Thank you. All of you. And I apologize in advance for the racial slurs.
She knows the shop and the owner just vaguely, which is fortunate because she really would not stand a chance in hell to pull this off if they knew her. These were good, honest people who were serving decent merchandise at good rates. A real shame it had to be them.
Walking into the small café, her eyes fall immediately on her marks, sitting at a corner table, drinking tea and whiskey and speaking in low tones, almost whispering. Two boys and a girl. They can't be more than 17-18 years old, all of them with sandy blond hair, blue eyes and dressed in solemn green and grey hues. They look so tense, that if you'd pop a balloon behind them they'd jump five feet in the air, Tamsin thinks, with a cocky smirk on her lips.
She ignores the group and heads straight to the counter where she orders a whiskey and beer. The barkeep, who is also the owner of the establishment, gives her a nice smile as he brings over her order. Fucking great.
She takes a mouthful of whiskey and rolls it around in her mouth, allowing her taste buds to enjoy the burning sensation. What a shame, this was actually top-shelf stuff, not that tasteless piss most taverns were usually selling for whiskey those days. She sighs, with an imperceptible shrug, and spits out the liquid all over the counter, making as much noise as possible. All eyes in the room turn to her.
"Fuckin' kikes," she growls menacingly and slams the glass against the polished counter.
"Excuse me, Miss?" the owner asks, pretending he hasn't heard the insult.
"I said, you fuckin' Jews, all of you filthy, dirty, cheating bags of shite, every motherfucking last one of you!" She's almost shouting now.
The owner comes closer, hesitantly. "Miss, I think it would be better if you left now," he says politely.
"Don't you fuckin' tell me what to do, you dirty piece of… You call that a drink, huh? What the fuck did you do, piss in it? Cuz it sure tasted a lot like piss, eh? This is downright robbery, this is, charging decent folk good money for that piss you're serving? You filthy goatfucking fuck!"
"Miss, I must insist," the man tries again. Another man who had been sitting in the back, reading a newspaper, comes up to them, probably to lend a hand and force her to leave if she wouldn't see sense and get out herself. He lifts his hand in a reconciliatory gesture, but she just jumps back and continues to shout.
"Get your filthy hands off me, you fuckin' leeches! I hope you and your whole fuckin kind, down to the very last one of you, rot in hell till the end of time, you murderous, double crossing kikes!" And now, for the grand finale. "Your good-for-nothing kind fuckin' killed Jesus, how can you even live with yourselves?" she adds, pouring all the contempt she was capable of in those words, then turns on her heels and walks out, slamming the door behind her. Not that she actually gives a fuck about Jesus.
She stops a few yards away from the café and lights up a cigarette, deliberately slow in her actions. Without even looking back, a large grin spreads across her face when she ears the door slammed shut behind her and the sound of footsteps getting close.
"How'd you know?" one of the boys asks. His voice sounds surprisingly mature.
"Know what?" she finally asks after turning around and giving all three of them a good look.
"That he's a Jew."
"Oh?" she feigns ignorance, taking another pull on the cigarette. It was Vex, he knows everyone. "I thought everybody knows, mate. That it's just one of those things, ya know?"
All three are eyeing her suspiciously, not sure yet what to make of her little number back in the café. She doesn't want to give them the time to think too much about it, so she just puts on a bright smile and nods at them. "Well, if that'll be all, young gents and miss, I shall be on my way," she says and turns to leave. She takes a couple of steps before she finally hears what she has been waiting for.
"Wait, please." It's the girl's voice this time. "Won't you let us buy you a drink someplace else? Someplace decent. If you can spare a moment, that is."
Tamsin seldom arrives anywhere on time, but nobody can really hold it against her. Not when she's always armed with the perfect excuse. It's not that she doesn't want to be on time, really, it's just that the universe seems to take an unbelievable amount of pleasure in mucking up her plans and making her be late.
She does arrive at Madam Marquise's on time though. The address on the business card leads her to an old, imposing house in one of the rich districts. The place has the opulence of rich Victorian-era manors. The decorations are in good taste, making Tamsin think that the owner was not one of those social upstarts who had recently stumbled upon a fortune; no, everything about the place screams old money. Or at least the influence of someone born and bred with old money.
She is taken to the back of the house, which faces a large garden with many trees, flowers, a tennis court and a large cobblestoned terrace. Two teenage girls are playing tennis, under the careful watch of the tall, bald man from the other day. He is standing up by the railing, drinking a cup of tea. Behind him, sitting down at a large round table, is a dark haired woman clad in black entirely: elegant black dress, extravagant black hat. The man turns his head and nods at her when she's announced, but the woman doesn't move a single inch.
"Ah, Miss Lewis, so glad you could make it," he says, moving to greet her. Despite his size, he moves with the fluidity and agility of a large wild cat, barely making any noise. Tamsin is impressed.
He extends a large hand and leaves it hanging in the air for a while until she decides to grab it, although a bit reluctantly, and give it a vigorous shake to make up for the awkward moments she kept him waiting.
"Just Tamsin, please," she says eventually. The whole setting is making her feel awkward and out of place.
"Oh, right. My apologies, Tamsin," he replies and smiles. "Please allow me to introduce you to my employer," he adds, leading her to the table. "Madam Marquise," he starts but he stops right away when the woman waves his hand at him dismissively.
"Thank you, Bruce, you may leave us now." She speaks with a faint French accent. As Bruce nods and walks away, the woman turns her head towards Tamsin and measures her carefully, head to toe, for a good few minutes.
"Oh darling, please do take a seat. You're going to give me a most terrible crick in the neck if you keep on standing there," the woman speaks in a surprisingly sharp, commanding voice.
Tamsin complies without a word. She sits down opposite Madam Marquise and continues to study her closely. She finds the woman intimidating – not because of her wealth, her fancy clothes and fancy house. No, there is a certain kind of strength that she projects, making one want to take a second look. You wouldn't think so at the first glance, but this woman, who seems to be in her early 40s, has been through a lot, and she's terribly good at hiding her scars. But Tamsin knows hurt and pain too well to be fooled.
"Why am I here, ma'am?" she asks eventually.
"Oh my, straight to the point, are we? You young generation, always in a rush," Evony shakes her head and tuts. "The art of conversation is entirely lost on you," she goes on after sighing for emphasis. "Most people who call on me at least have the courtesy to at least admire and praise the property. Out of respect, if not for anything else."
"That's very well, ma'am, were it not complete bollocks." Evony raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Aye, your little place 'ere is beautiful, and you know it is already, so you don't really need me sayin it, do you? Me sayin it won't fuckin make it any more beautiful. So why waste precious time when there's more important things to discuss?"
"Ha, c'est vrai, ça," Evony grins widely. "Not to mention drinks to be had," she adds, pointing at the alcohol bottles on the table. "What's your… poison, as the Americans put it."
"Whiskey, dry, and keep it flowing, sweetheart." She is doing her best to act as rudely as possible hoping to get her host to react somehow, to give her something to go on and help her figure out what she's doing here.
But Evony seems entirely unbothered by the crassness. "Oh, my kind of girl, are you?" she says smiling. The smile doesn't seem to reach her eyes though. She pours a glassful of whiskey and pushes it across the table to Tamsin, then fills up her own glass and places the bottle between them.
Tamsin drinks back the whiskey in one gulp and lets out a contented sigh. "Holy fuck, this shite is good!"
"Cut the act, dear."
"Wha'?"
"I know you are doing this on purpose."
"You fuckin know nothing about me."
"As a matter of fact, I fucking do, darling," Evony drops the curse heavily, as if it's weighing more than a trans-Atlantic cruiser. Her French accent becomes more obvious when she's irritated. "I have done my homework on you quite thoroughly, I can assure you. I'm familiar with your background and the kind of education you've received at the orphanage. I know about the girl you're living with and her medical aspirations. I know about the fights and your Asian whore. I know you are doing everything you can to fit in a world where you don't actually belong, and how you are absolutely marvelous at it."
Tamsin keeps silent all throughout the speech, staring at the empty glass in front of her. She wishes she would just up and leave but the last sentence Evony utters makes her reconsider. They stare at each other for a while, eyes locked in a mute confrontation that neither seems to be winning.
She's the first one to break eye contact. "Fair enough," she scoffs, pouring herself another glass of whiskey and taking her time with the drink this time.
"Why am I here, ma'am?" she asks again. "Your man mentioned a security position. As intriguing as it sounds I hope you do know I have no recommendations whatsoever, no references or experience that would make me suitable for such work."
"You mean other than your current… employment? And believe me, after watching you for as long as I have, I can say in earnest that you have plenty of other talents that will come very handy."
"Such as?"
"Being remarkably good at protecting people," she smirks. She has just hit a nerve and she knows it. Tamsin knows it too.
"I'm listening," Tamsin adds after taking another sip of her drink.
"What do you know about the German National Socialist Party?
"The Nazis? Not much, other than the fact they're all a bunch of fuckin wankers, that silly little leader of theirs included." She grins innocently and Evony bursts into laughter.
"Oh, they really don't like to be called that."
"What, wankers?"
"Nazis. They feel the abbreviation is derogatory. As if it chips away at the gravity of their dogma. Their stupid, silly cleansing programme…" she mutters that last sentence to herself.
Tamsin is feeling more uncomfortable than she'd like to admit, as she can't figure out where this is going. Her eyes keep moving from Evony to her whiskey glass to the two girls playing tennis, hoping her host would just get it out already.
"I assume you're familiar with their… thesis?" Evony asks, taking another sip of her drink.
"A bit, yes. About racial purity and all that?"
Evony nods in approval but then doesn't say anything for a long time.
"That's all fine and dandy but if you don't mind me asking, where is this going, ma'am?" Tamsin almost snaps, beginning to lose her patience.
"First of all stop calling me 'ma'am,' it makes me feel… old," Evony says, ending with a shudder.
"No offence, but you are… rather old," Tamsin retorts with her usual cocky grin.
Evony again bursts into a loud, clear laughter. "Oh, I really, really like you. See, you're only confirming my initial suspicion that you are indeed the perfect person for this job."
"Am I now? And what job might that be, exactly?
"Oh, très bien, revenons à nos moutons, alors…" Evony sighs, and produces a pile of identical envelopes from the large leather bag in the chair next to her. She pushes the pile towards Tamsin across the table.
"These Nazis... these wankers, as you so eloquently put it, are a threat to the security and wellbeing of my family. I need you to keep us safe," she says simply, as if she is only asking someone to fetch her the newspaper.
Tamsin hesitates. She looks at the envelopes but doesn't pick them up yet, having a rather distinct feeling that the moment she touches them she would start falling down an endless hole. And the landing is bound to be hard.
"And how would I do that?" she asks eventually.
"Please allow me to start this from the beginning, it will give you a much better sense of what is happening," Madam Marquise says but doesn't give Tamsin longer than a second to nod in agreement before she starts speaking again.
"My husband, God rest his soul, was Jewish. French Jewish. We met, we fell madly in love, as you are bound to do in Paris, we made plans to build a family together. Our marriage, however, was not sanctioned by his family. In fact, my poor husband was the first in his family to marry out of love instead of entering an arranged marriage and being miserable for the rest of his life, like his father and brothers.
"He was disowned and so was I - it turns out my family didn't want me to marry a Jew any more than the Jews wanted him to marry me. It didn't matter how rich his family was, my parents just wouldn't let me, the ignorant fools.
"So we ran away together, we came here, changed our name, and made a life for ourselves. We started everything from scratch but you see, my husband and, dare I say, myself as well, have always had a knack for investing and making a profit. We had a nose for it, as one might say," she touched the tip of her nose as she said that and winked at Tamsin.
"Anyway, as you can imagine, our thriving business and our background brought us quite a number of enemies over the years. It was inevitable, really. People never really liked the Jews much, did they? We've received threats as well, but we've never paid them much mind, you see. They lacked a certain… determination. Unfortunately I have come to change my mind in the meantime."
She pauses here to pour herself another glass of whiskey. Tamsin is already on her third.
"My husband died 8 months ago in what everybody, the authorities included, ruled as a suicide. Ha, as if he ever would have had the courage to take his own life. I knew him all too well, I knew and I know he never would have done that. Nobody listened, I'm afraid, so I had my man Bruce look into it. That was when the new threats started. From the moment I've read the very first one I knew these were real, not just empty words. These are from people who would not hesitate to act on their threats. Feel free to take a look, they're all here, every last one of them," she adds pointing at the pile of envelopes. Tamsin is still not touching it.
"I'm afraid some of them are quite… explicit. The, milder ones call us mongrels and name me a whore for fornicating with a Jew. Some threaten to kill me and my daughters and go on to explain in minute detail the torture we'd be subjected to before we died and how our lifeless bodies would be desecrated. They're quite dreadful," she adds with a shudder.
She pauses again and chuckles bitterly. "Maybe I would have ignored them, as I did with the others before. But one of them explicitly claimed responsibility for my husband's death. It said, and I quote – 'We did the world a favour world when we executed your husband. He screamed your name, bitch, before we put a bullet through his skull. The same fate shall await you and your mongrel spawns.'"
"Jesus fuck," is all that Tamsin can contribute to the conversation. She is outraged, but she's still wondering where this is going.
"Charming, non? Anyway, I had Bruce do a little more digging and he managed to tie the threats to a local faction of the Nazi Party. It is mostly made up of young Brits of German descent, a few Italians and even some English sympathizers. We know where they meet and how often, all their comings and goings, to a certain extent. We've put together files on most of them, that should make it easier when trying to approach them."
"Approach them?"
"Yes, Tamsin. I should like to employ your services to infiltrate this faction and find the person or persons responsible for my husband's death and the threats against my family."
"Hold on a fucking minute. What on earth gives you the idea that I'd be able to get close to these fuckers? How could I possibly convince them that I'm one of theirs? And why would I even want to?"
"Honey, do you honestly want to spend the rest of your life in a fighting ring? How long do you think you'll be able to keep this up? How long until someone comes along and beats you senseless? If you're smart, and I know you are, you should also be sensible and at least consider my offer, after all it is…"
"How much?" Tamsin cuts her off.
Evony smiles and scribbles down something on a piece of paper. She folds it and hands it to Tamsin, waiting patiently until she opens it and reads.
"You're fuckin' jokin'. Is this monthly?
"Weekly."
Tamsin's jaw falls open and for the first time in a long while she finds herself at a loss for words. Her mouth closes and opens repeatedly, as if she's a fish on dry land.
Evony chuckles. "Imagine how many medical books you'd be able to buy for that Lauren girl with this much money."
"A'right. What's the catch though?" she finally asks.
"No catch, darling. But it can be dangerous, I will be honest about that. You have to be very careful, and smarter than them, which I am quite certain shan't be a problem. How's your German, by the way?"
"What German?" Tamsin snickers. "I've learned some back at the orphanage, but I can only remember some of the basics."
"No worries, we shall address that. Once you take up the job" – she pauses here noticing Tamsin's raised eyebrow, "if you should decide to of course," she adds quickly, "you will be getting German lessons while you're looking after my girls, keeping them safe while I'm away."
"I ain't no fuckin nanny."
"Oh, be thankful they're old enough to eat for themselves. I can assure you they will not be any trouble. They're quite well behaved. You'll have fun with them, you'll see."
Tamsin nods, looking at the bottom of her whiskey glass, rolling it around pensively. "You overestimate me. How dangerous are we talking here exactly?"
"Very dangerous, I'm afraid."
"Lethal?"
"Yes."
"More than what I expose myself to in the ring?"
"Considerably more. There's a good chance you'll be executed. But only if you're found."
"Fuck, don't sugarcoat it for my sake!"
Evony chuckles again. "You deserve to know the truth if you are to make an informed decision. You don't have to answer now, you can take 24 hours to consider it, talk it over with your…"
"I'll do it," she decides abruptly and empties her glass in one gulp. Whether she's getting beaten up senseless or killed by Nazis, it doesn't really matter. She's going out anyway, the least she can do is opt for the more profitable option. "Just a couple of things first." She waits until Evony nods in agreement. "I have a friend who might help. He's got a lot of connections all over town, so I might need his help infiltrating this group you're talking about. He's a pain in the arse sometimes but I trust him with my life."
"Certainly, that should not be a problem, if he can be trusted."
Tamsin nods in gratitude. "The other thing is, before I begin, I should very much like to know why me. Surely there are other people more suitable for this assignment? So why me, what do I have that others don't?"
"You mean in addition to your fighting skills and your extraordinary talent of surviving whatever the world is throwing at you? Oh, darling, have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror lately?"
Tamsin just shrugs, feeling confused.
"You, my dear," Evony starts and reaches out across the table to pat Tamsin lightly on her cheek, "are an absolutely perfect specimen of their pure Aryan race. You'll fit right in."
The first time she sees Bo, it feels like being punched in the gut by an elephant. After visiting Evony and accepting her offer, Tamsin goes to buy the most expensive bottle of wine and chocolate candy she can find. She cannot wait to get home and share the news about the new job – she'd play down the actual risk level, of course, because she really doesn't want to get Lauren more worried than she generally is.
It's almost completely dark outside and she hurries home, but a few blocks before getting there, she notices an expensive black car pulling over and sees Lauren getting off, followed closely by a dark haired girl. To say that the girl is beautiful would be an understatement. Tamsin's got eyes and she can accept that much. She does not like it, but that doesn't make it any less true.
What truly drives her mad is how the Yank keeps touching Lauren. They take their time saying their goodbyes. They talk and laugh, and Lauren looks like she's completely hypnotized by the American girl. Tamsin hides in the shadows and watches Lauren smile as Bo kisses her on the cheek goodbye. That smile feels like a hot rod being driven through her heart. All she wants is to smash the Yank's face in, but she doesn't move a single muscle. She just waits patiently until Bo's car leaves and then starts following Lauren on her way home, keeping a safe distance.
Tamsin realizes Lauren had her American friend drop her off a few blocks from where they live, because she is ashamed of the conditions of the place. Who could blame her, really? That dump was in no way fit for a woman, even less so for a young lady used to clean, sanitized environments where everything was bloody perfect.
She stops across the road from their building, waiting until Lauren goes in. She just stands there, again hiding in the shadows, smoking and thinking. Not sure whether to go up or no, to share the news of her employment with the woman she loves more than anything in the world. The bottle of wine and the candy box are hanging heavily in her bag.