Inspector Riley sat at his desk, staring at some paperwork and the newest article on the notorious Art Thief.
He sighed as he looked to his corkboard, several images of potential suspects, he thief's outfit, his height, suspected eye colour, hair colour, area of activity, list of suspected and claimed acts of crime. The Inspector had been appointed a year prior to investigate a missing Italian portrait, The Madonna at Prayer. Since then, the thief had run circles around the department. What confused the inspector was the level of sophistication during the heists, only to have then returned, in prime condition, mere days later.
"It doesn't make sense…" he muttered as he stroked his moustache in thought. He had recently seen the thief's face, properly. A young boy, a strangely well-dressed eighteen-year-old boy, who appeared to know details on security patrols, museums, residences, artworks and handling of artwork. This boy, a mere child, could commit these large crimes and no one was able to stop him.
What was worse was he mocked the Inspector. Like any child would.
He groaned as he turned in his chair and rested his hand on his temple, leaning heavily on his desk.
The Paris Police Prefecture was always a busy environment. While a large building, Inspector Riley could hear the Fire Brigade sirens when they were called. Looking across the room he saw several desks, each in a similar state of disarray, and many officers working. Light streamed in through stained windows and the ceiling was an ugly yellow from cigar smoke lingering. Behind the Inspector was the Chief of Police's Office, with clouded windows so one could see the silhouette of a stalking figure, but never a man.
The Inspector glanced at the picture frame on his desk of his wife, Olivia, and his daughter, Samantha. He smiled at the sight of such an old picture, his daughter would be close to fourteen now. "Where're we at with Tea in the Countryside?" the Inspector called out.
A man across the room from him, scribbling into a notepad, looked up and flicked through some pages. "Well… Tea in the Countryside appears to be in fine condition still, like all the other artworks."
"Are we sure about that?" he asked standing.
"We've consulted art analysists, they say it's the real deal, Sir," he explained, "Like all the other artworks. This thief returns them." The officer stood up from his desk and walk over to the Inspector, "We've got a list of potential next targets. He's only gone after older, expensive paintings, we've compiled a list from the surrounding museums." He passed his notepad to the Inspector.
The Inspector took one look at it and shook his head, "Money isn't a motive of this thief," he informed, "Expensive paintings isn't the only component we have to consider."
"Inspector Riley," someone beckoned.
The Inspector watched as on the younger men approached, dressed in navy blue uniform and iconic helmet and baton. In his hands however, he had a piece of paper.
"What is it?"
"This arrived for you sir." The Inspector saw it was a folded letter.
He made a loud groan, snatching it from the officer and begrudgingly unfolding it.
"What is it?" the officer asked.
"You know that art thief? The one that returns the paintings?" The Officer nodded. "Every now and then he'll send something to the Inspector, either mocking him or telling him what he's going to be up to next. Its happened four times now and he's escaped by mere seconds. He always delivers them without anyone seeing his face. Who gave it to you?"
"Some little girl on the street. Said a man gave her lolly money to deliver it," the Officer explained. He looked at Inspector Riley, watching as his eyes glared at the paper.
"What's it say, boss?" the other Inspector asked.
Inspector Riley's hands scrunched the paper from how hard he was holding the paper. He pressed the back of his hand as he thought about what he had just been given. "We've been given a tip off," he flicked the paper across his desk. The other Investigator glancing at the neat handwriting, "Apparently that thief will strike tonight, he's after the new exhibit in Louvre. Part of that new jewellery they found overseas."
This caused an eye brow raise, "Jewellery?"
Investigator Riley brushed his fingers through his moustache in thought. It was the thief's handwriting, same method of delivery, but very straight forward. He consulted the other letters he had gotten from this Phantom of Paris. A dozen sat in his desk, some pinned on his wall. He glanced over a couple;
'Hello dear Inspector…'
'It seems as though I have a new name…'
'You can add Phantom of Paris…'
'Phantom…'
'Art Thief…'
'Ghost of Art…'
'Thief…'
'… You were so very close to catching me, I must applaud you.'
'I do rather enjoy our little cat and mouse exchange.'
'Is that a new a belt? Perhaps you trimmed your moustache.'
'If you so do seek my presence I shall be found at the residence of Winifred Jarvis…'
'The museum of Louvre…'
'…After Tea in the Countryside…'
'Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry…'
'…The Last Supper…'
'At the shipping centre to detour a certain Dedham Vale painting…'
'In search of The Four and Twenty Elders…'
Inspector Riley pinched the bridge of his nose, smoothing out the newest letter and pinning it by the other letters.
"Inspector Riley,
I apologise for my inconvenience, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to be a tad meddlesome earlier then expected.
This evening, on the first night of Fete De Paris, I shall break into the Louvre once more to take the newly discovered Ring of Liberty.
Hope to see you there, my good man.
Art Thief.'
"He's never taken an artefact before…" he mumbled. But the Art Thief had never lied or been misleading, he was just cunning and slippery. Yet also still a child.
That was something many of the officers failed to recognise.
He recalled the officer who had demanded others to shoot the thief when he was fleeing, and being the only one to stop it. While he was a criminal, the boy wasn't hurting anyone, he returned the pieces, wanted someone's attention, he was stealing and returning paintings from wealthy locations, but no one had ever gotten hurt.
He was a child.
The Inspector seemed to be to only one to remember that.
"Call all extra officers for nightfall. Fete De Paris begins this evening, and this thief is going to strike amongst the chaos at the Louvre," he explained turning to the Inspector and Officer. "All hands-on deck, gentlemen. This will be the time we catch him."
*
Anita felt the corset against her ribs, every breath was a wheezed strain. "I'm not enjoying this…" Anita managed to rasp, taking small breaths.
"You wanted to wear a corset, Anita," Raphael reminded buttoning up his royal blue waistcoat. He winked at himself in the mirror before turning to Anita, "Do you want me to loosen it?��
Anita squeaked as she eagerly nodded, "I don't think I'll be able to move in this." She shuffled herself around so he could loosen the corset dress. Raphael had picked out a royal blue and red corset dress for Anita, with long sleeves etched with elegant patterns. Anita released a long, relieved sigh as Raphael adjusted the tension in the dress. He retied the strings and nodded, "Better?"
Anita sighed, "Yes." She twirled around, making a tiny curtsy.
"You still able to run?" Raphael asked.
Anita nodded, lifting her skirt to show her leather boots, laced tightly and appropriate for running. "I can even climb in it too."
Raphael kneeled and gently patted against the skirt, checking to see if anything concealed was obvious. She seemed normal.
"Does it look okay?"
Raphael took a step back and observed. Anita's dress was designed to be tightly tied up to assist the skirt's ability to fly during a spin or twirl. While it now looked loosely fitted, Raphael nodded, "Simply gorgeous, Ann."
She flushed, rubbing her cheeks to hide it.
"How do I look?" Raphael asked rising and giving a quick twirl and pose.
Anita giggled, applauding his showmanship. "Very handsome," she said.
Raphael looked at himself in the mirror. "Do you think I need a tie? Bow tie?" He fixed the white shirt under his coat and gave himself another look over.
"That would be too much," Anita informed sitting on the edge of Raphael's bed. "Can you fix my hair, please?" Raphael nodded, moving by her and pulled back her hair.
"Tail, braid or bun?" he offered gathering her blonde locks. She passed him a comb and requested a bun. Anita's hair had never been well maintained, combing it was a hassle and constantly frightened Raphael that he was just pulling out bits of hair. Moments later, Anita's hair looked clean and neat.
She rose and stood by the mirror, checking Raphael's handiwork. "How did I go, milady?" Raphael questioned.
"Hmmm…" Anita tilted her head and shrugged, "Oh, it'll do."
Raphael rolled his eyes as he rose to his feet, quickly feeling for his lock-picks and mini smoke bombs in the inner pockets of his waistcoat. "If you're ready, milady," He made a dramatic bow, holding an arm out to his friend, "Shall we depart for the festival?"
Anita smiled, curtsying, "Indeed we shall." She took his hand and the pair walked down the stairs to the front door, heading down the streets and immediately being met by the bulk of the Fete De Paris.
The city had been getting ready for its little festivities gradually over the past few days. By late afternoon, people had hung up colourful lanterns, illuminating the growingly busy streets. There were giant flower bouquets on every street lamp, stalls were selling colourful treats and preparing banquets for later in the evening, while others offered strange knick-knacks including jewellery, spin tops and bells.
Children and adults alike littered the streets looking at the possible things they could buy and eat as early festival treats. While it was still early, it was only a sample of what was to come in the evening. Raphael walked through the crowded streets easily, but everything seemed amazingly colourful to Anita. She watched as some children sat down to watch a puppet show. She stood at the back of the crowd and smirked as she watched.
Raphael managed a few paces before realising Anita had stopped following him. She was giggling along with other children at the random jokes of the puppets on stage, the strange over-the-top actions seemed central to the non-existent story.
Raphael stood by Anita and watched; two male puppets, roughly cut from wood dressed in blue and green school-boy outfits, were attempting to out-sing one another to the point they were slapping or knocking each other over. Raphael noticed, not the children, that the strings got tangled, forcing the puppets to slam into one another and stay nose to nose. Their actors continued to bicker, shaking them around as they improvised a means of detangling them.
Raphael couldn't help but chuckle along, largely finding that the amusement of the children made him happy. He found himself watching Anita mid-way through a belly-laugh, pure bliss glowing from her eyes, he almost couldn't tear her away from it.
He waited by a stall, examining an overseas man's strange 'lucky charms' and 'healing crystals.' His favourite was the 'Sunstone' which brought 'sunshine in a rock from outside of cloudy Paris.' Raphael enjoyed the imaginative description for what was merely a bright yellow stone. While beautiful, Raphael doubted sunshine lied within.
Anita stood by him, still smiling, as she too looked at the Sunstone. "You look happy," Raphael stated.
Anita made chittered giggles as she nodded, "They were funny."
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." Raphael returned the gemstone he was holding and farewelled the stall worker, pocketing his hands as he started down the street while Anita attempted to explain the story of the puppet show. Raphael couldn't follow half of what she said, merely smiled, nodded and laughed when she got so excited she jumped in place.
Raphael suddenly halted, turning his head to better hear what he thought was music. Anita stopped and turned, staring oddly at Raphael as he scanned the streets. In moments she too heard violin music, looking around herself for the source of it.
Raphael pressed his lips together. "One small detour," he said suddenly running down the next street.
Anita rolled her eyes as she quickly followed, holding up the edges of her skirt to keep from tripping or having muck flick up and dirty it.
Raphael took long strides. Stopping at the corner of the street to look for the music. He saw a gathering crowd further down the street, on the corner of a brick pathway with a widened amount of space. Anita managed to stand up Raphael, panting softly as she watched Raphael slowly approach the small crowd, watching him disappear amongst it.
He got to the front of the group, his eyes widened as he saw a girl, with long blonde hair in a gorgeous, festival dress dancing whilst playing the violin. But his amusement came from a mere recollection, "Miss Ave Maria…"
*
Maria felt very happy, playing her violin in public and having so many people enjoy her music.
The nuns had suggested she go celebrate the first night of Fete De Paris, if she stayed in the same district as the Church and Park. Maria had agreed, wearing a new, dark blue and white dress, taking her violin with her and setting up on a lonely corner.
She felt nervous at first, sitting on a stone bench in silence, listening to the excited chatter of early festival goers as they walked into the Park or down the street to get to the next one. She remembered playing in her town, often for the serenity for the elderly folks, and being comfortable and overjoyed, hearing her own music and dancing and knowing people were having fun because of her. It gave her a sense of accomplishment she couldn't quite describe.
What started off as a note, turned into an improvised fiddle, turning into a tune which turned into the longest, cheery song she had learnt from her music teacher. What started off as an old woman dropping a coin into her case, turned into a group of small children being mesmerised by her haunting tones, calling over their parents, attracting more adults and children, forming together to be a small crowd dedicated to simply listen to her song.
Maria beamed a smile, twirling her bow in her fingers to be tricky, as she started another song. A light, Irish Jig even she, herself, couldn't help but dance. Twirling around with her violin in hand and tapping about her feet. Children started dancing, one approaching her so they could dance together, hopping in circles and twirling. People started clapping to the beat, prompting the song to go quicker, become livelier, an energy forming in the air that became addictive for the crowd.
She sprung onto a stone bench, continuing to quickly glide her bow across the strings flawlessly.
A younger man, dressed in a navy waist coat, trousers and matching fedora, emerged from the crowd, offering his hand to a random lady. Flattered, she curtsied as she accepted his hand and the pair began dancing, together, in the space. Spinning each other around in an energetic and quick-paced version of a waltz. The woman laughed as the man twirled her, and gave a bow to her, to which she replied with a curtsy.
Other couples had started, grabbing their partners or strangers in a community of dances, connected by the sudden need to ball to Maria's song.
Maria continued dancing in her own space on the bench, making quick, little steps and sliding around, attempting to look fancy and show off. The man whom started the dance watched her momentarily and chuckled, amused.
The song came to an end with a long and satisfying note, followed by silence, even to the patrons. All Maria could hear was the sound of her shallow breathing, and feel the heat forming in her cheeks as she felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of her head. She dropped her arms down and lifted her head as everybody applauded her, throwing money into her open violin case. Some left immediately, but suddenly, a small man, with chimney sooted skin dressed in baggy black clothes and matching hat, revealed a trumpet, another had a saxophone, one man had a violin like Maria's.
They each started playing a very jazzy tune everyone started tapping their foot to.
The young gentleman offered a hand to Maria as she came down from the bench.
"You are truly amazing," he complimented.
Maria felt timid, adopting a shy appearance from being complimented by a striking handsome young man. "Thank you," she said smiling, "I love to play."
"It certainly shows," he said over an enthusiastic trumpet solo. He wiped his brow, taking off his fedora to scratch through his red hair. "I don't mean to sound creepy, but are you from the Catholic Church?" he asked. "Not the Notre Dame one, the other one."
Maria blinked, her bashfulness turning to scepticism. "Yes…?"
He nodded, "Forgive me, I just recalled hearing your violin on my way past is all. Ave Maria, I think it was."
Maria remembered playing that song earlier in the day, she had left her windows open when she played. "My name is Raphael," he introduced holding out his hand.
Maria took her bow in the same hand as her violin and took his hand, "Nice to meet you Raphael. I'm Maria."
He smiled as he kissed her hand, stunning Maria, then re-hatted himself as he nodded. "Maria… how fitting." She was frozen, her cheeks flushing, unable to be stopped.
A little girl suddenly broke through the crowd, glancing at Maria momentarily before tugging on Raphael's sleeve. "I'm afraid I must be on my way," he said politely, "But until we meet again, Miss Maria."
Maria nodded meekly, but quickly composed herself and reaffirmed her nod, "I look forward to it." Providing a small curtsy as he tipped his hat, he took the child's hand and weaved their way through the crowd, Raphael glancing back and waving before looking to the little girl, listening to what she was saying.
One of the men asked for an encore, urging her to play along to his brass instrument. Maria looked around to the people, watching the eager expressions of the crowd, whom wanted to continue celebrating with the music.
Maria looked to the man and nodded, pressing her violin to her neck, flicking her bow only to glide it across the strings, humming the beginning of another improvised jig.
*
As Raphael and Anita walked on, night time blanketed Paris. Anita continued humming the girl's violin song until the streets became busy. In passing many women complimented the pair's clothing, some commending their commitment to the colour scheme of the French Flag.
Fete De Paris was a festival largely celebrated by the commoners, the every-day person. The closer the pair got to the museum, the less lively the streets became. People passed them to go to the celebrations, some strange looking people such as a woman walking with a tea tray and many cups, an old man hobbling down the road with a chess board under his arm and several older children walking with wheelbarrows full of toys.
But the noise of the holiday was drowned by distance as Raphael and Anita stood before a bridge. The water which ran under it streamed calmly, the quiet noise being enough to hide the far away yells and merriments of the people. Opposite the bridge, the streets seemed darker, duller and lonely, home of the incredibly wealthy, tourism attractions, schools and the palace both could see the silhouette of in the distance.
Anita gulped, taking Raphael's hand, suddenly nervous.
Raphael gave her hand a squeeze and reassured her. "There's no need to be scared. I promise, I won't let anything happen to you." The longer they stood in silence, staring at the quiet streets, the more daunting they appeared.
"I know you will. And… I promise to do the same for you." Raphael could see the flickers of fear etched in her face the longer she stared at it as well.
Each took in a deep, long breath through the nose and in unison sighed through their mouth. Together, they walked across the bridge.
Anita was small.
She used that to her advantage.
She approached the property of the Louvre, kneeling behind a stone hedge and peering over the top. She was careful to keep the cloth bag on her back from sticking up.
Across the whole courtyard were half a dozen guards, each possessed a light, ensuring at all times they could see one another as they aimed it into the darkness.
Anita thought of them like personified landmines.
She ducked back behind the stone and crawled to the corner. She looked back to the courtyard, studying the different mannerisms of the guards as quickly as she could. Noticing the briskness of one guard, contrasted by another's dragging, tired feet who went to go sit down every second minute. There was one who constantly called out to the others, in either attempted conversation or to make sure he wasn't alone, to which only one man seemed to call back.
The Ring was in the back-left section of the museum. Anita needed to go through the reception and front area of the museum, sneak across the giant courtyard in its centre, decorated gracefully by a large pyramid of glass, and make her way through the corridors to the room she had snuck in earlier that day.
Shrouded in darkness, Anita made her first swift move; stalking quietly towards a circle of shrubs before the next guard walked past in twenty seconds. She jumped amongst the bushes as an ominous beam of light appeared, following the grass on the ground in search of someone. Anita gulped, crouching amongst the leaves and watching a shadow march past.
Anita wanted to go home.
She wasn't emotionally prepared for this.
She rested her forehead against the cool dirt, taking long, quiet breaths. "When you don't want to do something," Raphael told her, "Just pretend it's a game. Make the world something spectacular, and your obstacles are nothing more than puzzles. Now clean your room."
"My obstacles are nothing more than puzzles…" Anita reminded herself, "My world isn't scary… it's spectacular."
Anita lifted her head and stared down the dark yard to the building several yards away. Anita was a burglar, she was a ninja, a shadow, a force to be reckoned with!
Anita tripped on the edge of the bush as she attempted to leap over it. She grunted as she started running, the ground absorbing the sound of her footsteps. She made it to one of the stone pillars, pressing her back against it as she listened for other guards.
She waited.
And waited.
And waited.
"Anyone else got something?" the talkative guard called out.
Anita rolled around the pillar and ran to the door as he continued to call out, kneeling below the round door handles to check if they were unlocked; they were.
She pulled one open, providing a large enough gap for her to enter, and slipped through, allowing the door to close gently just as the guard stopped calling out. She retreated from the door, running across the dark hallway to the next door, quickly pushing it open before anyone could see her, real or painting.
Upon opening the door, she was outside again, a small courtyard of grass surrounding by waist high stone walls also etched with intricate patterns. She saw the occasional light of someone walking across the courtyard. "I need to hide…" she breathed. She kneeled before the stone walls and could hear footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Anita peered her head over the wall, in the dim light she saw the face of a guard.
No, a ghost.
His face was pale and his uniform given a washed out look. He moved at a steady pace, Anita had imagined ghosts like him in books; exploring the halls, unable to break away from their endless circle routine. Anita's eyes widened as she shuffled in the opposite direction, outrunning his methodical steps. She kept stumbling, forced to crawl every now and then to keep moving.
But the ghost's strides were longer then her little steps. She made it to the opposite side of the courtyard and hopped the fence, pressing her back against the wall, listening carefully for the guard's steps as the got louder, and louder.
Anita hugged her knees when it grew silent. She took a daring glance up, watching a small trail of smoke linger in the air. A man's fingertips appeared over the edge, and soon an amber on the tip of a cigar. The guard's ghostly face leaned on the stone wall, taking in long breaths of his cigar to watch the smoke in the polluted moonlight.
Anita watched the small cloud begin to fade the further it travelled into the courtyard, getting lost amongst the rose bushes and shrubs. The little girl didn't dare move. It was a miracle he hadn't simply looked down and seen her. Her eyes became glassy, her lungs began to burn from holding her breath, she didn't know how long she watched each puff of smoke form and disappear.
But the ghost never looked down, his cigar continued to burn a vibrant orange, until both it and his eerie figure stepped away from the wall.
Anita saw his shadow continue walking around the halls again.
She hopped over the stone and ran for the door, peering through the lock before opening it into another large area of outdoor space.
Across the grass field and cobblestone pathways stood the main feature of the museum, a large Victorian era building making up the bulk of the gallery. During the day, people could appreciate the elegant window panes, the stylish blue rooftops and sophisticated archways, framing the various large doors which allowed entry into the world of art. However, at night, all Anita saw was a spooky looking prison.
There were very few places for her to hide.
Anita saw more guards littered about the yard, unlike the ones out the front Anita couldn't see their mannerisms. They disappeared into the dark distance, she could scarcely see their outlines.
She boldly sprinted across the lawn, once dropping to the ground, her whole front getting wet from dewy night grass, at the sight of torchlight. When it disappeared she continued running, managing to somehow make it to the main building without being seen. The door was locked.
She frowned. "What? Is there no one inside?" Anita muttered hopping into the bushes which lined the windows. Peering inside, she saw gloomy hallways with stern looking men and women in portraits. She pulled at the window; locked.
She squatted, grabbing fistful of her skirt to keep the edges from getting muddy, as she waddled her way to the next window. Once, she heard the crunch of pebbles under boots, through the leaves she watched a spotlight travel across the ground, boots quickly following. When he passed, Anita straightened, shuffling to the next window; also locked.
Anita supressed the urge to curse as she repeated this exercise, ducking and shuffling through the dirt and bushes, checking each window meticulously, until she eventually found one unlocked. She pulled it open, the hinges whispering a prolonged squeak as she quietly jumped through the frame, and gently closed them behind her.
She sat down on the ground and picked at the leaves stuck to the mud on her shoes, she glanced at the small lounge set before the window, likely for patrons to sit and look outdoors to nature between paint observations, and checked for muddy footprints. Amazingly, she hadn't left any when she climbed through.
The hallways were decorated with artwork, as expected, but also a long rug which travelled down the centre of the whole hallway. In the dim moonlight streaming in through the windows the red rug almost appeared blue. There were lamps and wall lights switched off, and chandeliers every ten meters. Anita had never felt truly unsettled before.
She hugged her elbows as she ventured down the halls, looking for the curtained archway she had seen earlier in the day. Anita had never been to Louvre at night, it was such a different place.
It was quiet.
So very quiet.
Paris was a city that never slept, even when it rested. Night brought along subtle sounds of living, the whistling of the wind, the tweeting of sleepless birds and intelligible hums of owls. There was even the nippy chill of night or the smell of rain. Anita was surrounded by voiceless people, the air still, stale, the atmosphere soundless, aroma-less, dead.
Anita bit the inside of her cheek as she approached the hallway. As she approached, she slipped the bag off her shoulders, holding it in her hand as she slipped behind the black curtain. She stood with her back against the wall immediately beside the doorway. Despite the dim light, she could see all the cabinets which had been set up in the afternoon. The walls were lined with displays of Egyptian jewellery and what she could barely read as information on them.
There weren't any guards in the room.
She examined the ground, scanning the floor for traps, an alarm, anything. Every step was cautious, until she made it to the far side of the room, where a glass display case showed the elegant jewels of various cultures; representing the different iconic jewels of their people, Anita assumed.
She kneeled before a case with golden framed sapphires and rubies, searching for a means of opening it. She ran her hands along the smooth wood, feeling for a lock. She managed to find one on the right side. Kneeling, she placed the bag by her feet and took some wiring from behind her ear and started fiddling with the lock.
Lock-picking wasn't a difficult thing, merely tedious.
Raphael had taught Anita how to pick locks, one of her first lessons being, 'Not every lock is the same. Sometimes it takes time to figure out, its tedious and may take time, but eventually you'll get it.'
Anita's knees were beginning to hurt as she continued jiggling the tools in the small lock. In the dark Anita couldn't tell if she was doing this correctly.
Both her wires suddenly clicked, firmly staying in place. Anita's airy sigh fogged up the golden lock's surface as she carefully turned the tools in the lock, eventually prompting it to open. She had successfully unlocked it.
She stuck the wires behind her ears again and rose to the front of the cabinet, delicately lifting the glass frame up. Due to her short stature, she couldn't push the lid all the way up, forcing one arm to hold up the heavy lid while the other grabbed for a golden necklace decorated with a blue diamond.
"Hands where I can see them, thief!"
Anita froze to place, her arm still holding the lid, the necklace dangling from the tips of her fingers. She tossed the jewellery messily back into the case and dropped the lid, prompting an excruciatingly loud thud.
"Hands where I can see them!" The voice demanded.
Anita didn't obey.
She swiftly scooped up the bag on the ground and slipped it over her head, quickly tucking her blonde hair under the fabric, grabbing the strings and pulling them hard. The bag tightened around her neck as she blindly tied knot after knot with the strings so that no one would be able untie them.
After her tenth knot someone grabbed her shoulder and jerked her around, her captors unable to see her face.
*
Inspector Riley held his pistol up, other officers in the room holding their batons at the ready.
"Hands where I can see them, thief!" The man's voice demanded.
Inspector Riley glanced at the new Inspector assigned to the task; Inspector Leroy. A slightly younger, firmer looking police man, Riley understood to have a high percentage capture rate. Even at night, the man wore a long black trench coat and matching hat, the collar pulled past his neck and shading his face.
He looked sinister and had a voice which even frightened him. He repeated his demand, "Hands where I can see them!"
The small figure picked up the bag and slipped it over their head, despite the Inspector's aggressive protests they ignored him and tightened the strings.
Both Inspectors approached the figure, Inspector Leroy grabbing their shoulder and belligerently turning them around. Despite the bag, Riley immediately knew it to be a little girl. "Leroy," he said putting down his weapon, "It's not him. The thief is a boy."
Inspector Leroy offered merely a grunt in response as he snatched at the bag over the girl's head, grabbing a fistful and yanking it upwards to get the bag to come off. But the girl's whole body went with it, the bag getting caught under her chin, at one point prompting a yelp. "Untie this bag! Now!" he commanded.
The girl remained silent.
"What is your name? Where is the art thief?" Riley quizzed. He had expected many things from the so called 'Phantom of Paris' but sending in a child to steal on his behalf was ridiculous.
The girl didn't answer his questions, merely held her hands either side of her head in surrender, unable to see the threat which surrounded her. Including Leroy, when he violently grabbed her forearm. "We asked you a question, young lady," his voice was a low, threatening husk, "Answer!"
The girl whimpered, her other hand grabbing at his fingers to peel them off.
Seeing her in sudden distress discomforted Riley, as he grabbed the Inspector's hand. "That's unnecessary," he said.
"You are hardly the person to explain to me what is necessary," Leroy snapped, "Sometimes excessive is necessary. If you had practised this, maybe we wouldn't be having this issue now." The little girl blindly attacked who held her, kicking him in the knee, prompting him to release her and hold his knee. "You little-"
"Please acknowledge she is only eleven years old," a voice called out.
Inspector Riley recognised the voice. He retrieved his gun and aimed it in the direction of the voice, all the other officers becoming agitated at the seemingly omnipresent voice, as they held their batons and glanced nervously at one another.
"No cursing, it's bad for her manners," he said.
"Phantom…" Riley acknowledged searching for him. Leroy held his gun ready to shoot. "This is a new kind of low, even for you. Sending a child in your place."
"Well what I need now is a bit more important then the others. You see, unlike the others, I don't plan on giving this back straight away." Riley heard Leroy's gun click, readying to fire.
"Reveal yourself, thief! Or your little friend here is going to prison!" Leroy's voice didn't waver.
Phantom laughed. "I imagine she'll go the prison either way. Why make your jobs easier?" There was a pause. "I didn't think you needed help, Inspector Riley. I thought only you'd show up. Getting too old for this, are we?"
The Inspector felt his teeth grind. "Don't insult an officer!"
"I'm not insulting an officer, I'm insulting you."
The Inspector somehow smiled, "There's no need for insults. We have the upper hand here."
There was another pause.
One of the curtains was pulled off its hinges, piling up on the ground and blinding everyone with a window of moonlight. Casting the greatest shadow, was a man holding the rim of his hat. The Inspectors followed the mysterious silhouette to the figure standing in the centre of the archway, posed exactly as their shadow suggested; pinching the tip of his hat.
"I truly am one for theatrics!" he announced above the gasps and muttering of his authoritive audience. "Listen to me," he promptly added, "You will be fine. I believe in you."
Inspector Riley quizzically stared at the thief, before realising he was speaking to the little girl.
"My name is Inspector Leroy!" he roared, "With the Police Department! Hands where I can see them! Now!"
The thief obeyed, holding his hands up, one holding something. "Lovely to make your acquaintance. Not a pleasure, but it's nice to know your name," he replied, "They call me Thief, Art Thief, or, my personal favourite, Phantom of Paris."
"Silence! I won't hesitate to shoot!"
The Phantom of Paris raised an eye brow, "Inspector, doesn't that seem a tad excessive for a man posing no physical threat to you?" he countered.
Inspector Leroy ignored him, "You're under arrest for theft, breaking and entering and conspiracy to commit an act of thievery!"
The Phantom rolled his eyes, "Do you yell everything?" he asked, "We've had a two-minute conversation and I think the most civilised person in this room happens to have a bag over her head." He dropped his hands, holding one out to show a ring he proudly presented, "And I have no interest in being arrested, Mr Leroy. If you want to seize me, you're going to have to follow the same rules as Inspector Riley, otherwise this whole endeavour is just so dull."
He slipped the ring over his right ring finger. "Thanks for the introduction, I shall take my leave!" He twirled on his heels and disappeared through the open window which casted the initial moonlight into the room.
Officers pursued him, some following him out the window while others ran for the traditional means of a door. Both Inspectors didn't follow, Leroy growling as he snatched at the girl's hands and forced them behind her. "Give me your cuffs," he instructed holding a hand out to Riley.
Inspector Riley held his handcuffs, but didn't hand them to him. Rather, he took the child's hands from him and cuffed her himself. Stating her rights as he guided her out of the room and the museum, wondering what such a young girl was doing with an art thief.
*
Anita knew exactly where she was.
She imagined the maze of hallways, the size of the rooms and mentally measured her footsteps. They were guiding her through the museum.
She felt the cool air prick at her skin, causing an immediate shiver to run down her back and give her skin goose bumps. Every now and then, who she assumed to be Inspector Leroy, attempted to pull the bag off her head. The knot got caught under her chin, once Leroy lifted her from the ground by her head.
She was determined they not see her face.
Raphael had his fedora, she had her bag.
When she felt the gravel turn to grass under her feet, Anita couldn't tell where she was anymore. Inspector Riley warned her to stop, then she heard doors opening.
"I'm just going to lift you," Riley informed gently. She felt his hands around her waist lift her up and place her gently on the floor of the large police van. "We're off to find your friend, soon an officer shall arrive to take you down to the station where you'll be interrogated. Do I make myself clear?"
Anita turned so she was facing him and offered a nod.
She heard Inspector Riley's fleeting footsteps, but could sense someone was still standing in front of her. She unexpectedly heard something click, followed by a slight pressure against her forehead. Her breath hitched; the barrel of a gun.
Inspector Leroy's loud voice was reduced to a chilling whisper. "Listen up kid, I could shoot you. And no one would be able to stop me, and I can guarantee, no one would find your body. Not your friend, not your parents and certainly not the goody Inspector Riley." She felt the pressure intensify, pushing her head backwards, but she held her ground. "When we get back to the station, I don't care that you're a little girl, I will not hesitate to take all measures necessary to make sure you talk. And rest assured, if you're uncooperative, when I do find your thieving friend, I'll make sure you can hear him scream."
His threats were effectively intimidating, but Anita stayed silent.
She heard a throaty chuckle as the gun was taken away from her forehead. "Not even a flinch," he said.
Leroy pushed Anita back, her head hitting the back wall of the police van. The Inspector laughed as he slammed the doors, "And don't even think of trying to escape!" Anita rubbed her head, difficult with cuffed hands, as she listened to him, "There's someone posted outside this van!" She jumped when Leroy bashed the side of the van. "No escape!"
Anita sat in silence, waiting for Leroy's footsteps to fade. Her face was stuck in a disgusted sneer at the new Inspector, but unknown due to the bag still tightly wrapped around her head. She ran her hands up her leg, under her skirt, finding by touch the band of her undergarments.
"Feel alright?" Raphael asked smoothing down her skirt.
Anita was blushing, but nodded. "Yes. Can you tell?" She gave him a twirl, arms outstretched to show she wasn't holding it up.
"Nope. Looks fine." He fiddled with the skirt of the dress some more before a satisfied nod, "Now remember, only use this when you have to. This is a last resort thing."
"I know, Raphael," she cooed.
He chuckled at her response. "I know you know." He rose, looking at himself in the mirror, winking at himself and adjusting his hat. "But the last thing we need is someone finding it because it pokes out like a stick."
Anita held it by the handle, bringing it to her face and slicing through the thin fabric. Her eyes could see through the tears in the bag, seeing the glare of her knife in moonlight seeping in through the barred window to her left. Anita didn't feel scared, but her mind felt clouded as she felt her heartbeat quicken with adrenaline. She witnessed the gradual shake intensify in her cuffed hands. She placed the knife on the ground and sighed, curling her hands into fists she rested them against her forehead as she closed her eyes.
Her eyes shot opened, finally composed, she scratched at the fabric of her skirt until she found some thin, metal pins three inches in length. Two in total, she pressed her back against the wall as she jiggled the make-shift lock picks into the handcuffs. She could feel her palms begin to sweat. Recalling the times that she had jimmied the locks of doors, chests and padlocks, she had never handled something as small or fidgety as a handcuff lock, nevertheless one forcing her hands awkwardly close together during such a delicate procedure.
Moments later, one hand was free. Anita suppressed her urge to celebrate as she quickly unlocked her other hand. The cuffs clattered to the ground as she rubbed her wrists, wincing at how tightly they had been on her. She didn't have time to overthink anything as she collected her blade and approached the barred window. Five thin bars stretched across a small rectangle window, barely beyond Anita's eye level. She gripped one of the bars and pulled herself up, reinforcing her feet against the van wall, as she twirled the knife in her hand and started sawing away at the middle bar.
As suspected, the metal of her knife was strong enough to cut through the metal of the window. After an agonising minute of cutting, the bottom was free. Anita blew away the dust fragments and began copying her actions on the top. Cramps in her hand forced her to jump down to rest, stretching her fingers and hearing her bones crack, but recognising her time limit, quickly continued with the slicing. She caught the bar before it could fall out of the van. Carefully bringing it back inside, she placed it gently on the ground before climbing back up and assessing her size.
Her head fit through.
Her shoulders followed.
Her waist squeezed between the bars.
And finally, her legs came through.
She stumbled onto the ground, her hands immediately wet from cold dew, but quickly scrambled to her feet, determined to flee before any of the officers saw her.
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