Stop Story: The Gold Mask

[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.