PART TWO OF Inspector 20 [Luk-ass] Lucas Merrier

PART TWO OF Inspector 20 [Luk-ass] Lucas Merrier

Jacqueline knew this Paris tradition, and she orchestrated the inclusion of the Inspector, herself, and Francois on the guest list of the next party—Alain's fundraiser—so they would find one another casually.

Francois arrived earlier. Jacqueline, running late, had to make a pit stop to get the perfect dress. She was to be the head-turner of the evening. Jacqueline knew some fashion designers. 

Her sequined dress, with gold, silver, and black—all shiny and with tuffet sleeves—followed the outline of her shapely athletic arms. The bare-back dress drew everyone in, with the rest of the dress gathering at the waistline. 

"You look tres magnifique, Mademoiselle!" the doorman said. She nodded and moved past him. With her five-inch heels, she towered over most men at the gathering or at least at eye level, which was essential to Jacqueline.

"Jacqueline, you are stunning," Solange said beside her husband. "I love the dress. Your makeup and your hair are exquisite; c'est magnifique!"

"Merci, Solange. It's only sometimes that women can dress up to go to a party like this. I wanted to make the most of it. Do you think I've overdone it?"

"Of course not. You'll have all the other women wagging their tongues. Well played." Solange said.

Jacaueline's inner voice interjected: Jacks, a good idea or a bad one? She smiled at Solange and said, "I'm still figuring things out, like this Paris thing. But it's not a good thing for too long in Canada—tongues wagging thingy." She pointed in the air toward her mouth. Remember, a man only has to see what he wants once to know he wants it."

Solange turned and smiled as she grabbed Alain's hand, and they walked away arm in arm.

"Was that comment made for me or her?" Suddenly, Jacqueline's insecurity walked around the room with her as she met others while men shamelessly threw themselves at her feet—their wives in tow, ogling Jacqueline every second.

And suddenly, like a version of zombies from 'The Walking Dead,' Inspector Lucas Merrier popped out of nowhere to greet her.

"Jacqueline, have you come unaccompanied? You look great dressed like that. How can it be that you came alone? Would you like me to sit with you at dinner?"

"Inspector, Lucas Merrier, it's so nice to see you again. I always come alone to parties in Paris, but you look dapper! I'm sure we have assigned seating. I've never attended one party without assigned seats, but we can always drink together." She winked at the inspector and headed to the bar.

Another woman approached the inspector, whisking him away. Jacqueline asked for her drink, and before she could sit down to wait for it, a man paid for hers and his and whispered in her ear, "Terrace."

She grabbed her purse and headed through a set of double glass doors to the terrace. There, she awaited Francois.

"Hello, darling. I have your package ready for transport. Do you have a departure time?" he asked as he turned her around and kissed her along the nape of her neck.

"

Sweetheart, I'm leaving in two days. Everything you need is there. The flight number and access code to the tarmac are on the envelope in your chamber. I'm sending a number to your pager." She paused to study his face and get his attention. "Now focus cutey pie. The rest of the instructions are with the service. Follow all of them. Thank you, my dear, for another lovely visit to your city of love," she winked. She kissed him on the lips, then took her drink and left him wanting more.

When he returned from the terrace after finishing his drink, the smell of her perfume had disseminated throughout his entire wardrobe, but she was nowhere in sight. Francois saw that the inspector was like a puppy searching for its master.

"Francois, what have you done with her? I knew it was you. You did something to her, didn't you? Yes, I know you did. I saw you take her out to the terrace. And only you came back into the ballroom. Now, tell me, Francois, where is she?"

The inspector raised his voice. His face reddened, and his eyes bulged, so they looked 'Roger Rabbitt' large. He ran to the terrace, and his grey and black curled locks bounced. He frantically looked over the side walls—first and then the others. He turned around, looking like a madman. His dishevelled look to his clothes and hair. Imaginary smoke rings came from his nose as he stomped back into the ballroom. 

"There's no sign of her anywhere. I want her found at once! Doorman, surely you saw Jacqueline go out through this door? She was the most magnificently dressed woman in the room." The inspector grew impatient, believing it was a conspiracy against him. As he pouted, everyone laughed at him.

"I want to see her now. Solange, Alain, our Prime Minister, I demand to know where she is—right now!" Inspector Lucas Merrier stood obstinately, believing he would get to the bottom of things before anyone could leave the building.

"Look, Jacqueline has always been independent. If she doesn't want you to find her, you won't, Inspector. She may not even be in her hotel room anymore. She may not have even been registered there at all. Did you check it out? Do you know her?"

"What? What are you talking about? Why would she do that? What do you know about her that I don't?" Lucas Merrier became extremely sweaty and rethought his interactions with Jacqueline at the hotel.

"Come to my office, and I'll explain," Alain said. The two men moved in perfect stride. Otherwise, they may have missed it. There was a step between their steps. It could have been more solid, but it was a step nonetheless.

"What was that?" Alain asked.

"I don't know," the inspector said. "I'll go check it out. You stay here, or better yet, go to your office, and I'll meet you there," Lucas said.

"Wait, what if whatever it is is in my office? I don't want to go there alone. That's why you're here, isn't it? Security?" Alain asked sarcastically.

"Fine. Get behind me." Lucas said.

"It's right through there." Alain pointed it out.

There was a raucous scream. Then, SMACK! and another SMACK! Two bodies fell to the floor. The lights went out. The door was closed. The escape went smoothly, and the artifact was swapped successfully.

#

After stealing 'The Café Terrace,' 'Las Meninas,' and the Pyxis of al-Mughira, Broomstick Masy exited the Louvre. The Pyxis of al-Mughira's actual purpose remains a mystery, as no traces of any substance are found on its interior. But that's what made BM's choice that much sweeter. 

She knew almost all the categorized inventory of the Louvre, and Solange—her best friend in Paris and the wife of the current Prime Minister, Alain Rivière—as museum curator couldn't have been handier than a pocket in a shirt for Broomstick Masy. Solange Despardeux, well known for her knowledge of the antiquities of the ancient world, stood on her laurels and not those of her husband, Alain.

When every item had been taken, Broomstick Masy couldn't help herself. She returned for 'The Kiss.' With her undeniable love for the work, she came prepared and replaced the piece with a shoddy replica. And the counterfeits she had made for Francois only had to look real from a distance since she knew he would open the boxes in hopes of double-crossing her and stealing her art.

Oh, but Jacqueline. A true convincer convinced Francois that the contrived setup was all his doing because he believed himself to be the linchpin behind the make-or-break art heist. Even though that wasn't the case, Francois was a hanger-on.

Jacqueline knew she looked too good for her benefit. Now, she had two men lusting after her, and both thought they were saving her. When, in fact, she slid in between their egos and stole the art right out from under their noses, just like her client assured her would happen.

She was in and out of the Louvre before the light show began at the party. The inspector, whom Alain had swept away to his office, was recovering with Alain in his office.

"It's a good Scotch; is it a single malt?" Inspector Lucas Merrier tried to make a conversation. Both men had been hit across the back of their heads.

"Alain responded in kind. Come to think of it, Inspector. I never asked you why numero 20 après l'inspecteur?

"Mais, bien sûr, an inspector, gets his credibility after or around his 20th case. Inspectors don't have all the answers; it's just that our minds continue working on the moving parts of a case until the pieces fit.

"What number are you on?"

"Oh, Alain, number two." The inspector winked and sipped his scotch.

#

The story of the stolen artwork hit the newspapers shortly after the Louvre reopened. Nobody knew when the thief accessed the art or how long it had been gone since the entire main frame had been down for days. 

But the inspector found the clues curious. Each clue pointed to someone the inspector had met at the party, including Solange and Alain. The only one not alluded to with the clues was the inspector himself. 

When he reached the twentieth clue, a small cylindrical piece of jewellery, he found a note inside. 

It read, "Enjoy this, Inspector Lucas Merrier, on this, your 20th clue to your 20th case." A smear of lipstick and the smell of perfume as a signature calling card.

He stood upright, fixed his jacket and walked to the exit. When he got outside, he got into the wind. He laughed hysterically.

"Bravo!" he yelled to the wind. "I didn't see that coming!" Laughing hysterically, headlong into the wind, he hollered. "I think I love her."

Somewhere, in a Central or South American country, Broomstick Masy got a wire transfer under her real name for the total amount. Her client was happier than ever with the combination of a mini-collection of art pieces Masy had put together solely for her; they even paid for Masy's lodgings, food, and flights.

One thing Broomstick Masy knew well was how to sweep a room clean of all its valuable art pieces and fly away into the night like a witch on her broomstick.

Next year, Masy boasted that she would work on another artifact from another area of the Louvre.

THE END