The bank robbery

Just when a man thinks he's finally earned a few hours of honest unconsciousness, the universe, with its usual brand of playful malice, decides it's time for a wake-up call. And this one was sharper than a fresh razor on a hangover.

“Robinson! Are you going to sleep through the city burning, or just your own reputation?" Robinson: "Ah, Lady Shereleen. The distinct scent of high society desperation usually comes with a formal invitation. What's the emergency? Did your butler run out of caviar dreams?" Lady Shereleen: "My father's bank was robbed. And much to my eternal regret, you're the only... available... option. It seems even the town's finest are too busy polishing their badges to actually earn them." Robinson: "Ouch. 'Available' and 'good-for-nothing' are practically interchangeable in your vocabulary, aren't they? So, the gilded cage had its vault picked, and now you need the rusty key? How utterly poetic." Lady Shereleen: "Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't be here if I had any other choice. Now, are you going to get up and pretend to be a detective, or should I just throw this case file at your head?”

The scent of stale coffee gave way to the subtle perfume of freshly robbed capital. Another day, another dollar… or several million, if you’re into that sort of thing. The city's pulse was definitely on the fritz.

“Mr. Steve, I presume? Running a little behind schedule for the grand tour of your suddenly-less-secure establishment?" Mr. Steve: "Detective Robinson, Ms. Shereleen. My apologies for the tardiness. I was... detained. In the camera room, actually. Just finished a rather gripping screening of our recent security breach." Robinson: "Oh, a private viewing? And what was playing, 'Cash & Carry, The Vault Edition'?" Mr. Steve: "Two shadowy figures. Quick, professional. They knew their way around." Lady Shereleen: "The camera room, Mr. Steve? Are we to understand you were conducting your own personal investigation, or merely admiring the high-definition replay of our misfortune?" Mr. Steve: "My choice of morning entertainment, Ms. Shereleen, is hardly pertinent to the current investigation. Some footage is best left to those who truly appreciate the artistry of a good heist." Robinson: "Well, Lady Shereleen, it seems Mr. Steve believes a man's viewing habits are strictly private, even when said viewing involves the theft of your father's fortune. Rather an interesting definition of 'none of your business', wouldn't you say? Now, Mr. Steve, perhaps you'd like to share those artistic impressions with someone who actually gets paid for it.”

Back in the familiar squalor of my office, the city's grand opera of larceny continued its second act. And Mr. Steve, apparently, had scored a backstage pass to the vibrant color palette of our nocturnal performers.

“Alright, Steve, you've trailed me back to my humble kingdom. Spill it. Did your camera footage suddenly sprout more interesting hairdos?" Mr. Steve: "Detective Robinson, I, uh... I found some clues. The two thieves have red and white hair." Robinson: "Red and white, you say? Like a peppermint stick on a crime spree. Catchy. Now, if you'll excuse me, Steve, there is this huge performance we have got to go." Mr. Steve: "A performance? Now? Detective, not now! We have got to see the camera footage again. I don’t understand... they are looking for someone." Robinson: "Looking for someone? Now that's a twist. Perhaps they left a note asking for a personal fan club. Or maybe, just maybe, they were looking for a particular *something*, not a *someone*, that just happened to be tucked away in your very secure vault?”

Some nights, the city hums with a dark rhythm, a hidden score just waiting to be played. Tonight, it seemed the overture was a ballet, and I had a feeling the tickets were going to be expensive.

“A performance? My dear Steve, some evidence is best admired from the orchestra pit. This city’s a grand opera of larceny, and sometimes the best clues are found in the spotlight, not the shadows." Mr. Steve: "But Detective, not now! We need more evidence! The footage, the red and white hair... they were clearly looking for *someone* specific, not just raiding a vault!" Robinson: "Looking for someone, you say? I wish there was evidence in this 'huge ballet show in a huge opera stage' so we could finally go. Perhaps a rogue prima ballerina left a trail of stolen diamonds and toe shoes." Mr. Steve: "Wait!? Is Lady Shereleen in this show?" Robinson: "Yes.”

Some people find their answers in dusty ledgers, others in the bottom of a whiskey glass. Me? I had a sneaking suspicion the truth wore a tutu and tapped its way across a velvet stage. And knowing this city, it wouldn't be a pretty dance.

“She's... the prima ballerina? The main event? Robinson: The very same, Steve. Now, get us two tickets. Front row. This performance just went from a snoozer to a starring role in my investigation. Steve: Really? But... why a ballet? Do you really think the answer to a bank heist is hiding in a pirouette? Robinson: Let's just say I have a hunch. And my hunches usually involve less tulle and more trouble. Details later. The curtain, as they say, is about to rise. Steve (whispering): There she is. Lady Shereleen. Right on cue. But... where are they? The candy-cane cronies? They’re not exactly subtle types for a quiet night at the opera. Robinson: Shhh, Steve. A good detective always appreciates the dramatic pause. Besides, the real show hasn't started yet. Unless you consider a few million in stolen cash mere stage dressing.”

My hunch about the ballet was right, but the performance just took a sharp turn into the 'unforeseen complications' act. Turns out, 'prima ballerina' was just another way of saying 'prime target' in this city's twisted playbill.

“Alright, show's over! One wrong move, and our starlet here learns the hard way that 'break a leg' isn't always a metaphor!" Thief 2: "Everybody scatter! Run before I kill you all! Unless you fancy being part of the set design!" Steve: "Let’s run, detective! My health plan doesn't cover impromptu sword fights in high society!" Robinson: "STOP. We are the police. And frankly, your act needs work. Especially the part about pointing cutlery at ladies.”

Some villains just don't know when to take their final bow. Others don't know when to start their applause. The final act was less "grand opera" and more "slapstick comedy with sharp objects," featuring an ungrateful prima ballerina.

“And that, gentlemen, is why you never bring a dull knife to a gunfight, or a ballet. Especially when the police are in the audience. Your act's been officially canceled. Steve: Good job, Detective! Lady Shereleen: No, no, not a good job. The show was a blow-up, thanks for both of you. Steve: But we saved you! Lady Shereleen: Enough. My father will give you two a serious discussion.”