Clint Cleveland: Pointe Position (F/M)

[bigsmile21]

He’d learned two things that night: 1) make sure the coast is at a crime scene; 2) ballet was a lot of effort. He’d been investigating the recent report of a robbery involving ritzy locales. Within the last two weeks, someone was going around high-end places stealing jewels, dresses, paintings, and whatever else rich people (definitely not Clint) liked to surround themselves with.

A woman wearing a fur coat, long black dress, and a large pearl necklace stood in his detective agency (broom closet with a PRIVATE EYE placard) asking him to find her stolen pearl necklace.

“You mean other than the set around your neck, Miss?” Clint asked.

“Yes, of course.” she retorted. “I can’t be seen wearing the same necklace two days in a row.”

The woman was also wearing a large masquerade mask. Clint wasn’t sure if she had just come from a ball or was hiding her face due to his lower-standard place of work. It didn’t matter, though. Rich or poor, he’d take the case. She gave some more details, saying the necklace had been stolen during her last visit to the theater to see the play “The Nutcracker”. One moment they were sitting around her neck, because her good friend Juliana Pebbensworth had complemented them ever so nicely, but after the show they were gone. The woman gave Clint a business card, saying it was her husband’s, and that the detective should call once he found the pearls.

“Name your price,” she said, “just please find them before tomorrow’s gala.”

Normally, he’d need more time to put his nose to the ground in order to sniff out clues. But having a blank check got the better of him. He thanked the woman and after she was gone, he set out for the theater. It was a cool night, but the city air was clear. He grabbed his long coat and hat, making his way downtown.

Despite the many robberies around the city, the “the show must go on” mantra seemed to persist: “The Nutcracker” had sold out tickets for weeks straight. The theater had finished its last show of the evening, and Clint crept around back for an entrance. He found the back door unlocked and slipped in. Not much to steal in a theater when the patrons were gone, he thought. He hadn’t been to many shows, but without the people, the theater felt different. The door he’d used opened to the side of the main room. It was dark and open, like a cave. Each rustle of wind outside or creak in the rafters would echo throughout the large room.

He decided to check the upper seats first, hoping to find some calling card or clue from the thief. He didn’t get far. After a few minutes of ducking between the seats he felt a surge of pain as something hit the back of his head, and he collapsed on the floor.

He stirred, lifting his head slowly. There were bright stage lights bearing down and shooting up at him. It hurt to move his head, and the lights didn’t help much either. He tried to cover his eyes, but Clint’s hands were tied above his head with ropes. His arms were pulled upwards and his hands were circled in several loops and then down the middle twice, separating his hands while also keeping them immobile. The rope then extended upwards into the rafters, tied off to a point he couldn’t see. He was backed against a set piece, large and painted white. He couldn’t tell the shape of it nor guess what it was used for in the show.

He tried to move his feet but found they too were tightly roped. He also noticed his toes hurt. Like, a lot. He was on the literal tips of his toes, and could feel his toes touching the stage, only covered by what felt like socks. He looked to the side and could see his coat neatly folded next to his brown shoes. He tried to put his heels down but there wasn’t any give in the ropes hoisting his arms up.

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“It’s called a ‘Pointe’ position,” said a voice in front behind him. It was a woman’s voice, though he didn’t recognize its owner. “Ballet is such an elegant art. Performers put their body through hours of rigorous practice in order to make what they do seem so simple.”

Clint looked over his shoulder but couldn’t see anything. She must have been standing directly behind him. He tried to pivot his toes to twist his body, but it was a slow process due to the pain. And she just seemed to walk in pace behind him.

“Culprit’s always returns to the scene of the crime, detective” she said. “I’ve been in this city of a month and in the last two weeks have made enough to set me up for the rest of the year. I just wanted to do one last sweep here before leaving.” He felt a hand press into his back and could feel short but sharp nails pressing into it. Softly, but tensely. The hands moved, and he looked down to see a white frilly tutu. He felt a drawstring tied tight and knotted against the back beltloop in his pants.

“Real shame to see you go,” Clint said, trying to will himself through the pain in his head and feet. “You give me a lot of work with the amount of crime you’ve been doing.”

“I don’t stay in one place too long,” she replied. He could almost see something over his shoulder but wasn’t sure. “Wanted to teach you a little something about ballet before leaving, though. Who knows, maybe this will inspire you to change careers. With the right focus, you could make a good living as a performing artist.”

“Hate to disappoint,” Clint said. “But not an artistic bone in this body. And I hate to disappoint my client as well. I came here looking for her set of pearls. You hadn’t seen a pair lying around, have you?” His toes were cramping up, and he made a few jerking upward movements with his arms. He wanted to pull his body upwards, but even that wouldn’t last long.

“You mean these pearls?” she asked. He felt and then saw a string of pearls around his neck tied off loosely around one of his belt loops, visible over the tutu. “They’re fake, by the way. Got a sense of that when I saw how the lady dressed and carried herself. But I was curious, so I had to check for myself.” The “pearls” clinked as they settled into place. He heard faint movement behind him and realized his captor was walking away.

“What, no witty catchphrase or parting words?” Clint asked over his shoulder. “No clever ballet puns as you leave me here?” But he got no response. Whoever that was, whoever she was, was gone.

Good news was he’d found the pearls. Bad news was the added weight didn’t help with his predicament. More good news was he could still feel all his fingers. More bad news was whatever knots were used to tie off the wrist ropes were well out of sight. And he was wearing a tutu. And there were still several hours before the theater would open. So, there was a lot of bad news. He hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long for someone to find him. He guessed he was thankful the woman hadn’t taken “The Nutcracker” literally as part of her ballet lesson for him.

[Deleted User 2162]

Nice to see more detectives in peril around here. Fun tale!

[TamatoaShiny123]

Ok, this needs to b a new series! This is awesome!!