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