"Aren't you so very clever?" he replied. "It's not like I hide the lack of sleep well, so I guess I'll lay it on you, and see what you think. Sadly, this time chief, I think I may have to leave the solution of this problem in your lap. I am very sorry for that, but once I explain it (using too many words) you will understand why I do not think I have much of a choice." He popped a chocolate in his mouth, chewed it slowly as if to give him time to think of how to start, even though we both knew he had already "written" it out in his head hours ago when he was not sleeping. I waited with as much patience as I could muster, which these days is not much, but rushing him generally doesn't do a whole lot of good. Plus, generally he can tell a good tale when the mood strikes him, and it had appeared the mood had struck him several times over the course of a sleepless night.
"I have a moral dilemma chief, and one of my long held theories is that when I have a moral dilemma, I always ask myself "what would Tallyrand do?" He sighed and waved his hand "I know this is going to require a bit of a side trip through history, but I owe a lot of money to the student loan people, so let consider this as a benefit of my classical (and as yet, unpaid for) education. Charles Maurice de Tallyrand, to give him most of his names, was an absolute bastard of a Frenchmen who lived from 1754-1838. A pretty wild time to be alive, and French. The main thing to admire about our boy Tallyrand is that he was able to serve as a high government official to King Louis XVI, to the government of the Revolution, to Napoleon, to King Louis XVIII, and finally, to King Louis-Phillipe. I understand that most people don't understand the talent it takes to pull off such a feat, and I struggle to put it in modern terms, but let's just say that collection of governments and masters were pretty much the entire "political spectrum" in France during his life. Sort of like being a Capulet and a Montague at the same time."
"One of my favorite quotes from Tallyrand is 'I condemn not, I praise not, I merely tell a tale' well chief, that's what I am about to drop on you, a tale (full of sighs) that I have been unfortunate enough to be a minor player in, involved mostly against my will. Well, at least for the last part." This last part was said with a grin, because he had noticed my arched eyebrow, and the skeptical look on my face. "One other thing to remember about our boy Tallyrand, is that he served a lot of masters, but few, if any of them every really trusted him, but he was the best they had, so they used him in some really important shit, like sending him to the Congress of Vienna. Also, he was not the only bastard around, Napoleon was not a sweetheart, and his rival the Minister of Police was a bit of a bastard as well. One last thing about Tallyrand that drew me to him years ago as I was borrowing the price of a F-35 jet fighter to get my education, was that he shared a certain physical handicap that I also possess. It was as close to an inspiration as I was likely to get."
"But let's leave Tallyrand, at, or near the top of the many greasy poles he climbed (handicap notwithstanding) for the nonce, and move on to part two of this story." Part two concerns banks, and Fat Uncle Carl." I interrupted "who the hell is Fat Uncle Carl, and what is this nonsense about banks, are you drunk, as well as sleep deprived?" He chuckled "sadly I am as sober as a judge, and it will all make some sense at the end I promise. Let's start with banks, since they are only a small part of the story, but still a critical one. We need not go through the history of banking, delving into the Fuggers, and the Welsers, and their near banking monopoly of the 16th century economy in Europe, it is an interesting tale, but one that does not need to detain us at the moment. A famous thief was once asked why he robbed banks, and he replied "that's where they keep the money." pretty simple, and a very clever idea. I mean why waste time robbing the liquor store, that's bush league. Go big or go home, rob a bank, write your name large in the history of thieving."
"As you're aware, I am a prole, and once a prole, always a prole in my view, and therefore I am not overly fond of banks. As an institution I understand why it has to exist, and I even use a bank on occasion, but that doesn't mean I have to like them. As Winston Churchill once said of his view on the church, "I could hardly be called a pillar of the Church, I am more in the nature of a buttress, for I support it from the outside." That's sort of my view of the institution of banking, necessary, but not exactly something I can get behind with any sort of enthusiasm. Besides there are so ever many choices in the banking world, and I just can never pick out which one is best for me. Some people stay with the same bank for years, and I guess that's commendable, but I also think that at some point familiarity breeds contempt. Maybe people get tired of the same bank after so many years, and want to take their money elsewhere. Who knows why people do the things they do? All banks are not exactly created equal."
"However, that's is enough about the joys and perils of banking, at least directly, for now let's move on to Fat Uncle Carl's Kleptomaniacs. No one is every really sure if there is actually a Fat Uncle Carl, there is a place, a club, a hangout, or a shithole (depending on one's tastes) that goes under the name of "Fat Carl's", but no one is really sure if he exists, or why the word Uncle got added to his description (it's just Fat Carl's on the sign). I suppose he might be a bit like Keyser Soze, a myth to keep the thieves that come to his club in line. Give us our 15% of the take, or Fat Carl will break your knees, don't steal from other member or Fat Carl will burn your house down to the ground with you in it. I don't know if Fat Carl is real or not, and even if he is, I sure as fuck never, ever want to be (knowingly) in the same room with him. There is no honour among thieves, but they can be convinced to act right by fear, and a healthy fear of Fat Carl keeps many a thief in line. Several miscreants have been led away to face the modern version of the Minister of Police because they broke Fat Carl's rules."
"Fat Carl's club is the hangout for a bunch of low characters, which is why I go there a lot. I like to fit in, and Fat Carl's is generally a judgement free zone. After all, you can't really look down your nose at a thief if you are polishing the silverware you nicked the night before from some unsuspecting citizen's house now can you? Fat Carl's club has a few unique rules. You can't just walk in off the street like some yeg, and expect people in there to accept you like you're one of Ali Baba's forty. A vetting system, of which few people understand, is in place to keep the absolute riff raff out is in place. Also, there is a password system in place that is a twist on the usual password game. For to get into Fat Carl's requires a password, but the twist is that each 'patron' has their own, unique password, and you give that at the door to the guy with the password book. You say your password i.e. Kumquat, and he looks in the book and decides if your 'nest' is ready. Another unique thing about Fat Carl's is there isn't really a public room. There are sets of "nests" two (or at a pinch) three seat stalls with curtains that allow you to conduct your business in private. If you see another cove at Fat Carl's it is usually only a fleeting glance, and you are best to forget the sighting as soon as possible."
"There is also a 'rent' system in place, you have to give Fat Carl his share or your nest ceases to exist. Maybe that's where the Uncle title originates. Fat Carl is the jovial uncle that loves his nieces and nephews as long as they pay the rent, but skip a payment and Fat Carl's sunny, sweet disposition starts to cloud over. No one wants to cloud over Fat Carl's sunny disposition. We are all thieves at Fat Carl's hence the "kleptomaniacs" addition to the title. Of course, it is unofficial, can't put that on the sign out front, and not expect the gendarmes not to get wise to the idea. Obviously, there are more thieves that are 'members' of Fat Carl's than there are nests (it isn't an overly large establishment), and when you give your password at the door, you have to wait to see if your nest is free. Fat Carl's other innovation is the "time sheet." When you get there is not the important bit it is the when you leave that matters, and you have to sign a book when you leave. Each cove has his or her own book, and they are kept separately by the gorilla at the door (for he is a large, large man who's bad side you never want to be on). It is a system designed purely to protect Fat Carl. He has the ability to say to the gendarmes "nope don't know what time he got here, how long he stayed, or who he talked to, but this is the time he left. Hope that helps officer." Fat Carl is loyal only up to a point, and between you and him, Fat Carl will pick himself every single time."
"Now that the majority of the background is out of the way, I can get to the actual dilemma." You see I have my password book at Fat Carl's and I know other people who do, of course we have to pretend like we don't but you don't get into Fat Carl's by openly wearing a mask, so sometimes a glance is exchanged in the joint. The other trick concerns the fact that me and this other thief got pretty cozy a few years back, and I sorted out their password. If I had to, I could access their visit book, and tell you what time on what day they left Fat Carl's. Not that I would. There is some honour among thieves, but if the gendarmes are trying to pin something on me that I know this dodgy cove may have had a hand in, well, honour is great, but freedom is greater. Which leads to the exact problem, I am about 92% sure that this daft cunt has pulled a bank job, I am also just a sure that the gendarmes have figured that part out as well, and in their rounding up of the "usual suspects" I am sure to have my chance to hold a number up in front of me, turn to the right, turn to the left, and speak some random line to an audience I can't see 'in a normal speaking voice'. I've been there and done that, and it isn't pleasant. I also wasn't a part of the job, but I knew about it (I had seen them planning it at Fat Carl's in one of those accidental meetings we try ever so hard to avoid, and I put it together rather quicker than most)."
"One of the problems I have with the gendarmes is they aren't the type to accept Sargent Schultz's "I know nothing, I see nothing, I hear nothing" excuse. They want things simple. They want their man (or woman) they want them now, and they want it as neatly done as possible. Don't get me wrong, my hypocrisy only extends so far, I have pulled a bank job or two in my past, and I am not fan of banks, or what they represent, but I also like waking up in my own (or a pretty girl's bed) without having to wonder if there is an over eager gendarme waiting for me on my walk to the corner store to buy beef jerky and fizzy water." I held up a forestalling hand, "so what is the actual dilemma?" He sighed "I have a copy of the book..." He trailed off shaking his head, "and I don't know which group wants to know what I know more, the gendarmes, or Fat Carl." I don't want to go to stir, especially for something I didn't do, but I also don't want Fat Carl to break my damn legs." I stopped him again, handed him a piece of paper that I had scribbled something on, and stood up ( I had work to do) "here go talk to this guy, tell him all of this, and if he doesn't throw you out on your ass, he might help you." I watched him take the paper, unfold it, read what I had written, and with a look of bewilderment ask "who the fuck is Serge, and what the hell do I want to know about his apples?"
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