Chapter 179: Cheli VI—Worth of Small Things
Chris’s head was hammering when he awoke in the morning, his mouth felt dry, there was a funny itching pain on his arms. He squinted and sat up, feeling dizzy. He could still taste the liquor on his lips.
What happened?
Chelios closed his eyes and wrinkled his nose as he stretched. All he could figure was that he had been drinking. Well, that wasn’t too unusual. But to not remember what had happened the night previous? Shit, how much had he consumed?
“Morning.”
Tracee? Chelios frowned and looked up from the bed to see her as she stood in the doorway. When had she come back? Last night?
“Hey,” he said and then he coughed. “Sorry… I don’t….”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Tracee replied and she entered the room, walking softly. Chelios could smell the aroma of dark, strong coffee and his mouth watered. That was what he needed now more than anything. It was worth more to him than anything could ever. “You were so hammered last night I don’t think you were making much sense, here ya go.”
She slipped the steaming mug into his hands and Chelios brought it up to his nose, inhaling the rich aroma, letting it soothe his pained brain. The very fact that she made this coffee for him, brought it to him, just the worth of that small gesture overwhelmed him with adoration for this woman. He silently vowed never to lose her again. But when had she come back? He blew across the surface, took a quick, shy sip. It wasn’t too hot.
“I let it sit for a little bit,” Tracee said, “so it wouldn’t be too hot.”
Chris closed his eyes, that too was worth everything.
“Shit Trace,” he said. “I don’t remember a thing about last night. I’m sorry.”
Tracee’s warm palm smoothed over his back. “You seemed almost traumatized,” she whispered. “I was a little scared for you.”
Chelios took a long drink of the coffee, letting the bitter liquid invigorate him and then he looked at Tracee. “Traumatized?”
Tracee nodded. “Yes, the scratches all over your arms.”
Chris looked at his arms and saw them, deep, purple red and angry lining all over his forearms. His hand trembled and he spilled some of the coffee as he fumbled the mug onto the night stand. He couldn’t say a thing as he stared at his arms and then he remembered the breath on his throat, piercing, the white fingers, the short scream.
“You said Penney’s neighbor had a cat you drowned? It was a terrible story.” Tracee said slowly. “Is that true?”
Chelios swallowed, hearing it clearly.
Piss off. That was the only English she had known and she had used it.
He had seen a pack of dogs rip a cat apart when he was a small boy. He had seen how the cat had bristled and tried futilely to defend itself, hissing and spitting before the pack had consumed it.
Piss off!
“Will she call the police, you think?” Chris had asked their captain, Bob Gainey, in that terrified silence, as they listened to Mario squealing like a girl and holding onto himself. “There’s no way she will keep quiet about this is there? There’s no way we can just hide this under the rug.”
Gainey had looked at him and shook his head, his eyes though were still somewhat spooked, somewhat uncertain, “I doubt it,” he had answered. “She knows the police would never believe her. I’ll send Robinson to them, he’ll make sure they stay quiet. They’ll trust him.”
Flashing blue eyes, blinking, staring black eyes, the eyes had been everywhere.
“Yeah,” Chris said slowly to Tracee. “Yeah it’s true. I thought I could handle it but I had to do it.”
Water splashing, water everywhere, she was spitting, gurgling for a life that was no longer in her hands.
Stop it you’ll kill her! She only knew French.
Say it in English you French pussy pussy and then I’ll stop.
She had not understood that, had she?
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Chris said.
“No,” Tracee replied and he felt her soft lips on the side of his neck. “Don’t worry about it anymore Chris, you had to do it. Poor cat.”
Chris sighed and then his heart stopped. There it was, twinkling on the carpet, the gold, the rubies and sapphires and diamonds. It had fallen from the pocket of his jeans? There had been a streak of blood on her pale flesh, on her wrist, the blood had been wet upon the bracelet as it sat in his hand last night. Tracee could not see it.
“Trace,” Chris said amazed that she hadn’t noticed it.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Could you make me some breakfast?” His stomach screamed in agony at the thought of breakfast.
“Of course,” she said. “If you really want some. Are you feeling well enough?” Tracee asked.
“Yeah,” Chris said quickly. “Yeah I’m starving.”
When Tracee left the room, Chris snatched the bracelet and squeezed it in his hand, almost willing it to crumble and fall away to dust. Of course it didn’t. He peered at it. There was some blood dried upon it.
I killed her.
I killed her.
I’m a murderer but I had to do it.
He saw the inscription on the pendant, a love note written in English. He wanted her to learn English then. Embroidered designs in the gold links, shining jewels in bleu blanc et rouge. This object was delicate, light, and…
“…priceless! A treasure!”
Chelios frowned. “What?” he asked.
The jeweler grinned and he looked at him. “This is priceless this piece. It is an Yves St. Saens, from his final year of life I’m guessing. See, his monogram is right here on the fifth link of the piece.”
Chelios felt his eyes widen. “You’re shitting me.”
He didn’t know who Yves Frog Sans was but the look on the man’s face told him that this was something important. Fuck it, he had said to himself that morning. If she didn’t want her precious trinket back then he would just sell it. She had given him permission, why shouldn’t he get a little money back for it for causing him trouble all these years.
The jeweler gasped and peered closer. “This is the sister!”
“What?” Chelios asked.
The jeweler looked at him. “This bracelet has a sister! The Hummingbird, it was called. The sister is The Patriot and it was sold in 1986. St. Saens immediately regretted the sale and he wanted this piece back, it was considered lost because all appeals by him in his final year of life and by his estate in retrieving or locating it were fruitless. Where did you come across this treasure!?”
“It was an heirloom.” Chelios replied.
The jeweler nodded.
“A family friend,” he continued. “She died without any heirs, she left it to me. I thought it was just a pretty bauble.”
“Well,” the jeweler replied. “This “pretty bauble” will net you at least 1 million dollars.”
Chelios couldn’t hide his surprise. “How do you know?”
The jeweler smiled. “Because the family is offering five hundred thousand for its return and I am offering you twice that so I can sell it myself.”
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