cédric’s shoulder. I climbed back on, tucking my knees under me, and put my hands to my mouth. I yelled at the top of my lungs, but no sound came out. Not even a rasp. Since I’d lost my voice anyway, I cursed out loud.

Beau staggered backwards, clutching his stomach after Yves had planted his foot there. He caught sight of Léon with the bottle and frowned, but then pointed at Yves, who was clambering to his feet, and shouted, ‘Cactus, watch out!’

New plan. I took off my stiletto heel, ready to launch myself into battle. I would whack their heads in. I would bring order. I would… I looked at my makeshift weapon. If I wielded that, I would actually whack their heads in.

New plan number two. I brought that heel down on the table in front of me as hard as I could. It rang out like a gunshot. The silence in the bar was instant. Many of the patrons held their arms over their heads. I waved my arms to grab people’s attention, but couldn’t say a thing.

A hollow thump was the only answer to my attempts, followed by my mother’s voice. ‘All right, that’s enough. Anyone still bearing a grudge can come to me, and we’ll work something out. Otherwise, go get cleaned up or enjoy your drinks in peace.’