Stop Story: The Gold Mask

[MatthewFarlow]

This is a game I'm sure we all used to play as children. One person starts a story until the other says stop and then they continue it until the other person says stop and so on.
(It should look like this: :argue: except not so angry)
However nobody is here to say stop so you just end when you come to a breaking point or even abruptly.

The only rule is that you can't end the story.
Allow me to begin:

I sat down. Across the table I looked at a befuddled man. He looked up at me. The caged yellow light cast a shadow on his handlebar mustache. Where should I begin?
“Please, do tell me how you did it, Mr. Worth. How is it that you managed to pull off the biggest crime of the 20th century and keep it hidden for over 13 years?" I asked him. He smiled a bit, finding humor in my wording or something. He blinked very slowly, pausing as his eyes were closed, you could tell he was remembering every detail. He opened his eyes followed by his mouth. He answered slowly, not that the words were slow, he was just pausing every now and again. STOP

Your turn.

[Steven Hunley]

" I thought...maybe no one would find out. You figure...when you pull something like that off..you'll get away with it. But...obviously...I didn't. Say,.." he said wiping a yellow stain from that all to obvious mustache, "you'd think the state could afford something...better...like...like... Grey Poupon. What's the matter...with them? Don't they think ...I'm WORTH it? Anyway...back to...my story...STOP
Your turn

[MatthewFarlow]

" I thought...maybe no one would find out. You figure...when you pull something like that off..you'll get away with it. But...obviously...I didn't. Say,.." he said wiping a yellow stain from that all to obvious mustache, "you'd think the state could afford something...better...like...like... Grey Poupon. What's the matter...with them? Don't they think ...I'm WORTH it? Anyway...back to...my story...STOP
Your turn

Haha, I love it.

[MatthewFarlow]

"I was in Egypt at the time. . . trying to decode hieroglyphics I found. . . in a tomb. . . when I was just an apprentice." I nodded, this was starting to make sense. "I knew it was going to tell me the whereabouts of another tomb." He began talking at a normal pace now, only pausing to nibble on his sandwich. "I was working up late one night, so close to finishing and began placing my finger on where I believed this tomb to be. I looked outside; it was raining softly. I got up from my chair and. . ."

"And. . . ?" He was chewing for a moment. He was obviously a man of good manners, not speaking with his mouth full and all.

Mr. Worth continued, "I just had to go to the window, you know, to see the rain. It only rains once every several years in Egypt. As I remember it," He shut his eyes, "I then poured myself a whiskey or gin or something and returned to my studies. After about another half hour working on the maps, I realized that this tomb was not more than 15 kilometers away. I grabbed my coat, put on my safari hat and headed out." He finished his sandwich and licked his fingers. The low hum of the lightbulb was the only sound filling this gap of silence. "The rain had picked up considerably causing some puddles to form at the entrance to the tomb. I spotted the entryway fairly easily, just because I had an eye for these things by then. I climbed inside and grabbed a piece of dry wood. I couldn't find anything for fire to catch, so I tore a length of cloth from my shirt, I'd still have the jacket for the way home. I wrapped the cloth around the wood and lit it so I could see. The flaps of the flames echoed throughout the tunnel. I walked for 10 minutes or so until I saw a doorway. It was short because something had collapsed so I had to crouch down to enter. Inside, you would not believe what I had seen. . ." He was staring at the air in front of him.

"What had you seen?" The light reflected off of his now watery eyes. "Mr. Worth. . . what did you see? What was it. . . that was in there?"

He looked me in the eyes now. He whispered painfully, "Nothing."

"Oh," I nodded awkwardly and broke the eye contact. It was silent for some time, then out of the blue he began speaking again as if he had never stopped.

"I made my way back through the rain. It had died down by now. When I got back the mail had already came. There was a letter there from my investors. They told me that if I had nothing to show for my works in the next 3 weeks, they were going to stop my funding. . . I couldn't let them do that. I was thinking of some sort of loophole while sifting through the rest of the mail. One of them caught my eye, an exhibit was opening in London displaying many of the artifacts that had been excavated from Egyptian tombs; I was invited. I decided then and there. I had to steal them." STOP

Your Turn.

P.S: Sorry I'm a story hog, but I was on a roll tonight.

P.S.S: Still Your Turn

[Steven Hunley]

Worth continued. "They were having it at the British Museum. I went a day early to the preview to check it out. Huge colored banners were hanging up at the entrance with hieroglyphics on them and a few cartouches. The cartouches were accurate, but the glyphs were all wrong. One translated as something like "dead cats for sale". I guess they got a little mixed up. I mean I could read them right?" He smiled. "That's why I'll never get a tatoo from a Chinaman. Who knows what they'll put on your arm. I went inside and there was so much stuff it took me two hours to see it. But it was all pretty standard stuff. None of it was too valuable. I mean,.." and he leaned over quite near me and said in a whisper," what was I gonna do? Stuff a mummy in my pants and run out the door? Not bloody likely! Then I saw it. It was in the last room. The funery mask of Tutankhamen. Wow. Solid gold and worth it's weight. And as an antiquity? Priceless. It really made me drool." As he said this last bit he wiped his moustache with the back of his arm. His eyes glazed over. "Here was something worthy of a Worth!"
stop
Somebody take a turn

[MatthewFarlow]

I chuckled at his pun, wondering if he had said that for years or just had a quick wit. I like it when people have a quick wit, it makes my job much less boring. Someone was knocking at the door. I excused myself, Mr. Worth still drooling over that artifact silently. I cracked the door open as to not let in a lot of light into the interrogation room. I gave an inquisitive look to the man at the door, he was looking at his clipboard and wasted no time for formalities.

"Mr. Worth's questioning?" he questioned.

"Yeah."

"We just got word from some investigator going through papers. Ask him who Alice Jennings is."

I thanked him and returned to the ever so patient Worth. I didn't bring up Jennings yet, but was planning on asking after his story.

"So then what happened? After you saw the funery mask?"
Stop

Someone besides Steven and I have got to chime in here.

[Steven Hunley]

"I looked at it, and even though the mask was of a boy-king it looked rather feminine. It looked like a girl I once knew," "Who was that?" I asked.
"Alice Jennings." I couldn't believe he said it! It was just what I wanted to hear. "What about her?" I said. "Well," he continued, "she was pretty alright, but like the mask, like the gold mask, cold and distant. She wouldn't put out. Like some of those geeks on one of those writer's websites. All they want to do is read, not write." He wiped his mustache with a gesture of disgust then continued, " Know why?" he asked me looking deep in my eyes.
"why?" I said. "Cause when it comes down to it they can't write their way out of a wet paper bag. 'Cause they got no balls, not even the women. She was exactly the same. Wouldn't participate." "So what happened to her?" I asked. He answered, "I dumped her, what else?" I knew then I was interviewing a man's man.

[MatthewFarlow]

I really thought that would work.
Anyways...

I was still wondering what Alice Jennings had to do with the crime. I decided it could wait, it would present itself when it would present itself. "Please, continue."

"Very well. I needed some sort of team. Fortunately I knew this chap working as an assistant to the city planner. He was young and naive and I easily manipulated him into giving me the blueprints to the museum."

I could tell Mr. Worth was intelligent. I'd probably need to find out the name of this 'chap' to arrest him or fire him or something, but I decided that could wait as well. Mark of a true procrastinator? Or was I just engulfed in the story? Probably a little bit of both. He continu STOP

[Steven Hunley]

Me too, anyways,
"Of course you realize I didn't dump her right way. I was too dumb for that. I needed her for the robbery. She was an integral part of the plan. A girl as pretty as Alice can be quite useful in providing a distraction. And that's what I would need at first, a distraction. A sort of mis-direction, the kind a magician uses when he pulls a rabbit out of a hat. Or, in my case , puts a solid-gold mask of Tutankhamen into it, making it disappear. So she had a use, as did the city planners assistant, who provided me with plans of the museum and those to the sewers of London, a slimy rat-filled lot of sewers they are, I must say." With that he looked straight at me and asked politely, "Say Gov'ner do you think we could have a cup of tea? It's nearly four." STOP

[MatthewFarlow]

My wireless was down for a week and then like forgot about this. But now I'm back.

I was enjoying my tea as I handed Mr. Worth his. His hands were somewhat shaky and his lips were too when he was going for the first sip. I didn't know what accounted for the shaking, if it was just age or he was somewhat nervous. He sure didn't appear nervous as I was questioning him. My thoughts were interrupted as took a sharp breath in. The liquid had burned him and he leaned back setting the cup steaming on the table, allowing it to cool.
"I hate the sewers, they were never good to me throughout the whole experience. And I'm not a man who forgets," He was right, he didn't seem like a man who would forget, maybe forgive, but never forget.

Mr. SH, take it away...

[Steven Hunley]

"Just thinking about them sewers makes me nervous. I don't know what's worse, the stink of all the rotten fish and chips, the smell of stale Guinness, or the creeping crawling rats." He continued. "Of course that was our only avenue of escape. Hell, in Paris the sewers are O.K. They're a regular tour they are." He picked the teacup back up, and taking a sip, strained it through his mustache like a filter. Now I'd discovered what stained it yellow. The warm mug of tea felt good in his hands. "That's a proper cup that is! " he remarked with glee, "Alice made a proper cup and that's no lie. But speaking of lies and Alice, now I'm warmed up proper, let me get back to my story."

[MatthewFarlow]

"I had gotten everything ready, everything was in place: the date was set, we had gotten the blue prints and the maps to the sewers, times of tours that day, and some important names. Everything seemed to be ready, everything but Alice. Alice had disappeared for a week or so at that time and I never quite figured out what she was hiding, probably a man, knowing Alice. When she finally returned we only had two days left. We spent six hours coming up with a good enough distraction, and twelve hours acting it out and perfecting it between those two days. Finally, by the end of it all, I was almost half confident in our plan," he chuckled and I smiled back politely.

[Steven Hunley]

"We put the imitation throw up in the baby's bottle. The idea was when we were in the proper room, one of us would claim the baby had thrown up on the floor, and Alice would splash the contents there in the confusion. It would make a mess all over the floor." He said this with great relish. "They'd want to clean it up immediately of course, especially right there on the smooth floor, it would create a hazard." He took another sip of tea. "The janitor would unlock the broom closet, to get his mop, giving us a place to hide until the museum was closed. Then, we'd have the whole place, and the gold mask, to ourselves. That's how we planned it."

[MatthewFarlow]

I looked down at my cup of tea, now wincing as I couldn't help but see a similarity between the dark liquid and the image of the throw up in my mind's eye.

My half-trance-like state was broken by the sound of Mr. Worth chuckling, who, I assumed had seen my disgust and understood the connection.

He put his teacup down and, once more, began, "We met at the museum, the day of, with just minutes before the official ribbon cutting ceremony. I - in a beige suit, my hair slicked back, wearing round, Freud glasses - and Alice - in a short red dress with a large, diagonal sun hat and a baby carriage. She looked so stunning, we hardly needed the vomit at all. As the Head Curator's speech came to a close, we looked at each other as if to confirm our commitment. The ribbon was cut and we walked through the rooms at the leisurely pace set by the majority of the visitors."

STOP

[zoolane]

Worth paused for bit while he took breath. I was just about to ask, when he began tell the story again. He took out cigar, ''is OK if I smoke'' I nodded. Pushed a small tin astray like one you were allow to used in cafe forward him.

''As we head in and out of glass cases, we made so we end at the gold mask, Alice was really excite about get hands on it but did you know that I have photograph memory so I didn't need the blue prints. I need them just make sure that knew right way out and to London horrid system of sewers which is more like a maze''.
Me, Alice looking around that other artifacts, with some I must admit with great interest the information plaques. Every so often check on carriage, with our cunning eyes. Just waiting for right time to put the plan oops sorry my plan in action.

Stop. I hope OK and set in with story.

[MatthewFarlow]

Worth paused for bit while he took breath. I was just about to ask, when he began tell the story again. He took out a cigar, ''is it OK if I smoke?'' I nodded and pushed a small tin ashtray like the ones you're allowed to use in a cafe toward him.

''As we weaved our way through the glass cases, we made it so that we would end up at the gold mask together. Alice was really excited about getting her hands on it. I have a photographic memory so I didn't need the blue prints. I needed them just to make sure that we knew the way out through London's horrid maze of sewers.
Alice was looking around at other artifacts, some of which, I must admit, had interesting information plaques. Every so often, we would check on the carriage with our cunning eyes. . . Just waiting for right time to put the plan in action.
I like it a lot! I hope that you don't mind that I quickly edited your segment of the story.

[Steven Hunley]

As we walked through the exhibit we were astounded at the variety of artifacts. There were his alabaster vases. Over there was his gold-leafed bed.
The sounds that we heard from the crowd were all "Oohs and Ahhs."

The incredible worth of the exhibit was staggering. There was the value of the materials themselves and the archialogical value as well. It all added up.
Finally we came to the glass case with the mask itself. It was impressive.
We stood there, both of us dumfounded, each of us in awe.

Alice reached in the perambulator to adjust the baby's blankets and tripped the device that started to play sounds of a baby cooing. The stage was set. We were ready for action.

She looked up at me and smiled. "Get with it,Worth!" she whispered. "I'm ready to rock!"

STOP

[MatthewFarlow]

"She was speaking literally of course, and the carriage began to oscillate by means of Alice's hands. The sloshing mixture of liquids in the hollowed baby doll would allow a reaction to transpire. If you are familiar with any chemistry, this is simply known as the activation energy."

I nodded while trying to remember back to my high school years. I was familiar with the concept.

He proceeded, "Besides causing the reaction to take place, shaking the carriage gave a reason for why the baby might spew; although, as Alice pointed out to me, a baby hardly needs a reason to do such a thing."

I smiled. I also began to realize that a soft spot had formed for Mr. Worth in my chest. I didn't know how to feel about it, for it had never happened to me before. Typically, in a questioning such as this, the event follows a strict Q and A format - not an elaborate story. Worth felt, to me, like you might feel towards a distant relative who you only met once or twice before. Nonetheless, I was beginning to feel fond of the old Englishman.

"After a few seconds of rolling, the vomit launched out of the doll and onto the floor. As if that was not enough to cause a stir, Alice shrieked and grabbed the doll wrapped up in the blanket and made way for the washrooms. As for me, I saw the janitor rushing with his mop and bucket, and pushed the carriage around the corner to the closet. I collapsed it, hiding it and myself under a pile of rags. Alice arrived there quickly, after disposing of the doll. We were still and quiet under those rags for a good twenty minutes until we heard the janitor return with the mop and lock us in. I smiled and assumed that Alice had too, although I couldn't've seen my hand in front of my face if I bloody-well tried. Phase One was a success."

STOP

[Steven Hunley]

Worth continued:

That't where I went wrong. As soon as I realized I couldn't see my hand in front of my face I concluded Alice couldn't see it either. I started to grope. Minutes past as I clutched and felt myself grab at the darkness. I felt something soft and warm. Next to it was something else soft and warm. Twin soft and warms it what they felt like to me.
Suddenly I felt a stinging sensation across my face and heard a loud, "SLAP!"
It was Alice. She knocked me against a wet mop hanging on the wall.
"Keep your hands to yourself Worth," she whispered. "I mean business!
What a woman!

The next thing I noticed was the glow of a watch dial there in the dark. It was after nine o'clock. We listened for sounds. There were none. The museum was closed. The coast was finally clear. We got out.

[MatthewFarlow]

Once out, we turned the corner and headed back to the glass case. The museum floor was lit by moonlight that entered through a series of large window panes. I stared at the golden mask, transfixed, feeling Alice's breaths landing on the back of my neck. I turned around after a short while; Alice pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and silently placed it in my hand. I laid my jacket on a nearby bench, rolled my sleeves up and began to work on the lock. The breaths stopped.

The lock was not much more difficult than the one's I got the better of in high school - they just took time. I slowly tinkered with the latch paying close attention to any adjustment in the pins resistance. After some time, the lock gave in and I unfastened it. I tilted the hinged case back with much care. There it was, glowing in the starlight. I liberated Tutankhamun's Mask and reluctantly hid it in the soft folds of my jacket.

Quietly, I looked around the room. All I could see of Alice was her well-defined silhouette against the phosphorescent London exterior. She looked out the window. I placed our prize under my arm and slowly walked up to her side.

[Steven Hunley]

If any woman had any claim to a well-defined silhouette it was Alice.
She was a regular monument to femininity. Statues should have been cast in her honor in bronze. She was a cold one alright. Casting that cool look out the window, keeping an eye out for the heat.

"I've got it."

"Can we leave now?" she said. "I can't stand rats. I want to get this over with."

"Let's blow this joint," I returned, trying to do my best to sound like a gangster.

"You're wonderful. But hold on just a minute. I've got something special for you."

She turned her head upward and pressed her lips against mine. The woman was intense. I didn't know then she was just hugging me to find out where I'd stashed the mask on my person. That was Alice for you. Making like she was thinking only of you but really taking care of herself at the same time. I thought we were going to do something X rated right there on the museum floor. But she broke it off and stepped back and re-fixed her hair.

"Ok big boy, let's go."
She was an ice-cube for sure my Alice was. Yet she was a bit of allright. I'd thaw her out on my own sweet time. Right now I had work to do. I never indulge myself when I'm at work. It's one thing to steal something and another thing to get away with it. That's what I had to concentrate on now. Not thawing out an icecube woman.

[MatthewFarlow]

We descended down the stairwell until we reached the basement. The entrance to the sewer system was exactly where it was depicted to be. I lifted the man-hole cover and hopped down into the sewers. I looked up to see Alice clearly, but because of the difference in lighting, she could only see my adumbrated face. A wince of reluctance crossed her face but sure enough, she jumped in after me.

The hole was left open so that the museum light could guide us back if need be, in addition to the reasons of the time and effort required to put it back on. We started walking in the direction of Alice's raggedy tenement on the outskirts of the city. I had planned on spending the night there and the following morning I would run the mask down to the head investor's home and drop it off the day before they would cut my funding. However, the closer we got to Alice's, the more it became apparent that there were flaws in my plan: Surely, the Museum would report the stolen mask by morning; Surely, my investors would be notified. It seemed as though, now that we actually possessed the mask, it was worse to have it than to not. It was a scary thought to end up in prison over this.

Alice didn't seem too thrilled either, and after we had been walking in silence for a long while, she announced that she did not want to go home. I knew that she had some financial and domestic problems, but she never brought it up and I was smart enough not to ask her about it. I could tell, however, by the vulnerability in her voice that she was serious.

"Alright," I told her and I picked her up as we crossed the sewage stream. I did not know where we were headed at this point, but figured that we had had enough of the sewers. I held her up to the ladder rungs, which she latched on to. She climbed up and slowly lifted the man-hole cover. We had not heard the echoing roar of a car engine for the better part of an hour and felt that the coast was clear. She peeked her head out and then proceeded to climb up and out - I followed.

We got out into a wide alley. Although it was still dark outside, it was nothing compared to the pitch black of the sewer underground. Again, we walked without direction in silence; the unspoken question on both of our minds, What in God's name should we do?

Soon, Alice answered. She explained that we could sell it to an old friend of hers, Dufarge, a wealthy casino owner, in the North of France. He would certainly purchase it. Getting out of the country sounded pretty good to me so we went for it. We headed to the train depot and purchased two tickets across the channel into France.

As we waited for the train to arrive, Alice rested on my shoulder.
STOP

P.S. - I know that the Channel Tunnel was not open to passengers until 1994. I also know that London was not connected to it until 2007. However, this is fiction, so please imagine that it was in use sometime earlier in the 20th century.

[Steven Hunley]

But before she fell asleep the train was ready to leave for Dover. We boarded at once. It was off-season and the cars were only half-full. In our oaken apartment there was only the two of us. Within minutes we'd left the glare of foggy London behind and headed towards the white cliffs. The night was black all through the countryside and stars twinkled gaily in the dark velvet above. The click of the tracks grew hypnotic with their rhythmic sound of click click, click click. I hadn't realized how dog-tired I was. All the nights I'd spent up plotting and planning. And now we were making our escape.

Alice was asleep in the green velvet seat opposite. There was nothing to fear. I felt safe, and with the rhythm sounding click click, click click, I found my eyelids almost impossible to keep up. I was losing the battle with Morpheus. He was about to have his way with me.
I feel alseep right there in my seat, while images of the English countryside reflecting across the window moving from right to left, right to left, as the train headed towards the east and the coast.

Dover might be the last either one of us saw of England for some time,or as the French call it, Angleterre. The next stop would be Calais, with only the steamer between. I dreamt I wouldn't get sea-sick. I never got on well with ships. Not even in my bathtub as a child.

[MatthewFarlow]

I woke up as the locomotive came to a standstill. I judged that Alice had woken up at some point, due to her change of position. Her eyes were still closed but her head was supported by the green cushion behind her, and now the blinds were closed.

The train gradually gathered speed. The cadence of the tracks had changed, and I concluded that we had moved onto a different set of rails. The wheels now knocked in a steady rhythm, every fourth knock accented.

I peeled the blind from the window and scanned outside the train. It was light now, or lighter, rather, and I noticed seagulls flying overhead and knew we were close to the end of the line. I tapped Alice's thigh to wake her up, but she was already alert for the most part.

"Ready?"

I nodded. We stood up and left our compartment. The train's breaks engaged and screeched to a strenuous halt. We hopped off the steps and quickly disappeared into the mass of people.

[Steven Hunley]

I was hungry. I'm always hungry after a good train ride.

"Alice, can we get French fries?"

"Why not?" she replied. "This is France isn't it?"

That was Alice for you, always with a smart remark. We were walking towards a small cafe in the station. You know the kind. The kind that sell day-old stale croissants to unsuspecting tourists. A young girl was selling flowers right outside the door. Alice stopped and gave her a couple of francs. She chose a red carnation and attached it to my lapel with a bobby pin pulled out of her hair.

"What's this for?"

"It's for Dufarge's driver. It's so he recognises us."

Alice smiled. I knew right then I was in trouble. Foreign country. Shaky woman. Hot mask of King Tut hidden under my coat. Interpol would be looking for us in every corner of the continent. The Serte too. I just knew it. I can smell trouble coming from a mile away. In this case, a kilometer.

"Damn Alice," I said with a tone of disgust," you know I hate this cloak and dagger stuff."

[MatthewFarlow]

And I really did too. Although, I didn't show it to anyone - anyone but Alice that is. We waded through a sea of French-speaking people until we came to the curb. Alice stood there with her harms crossed, I stood there eating my chips.

Soon a black car arrived. An old, well-dressed gentleman climbed out of the drivers seat and walked around the vehicle. He dipped his head slightly as he opened the door for Alice and myself. Alice thanked the man and entered the car while I finished my snack, threw out the paper pouch, and dabbed my mustache with a handkerchief. I joined Alice in the car. The car began.

Alice rested her right hand on my thigh. I looked at her but her attention was elsewhere so I focused the bulk of my observations on the driver. He was professional - making each turn with a specific purpose; he weaved through cars with ease. I looked back at Alice who was looking out the window and saw that she was holding back a smirk. I nudged her:

"What are you grinning about?"

She looked at me and giggled, "We're actually doing it."

The car slowed down with its turn signal ticking. On our right, an iron gate, between two brick columns, was slowly opening. A sign on the closer column displayed two words: Jacque Dufarge

[Steven Hunley]

Who was this mystery man that Alice had kept a secret? Why had she never mentioned him before this?

The gravel driveway wound it’s way between well-manicured lawns at first, and later up and around terraced gardens with graceful trees and flower beds spotted with fountains. Another thought entered my head. I wondered just what kind of an offer he was prepared to make us for the mask of an Egyptian boy-king who’d died thousands of years ago.

“We should expect a good price Alice.”

“That’s what I want too,” she answered, and squeezed my thigh even tighter. “And I always get what I want.”

Her perfume that day appealed to me. And the color of her lipstick seemed just right. Again, I noticed that her skirt was exactly the right length and seemed to show just enough of her legs.
Alice was good at making the best of what she had. Sometimes she’d give you just what you wanted. And that was exactly what she planned now.

She scooted over making sure that I could feel her warmth. Every single inch of her seemed as near as possible. Then she kissed me. Just like that, she kissed me.

It may have been the foreign country. You know how romantic people feel when they’re in France. It may have been the perfume or the length of her skirt or her touch. It may have been that stale croissant I ate on the train doing flip-flops in my stomach. But my head started swimming. My body lost all control. When it did the mask fell out of my coat and onto the floor of the car with a thud. It reminded me where we were.

Alice composed herself. Alice was always good at composing herself.

“Well soon see what he’s offering,” she whispered as she pulled away and started fixing her hair,
“we’re here.”

The car stopped. In front of us was his house. But it wasn’t just a house mind you. It was one of those French country houses left over from the age of Marie Antoinette. A museum, a hotel, a funky chateaux.

[MatthewFarlow]

The chauffeur opened my door and Alice and I followed behind, walking side by side. His pace was relaxed which allowed me time to admire the amazing architecture. The base was made of stone and the second story was made of stucco; it was simply beautiful.

The chauffeur opened the front door for us and we were handed off to a butler as our driver disappeared to his quarters. The butler led us through the well-lit mansion. It was several degrees cooler inside the house than it had been outside moments before. Tasteful masterpieces littered the goldenrod walls. The largest was the portrait of a powerful-looking man - obviously the master of the house. He wore a self-approving grin on his clean face and a set of half-lens glasses resting on his nose. He looked right at you, but unlike other paintings, his eyes did not follow.

We were led outside to a patio and after my eyes adjusted to the outdoors we saw a portly figure eating breakfast alone. I walked toward and as he looked up, Alice began to run after him squealing with convincing joy. He needed a moment to stand up, but after he did they embraced. He was a lot older than I had imagined, probably in his mid-fifties. His hair was turning white in sections, which had even managed to pepper his mustache and isolated chin beard. What surprised me most was that he was wearing a three piece suit and seemed comfortable in the hot sun. He introduced himself to me and shook my hand.

"Jacque Dufarge."

"Timothy Worth."

"Well met." There was a short lull in the conversation before he started speaking again, "Alright, I have been excited all morning for your arrival. I thought that we could walk around the gardens and discuss business."

I nodded and we set off, allowing him to set the pace, which was very leisurely.

"So, you brought with you the prize, no?"

"We did."

"May I see it?"

I pulled out the mask. It wasn't as beautiful as when I had seen it the other times, but beautiful nonetheless.

Dufarge raised an eyebrow. The bright sunlight reflected off of the lustrous mask.

"How did you ge-" Dufarge stopped himself, "Nevermind, I do not care to know."

A pair of peacocks walked in front of us. "Dooo-farge?" Alice requested his attention.

"What? Oh, yes, sorry," he glanced at them and then back at the mask, "These grounds double as my menagerie and game farm as well as the gardens." He paused for a moment, "I am prepared to offer you something well worth your while, especially," he looked up at Alice and I now, "considering that you two are, presumably, in moderate danger."

He then offered us a large sum of cash, more than either of us had expected, and then added that we would be allowed to stay in his home for a week (he looked at Alice) and then we would have to leave (he looked at me), but we would be permitted to stay in his casino hotels until we had a plan. To sweeten the deal further, he promised to have someone forge documents for us so that we would be clean in the eyes of the law for our next steps.

Alice and I looked at each other for a moment and smiled. I looked back at Dufarge and accepted the offer, just like that.

"Great," he said. And so we continued our walk around the grounds.

[Steven Hunley]

The garden was extensive. It took some time for him to show it all. It was just what I needed to think. Time.
I mean he was a casino owner wasn't he? And there's one thing casino owners know. The longer you stay in their presence the more money you leave behind. Maybe that was why he was so generous with his hosptality. He had a lot to gain.

He seemed so friendly, maybe overly-friendly.

And Alice, what about Alice? She was acting much too comfortable.

What exactly was their relationship anyway? Did they have a history? What sort of a history? An intimate sort? I didn't like thinking about that.

He caught my glance and smiled. It was a smile both sweet and sinister. The kind a spider gives a fly. When I turned to look at Alice, guess what I saw?
The same expression on her lips. This thing between them was praying on my brain just like a mantis. This thing was getting ugly.

That's the problem with most insects. They're ugly.

Being in this extensive garden was taking on a whole new feel. A feel I didn't care for. Not one bit.

[MatthewFarlow]

We reentered Dufarge's home and he quickly tasked one of his maids with leading us up to a guest room of her choosing. She chose this beautiful golden room. It was equipped with a luxurious bed, several small surfaces, a large window, and a wardrobe opposite the bed.

"Clothes!" Alice exclaimed and rushed to the wardrobe.

I noticed the maid secretly scoff and then disappear before I got a chance to thank her. I sat myself down on the bed, removed my shoes, and rested my head on the neatly tucked pillow. I saw an appetizing bowl of oranges, but was too comfortable now. I was most interested in the window, though, mainly because of its size. The sun was bright, and illuminated the room completely. The view outside was of the front lawn that we walked by only an hour or two before. I was very comfortable in the bed, but not so much with Dufarge and Alice.

I turned to look at my toes and watched them wiggle in my socks. Then my gaze wandered up. Alice was undressing right before my eyes. My toes stopped moving gradually. Alice was naked. Her back was beautiful. Smooth. Sultry. Her spine dipped slightly into her body and I followed it down the curvature of her body until I reached a point where my feet blocked the view, so I parted them and allowed them to fall naturally to either side. That, my friend, was pure beauty.

I watched until she finished dressing. She turned around and saw me, of course, gazing out the window. She took a deep breath.

"Ready?" she smiled.

"What for?"

"Why, dinner, of course," she explained and added, "...Dufarge invited us..."

I nodded and headed out the door with her, picking up an orange, peeling it, and splitting it with Alice.

[Steven Hunley]

I was hungry and could eat a horse. Not that I would mind you, it's just an expression. You wouldn't say it in France though, they'd think you were serious. The French picked up eating horsemeat when Napolean retreated from Moscow that time in the winter. Horsemeat and frozen croissants. What a meal. And the French are supposed to be so good with food. It made me sick. But not sick enough to pass on dinner.

The dining room was impressive. DuFarge collected art of all sorts. All kinds. The silverware had been used by Louis and Marie Antoinette right before she said the infamous line,

"Let 'em eat cake."

The plates were used by the Pope. The walls had a Chagall on one side and a Gauguin on the other. The crystal chandelier over our heads had hung in the Summer Palace in St. Petersburg right before they shot the Czar.

To tell you the truth the whole place made me uncomfortable. It gave me the creeps.

"What's to eat?" I asked and shifted in my seat.

"Anything you like," said Dufarge. He lit a cigarette. The lighter was Faberge.

"I'll take a Big Mac and some fries," I answered.

I was only trying to be funny.

Nobody laughed.

[Nikhar]

Heya guys, i must congratulate both of you for writing such a gripping story. Its really hard to believe that two guys are writing the story and that the plot wasnt completely formulated well beforehand since the parts merge so incredibly. Please do continue. Eagerly awaiting for the next bit.

[MatthewFarlow]

Thank you Nikhar! On with the story:

In fact, it seemed as though my remark had gone unnoticed. Dufarge closed his lighter up and took a puff on his cigarette.

Cigarettes always intrigued me. The way a smoker draws on it is the loudest form of silence in my mind. The way Dufarge was pulling on the smoke was not desperate by any means. He was controlling the nicotine, not the other way around. It's the way these sorts of things were meant to be used.

In any case, he asked Alice if she was impressed with the room. She of course said yes, and added that not much had changed. My eyes were bouncing around the room as those two continued their conversation without me. I knew I should have been listening, considering how suspicious I was, but the room was too interesting for that. Even the ceiling was ornate.

The horse feeling came back again, and my impatience brought me back to the conversation. Dufarge was almost done with that cigarette by now, and he asked Alice if she was still dancing.

A pair of doors swung open and interrupted her. Two waiters and a waitress appeared, Dufarge pulled quickly on the cigarette and then put it out in a presumably pure silver ashtray. The meals were carried to each of us and simultaneously their covers were removed. Steam emerged from each of them.

In front of me was the biggest burger I have ever seen. Apparently my joke was not taken as one. And that was a good thing.

[Steven Hunley]

I ate my hamburger and should have noticed the sly glances flying back and forth between DuFarge and Alice but I was too busy Macking down.

A silver tray with a gilded top appeared. When the top was lifted it revealed a roll of sushi.

"What's that?"

"It's the finest puffer fish," chirped Alice, "You should really have some."

"It's a delicacy." explained DuFarge.

"Im up for anything," I answered. That's the trouble with me, always up for anything. Alice gave me a slice hand to mouth. I should have noticed, when she placed it in my mouth, that instead of wipping her fingertips on her lips, she wiped them off on her linen napkin.

Alll I noticed was the fire-engine red of her nails. Damn they were sharp and well-shaped! Just like her.

Another thing I should have noticed but didn't was that neither DuFarge and Alice had any. As Lou Reed says in the last line of his song Rock and Roll,

"Not one tiny bit."

The next thing I knew I was on my back staring at the ceiling. Something was missing. The chandelier from the summer palace. I turned my head to the right. No Gauguin. Then to the left. No Chagall. I got up on my legs built by Perelli or Michellin. Like rubber. The whole house was empty and when I got out the door and looked back a "For Rent" sign was in window.

Gee, sometimes a guy is just outa luck.

[MatthewFarlow]

Well, it took me about an hour or two to get the faintest idea of what happened. I was disgusted and all I really wanted was a shower. A shower does wonders for your nerves.

So, back in the house I went. I snooped my way around the place looking for a bath. I found the bathroom, but there were no bath fixtures to speak of. No showerhead, no shower.

I headed upstairs in search of another bathroom. No dice. That one, too, had been robbed of its valuables. I searched the room that we were to stay in, hoping that a trace of Alice would be around. There was not. They even managed to remove the bed and the wardrobe and I wondered how that happened. I did however pick up a couple of soft, overripe oranges.

I felt alone especially in this big, empty house. I solemnly slogged down the steps of the staircase and out the back door. It was terribly dark out, but I needed a walk.

I stripped an orange and reflected some. A lot of this did not make sense. I didn't even know how much time had passed. The most puzzling of all, however, was that godforsaken 'For Rent' sign. It puzzled me for two reasons. One: it was in the worst location of all. Nobody could see that sign from the main road because the driveway was so long. And two: it was in English. France is a French country; they speak French there. So an English sign was out of place. How they even got one, I do not know; I never brought it up with either of them.

I deduced that they left it for me to find. To really make clear that they weren't coming back. They were gone for good.

By the time my orange was consumed, I was upset enough to simultaneously shed my clothes and run into one of Dufarge's former ponds. It made me feel a lot better to swim around in there. After a long while, I heard some rustling in the bushes a field away. I froze and then silently swam to shore, quietly collected my clothes, and frantically sprinted back inside.

I went hugged the walls as I found my way in the dark. I was looking for someplace to sleep when I came across the library. Inside, there was a coushionless couch. There were a couple of books scattered around the library floor. I picked up a small one by the couch but it was too dark to even read the title, so I placed it on my pile of clothes and dozed off.

When I awoke, it was light, but not bright. I picked up the book and read the title out loud: “Betting on the Muse – Poems and Stories – Charles Bukowski.” I dressed and stowed the small book in my coat pocket. I ate the rest of the oranges and headed out the back. On the lawn, sitting, with its eyes closed, was one of Dufarge’s peacocks. I had nothing to give it, nor was I feeling particularly charitable, so I strolled past it towards the garage in hopes of finding a forgotten car.

All that I found in that big four-car garage was an old ten-speed bicycle. As I wheeled it outside, the peacock was patiently waiting there for me. I hopped on the bicycle and pedaled slowly down the driveway. Looking back, the peacock was following. I paused at the end of the driveway to manually open Dufarge’s gate. The peacock caught up and again patiently waited for me.

A nasty idea popped into my head. Dufarge would want that big teal bird.

I held the gate open for the peacock and closed it behind. As I left the unoccupied palace, and closed the insigniaed gate, I wondered how the real-estate agent was planning to market a home with 'JD' stamped on everything.

[Steven Hunley]

Have you ever pedaled down a country lane in France with a peacock under your arm? I can, and I can tell you one thing Mon Ami. It's tough to steer.

But there was no way, no matter how tough the road, no matter how Van-Gogh maddenly bright the sun, that I was going to let go of that bird.

It was my key, my plan, my device to locate DuFarge. I recalled what he'd said while giving us the tour of the garden.

"See that bird?, he said proudly, " I 've raised it since it was a chick. It has the run of the place and will never leave. I wouldn't take ten million for it."

That's just it. It wouldn't leave the place. In such a hurry to leave they couldn't catch it in time. Probably hid out. Probably gave them sh*t too.

But it was my ace in the hole. When I reached the next village I called up one of my "friends" that worked for Le Monde. He was one of the origninal
"French Connections."

"Place me a full page ad, Frenchie," I told him. "Say I found a peacock named Louise in an abandoned estate for rent."

It was pretty funny, DuFarge naming "him" Louise. What a pair of huevos he had!

Now all I had to do was sit back, chug back some Perrier and Hennessy and wait. It always gripes the French when they know someone drinks Hennessy rather than Courvoisier. An English man makes the stuff!

Each little sip was sweet revenge. Oh was it yummy!

And as for the bird? " He weren't nothing special," as they used to say in the American movies.

He worked for chicken feed.

[MatthewFarlow]

"I figured I had some serious waiting to do so I whipped out that book, you know, the Bukowski one, and I flipped through its pages. I stopped at one poem, The Laughing Heart, and read it," said Worth.

He sat across from me at the interrogation table. Somebody had turned the vents on and the moving air made the light swing again. Worth closed his eyes as if to channel his past. I think he mentioned something of a photographic memory before. He began slowly:

"The Laughing Heart," he cleared his throat.
"Your life is your life.
Don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
Be on the watch.
There are ways out.
There is light somewhere.
It may not be much light but it beats the darkness.
Be on the watch.
The gods will offer you chances.
Know them. Take them.
You can’t beat death but you can beat death in life.
Sometimes the more often you learn to do it, the more light there will be.
Your life is your life.
Know it while you have it.
You are marvelous
The gods wait to delight in you," the man paused, "Now, ain't that a beauty?"

I smiled and we mutually paused for a moment.

"Well, I liked that poem a lot, I must say and I must have read it a dozen times in that old French pub. I was sitting by the window for some light. Something blocked the sun. It was a dark figure and it tapped on the glass. I stood up and headed outside. Children were flocking around Dufarge's bird, playfully harassing it, patting it on the head. I didn't bother with them. The figure obviously meant business and I wasn't going to keep myself, the bird, or the mystery waiting. STOP.

[Steven Hunley]

The dark figure cleared his throat,

"We saw your ad in le Monde. What's the price you're asking for the return of the bird?"

I felt like I was in The Maltese Falcon. I wanted to sound tough, just like Bogart's Sam Spade."

"I want back the mask, and the key to the estate for my inconvenience and expenses."

He had no expression on his face, he was giving nothing away for free.

"What if I just hit you over the head right now, and ran off with the bird?"

"Then you'd be..." and suddenly the day went dark.

When I woke up, the kids were tossing small green berries at my head as I lay there in the mud and rocks.
My cheek was pock-market from resting in the gravel.
The bird and the car were gone. The first thing I did was run off the kids and reach in my pocket. The tiny GPS unit was flashing a signal. I'd slipped a bug in the bird's food. Now, wherever he went, I could follow the electronic scent. I couldn't have been out for too long, the map made him only thirty or so miles away. I dusted off my clothes and hopped in the nearest car. If DuFarge wanted to play Gold Finger, I was willing to play James Bond.
I'd trail him to Switzerland if that's what it took.

And I certainly owed a bump on the noggin to old Odd Job there. My judo was probably as good as his. And for once, I'd have surprise on my side.

STOP

[everyadventure]

I'm beginning to wonder which of you will receive the royalties from this fine piece of literature...

[everyadventure]

Surprise, yes, but time? Not so much. I was woefully uneducated about a bird's digestive tract (I seemed to recall something about gizzards and rocks?), and I had no idea how much time I had before my plan went splat.

"Où allez-vous?" asked the driver of the taxi car I'd jumped into. Stupid Frenchies, why couldn't they speak English like the rest of the civilized modern world?

"You speak English?" I asked.

"Oui. Where are you going?" he asked, cigarette waggling between thin lips.

"Well, I'm not quite sure yet. But I'll give you directions as we go," I said, eyeing the blip on the GPS unit.

"Vous Américaine stupide," he muttered, and accelerated. The wild goose chase had begun, and I was going to snare me a peacock.

STOP
Was that all right?

[Nikhar]

That was bloody awesummm Steve.:-D

now it would appear as the narrator' master plan. To put up the advertisement, (after getting the chip into the bird's stomach), leaving the bird out in the open, knowing he'd be knocked down and the bird stolen. So that now he could actually follow the bird and know Dufarge's whereabouts.

[MatthewFarlow]

Darkness had fallen by now and the tracker's phosphorescent glow was reflecting on my concentrating eyes.

The cabbie cleared his throat. He had grabbed my attention although I'm unsure that that was his intention. "Ood you like un cigarette?" he offered. I was unable to see the front seats of the car on account of light produced by the screen, but I watched the burning ember on the end of his cigarette sway in unison with his words.

"No." I looked back down. The radio was turned on shortly thereafter and, following a quick session of channel surfing, slow reggae beats overpowered all other sounds.

The GPS device indicated that our buzzard had been motionless for some time. I warned the cab driver that we were approaching the destination and he turned off the music and slowed the vehicle until I told him to stop.

I got out and walked to the side of the road. There was no bird around there. There was hardly anything around there. I patrolled the road to double and triple check for any bird when my driver honked. He rolled down his window and leaned out.

"The post!" he gestured to a stake on the right side of the road. I walked over to it and found a path leading somewhere that was invisible to me from that position. I looked back at the cabbie and he shoed me with his cigarette hand, gesturing that I could take my time. I took my first step onto the path and, Squish, I had found the bird's 'discarded' bug.

STOP

[Steven Hunley]

I knew right then I was hot on his trail. There was a hill just before me with a stand of trees on top.
Then, outa nowhere, for it seemed like nowhere, I hear the call of a peacock. Them as soon as I noticed it...it stopped.
The cab left and I skirted the hillside, went all around it. The brush beneath the trees was impenetrable. I could only sit and wait to hear it again.

So that's what I did. Sit and wait. Hours later I sat still, unmoving, just listening, like a rock.

"There must be some way to get that bird to squabble!"

I just knew it. But what was it?

Finally came the dawn. From my side of the hill I was greeted by a pastoral scene unequalled. Rolling green hills, winding roads in the distance, and it was so quiet, but hark! What was that? The sound of a caliope far off.
I got up, stretched, and walked towards the noise.

About a mile away was a circus set up in a field. I figured I could smell the coffee from right where I was.
They had what I needed. Coffee.

In minutes I was walking between cages of animals and eating another stale croissant and a cup of coffee. The lions could smell it. The elephants could smell it,and the zebras too. I admit, it smelled good!

Even the peacocks and peahens looked my way, along with the monkeys.

Hey, what kinda monkey was I anyway?!

Peahens???!!!!

"Hey Garcon", I said to the boy who was feeding them, "How much to rent the little lady here?"

"She must be back before the performance!" he warned.

"I'll return her long before that."

And with the bird in a cage I could hardly lift, I made my way back to the stand of trees on the hill and sat down and lit a cigarette.

"I'll just let nature take her course."

Then I had me a smoke.

"The hen didn't like being cooped up much."

When he said this to me during the interview in his cell he looked around the room. I understood what he meant. Tears formed in his eyes the second he made the statement.

"So she started crying real loud."

[MatthewFarlow]

It was a boisterous bark from that petite, little buzzard. But, before long, I could hear a second bird in the distance calling out between her cries.

"Gotcha," I whispered and marched, bearing a bird, in the direction of 'Louise'. I heard quick light footsteps coming towards me. Two legs. Could it be, I thought, that they would allow Louise to roam uncaged? The bushes rustled slightly and out came Alice. STOP.

[Steven Hunley]

"Ah Ha!"

Alice stopped dead in her tracks. If I could express in words the look on her face I would. Let's just put it this way. Ever since that day, when you look in the dictionary for the word astonishment, you'll see a picture of Alice.

She took another step towards me and said,

"Put down that silly bird."

Then she gave me a hug I'll never forget and a kiss beyond any description that wouldn't be X rated and banned in five European countries. I still have burn marks down my throat from her tongue.

" Darling, I'm so glad you're here," she whispered all teary-eyed.

Her hand grasped a part of my anatomy that can't be mentioned in public.
Lust was about to raise it's ugly head.

It was an Oscar-winning performance and that's the truth. I was ready to vote for her myself.

Too bad I'm not a member of the Academy. STOP

[MatthewFarlow]

Oh, um, achem, excuse me, I got a little sidetracked there reminiscing. The important thing though was that Alice and I were back together, and from what I could tell, she was on my side. She came clean to me. We started to walk down the hill, into the circus valley.

She explained to me that after she heard from me about the possible robbery, she contacted DuFarge to work out a plan with him to secure the most loot. At that point, she told me, it was all business, nothing personal. DuFarge never did anything over the phone that he could do in person, so she had to meet DuFarge in France before the robbery, which she did, and only barely made it back in time for the heist. She didn't even bother with an alibi, she told me. She thought it would be seem more like her to simply disappear for a while. And she did. And it did seem more like her.

Well, she admitted to me that she had grown pretty attached to me over the course of our robbery and the rest of our escapade. Her emotions got in the way, and she almost didn't follow through with her plan, but then she decided that it was safer and wiser to stick with the DuFarge. DuFarge, after all, is a very powerful enemy. So DuFarge's chef specially ordered and assembled a poisonous pufferfish sushi roll, it was fed to me, and the chateaux was quickly, but meticulously emptied.

She thought she'd never see me after that, and then she told me that she missed me. That's when I realized that Alice loved me. When she said she missed me, she really meant she loved me. It wouldn't be Alice to tell me any other way.

I told her that I had missed her too.

As we saw the first circus tents in detail, she got to the most recent news.
DuFarge had fallen ill during the short trip from his chateaux to his summer palace. He loved when the circus came to town, and since he was not well enough to make the voyage to the circus, he instead decided that he would pay to have the circus come to him. Alice, of course, was currently acting as his messenger.

She went to talk to the ringleader to hire a couple of performers, and I thought I might as well return the peahen. I handed over the bird. I saw a line of three jesters emerge from the big top. They each had their faces uniquely painted. As I watched them waddle towards the camels, I called Alice over. "Alice, I have an idea." STOP.

I'm reserving the next issue of the story, so don't write anything!
Also, if you'd like to see something cool that I did, reread the second paragraph in this issue and then read the reply marked #12 on the first page.

[MatthewFarlow]

Actually, I don't like that I reserved the next section of the story, that's not the purpose of the game. Sorry about that. I'll make a quick transition to the next person's post:

And so, about forty minutes later, Alice led a line of four jesters back up the path to DuFarge's. I took up the rear, my face completely painted. As I had no real musical or acrobatic skills, so I was given an old, partway broken tambourine to fit in. If all went well, however, I would leave DuFarge's with a certain mask on my face.

STOP.

Take it away.

[Steven Hunley]

continuation of story

"Alice, do you know anything about chemistry? I have a plan."

We walked into a quiet corner behind the tent.

"I've got a way of distracting DuFarge. If it works, I can grab the mask and you'll look like you had nothing to do with it Baby, we'll meet and split the profit fifty-fifty later."

I always like calling my favorite women Baby, I got it from Bogart. When she heard the term fifty-fifty, my Baby was all ears.

"Gee Honey, after all I've done to you, you still care," she cooed, and gave me a kiss.

"Do you feel like making with a few tears? Do ya Honey?"

"I'll do anything for you, you know that."

"So here's what I want you to do."

What came after that was all whispers and innuendo.

I painted my face and tripped after the other jesters, looking like an escapee from the Circe de Solie.

The back ground under the big top was supposed to be in in Paris so I fit in just right. Dufarge had a front row seat with his bodyguard beside him.
We performed the usual stuff. The exploding umbrella,the car that fell apart.
The clever repartee dialogue. Soon Dufarge was almost rolling in the isle, bend over with laughter.

All this time Alice was in the kitchen mixing up my magic potion. When no one was looking, she substituted my magic mix for the bottle made for the smoke machine.

Then the Seine background rolled down. It was time to add fog and be French. I put on my gas mask. Don't ask where I got it, this is a low-budget story. Things just pop up.

"Look," snickered Dufarge, "One of the jesters is wearing a gas mask, how funny!"

It wasn't so funny when the "Paris fog" hit him in the face. He started bawling then. That was my payback for puffer-fish sushi. Alice started crying too. That is, until they were so disoriented they nearly passed out.

I had a few minutes to search for the mask, so that's what I did.

[MatthewFarlow]

Although the gas didn't knock me out, it did do it's theatrical job, and was quite a bit cloudier than I remember Parisian fog to be. I had adequate time though, so I left DuFarge's theatre and walked into the adjacent room, which housed all of his collection in a fashion comparable to a small museum.

I walked around the perimeter: glass cases full of artifacts, vases worth more than your annual county jail salary. I even passed that painting of DuFarge from the chateaux, the one where he looks like he's better than anyone. But none of that was of any interest to me. It was as though I had tunnel vision. Sure these other valuables were worthy of DuFarge, but none of them came close to the sentimental value of that mask, none of them were worthy of a Worth. It wasn't about the money anymore, it was about revenge.

I found the mask sandwiched between two tall, bright windows. I reached up and took it off the wall. I had the face in my hands and it was beautiful. I wanted a better look of it. I took off the fly-face gas-mask.

Now, I like to think the mask was so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes, and then I passed out because it was too powerful, but the gas was in that room too, so draw your own conclusions.

When I opened my eyes again, they were still teary. It was very bright and blurry, but I was sure I was looking at a human. As I reached to rub the liquid from my eyes, I came to realize that I was in some sort of vehicle.

[MatthewFarlow]

Alice was driving and I was in the passenger's seat. I looked outside. We were still in the countryside and the sun was directly in my eyes. I blinked and shifted my weight. Alice looked at me briefly, "Good morning."

I groaned. In two days I had been chemically forced out of consciousness twice. Once by DuFarge and once by my own doing.

"You must be hungry," said Alice, handing me half of a croissant. She was right, my stomach felt more empty than DuFarge's chateaux. I sunk my teeth into the pastry. It required that I rip it with my teeth like a lion tears apart a raw steak, it was so stale. This was the stalest I'd had, but on account of my hunger, it was also the best I'd had.

"Thank you, Miss Jennings," I said and watched her smile at my unnecessary professionalism, "Now, where is the mask?"

"Behind you," she instructed me.

I turned around in my seat to see the mask sitting patiently in the back seat. Next to it was the old tambourine I was given for the performance. "You kept that old thing?" I asked her.

She smiled and told me to pick it up and try to figure out why she did. It jingled as I brought it to my lap. Was it some sort of antique? If so, it was in terrible condition, the film on top had been punctured and was beyond repair. The wood was split in the middle.

"What is it?"

"DuFarge's coin collection."

Puzzled, I peered closer, looking at the tiny cymbals embedded in the wood frame of the tambourine. They were, indeed, coins. Ancient Chinese coins. The ones with the holes in them. I chuckled at how clever she was.

After a period of silence, it dawned on me that I had no idea where we were driving. We couldn't go back to England because we might have been fugitives - and might be now in France, although I couldn't imagine that DuFarge would phone the police to catch us, he had too many illegally acquired possessions to risk a crime scene investigation in his home. I also determined that if it was morning and the sun was in my eyes, that meant we were headed East. Being in the south of France, that meant one country - Italy.

I asked Alice if this was true and she confirmed it. Her vague plan was to cross the border into Italy, find the nearest (and hopefully small, low-security) airport, and then leave Europe altogether; we'd go to my place in Egypt, sell the coins or mask or both, and live together forever.

I loved the idea. I even fantasized of Alice recreating her Oscar performance with me in view of the pyramids. However, it seemed like that was all it would amount to be - a distant, unattainable fantasy.

The Alps came into view.

STOP.

[Steven Hunley]

It was all uphill from here.

The road wound up and around and as it did the views became spectacular.

To the right were alpine valleys and to the left small businesses hidden between the folds of the mountains. The Swiss were good at out of the way places and good at hiding things out for that matter. For a moment I considered stashing the money we'd make from the mask in a Swiss bank account.

As we continued up into the mountains, Alice suggested,

"I saw a telescope, mounted on the wall one of the switchbacks. Why don't we pull over for a second and enjoy the view?"

"Sure, why not."

I pulled over and took the chance to stretch my feet. Alice walked to the telescope and peered down into the valley.

"It's scenic as all get-out," she stated, " Take a look, Honey. It's picture perfect, like out of a movie."

I took my turn. It was true, you could see everything. In a way, it was like turning back time. How far back? At least to the sixties, that's what I figured. For one single reason. What I saw made me question my eyes if not my sanity.

Maybe the altitude was getting to me!

There, between two snow-capped peaks, was a factory surrounded by a chain-link fence. The buildings were rusted corrugated iron. At the end of one of the driveways between the buildings was a large mirror. That's what caught my attention. It flashed in the sunlight on a rusted car pierced with small holes.

I focused the scope even closer.

They were bullet holes! Bullet holes? Bullet holes! And it wasn't just any car. It was an Aston Martin! Why would anyone trash such an expensive car? I had no idea. Then I pivoted the telescope to the left and saw a name painted on one of the buildings. It read,

"AURIC ENTERPRISES"

I swear it's all true. I wouldn't lie about a thing like this. I give you my BOND on it!

What the hell was going on?

STOP

[MatthewFarlow]

I passed the telescope, still focused on the factory, to Alice. She stared through it for a moment until we both heard a click, and immediately everything went pitch black for her. We had run out of time.

We had also run out of change, so there was no way of seeing through the telescope any longer. Alice looked up at me. She had seen it too, if only for an instant. We went back in the car and sat in silence for some time. Alice turned the key and started to drive down a series of hairpin turns. STOP.

[Steven Hunley]

As she made her way down the mountain I heard the horn of a large black Mercedes Benz sound behind us. Turning in the seat, I saw six Chinese bullies trying to motion us over,and every one of them, with exception of the driver, was holding a Luger automatic. Damn criminal Chinese thugs anyway, doing apprenticships in Internatonal Gangster!

I searched for the oil-slick button and started pushing every button on the dashboad.

But, just as Alice pulled into the bend of a hair-pin turn, I found the sucker.

The effect was catastrophic!

[MatthewFarlow]

The driver turned and applied the brake simultaneously, but the friction simply was not there. His efforts were fruitless. They slid off the road and the Mercedes plummeted down the mountain rhythmically.

Alice stopped our car and scolded me with her frightened eyes, silently, until the sounds of rolling metal ceased. "What have you done?"

It was the second most surprising thing she had ever asked me. She was comfortable poisoning me and leaving my body in France. She was fine when it came to knocking out DuFarge and robbing him. But when a carload of Chinese weapon-wielding gangsters had us in hot pursuit, the use of oil was crossing the line.

She started driving down the mountain, much slower now, until we arrived at the wreck. The car was on its side having been stopped by a tall Alpine tree. One of the men were dragging the others out of the wreckage. Alice stopped the car, got out, and hurried to help him. I followed her, still not trusting these men.

[MANICHAEAN]

The Mercedes, ( 7 series for backdrop information ), when descending the mountain, had happily attained a rhythm somewhat reminiscent of the Beatle's number "Hey Jude." The Chinese occupants, familiar with this tune from the preface of Chairman Mao's little red book, found it reassuring and as each tree was hit, responded in a joyful, bracing response: " Dah, Dah, Dah,Dah Dah Dah Dah / Dah, Dah Dah daha / Hey Jude."

Eventually the car came to a halt and albeit on it's side, Divine Providence had ensured that although the Chinese gangsters were shaken, they would still live to enjoy the Year of the Rat. Mind you, the driver was somewhat miffed and expressed himself in a rather unconventional and uncharacteristic Oriental manner. "Fluck this for a game of soldier boys. Wat a mistake to make a!" I should perhaps explain at this juncture, that he had worked previously in both a Chinese & an Italian restaurant prior to graduating to a life of crime.

The other two main characters of this torrid tale had, in the meantime drawn up and the woman approached them across the scarred slope, broken trees and unopened containers of instant pot noodles.

She seemed to have about her an air of expectancy and the sunshine shafting down the valley from her rear, outlined the handcuffs on her belt and the promise in her loins. The hood from Canton experienced a serpentine insurrection at a perpendicular angle to his glutes, whilst others stood in nervous expectation as to what would happen next.

[Steven Hunley]

How was I to know Alice carried hand-cuffs? I wasn't. Alice had a ready answer. Alice always had a ready answer for everything.

"Don't be surprised, Darling, I was saving them for you as a surprise.The hotel room has a beautiful four poster said to have been owned by Cardinal Richeleau. The one in Hearst Castle is only a copy."

Then Alice grew pensive.

"It would have been sooo romantic! But now I'll use them on him!"

Quickly and with no mercy she handcuffed the driver forthwith. The others I tied up like noodles while they were still stunned from the impact. The car was a trash heap, the Chinese were as tangled up as uncooked Ramen, and Alice and I were completly untouched and completely in charge, which brought up an unsettling thought.

'Funny, I never knew my sweet Alice was into bondage. Some women you just can't figure.'

[MANICHAEAN]

Ha ha. You have got this goldern oldie going again Steve.
Well done!

[MatthewFarlow]

Alice approached the Chinese boys, now seated up against the cars. She went up to one of them, kneeled down to his level, and squeezed his fat, rotund cheeks together with one hand.

"Who sent you?" said she.

The poor Chinese lad slid his eyes around to glance at his comrades for sympathy. Alice shook her vice grip on his face, jostling his brain. Say, you could learn something from Alice, she always gave a real interrogation. But anyway, the Chinese boy winced and whimpered and simply said "DuFarge."

Alice and I both looked at each other. How the hell did he know where we'd gone?

I was pissed Alice had set me up once again, but after a short inspection of the belly of our vehicle, I found that DuFarge had played the GPS tracker card on me that I had pulled on him and his bird. I removed it and put it in my back pocket. I figured if I found a snowfinch that would let me get close enough to it, I'd attach the tracker to it and DuFarge would find himself following a migration path.

Alice reentered our car, and I followed.

[Steven Hunley]

Alice began to take the driver's seat. I was up to my neck in DuFarge, and wanted him at the end of a rope.

"Don't sit there!" I barked, "I'm in the driver's seat now."

Alice gave me a look, well, you know what kind of look.

"I've had enough of Dufarge. We'll never get out of Europea alive, and even if we do, he has the resources to follow us to the ends of the earth."

"And beyond!" she nodded her head. I liked it when Alice nodded her head, or when she was yawning threw her head back and stretched to the ceilng. I liked how her hair hung just now, crazy-tossled from the near impact with danger.

"There's only one answer to the problem of DuFarge," I continued, "We need something fool-proof and final."

Alice wasn't Alice Blue Gown at this moment. She was wearing her long slinkly black velvet dress with the diamond spagetti straps and the slit on the side.

She uncrossed her legs and drew them apart at the knees. The leg nearest me was uncovered just past the knee. Alice put her hand on her hip and bunched it up even more, revealing the dark metalic form of a small automatic held fast with her garter. She patted it affectionately.

"Something that will solve The Dufarge Problem once and for all."

"Yes," I answered, smiled sincere as all get out, and put the car in a looping U-turn and now Alice was on the left side, and had an expansive view of the valleys and mountians and ribbons of water cascading below. The air was chock-full of excitement.

Alice brightened at this thought. "And then we can sell the Gold Mask and rake in money for the rest of our days!"

The hunted had decided to change the rules of the game and become the hunters instead.

STOP

[MatthewFarlow]

We knew that DuFarge was likely to still be at the chateaux where we'd left him passed out. DuFarge, as Alice knew him, preferred to conduct his business remotely. He favored the comfort and safety of his own home, with his personal chefs, art, furniture, and birds. He was not one to give that lifestyle up unless he thought his safety was in danger.

If he were to be informed that we switched directions, he would know that we were no longer fleeing him, but pursuing him. We didn't want an elaborate chase, we wanted a quick kill. We wanted for it just to be over, for DuFarge to be off our tail, for the authorities to be off our tails; I was beginning to believe that the curse of the mask was actually true.

For being such a cunning woman, Alice is quite gullible. Once, before I left for Egypt, Alice and I were walking through one of the many tourist locations in London and we were stopped by a gypsy woman pushing her readings for £10 and Alice took her up on them and was incredibly enthralled. She was hanging on every word as if it truly was a look into her future.

I could never have brought up the curse of that mask to Alice. She's far too superstitious, especially about the ancients. So I kept my mouth shut as we drove.

STOP

[Jalebaron]

The next thing I remember was peeling open my eyes to a neon blur, my left side of my face prostate against a sandy wooden table. My head throbbed with pain and I clutched the back of my skull, where I found a firm lump sprouting from what must have been a terrible blow. Where am I? I asked, but nobody answered. Where the hell is Alice? I screamed, but no reply.

My eyes adjusted to the light and I found myself in what appeared to be a shed or garage of some kind. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and turpentine, I dizzying concoction that burned my sinuses and made my heart pound.

I tried to stand but found my legs weak and I staggered and half-slammed a tall cabinet, toppling it over and causing its jingling contents to scatter all over the concrete floor. I flipped onto my back and sighed in frustration and pain.

Just then, the door along the rear wall swung open and a large man walked through it. I tried to see who it was but was blinded by the neon ceiling bulbs. I squinted into the light.

Been awhile, he said, and that's when I knew I was a dead man.

[Steven Hunley]

But I was wrong. It's always funny when a blow to your noggin makes you wrong-headed. It wasn't sudden death to me that would happen. It was sudden death to my wallet. And it wasn't DuFarge, but Deiter, a Volkswagen mechanic, who would assess my damage.

"It's been a while," he continued, " since you passed out at the wheel. But I knew when you saw my bill you'd come around. Lucky for you your girlfriend took the wheel and saved the day."

He wiped his greasy hands on a blackened rag, and then waved one hand about as if it was on fire, "Shhhhh, is she a hot one."

"Hey, Miss Alice," he shouted through the open doorway. "Your boyfriend is up and around."

Alice strolled in, make-up perfect, not one hair out of place, smelling as fresh as a million dollars before taxes. She looked at me, and then at her nails. She'd been wearing them long for me, and no other. She took pride in her appearance.

"It's not easy grabbing the steering wheel out of the hands of an unconscious boyfriend," she said, "Looks like you snagged my cuticles!"

Then she leaned over and gave me a kiss that would raise the dead. And I knew the minute her lips touched mine ...like I was shot... like Colonel Kurtz ...with a crystalline bullet.... the one lesson that only a woman can give you...that life was precious.

[MatthewFarlow]

I swear, the closer you get to Germany, the better the car repairs get. As soon as we got that VW off the lot, we were flying. Perhaps it was the thorough mechanic work or maybe it was my light wallet, but in either case, we had Deiter to thank.

Alice drove as she explained what she learned during my lapse in consciousness. Alice had been tipped off that DuFarge was currently in Belgium, was heading to Amsterdam tomorrow, and ultimately would arrive in Copenhagen by the end of the week. It was clear that her intention was still to murder DuFarge, but I wasn't as into it as I had previously been. Sure, DuFarge had to connections and resources to pursue us internationally, but killing him would cause more problems than it would solve. The law was one concern, but DuFarge had very powerful friends as well, and as Alice and I were unknowingly headed to discover, powerful friends can make for powerful enemies.

Alice merged onto the Autobahn.

STOP.

[Steven Hunley]

'Alice, Honey, as much as I like French- fries, there's no reason to get us killed getting there."

She gave me a look, and stopped pressing the petal to the metal.

"We have to think this thing out."

"And exactly what does that mean?" she said in a huff. Just then Alice resembled one of those femme fatales in the movies Bogart would describe as ' sexy when you're upset'.

"It doesn't just stop with DuFarge, you know. The b*astard has friends. They could make things tough for us long after he's gone."

She took a breath and admitted, " You have a point."

Even as she was slowing down we zipped past three Lamborghinis and a Ferrari. I love it when all those slick old-moneyed Euro-types see a VW whizz past them in their expensive cars. I shakes up their gestalt really quick. One guy got out of his Bugatti so see if it was still moving.

Unfortunately for him, it was.

"If we're going to knock the sucker off, we need to plan it out, make it look as if someone else did it, and that we're as innocent as a couple of Bo-peep's lambs."

"That's why I love you, Darling," she said, putting her hand on my knee. "You have a head on your shoulders."

"Yes, Alice, and I'm a fool for your love."

STOP

[MatthewFarlow]

The beautiful thing about Copenhagen is the water. And the beautiful thing about water is the danger.

Officially, we set out to Copenhagen to allow us the most time to prep for an "accidental assassination," but the scenery certainly made our decision an easy one. Our initial plans involved a maritime tragedy which would result in DuFarge's demise. There are very few witnesses out there on the water and many things that could go wrong. Alice knew that DuFarge was fond of yacht parties, and we were certain that he had a wealthy friend who would be able to accommodate this desire.

However, as we arrived in Copenhagen, it became increasingly apparent we hadn't a clue as to which boat he would end up on. We didn't even know which yacht club this boat was housed at. We couldn't rig every yacht in Copenhagen to have a deadly next voyage. Or could we. . . ?

We could not. And so we headed to a cafe to refresh our minds. As my tea and her black coffee arrived, Alice kept her menu to read every description of every item on it having no intention to purchase anything, a habit she inherited from her mother. I took advantage of the outdoor seating and observed the city. A boy mesmerized by a balloon bound to his wrist followed nine or ten paces behind his father. A proper, grey woman walked her proper, grey dog. A legless beggar slumped with a sign. And then I saw across the way, The Royal Kopenhaven Theatre. It had a beautifully ornate exterior with aged regalia and a marquee that read "Kaiser Ballet performs: Swan Lake". I pointed it out to Alice hardly believing the coincident. Not only was Alice's former ballet company performing across the street, it was performing the ballet in which she gained relative fame for.

She smiled and returned to her menu and my eyes went back to the beggar when we both looked at each other. "DuFarge!"

It was true. Jacque DuFarge was about the closest thing that you could get to a ballet groupie. He followed the Kaiser Ballet from city to city, and in fact, it was through this that he befriended young Alice. He was going to be at that performance, and it would be the death of him.

[MatthewFarlow]

Alice began drinking her coffee rapidly, and I flagged down our waitress for the bill.

Tab paid, we walked across the plaza to scout out the interior of the Royal Kopenhaven for its potentially fatal "accidents". When we made it to the towering ebony doors, I gave the handles a firm tug only to discover that they were locked. I was able to hear that famous Tchaikovsky suite softened through the thick wood. The dancers were practicing.

Alice grabbed the door's cast iron knocker and swung hard. The muffled music stopped and someone unlatched the door.

[MatthewFarlow]

The door opened partially, and I was met by an annoyed-looking, aging man. His jowls drooped slightly, covered in a white stubble. On the tip of his nose rest a pair of glasses, the same kind that Freud had popularized many years before. His face remained boringly still to the point of appearing farouche - that is, until my companion popped her head over my shoulder and ballooned her cheeks up like a puffer-fish. After a moment of study, the man's face lit up.

"Alice? . . . Is that you?"

"Hello, Joffrey."

"My God, it is you. After all these years- My gosh- the girls will be delighted to see you! Please," Joffrey opened the door fully, "come in."

We followed at Joffrey's request and trailed behind his small frame through the inner workings of the antique theatre. "I hope you don't mind too much," he said, "the theatre has been renovated so many times over the years that this hallway system makes very little sense at all. Some of our more careless girls regularly get lost in this backstage area," Joffrey waved his hands around the air. I looked around and knew what he meant: the lobby had been beautifully ordered, but this was an absolute labyrinth. "I sent the dancers back for a mid-morning break when you knocked; the dressing room is going to be full of smoke, I hope you don't mind," Joffrey warned, fully directed towards me, and tossed open a pair of swinging doors.

A menagerie of European language filled the space. Through the light smoke I made out roughly twenty female forms, but there were certainly more present in the room. None paid any attention to me, nor Alice, which I found particularly peculiar, until I recognized that the majority of these dancers were between the ages of 17 and 22 - their careers had never overlapped with Alice's. Along the back wall, a series of make-up desks were in overuse. We stopped at one. The most senior dancers, the oldest of which still only in her early thirties, were congregated talking and doing each other's make up. Joffrey made the introduction and they all began to catch up with Alice. I leaned up against the wall and took in the beauty of their bodies. I wouldn't say it was in a sexual way, despite the fact that many of them were naked in some way, but more in an appreciative way - these women were their own sculptures.

A younger woman sat down at another desk next to me. She tapped my thigh and held up a smoldering cigarette for me to hold as she put on her tights. This made me feel like a piece of furniture. After the tights, she squeezed into a black leotard. She paused and took a puff out of the cigarette before returning it to me and finally, dabbed her face with blush. She looked up at me, grabbed the smoke, and walked off without a 'thank you' or a 'merci' or a 'danke'.

[Steven Hunley]

These divas, no matter what language they spoke, or what language they didn't speak, all acted the same way--entitled. Entitled to love-affairs, riches, adulation, and fame.

With all their spinning pirouettes, with all their magnificent high leaps, they could never get over themselves. It was a sickness they all shared.

Alice said,

"When Dufarge gets here, he'll be easy to spot, even in this large crowd."

I looked out over the sea of red velvet seats. It seemed an impossible task, and the lighting would be even dimmer after the curtain went up.

"He's always in the front row," Alice continued, setting my fears aside. "He's spoiled rotten."

"Then we can trail him afterwards and see where he goes."

"That's the idea," she said. "He's never armed. We can hustle him off, break his legs, make him sorry he was ever born, and last but not least, regret he stole the gold mask of King Tut from a couple of pals.

" He'll sing like a Canary before he croaks like the Frog he is. And we'll have our revenge and be back in the money, won't we, Honey?"

Alice gave my hand a squeeze, so hard it felt like it was caught in a vice, and smiled.

"We most certainly will."

Then she gave an affectionate pat to her shapely thigh, where she'd secreted a stiletto from Tijuana, B. C.

"Then let's get some drinks and popcorn or whatever they sell at the opera, and take a box seat and wait."

"Joffrey will see to it immediately, I'll get him."

[MatthewFarlow]

As Alice disappeared back into the dressing room to summon Joffrey, the company's choreographer emerged from her own private quarters. I recognized her immediately from Alice's descriptions: a woman impossibly thin, ghostly pale with wrinkled skin and scrutinizing eyes, purple bags beneath them. Her name was Lucrezia Gamins. She was world renowned for her minimalist productions of classic ballets. By stripping the elaborate sets and costuming, Lucrezia forced her audience to focus on the dancers' movement and its relation to the music, which was why Alice never wore more than a solid white or black leotard in all of her professional career. Her take on these antiquated ballets made them fresh again in the eyes of her admirers, but not without controversy.

It was as I watched Lucrezia's eyes that I realized that if the murder were to be carried out properly, Alice's stiletto would not be necessary. I did not merely want DuFarge dead, I wanted to make certain that we were not suspected. I did not even want there to be a suspect - for me to be involved in DuFarge's murder, it would have to be a planned accident. Alice returned with Joffrey who lead us to our seats. The dancers replaced us on-stage and resumed their rehearsal.

Joffrey lead us to the farthest left box on the second floor of the theatre seating. "I apologize for the awkward view," Joffrey stated and sniffed sharply, not in expression of sincere regret, but as an act of maintenance for the contents of his nostrils, "it is all that is left for the evening."

He slowly shuffled along the red velvet carpet back to the main stairs. Alice and I assumed our seats and we watched the choreography below. What tedium! The music was pulled just as quickly as it had been turned on - already there was a minor problem that needed to be fixed. However, Alice was fixated. For her, it was as if she was watching her past life, but this time she got to be the fly on the wall. I, on the other hand, looked around the space. I had murder on my mind.

I noticed that four feet to our left was a large dark cavity in the wall which housed one of the Royal Kopenhaven's two spot lights. Lucrezia never utilized the spot light in her productions, only the stage lighting, so the booth was both vacant in that moment and going to be for the entirety of the evening. I rose from my chair, quietly ascended the banister, and gracefully jetéd into the spotlight's nest. I even impressed myself with how silent a maneuver I had pulled. Now, my eyes needed to adjust to the dark and I was patient with them. Suddenly, I heard another silenced stomp from behind me. I turned to see Alice's well-defined silhouette.

"What are you up to, big guy?" She walked up to me and flicked my shoulder, "Not trying to ditch me, are you?"

I grinned and could finally see her face grinning as well. "Never, my dear."

Behind the spotlight was an iron spiral stair. Alice took point and led the way up them.

[MatthewFarlow]

After ascending, we came to a door which had been propped open with a wooden wedge. Alice was not comfortable going through the door, which surprised me. I mentioned this, and crossed the threshold first. We found ourselves among the rafters of the theatre.

These were not the stage rafters, mind you, these were of the theatre - much higher! From the floor seats looking up to the ceiling, one saw a series of slanted plaster canopies. At the meetings of each slanted section, there was an opening which faced the stage and provided it with extra light. The ceiling was all smooth aside from these jumps, and the composition was generally easy on the eyes. From where Alice and I now were, in the rafters above the ceiling, it was anything but. It was dark, dirty. Rays of light radiated from the openings and caught the dust which saturated the air. There were suspended walkways throughout, so that one did not actually walk on the surface of the ceiling.

Again, Alice enjoyed watching the dancers rehearse from this perspective. I crouched to look out of an opening as well. It occurred to me that a theatre light could kill a man if it fell from this height. It looked as if it weighed about 40 pounds. One would need incredible aim, however. I reached out at a light to see how it was attached. I heard a door open at the far wall. I turned silently. A ray of light illuminated Alice's well-defined figure as she looked back at me and then entered.

I began unscrewing the light fixture.