Michele Bravo and the Sole Remedy: Chapter 4

Sole Remedy Chapter 4 – The Man in the Case

The costume party and art unveiling was invitation only, and the invite list included only the most well-known art lovers and art connoisseurs on the eastern seaboard (as well as a few people who had managed to wangle invitations – but they could only have wangled them from the well-known art lovers, so that was alright!). The high iron palisade surrounding the estate – complete with motion sensors and cameras - kept out unwanted visitors, as did the guard houses at each of the estate’s entrances.

So Alan Pretorius wasn’t too worried about unauthorized people getting access to his home, or about any guest trying to make off with one of his paintings.

Nevertheless, all of the red-jacketed serving staffwere security guards in disguise. They were there more to provide emergency help rather than anything else, being well-versed in CPR and other resuscitation techniques, in case anyone had a heart attack while gazing at the incomparable beauty on the walls.

“….or walking around,” thought Vic Durant, as his eyes fell on a tall blond woman clad in a black tuxedo and high top hat and carrying a silver-topped cane, who had just entered the room.

The party had started at eight, and the first guests had trickled in right on time. It was now 9 pm and about half the guests had arrived. The grand unveiling was scheduled to take place at 11.

A small chamber orchestra was playing music in one corner of the grand ballroom, which consisted of a very large, circular, three-story room. Opposite them were the buffet tables, manned by three red-jacketed servers, with three more red-jackets carrying around trays with drinks.

Vic Durant’s eyes had scanned the room periodically since the first guests had arrived. No one had stuck out until now – the guests had been mostly bejeweled dowagers and corpulent older men…some of them albeit with young wives or girlfriends. Pretorius and his young bride greeted everyone, and Pretorius’ son from his first marriage was also on hand to greet and mingle.

None of the guest had been very interesting. But this woman….five foot ten. Slender…breasts 24B-he judged. Nice hips, not too slender, not too broad. But what struck him most was her air of composure. She had entered the room, glanced around, and moved toward the bar with the grace of a panther.

Durant, in charge of security for the party, was dressed not in a red jacket but rather in the leather jacket and cap of a 1920s aviator, complete with goggles pushed back on his head and a white silk scarf.

He watched Marlene Dietrich – the costume was clearly that of Marlene Dietrich – accept what looked like a martini from the bartender. Then, she turned and walked over to a dais where the painting of the evening stood, shrouded in velvet, waiting for the unveiling. She walked around the dais, then headed directly for the grand stair case leading up to the second floor.

Paintings lined the room on each floor. But Marlene (as he took to calling her) did not walk around looking at any of the paintings. Instead she came immediately to the balustrade so that she could look down at the guests below.

Looking for someone, Durant deduced. But why didn’t she just call the guy on her cell phone – it’d be a guy, he was sure – to connect, instead of standing at a vantage point and just being hopeful? Or why hadn’t they arranged to meet by the door…why was she standing there and who was she looking for?

Because she was certainly looking very intently for someone.

Well, perhaps he’d better go and see if he could be any assistance.

As he approached her, he noted that her martini did not appear to have been touched. He rested his forearms across the balustrade, mirroring her own casual stance, and looked down at the view. It was a nice view, if you liked people watching.

“I love your costume,” he said. “But then I love Marlene Dietrich.”

She smiled at him briefly, then her eyes returned to her search. Then they looked back at his face with rather more attention. Durant was obscurely flattered.

“Thank you,” she said, with a German accent. She smiled at him again, a little more warmly. Then, she returned her gaze to the floor below.

“You seem to be looking for someone,” he said, “Can I help?”

“No, I thank you. I am looking for a friend. I will find him.”

“What kind of costume is he wearing? I’ll help you look.”

She directed another smile at him. “I don’t know. It was very careless of him not to tell me. But I suspect he will be carrying a totschlager.”

“A what?”

She waved a hand. “Nothing. I joke.”

Durant checked his watch. “It’s another hour or so before the unveiling. I hope your friend will be here before then.”

“I hope so, too.”

“If he doesn’t show up, I’ll be pleased to escort you. As a matter of fact, I can get you a close up view of the unveiling, if you like.”

“Can you?” she said, giving him another look, an appraising one. “This means you are…”

She stopped, and turned to look down at the floor below, where a sudden silence had descended.

Most of the guests had been clustered near the walls of the room – in close proximity to the food and the music, truth to tell – or gazing at the paintings or talking amongst themselves. Alan Pretorius and his wife were standing near the dais already, talking with a group of people.

And a man had just shrugged out of a cowl and robe and stood four-square in the middle of the room, holding a pistol pointed toward Pretorius.

There was no screaming, just shocked looks and every frozen as if in a tableaux.

Quicker than it takes to tell, the woman flicked her wrist to bring the cane up a little bit in her hand. She yelled “Colin!” and simultaneously through the cane like a javelin.

It must have been weighted, because even as the gunman’s head was jerking toward the sound of the voice, it hit him in the shoulder and caused him to drop the pistol. Without trying to retrieve the weapon, he sprinted for the doors.

While his eyes had been watching the gunman, out of the corner of his eye he had noticed movement beside him. him Marlene had actually swung herself over the edge of the balcony and now dropped down to the floor below.

After that, he didn’t see what she did, because he himself was sprinting for the grand staircase. He held his sleeve up to his mouth and hissed into the microphone there.

“Stay in the ballroom,” he ordered. “Red jackets, stay in the ballroom. Waiters, converge around Pretorius and his wife. Form a cordon. I’m after the guy.”

Durant lowered his arm to assist in sprinting down the steps. He was delayed, however, by a couple of elderly people trying to head for the door. "Stay in here, please," he told them, speaking in a calm voice. "We have it under control, no need to worry."

Then he hurried from the room, closing the doors behind him.

The hallway was empty, except for Sam the butler-cum-security guard, who was sprawled out on the floor. Durant bent down and checked – strong pulse. No blood. He’d just been knocked out. Indeed, he seemed to be coming around already.

“Sam, what happened?” he demanded urgently.

Sam clutched his head and swore. “I heard a shout from the ballroom, and was just going to head in that direction when this guy came running out. I grabbed him, and put him on his knees in an armlock. Then this woman in a tuxedo comes up to me, and she clobbered me with the butt of a gun.”

“She hit you?” Durant said incredulously.

“Damn right. And that’s all I know. But…” he got to his feet. “I’m okay now.”

“Okay. Well, that guy just tried to shoot Pretorius. But he didn’t succeed. I’m not sure where the woman comes in to all of this. She stopped the shooting, for God’s sake!”

“You don’t say,” Sam said sourly.

“I do say. So radio the guys at all the gates. I want the cameras checked and I want these people found. Found, not hurt. Tasers only, and only if strictly necessary.”

“Right, boss.”

“Okay. I’m going back to check on Pretorius.”

In the ballroom, everything was proceeding as normally – even a little louder and a little gayer.

Far from allowing the waiters to cordon him off, Pretorius had shoved them away and raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry for that little hiccup. Must have been an art hater. But as you can see my security detail was on the job, and I don’t doubt that the guy has been captured, hog-tied and is awaiting delivery to the cops. So let’s not let this silly event spoil the party. Let’s dance!” and he had signaled the chamber orchestra to begin playing.

Vic Durant entered the ballroom in time to see Pretorius dancing with his wife, smiling down at her with love. A few other couples were also tripping the light fantastic. Most people seemed to be at the buffet or the bar, fortifying themselves after the shock.

Durant took a deep breath, expelled it slowly. They’d dodged a bullet, but those two folks were still somewhere in the grounds. And for more than one reason, he was determined to see “Marlene Dietrich” again.