PARTONE OF Inspector 20 [Luk-ass] Lucas Merrier

The last security guard check for the evening occurred when the last double doors to the south wing of the Louvre were closed. At the same time, some of the world's ten most famous paintings were being cleaned and given some general maintenance.

Broomstick Masy, the famous heister's heist, appeared on a solid winch, holding five times her body weight. She didn't have to rush, and she didn't care if the camera saw her.

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Nobody knew Broomstick Masy was in town—they knew her as Mademoiselle Jacqueline Bauregaurde, who arrived from Canada on Sunday. Since she wore her disguise each time she came to Paris, no one knew her true identity. The Prime Minister, Alain, and his partner would show her the sights in the city and the south of France while she awaited the opening of the Louvre.

Jacqueline's dark and white speckled hair nicely framed her soft features and deep, dark eyes, which rested against high cheekbones and fell into dimples at the chin. Her petite frame stood 6 feet tall, and although petite, she was lanky and complete in the chest. Being an avid athlete all her life, she had a remarkable body that any man, regardless of age, would find attractive.

"Francois Tremblay met Jacqueline Baureguarde, one of our oldest and dearest friends," the Prime Minister, Alain Rivière and his wife, Solange Despardeux, said as they introduced the two. "We will be mixing and mingling a bit. Enjoy the evening. We'll catch up with you both later when we dine."

"Thank you." Francois took Jacqueline's hand as she winked at Alain. The two couples parted, and Francois asked Jacqueline, "Would you like to head outside? I'll grab us a drink. Any preference?"

"I'd like a gin with a splash of soda water, please, and a lime." She smiled at him and headed out a terrace door. She made sure he saw which one.

He grabbed two gins with soda and limes and went to the terrace.

"Do you think they bought our act of not knowing one another?" She asked.

"Why wouldn't they? There's no reason they'd assume we know each other from anywhere," he assured her as he put his jacket around her shoulders before leading her to the swing.

She cunningly pulled Francois deeper into her plan by saying. "We have all night to plan our rendez-vous after the heist. Let's relax a bit first. Would that ease some of your angst?" She smiled at him with an alluring grin.

"No. That would add to it. I'm afraid." He said.

"I'll get what I came for, and the night I take it, you have to be ready to keep it for me. Until I leave the country, you must smuggle it onto my plane. Understand? Handsome." She moved her hand up and down his inner thigh. He allowed her to do so until he stopped her hand.

"Come on," he said, "they're playing our waltz." He took her by the hand, and they entered the ballroom, where people were dancing. They danced together like old friends in conversation, nodding, turning, and stepping to and fro without errors—talking the entire time.

At the end of the dance, another man appeared from nowhere and asked, "May I have the honour of the next dance, Mademoiselle, s'il vous plais?"

Awkwardly taken aback, Francois graciously accepted on behalf of Jacqueline and headed toward the bar for another drink. Leaving Jacqueline at the mercy of the 'Travolta' in the room.

'Travolta' didn't take long to introduce himself: "I'm a member of the task force assigned to the Louvre and the art portrait division. You, Mademoiselle Jacqueline Bauregaurde, must be careful about whom you keep company with. My name is Inspector 20 Lucas Merrier."

"Oh? Inspector, how so? Why would the Prime Minister and his wife, Solange, my oldest and dearest friend, set me up with this man if this were the case?"

"I cannot speak to that, Mademoiselle, but this man, Francois Tremblay, is a well-known businessman in Paris and other European locations. It's rumoured that some of his dealings in France could be more sketchy. You need to be careful."

"I don't understand. Should I return to my hotel room? Maybe tell him I have a headache." Jacqueline asked. "Oui, Mademoiselle. Exactement. I will call you tomorrow if that works for you." He looked, hopefully, into her eyes.

"No, thank you. That won't be necessary now that I know. I will appear in public after this if he calls again. Thank you for telling me. Good night, Inspector Lucas Merrier." She smiled at him and kissed his cheek.

For a brief second, he froze. "May I offer you a ride to your hotel?" he offered.

"I'd like that, Inspector. I'll just let Francois know I'm leaving." 

She looked at the bar and watched Francois take another two drinks from the barman. Francois turned to meet her eyes, and she gave him a look to shove off since she wanted to lure the inspector into her plan.

He immediately walked off with another woman who took the drink and allowed herself to be led out to the terrace. But Jacqueline averted away, applauding the inspector’s warnings about Francois. 

She turned to him and said, "You may be right, Lucas Merrier. About Francois. Shall we go?" Lucas had the doorman fetch their cloaks, his hand shaking. His ticket flew from his hand, but he recalled his number and asked another man to bring his car around.

They got in and sped away from the mansion quickly. Once they hit the road to the paved road, cars going in each direction were easily visible; the inspector’s body, soaked in perspiration, chilled. The inspector's leg shook, and he nervously fidgeted with Jacqueline so close in the seat. He asked the driver to head down by the Seine, confirming with Jacqueline first.

She broke the silence by asking, "What does 20 mean after Inspector? Is it the number of orders you receive weekly or clear monthly?" Her eyebrow raised as she looked directly into the inspector's eyes.

"No, Mademoiselle. It is arbitrary. You can have any number you want when you become an inspector, except 12—I chose 20."

"Does it have any significance for you?" She leaned in close.

"No." The answer burst out of him. The thought of her leaning in made his body tingle, and his heart beat fast, elevating his voice. "I believe that's the number of cases it takes until an inspector earns the title once an inspector is named an inspector." He gasped for air as his throat felt tight. He reached to loosen his tie. 

"Interesting, Inspector. What have you been doing up until number 20?"

"Learning. But learning is in itself a huge lesson. Inspectors are sometimes expected to have all the answers. It's often not as easy as a dot-to-dot on a page."

"Really? Inspector, tell me more," she begged, feeding his ego and drawing him into a false sense of security. She only hoped he was at the earlier stage of 30 than the latter stages.

"Well, it's evident that the criminals have an advantage. Each time they commit an offence, they plan meticulously and agonize over every detail. So hair follicles, skin cells, foot patterns with shoes, carpet fibres, coat fibres, wig fibres, etc. all tend to separate the big league players from the small league players."

"What do you mean? I find this extremely interesting. Inspector Lucas Messier, you can join me in the bar for a cocktail before I retire if you want to continue this conversation. The night is young. Non?"

"Oui, Mademoiselle. Oui. But you are here for many nights. Non? Let's schedule another night and time for our continued discussion of the inspector's theories. I must return to the party to observe with whom the shiester is cuddling. Good night."

"Yes. Alright then. Good night, Inspector Lucas Merrier."

She watched him get back into his car and immediately sent a signal via the pager they used to communicate. He read the number and ensured he was front and centre when the inspector arrived.

"Inspector, is it? What have you done with my date? Seriously, man, where is she?"

"I beg your pardon. I do not appreciate your accusations that 'I did something' with your date! Surely, women have their minds; it is the 21st century."

"Come now, have a drink, man. Ease up. With the way you're talking, you'd think you're out to catch an art thief." Francois laughed, and everyone around him laughed as well.

A whistle blew, the laughter stopped, and dinner was announced.

Because Inspector Lucas Merrier had invited himself, he was not allotted a seat. Since Jacqueline had gone home, a seat was available. Inspector No. 20 sat beside Solange across from Francois, since he took Jacqueline's seat as Francois' date.

Solange laughed and ordered a man's drink instead of the champagne the women were drinking for Lucas and herself. She announced, "The Inspector handle is to be dropped for the rest of the evening, and hereafter, this man is to be called Lucas Merrier, his Christian name."

"Much obliged," Lucas said, raising his glass. Everyone cheered and shouted, "To Luc-ass!" before bursting into laughter. As the nine-course meal finished, fireworks filled the sky below the terrace and 1000 metres out. Everyone oohed and awed at the lights and different pops and cracks as the sky lit up in varied colours and arrays of light.

The pitch-black night engulfed the light like mosquitoes flocking to bare skin to suck the life-giving blood. Each pop and explosion is grander than the last. Until the finale:

The sky lit up as dawn rose over the east, but the swirls of whizzes and the tatatatatatat of a string of firecrackers among pops with ridiculous bassy booms lit up the entire sky.

The last crack blasted, and people scrambled toward the doors well into the morning. France is well known for its partygoers who party well into the night; however, that reputation is not exaggerated and is always duplicated in Paris. Overnighters that turn into workdays in the morning after a party continues all night are a regular occurrence.

END OF PART ONE

PART TWO OF Inspector [Luk-ass] Lucas Merrier

Part two is under the 'Romance' section of prompts. You can find the end of the story there. Thank you for reading this part, at least. LF6