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I fled. As I ran for my life through the corridors of the opera house on the search for a safe hideout, I swore to myself: Mr Ambrose was going to pay for this!
Dashing around a corner, I started towards his office. I didn’t knock. The moment I reached the door, I kicked it open and marched inside.
‘Now listen here, you—’
That’s about how far I came.
Not because Mr Ambrose interrupted me.
Not even because I chickened out.
No, I fell silent because of the man with the matchbox in his hand, about to set fire to the oil-soaked floor.
*~*~**~*~*
‘You?’
The doorman whirled to face me, and his eyes went wide at the side of me.
Quick as a flash, before even thinking about it, I pulled my revolver and pointed it at his head.
‘Drop it!’ I growled.
‘Err…’ The doorman lifted an already burning match, which I hadn’t noticed so far. ‘Really?’
My eyes flicked down to the oil-soaked floor. ‘On second thought, don’t drop it.’
His shoulders sagged with relief.
‘It’s you,’ I whispered, gazing around the room. It was a complete chaos. Papers were strewn everywhere. Big packages of music sheets that had arrived just
earlier today for new performances were lying close to a particularly large puddle of oil. So was a heavy box that was probably full of cash. It was a good job I had found the fellow first. If Mr Ambrose had gotten his hands on a cash-burner, he’d probably have shot him on sight. I lifted my gaze to the doorman again. ‘You’re the saboteur.’
‘Please don’t kill me! I’ll do anything you want. Just please don’t kill me.’
‘Put out the match. Go on! Now!’
Instantly, he did as I said.
‘Face the wall! Put your hands against it! Legs apart!’
‘Err…why?’
‘So I can do this,’ I told him, and kicked him in the bollocks.
‘Rrrrrrgh!’
‘That was for poor Claudette, you bastard son of a bachelor! Do you have any idea what you put her through with that bloody snake?’
‘I’m s-sorryaarrrnnng!’
‘And that,’ I said, lowering my knee for the second time, ‘was for getting that damn singer to quit and my having to hire a replacement. Do you have any idea what I’ll have to endure from Miss Emilia ‘arse in the coming days and weeks?’
‘Gnrgldrgl…’
‘No, of course you don’t. Let’s see how you like singing soprano!’
‘Slfnnk!’
