The rare taste of killing

Cyrano: Let me see if I understood correctly, Baron – you want me to arrange a meeting with a certain masked foreigner, that you have recently met at the Grand Ball of the Commonwealth Consulate, but on whose identity you have no idea whatsoever.
Mr. B: Precisely. She wore a white-silver dress and a plain white mask, with no adornments. She danced only once, a colonial cha-cha, with captain Oscar de Roude, then she left hastily, in the middle of it. She seemed to be chasing after someone, but I couldn’t tell who.
Cyrano: Did you get the chance to talk to the captain?
Mr. B: I didn’t want to be conspicuous. Besides, the captain is irrelevant. There are countless explanations why they would be dancing together at a ball – their competence as dancers, for instance, which seemed rather unique.
Cyrano: Did the captain dance a lot that evening?
Mr. B: Not that I could see, no. I remember he had a very long chat with our rather dim-witted hostess, which almost intrigued me. After that, he left. He didn’t even wait for the cab. He walked out.
Cyrano: Your attention for details is charming, Baron – but in the end, if neither of them had a chance to prove their dancing prowess: how do you explain the fact that the two most brilliant hip shakers in the ball room met so luckily, in their only dance of the night?
Mr. B: You mean they knew each other?
Cyrano: Or one of them knew the other. Most likely her.
Mr. B: Why most likely?
Cyrano: Because, Baron … umm… she was wearing a MASK!!
Mr. B: Oh… Yes that’s right.
Cyrano: Very well, Baron, I will do my best to discretely seek her out and arrange the meeting.
Mr. B: Where do you think it would be best? On St.Patrick, at „d’Anvers” or at St.George’s Cross, at the „Gray Diamond”?
Cyrano: The St. Joseph. The Abbey.
Mr. B: The Abbey? Are you mad, Cyrano?
Cyrano: I am curios, but not mad. I want to see the end of this charade – and inviting that kind of woman to a fancy restaurant will only make my job harder.
Mr. B: That kind of woman? But you don’t know her, Cavalier! What kind of woman are you talking about?
Cyrano: A woman, single, comes to the Grand Ball for three reasons – the dance, the Duke and the moment when all participants remove their masks. This one succeeded to miss all three. Moreover, she danced with one man only and then left, chasing another. I like a good story, Baron. This is arguably the best in months!
Mr. B: Very well, Cyrano – then it is set.
Cyrano: What shall I do if there is a man after all, and she has found him?
Mr. B: Handle it, my friend – this is the best story in months, as you said, isn’t it?
Cyrano: Indeed, Baron. But – well…
Mr. B: What is it?
Cyrano: I want to forget the last time, Baron. I will not tell that story often, because mine are stories about love and trickery, not killing.
Mr. B: Oh, dear Cyrano – you see, that is a rare and exquisite taste – killing. Like the wine we drink now, I allow myself only precious few moments with it, so as not to spoil its value.
Cyrano: A rare taste? Must be, for none is dead twofold! Farewell, Baron.


1 Response to “The rare taste of killing”

  1. 1 Botache
    ianuarie 22, 2008 la 8:45 am

    Interesant. Urmeaza o continuare, sper.

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