Clowns of all shapes and sizes came to the hangar leading out to the river, which led out to the sea. They auditioned. It was a strange sight to see all the clowns sitting together and having lunch. People didn’t know whether what they were seeing was a marvel or whether it was unholy.
Rose and Pierrot had a wonderful time looking for the clowns that Rose had been impressed by and luring them into their new company. Pierrot went to bail the clown she had seen at the Ocean Theater out of jail and get him a lawyer. Having accomplished this task, he was walking down the street, completely absorbed in his thoughts. He was humming the last bar of his musical composition when a large black car pulled up beside him. The car door opened and two arms reached out and snatched him up as easily as if he were a child.
Pierrot found himself sitting in the backseat between two rather severe and ugly men. He thought these might be McMahon’s men, but there was no talking to either of them. The looks on their faces implied they would respond to any query by belting him in the mouth. Pierrot thought it was probably a defense for not knowing how to make conversation.
He assumed there might be some sort of fee McMahon would charge him for doing any kind of theatrical enterprise in the city. He relaxed and thought this was simply a matter of course. McMahon just wanted to have a business tête-à-tête.
Despite the absurdity of his profession, Pierrot now liked to think of himself as a working stiff.
The car bounced as if someone was jumping up and down at the foot of a mattress.
The men brought him up to McMahon’s office, where he had, of course, been many times before.
“It turns out that your apple was a lot harder to move than anybody could imagine. No dealer would touch it. So what do you think about that? It belonged to a Russian princess, if you can believe it. It was stolen from the home of the Russian ambassador. It was going to be temporarily put on display at the museum here in Montreal. And what should happen but it got swiped five years ago and disappeared without a trace. There was never any ransom for it. It never turned up on the black market. The Russian government put the pressure on the police to get that apple. And guess what?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Do you? You have the worst head for business that I’ve ever encountered. So allow me to deliver to you the long and short of it. You owe me twenty thousand dollars.”
“Hmmm. That’s difficult. You see, I of course had no idea about this unfortunate circumstance involving the Russian princess, one of the unlucky Romanovs I’ve read about in the paper, no doubt. And I don’t have any of the money left.”
“What the fuck did you do with it? What did you buy? A house? A car? I don’t believe it. You’re not that type. You’re too lazy to spend the money that fast.”
“I invested it in a theatrical revue. The money mostly went to clowns. Some of them had previous commitments, so they needed further monetary incentives.”
“You invested your money in clowns? Did you come up with this on your own? Or did someone encourage you to do this?”
“My wife. She has a wonderful flair for organization. It’s going to make a lot of money. Let’s consider it an initial investment. We’ll give you our returns!”
“Who’s your wife? Who would marry a fuckup like you?”
“You wouldn’t know her. Though it’s possible. She has worked her marvels in different clubs around the city. Her name’s Rose.”
“Rose?”
“Yes. That’s what she likes to be called. Her real name is actually . . .”
“Marie.”
“Good guess!”
A strange hunch came over McMahon—it couldn’t possibly be true. He had always assumed that Pierrot had come from an upper-class family. He was sure he had seen him in Westmount a couple of times when he was driving to work. He had thought Pierrot might be one of Irving’s children but assumed he had been disowned from his family for drug addiction. He also assumed that was why he had any sort of intelligence. Pierrot had once said he’d gone to Selwyn House, the same school as his own son. But it occurred to him in a sudden flash that Pierrot was the little boy from the orphanage, the little boy with a big scarf around his neck, the only boy Rose had ever thought enough about to mention.
He remembered Rose saying that a person couldn’t possibly imagine just how delightful and absurd Pierrot was unless you actually met him. He remembered Rose telling him how sweet and refined and fair the boy was. What an air of sophistication the boy had, despite being an orphan.
“Where did you grow up, anyway?”
“I was Al Irving’s ward for many years. But before that, I spent my formative years in an orphanage.”
“Where did you meet your wife?”
“I’ve known her my whole life. We were raised in the same orphanage.”
McMahon had to sit down. All his stories and narratives about Rose suddenly needed revising. The psychic energy devastated by this revision exhausted him. He had not taken her affection for the blond boy seriously. But clearly she had been thinking about him the entire time they were together. He was her first love. McMahon had only ever been her second choice.
He immediately wanted to murder Pierrot.
50
THE TOWER OF BABEL