Venus, Cupid, Folly, and Time - Closed Thread

[darrenfate]

“Morning Detective!”

“Morning. Jason.”

Alberto Lupo continued on, his pace unabated. He was cutting it short and he did not want to be late on his first day of the new job.

"Morning Mr. Detective, Sir!"

“Knock it off Sara. We’ve known each other for six years. What’s with the formality?”

Sara just shrugged and kept going to roll call. She had been his partner until his promotion, effective today. Now she acted as if she were mad at him.

Alberto shook his head, and kept moving. Jealousy, go figure. You’d think they would be happy for him, but they were clearly not. Alberto stopped, and looked at himself in the reflective window of the Captain’s office. He passed his hands through his curly black hair and straightened to his full 6 foot stature then knocked. The Captain’s voice boomed through the oak door.

“Hello, Alberto, come in. Congratulations on becoming a detective. You’ve earned it. "

"Look, let me get right to the point. I’ve got cases stacked up on your desk. There is one that has some urgency to it. I’m talking about the art theft from Sotheby’s last night. It was on loan from the London National Galley of Art for an exhibition that they are sponsoring, and somebody snatched it right out from under them. "

Alberto groaned, "But sir art theft is hardly …"

You are a good cop, Lupo. That’s what we need. Not some wimp with a Masters in Fine Art. Besides, I am not asking you, I’m telling you. This is your case. Period.

Now then where was I? Oh yes, the press is already having a field day with this. The Chief himself told the Times that we will do all we can. But with all our manpower being diverted to the Presidents visit and the triple homicide last night, you have to run this one solo – at least for a while.

I do have some good news for you though.

What is that?

The painting, it’s called Venus, Cupid, Folly, and Time
And its a nude.

http://content.answers.com/main/content/wp/en/d/dc/Venus%2Ccupid%2Cfolly%26time_foot.jpg

Lupo groaned. Rich people getting all worked up over swirls of paint on paper being stolen just wasn’t what he thought he’d get his first day. A drug ring, some mafia investigation, something, anything but this! Unfuckingbelieveable.

The Chief just grinned at him. Well, its better than dogs playing cards, ain’t it? Now go see the assistant curator over at Sotheby’s. She’s waiting for you to show up. Here’s her name. Now grab that file and get going. Call me later with your first impressions. Close the door on your way out.

Alberto scanned the file, and stopped cold when he read the ransom note.

Bronzio was a daft fool.
He has defiled the pure.
Incest is evil.
Still, you can have this drivel back
With an apology in the Times
Renouncing illicit lust
And 10 million Euros.
Details in due time


Great. Now I'm dealing with some ultraconservative Christian fanatic. Alberto popped the ransomnote xerox into his file and then drove over to Sotheby’s at 1334 York Ave, in New York City. He made good time. He was ushered into a conference room and told that the assistant curator would be there shortly.

Idly he wondered what she looked like. Probably some insufferable matronly woman in her 60s with blue hair and an attitude. Make sure you get that blonde receptionists name on the way out though. Now there is a babe. Quit thinking that way. Can't mix business with pleasure. Or can you? Alberto settled in.

He didn’t have long to wait.

 

[Mistress Jorja]

The corridor was empty and dim. Refuse from last night’s gala opening was scattered about – party napkins were strewn on the glossy tile floors like confetti and half empty champagne glasses perched precariously on the lips of marble flowerpots. A woman’s abandoned fur stole was thrown haphazardly over the balcony railing, where it trailed along the ground forlornly.

The only sounds were the hum of the security lights and the staccato click of heels at Tamara restlessly rocked back and forth. Her vision was consumed by the empty space on the wall. Its perfect creamy surface – pure white was too harsh on the eyes and tended to wash out much of the natural brilliance of oil paints – was marred only by the metal studs from which An Allegory had hung less than twenty-four hours ago.

She sighed, feet planted firmly apart and hands on the hips of her curator’s uniform. Fidgeting, she adjusted her Sotheby’s nametag – Ms. Tamara Riley – and swept the strawberry blonde hair arbitrarily out her eyes, tucking it beneath her matching hair pins.

Bronzino’s Portrait of a Young Man, on loan from the Met, stared accusingly down at her. His mocking laughter was barely contained beneath his haughty, schoolboy eyes.

http://www.metmuseum.org/Works_Of_Art/images/ep/images/ep29.100.16.L.jpg

“What are you looking at?” Tamara asked in a snarl that was no more than a low whisper…she hated that smug look on his face.

“Well…at least I’m correctly proportioned,” she retorted to an answer than never came.

And now I’m talking to inanimate objects…that’s just great. I really need sleep!

Holly cleared her throat for a second, standing awkwardly at the end of the hall closest to the administrative offices, “Ummm…Ms. Riley? That cop guy is here…and he doesn’t look happy.”

Tamara took one last look at the gaping hole in their otherwise world-class exhibition, and then followed the receptionist.

“He’s in the conference room,” Holly paused outside the door, “…acted like we were wasting his time, or something. Hate jerks like that. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Tamara replied, pushing the door open. She walked over to the seated figure scanning a folder of papers and offered him her hand. She again brushed the incorrigible hair off of her face, hoping that her bloodshot eyes and obvious lack of sleep didn’t scare him off too much.

“Thank you for coming in such a timely fashion. I’m Tamara Riley, the assistant curator here. Mr. Roth has asked me to assist your investigation in any way possible.”