Style, you
either have it or you
don't. And if you have it, you have it
all the time.The Rogue Goes Into A COMA
by Tux Toledo
Page 6
Early
the next morning a perfectly good night's sleep was cut short by a
telephone call from Lars. Another piece of sculpture had
vanished. James quickly readied the Rolls and we returned to
the COMA.
"Mr. Churchill," Mary said as if I had something to do with the latest
theft. "I can't believe this." There were almost
tears in her eyes. Lars consoled her with a soft pat on the
shoulder.
"Show me the scene of the crime," I said.
Mary led us to another empty gray platform not far from the one that
had once displayed the other piece.
"It's terrible, simply terrible," she said. She shook her
head and stared at the platforms. "How could this happen?"
I joined in the head-shaking.
"Perhaps now it's time for the police," I suggested. "I'm not
a detective, you know."
"Police?" Mary looked faint. Have you ever noticed
how the mere thought of the police sends some people into a
tizzy? Maybe you have. Well, Mary Bain was one of
those people. I'm sure there's some clinical explanation why
perfectly innocent people have such a police phobia but I've never
heard it. Apparently it's contagious because Lars also
developed the symptoms.
"No," he said. "I told you, Winston, no police. We
can't have that. Not until you've done all you can."
"What more can I do?" I asked.
"Investigate," Mary said. "Snoop around. Do
something. I've heard you're a very resourceful man."
I gently nodded. She was right, I am a resourceful
man. But there were no suspects, no clues, no fun.
I wasn't too keen on getting further involved, but Lars looked so sad
that I had to do it for him. One should never let a friend
down, especially when he looks like a sad-eyed puppy.
"What did this piece look like?" I asked.
Mary handed me a photo.
"This is the same one you gave me yesterday," I said. I
handed the photo back to her.
"It is not," Mary snapped. She shoved the photo back at
me. "The two pieces evoke totally different emotions."
I looked at it again. It still looked like a heap of twisted
wreckage to me.
"I see." I said, although I didn't. "Well, I guess
I had better snoop around." I leaned toward James.
"Off the wall if you ask me," I whispered to him.
He nodded discreetly and I followed him to the back door. The
rear entrance seemed the most likely place through which the sculpture
would have been removed and was therefore the best place to start
snooping around, although the idea of snooping struck me as a bit
undignified. Still, I suppose one must make sacrifices for
the sake of art.
We examined the door and the surrounding area. The
construction workers were making good progress on the new salon (you
see, I got it right). The walls were finished, except for
painting, and the lights were nearly installed.
"We'd better check the alley," I said to James.
He reached for the doorknob. It turned freely. He
raised his eyebrows.
"This is supposed to be locked," I said.
The door led to a small alley and an even smaller parking
lot. A large trash bin took up one of the parking
spaces. I looked at James.
"It may be worth a look," he said.
"Go to it."
He frowned in that way he has of frowning without letting on that he's
frowning, climbed up onto the bin, and peered inside.
"Is the sculpture in there?" I asked.
"I do not think I could tell, sir. There is a large amount of
trash in here."
"It was worth a look," I said.
© 2008 David Biagini