Red Rainbow G Johanson (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📖

“Who?”

“She won’t say.”

“Yes she will,” Boyce asserted.

“Don’t press it,” Mrs Varon said. She knew it was too late for that, surely realising that mentioning it to him guaranteed that he would sort it out. He was not having that, nobody would talk to her like that.

Beaulene returned, smiling upon her return, telling them as she took her jacket off, “Every time I buy them, he thinks they’re for me.”

“Tell him to be grateful for my money and to mind his business. Who’s been lying about me then?”

“Sorry?”

“Which little shits have been worrying you about me swinging from a lamppost.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does. Come on.”

“I don’t want any trouble for you or them. It’s just one really, the others are just around.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Faucher said. “Thank you for that lovely meal, Mrs Varon.” He drummed his full belly, which made her smile – she may have laughed if not for the situation developing with Boyce and Beaulene.

“You’re always welcome here,” Mrs Varon said, accepting his kiss on her cheek as he left, Faucher knowing better than to kiss Beaulene upon arrival or leaving.

Boyce stared at Beaulene, who asked her mother if she could go to her room. He warned her that he’d follow her there. A worse threat followed, that he’d go and ask questions himself if she didn’t answer him.

“I don’t want you to do anything,” Beaulene said.

“Never mind what he said about me. He said it to you. That’s reason enough for a slap. If you don’t care about yourself, what about Beau? He disrespected your dead brother. You’re going to let that go?”

“Everybody’s crazy right now.”

“Don’t make excuses. I guess me and Faucher are going to see all of your classmates today,” Boyce said, fully prepared to reschedule his afternoon to root out every teenager that said anything about his brother. And every one that laughed too.

“Promise me you won’t do anything. I’ll tell you the name if you promise not to do anything,” Beaulene said, rolling over quicker than most of his interviewees. She knew fine well that he didn’t make idle threats, that not complying would only escalate the problem.

“I promise.”

Boyce stored the name and plotted how to deal with the brat who disrespected Beau. Beau would not have let anyone speak so of Boyce had their positions been reversed, and he was no less proud. He’d had nobody to blame for Beau’s death, which had left him lacking someone to lash out at. Beau had died during sex with his lover. She was above, or perhaps below, suspicion. Her breast size was bigger than her IQ. At least he went out on top doing something he loved, if not someone. Boyce could make jokes about the manner of his passing, but Olivier Marvel was not permitted to even say any of their names. As hangings were on Marvel’s mind, a mock hanging was a potential avenue. Boyce and Faucher had to go to prison first to see a forger about a letter. The letter could have been very dangerous. It had been sent to the Gestapo. The sender was anonymous, stating that the attached letter was from a prominent member of the Milice, whose name was also omitted. It was written to seem like it was from one Milice member to another.

It’s time to remove the yoke. The Germans have scourged our land of many undesirables and set ideas in place we may build upon and adapt. We must be instrumental in toppling them. Their downfall is imminent. If we do not take the lead in this, and be seen to be doing so, our end will follow theirs and swiftly...

The letter repeated the same material over a page and a half, keeping the same belief system while portraying them as poised to turn on the Nazis like rats deserting a sinking ship. The letter referred to a woman called F. P. and how her unique abilities could speed up the process. It didn’t go into detail. It didn’t need to, it was so on the nose. The Gestapo thought so too, it seemed, showing them the letter and asking them if they recognised the handwriting. They all claimed not to, but Boyce asked to take the letter and promised to get to the bottom of it. He had to for it was personal.

It was also completely fake, Boyce challenging its authenticity from the off. The sentiment was wrong, the personality was wrong. This was a fake, no question. Beau knew fine well that they could take out Hitler himself and they’d still be held to account for their actions the previous years. There was no forgiveness from the general public towards them for their collaboration. Everything they had done had been tallied up by their silent, patient enemies.

Plourde was not a suspect due to his incarceration. Telling him this in the warden’s office (commandeered for their use) at the prison relaxed him. They did this to loosen his tongue – sometimes persuasion worked better than bullyboy tactics, though this was always in their back pocket. Boyce hoped he might recognise some personal signature to the forgery that might reveal which of his fellow forgers was likely to have done this. Failing this, a list of all of his contemporaries would do.

The last thing Boyce expected was a full confession. Plourde babbled after admitting to this, spotting that the atmosphere changed in an instant. He claimed to have been coerced into writing the note by a crooked guard, who had given him a strange chunk of text to base his forgery on. Plourde said he’d made a copy too – he didn’t reveal why, Boyce taking this to be an insurance policy. They had a guard escort them and Plourde through the prison back to his wing. They had to wait at the gate here, Plourde returning to the other side of the gate where he had the note. The guard allowed him to pass it over