Cat got your Tongue?

Pierre and Monique were quite renowned in Paris when eet came to their secret nighttime activities. They were cat-burglars and did quite well at their trade.           

           Monique loved diamonds, and Pierre could not steel enough for her. He adored mon Cheri. And he was her diamond-in-ze-rough. Pierre was built like a weasel and zhust as cunning. There was no building that was Pierre-proof, no matter how high. Nor was there a fire-proof or an explosion-proof safe, safe from Pierre’s fingertips. His delicate ear could see ze gears turn and ze tumblers line up, as he turned ze dial, ever so slowly. And when ze last little tumbler, tumbled, Voilà.

           Besides scaling tall buildings, Pierre was quite good in ze sack. He seemed perfect. Monique loved every inch of him. But sadly, he had one tiny little fault which would lead to a disastrous consequence.

           Monique, on ze other hand, was built more like a kitten, a kitten with very sharp claws. She was a sexy, soft, blond kitten and she could be quite charming to older gentlemen with wives that wore sparkle around their necks. Diamond necklaces were her targets and French wine were her bullets. She kept their glasses full and their tongues loosened. They bragged about their large homes and in which influential neighborhood they lived in. And, of course, which floor their thief-proof safe was on.

           Yes, Monique was good and in ze driver’s seat. Eef Pierre was a motorcycle, she was a sports car.

           Her job during these cappers, was to drive to ze target, and then to get-away very fast. Ze elite were not stupid and all had alarms. So, her vehicle of choice was ze Ferrari. But of course.

           But alas, ze electronic curse of ze 21^st Century caught up with them. Eet was ze malėdiction from ze street surveillance cameras that almost took them down. They photographed them fleeing from a very lucrative heist. Eet was one of their better ones.

           Soon, wanted posters were distributed with their faces on them. They were unflattering! And this upset Monique. So it became time to pack up their valuables and leave ze country. Forever. It was now time to live happily-ever-after in a foreign country that also spoke français. And so, with a suitcase full of bling, they retired into ze primitive North American country of Canada and ze providence of Québec.

           They had heard amongst their intimate fellow-thieves, that they could sell diamonds, across ze thin south border, to fat Americans on Craig’s List. And, with no questions asked. C’est la vie.

           Pierre grew a beard. It had a touch of gray. He even agreed that it made him even more handsome. And Monique, she dyed her hair red. It added fire to her beautiful hazel eyes.

           But unfortunately, ze 21^st Century followed them to this primitive providence across ze Atlantic. And, as it turned out, ze siège de la police had internet, and their unflattering faces turned up there. And ze officer in charge of ze fax-machine added ze photos to ze ‘wall of shame.’ They were now in deep merde if they were not careful, and if they drew attention to themselves.

           Our young, newly retired couple chose ze petit villa settlement of Sainte Sophie. A quaint town, bordering on rustic. Almost crude. Eet was just a few kilometers north of Montreal.

           Ze former thieves had retired at ze respectable age of fifty. Monique was still thirty-nine, of course. They were a bit young to take up gardening and yet not old enough to quietly watch ze sunset while drinking a good Bordeaux. Travel was a middle ground.

“Pierre,” purred sweet Monique, “I want to see a polar bear.”

           “Oui, mon cheri.” Pierre smiled. He still had excellent teeth. “Let us take some cheese and that bottle of good French-Québec wine. Ze wine I found at Trader Joe's. We can sit on ze beach of Hudson Bay and toast ze white bears as they float by on glaciers. Non?”

           “Oh oui, mon amie. You get ze basket. I will fill it.”

           And there eet was. Their first excursion as a retired couple. And eet was to see ze diamond-colored glaciers. How fitting. So, they quickly loaded ze Ferrari and sped north.

(Oui, c’est la Ferrari. I must shake my head, because I now know how this sad tale will end. Yes, they shipped ze pretty get-away car without thinking. I never accused them of being very bright. C’est la vie.)

Monique squeezed ze steering wheel of ze sports car and squealed in delight, as they raced north. She had never been this excited while wearing her clothes. But for every high, it seems, we are cursed with a matching low. And ze low was now chasing her down.

           When Monique heard ze siren, she glanced in ze side mirror. “Merde,” she cursed and took her foot off ze pedal. Ze car sputtered and coughed and also cursed. It didn’t want to slow down. It never learned to drive slowly.

Officer Little-bear, who was actually quite large, had parked his dirty-white SUV at ze border of ze Indian reservation to watch for speeders in his territory. But for some reason, he would always be busy looking at a moose when a fellow First Nation tribe-member, zipped by.

In Canada, ze Indian tribes are called ‘First Nations,’ because these northern natives did not come from India. Ze new name made it less confusing, especially when actual Indians started arriving.

           Americans still call their Indians, Indians. And, even ze professional ones that play baseball in Cleveland, are called Indians. And I don’t know what Americans actually call ze people from India. Americans would have been much better served, if they had lost ze Revolutionary War.

Officer Little-Bear had another officer riding with him, a trainee. Eet was so that she could experience ze rugged police work at its source. Her name was Mary Gray-Dove. She was petite and had long black hair. And she was very excited to be out of ze office. Officer Little-Bear packed a gun. Mary was too new to carry a gun, so she just packed her briefcase. Ze two reservation-officers were both Algonquin Indians, I mean First Nations. And they were about to make their first big arrest.

“Oh look, a moose.” Little-Bear actually saw one that time.

           A swish and a noise that sounded like a high-performance sewing machine alerted the nature-gazing officer. “What the hell was that?”

           “A Ferrari,” observed Officer Mary Gray-Dove.

           “What the hell is a Ferrari?”

           “A sports car. They are very fast and very expensive. They don’t normally travel this far west of Europe.” Ze observant officer quickly opened her briefcase and found ze wanted poster. She handed it to her partner. Sure enough, there it was, ze wanted car and ze two villains behind its windshield. Finally, real criminals, not just poachers. His adrenalin kicked in.

           He flipped on his lights and siren, put ze pedal to ze metal, and perused ze fleeing outlaws. Ze police car was soon going in excess of 100 mph, which in Canada is exactly…very many kilometers. Officer Little-Bear found it exhilarating. His partner found it terrifying.

           Monique, meanwhile, was idling along just shy of a 100, and enjoying the scenery. Pierre was busy watching for polar bears. But all he saw were very large, awkward-looking deer with funny flattish antlers. “Ze French deer are much nobler looking.” He scoffed.

After a harrowing chase lasting over thirty minutes, the Algonquin reservation-police finally apprehended the suspects. They were politely cuffed and charged.

           “Evading a police officer,” Little-Bear was writing in his citation book, “and for heinous crimes against diamonds.”

           Gray-Dove looked at her partner with raised eyebrows and mouthed, “Heinous crimes against diamonds?”

This was Pierre and Monique’s first time in ze Gray Bar Hotel. Its patrons were all criminals. And this was ze first time that they would be questioned by ze police.

           Monique could see that their faces on the poster looked a little different. They had plausible denial. A good lawyer, and a few pounds slipped to the judge, and freedom.

           But, Monique was aware of Pierre’s flaw. As dastardly and evil that he was, he was afflicted with the truth. The poor thief could not lie. In fact, he would even clarify the truth. Oh merde.

           “Pierre, you must not speak.” Monique pleaded. “I will tell them you are a deaf-mute.”

           “Oui, mon amour. You are not only beautiful, but you are very clevair.”

Officer Little-Bear was in charge of questioning the alleged criminals. Officer Gray-Dove took notes.

           “Would you care for a cup of coffee?” asked Little-Bear.

           Pierre nodded.

           “Sugar?”

           Again, Pierre nodded.

           “One or two?” Little-Bear focused on Pierre’s lips.

           Pierre started to speak, but stopped with an elbow to the ribs. He then held up two fingers.

           Little-Bear turned to Monique. “Coffee?”

           “I would prefer a cup of red wine. No sugar, sil vous platt.”

           Officer Gray-Dove snickered.

           Little-Bear didn’t know how to respond to Monique’s request. He was used to talking to men, bad men, despicable men. He was used to being in charge. And with such impertinence, he would unseat ze criminal with a swing of his right paw. But this la fem, with ze flaming red hair, got him off his game.

           He angered. He pounded ze table. And shouted, “No.” Spital from his angry mouth landed on the perpetrators. Eet was disgusting.

           Pierre jumped in fear. He barely stayed in his skin.

           Little Monique, barely eye-batted.

           The Bear growled, “We do not serve wine to criminals.” Both of his hands were balled into tight fists.

           Monique smiled. Cheerfully. “Well then, Monsieur Beer, an espresso would be satisfactory. Mercy.”

           Little-Bear turned to Gray-Dove with eyebrows raised in puzzlement. She noticed he also turned red. She answered his question. “It is a fancy coffee.” She then got up and poured four cups of regular coffee while her partner calmed down. She set them on the table and then slid the sugar in front of Pierre. He nodded and whispered, “Thank you.” No one seemed to notice that he spoke, except for officer Gray-Dove.

           Little-Bear wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and regained his composure. It was time to show them exhibit A. He slid the wanted-poster in front of them.

           “Do you deny,” he was looking at Monique, “being the woman driving this Ferrari?”

           Monique picked up the picture and studied it carefully. She shrugged her shoulders, “Oui.”

           Little-Bear chuckled. “So, yes, it is you.” He Paused. “Or are you saying, yes, it is not you?”

           “Oui,” said she.

           The angry Bear turned to Pierre. “And is this you riding shot-gun with this woman?”

           Pierre grabbed his head to keep it from nodding.

           “Non,” shouted Monique. She looked at her partner-in-crime. He saw her eyes, and they said, “I will kill you!”

           “Excuse me,” interrupted Gray-Dove. “I have a couple of questions.” She looked at Monique, who had now lost her cocky smile. “If you interrupt, I will have you physically removed.”

           “But, but…”

           “No ‘buts.’ Just nod.”

           Monique nodded and threw Pierre a mortal eye-dagger.

           Gray-Dove, now had Monique’s smug smile on her pretty little face. She turned to Pierre. “Can you speak?”

           Pierre nodded, weakly.

           “Speak up.”

           He mumbled “Oui.”

           “Okay, now that wasn’t so hard. Was it?”

           “Oui; eet was very hard and very painful.”

           “I see. Just one last question. Is that you and Monique in this wanted poster?”

…

They were to be deported.

           Pierre was devastated. How could he have done this to his amour? And Monique was now heartbroken. She was separated from her true love and her diamonds. Her hard shell melted into tears. And then they were both shipped back to France to stand trial, like…like unwanted baggage.

           Pierre vowed that he would never betray his beautiful Monique, ever again. And he proved eet. Just before their trial, and just after a fine steak, he cut off his tongue with ze steak-knife. Now, he could admit to nothing.

The jury could not convict them on the photos. Ze picture didn’t quite look like ze handsome couple seated at ze defense table. They were free.

           Pierre learned sign language, so that he could speak to his loving partner. Although their hearts communicated just fine, without spoken words.

They came back to Quebec. Pierre did promise to show Monique a polar bear.

           And he did, with a little help from Little-Bear.

Monique and Pierre soon became best of friends with Little-Bear and Gray-Dove. And they ate diner regularly at the casino.

           “Did you hear what happened to Prime Minister Trudeau?” asked Little-Bear as he reached for his beer.

           “Non monsieur,” said Monique. “What did you hear?”

           Little-Bear chugged his beer ending with a satisfying belch. “It seems his wife’s diamond necklace was stolen, last night.”

           Monique gasped. “Merde. His wife must be distraught.”

           “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”

           “Non. We avoid ze English-speaking part of your country,” said Monique. Pierre’s head nodded slightly.

           Little-Bear saw the nod and ordered another round. “Good,” grinned Little-Bear with a wink. “It could not have happened to a nicer man.” And like all Quebeckians, he considered all ze other Canadian provinces as back-woods, English hillbillies. Especially, their young, English-speaking leader.

Eet was karaoke night and they celebrated ze rest of the night singing bawdy French songs. C’est la vie!

Ze moral of this story, besides keeping your enemy closer, ees that, being truthful all ze time ees not always good. A little lie, now and then, may save your tongue.