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 7
James
dismounted and wiped the dust off his uniform. I felt as if I
should look for tire tracks or use a magnifying glass to search for
incriminating threads, but it seemed silly, really.
"There's nothing here," I said. "Let's go back in."
We turned but were stopped by a growl that sounded like a snorting
bull. A red Lamborghini stormed down the alley toward
us. The car slid to a halt and a well-dressed man quickly
emerged. He wasn't smiling.
"Who are you?" he yelled. "And what are you doing here?"
"Who are you?" I asked back. "And what are you doing
here?" Sometimes you've just got to take a stand with these
self-important types.
He cocked his neck.
"All right, if that's the game you're going to play then I'm going to
call the police," he said.
"I've already suggested that," I countered.
"What?" His demeanor flashed from bewilderment to
consternation. "Who are you?" he again demanded.
"Winston Churchill," I said, extending my hand.
"Churchill?" He tentatively shook my hand.
"Yes."
"Oh, you're the man Lars has asked to investigate the missing
sculpture."
"Yes. And who are you?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Fred Nilless." He shook my hand
again.
So this was Fred Nilless.
"Sorry about being so aggressive just now, but with these robberies,
well, you know."
"I understand," I said.
"Do you have any clues?" he asked.
"None."
Fred shook his head.
"This is terrible," he said. "How could it have happened
again?"
"Seems to me more and more like an inside job."
"No, that can't be," Nilless said.
"Why not?"
"Mary and I are the only insiders."
"And you didn't take the sculpture?"
"Of course not! I'm the director of this museum!"
"What about Mary Bain?" I asked.
"You can't suspect her. She is an outstanding judge of
artistic talent, and a fine artist herself. She's also my
right hand man, er, woman. Without her help there would be no
museum."
"Maybe she could use some extra cash?"
"I told you, she is above suspicion!" Nilless turned red and
charged toward me like one of Senor Romeros' finest Miuras. I
eluded him with a perfectly executed chicuelina. James
stepped between us just in case.
"All right, all right," I said. "I had to ask. I'm
just doing my job."
Nilless calmed down and straightened his tie.
"Yes, well, I'm sorry," he said. "Shall we go inside?"
We followed him into the museum. Lars stopped pacing long
enough to greet us.
"Hello, Fred," Lars said. "I'm glad you're here.
Winston, did you find anything?"
"Only Fred," I said.
"I'm going to see Mary," Nilless said. His Allen-Edmunds
clicked on the shiny floor as he walked away.
"This Nilless fellow," I said to Lars. "Are you sure there
are no scandals or anything like that in his past?"
"Heavens no," Lars said. "He has perfect credentials."
We were momentarily distracted by raised voices.
"Fred and Mary don't always see eye-to-eye about certain works but
that's what makes them such a good team." Lars winked at me.
I nodded. The argument sounded more like a lover's scrap than
artistic disagreement but what do I know? I had already
revealed my ignorance of modern art.
"Fred has been here for five years?" I continued.
"Yes," Lars said. "But Winston, you surely don't suspect him,
do you? I thought we went through all of this last night."
"As I told you before, we can't afford to overlook anyone."
"But he has an impeccable record with the museum."
"Does he make enough money to drive a Lamborghini?"
"Mr. Nilless has business interests outside the museum. He
must subsidize his income because we certainly cannot afford to pay him
what he's worth. His work here is a labor of love."
"Oh, I see."
"Well, I've got to go," Lars said. "I'll be at my office if
you need to reach me."
© 2008 David Biagini