Le Roux regained consciousness on the sand under the pier. He still occupied Henry Merci's shell and it was smarting like hell from the blow he'd received from the love of his life, Countess Victoria Von Van Dee De La Fountainebleute.
"Perhaps I should have spruced up before I declared my love. I shall make the necessary repairs to win her!" Le Roux was more determined than ever.
First he barged into Ivana's IVANA CUT YOUR HAIR salon and demanded a fetching do. He was drawn to the style a fellow in a magazine was sporting and asked about it. He hated the silky hair he had inherited from Henry Merci. It fell into his new face and hampered his vision. The fellow in the magazine had great blue spikes that stood straight up and seemed to please him.
"Can you see through the tips when they are arranged that way?" He asked Ivanna. She wasn't sure what he meant.
"If someone sit behind you at the opera, they can probably still see the opera. Or they can move. I don't know." Ivanna had never been asked this question before so she had to think on the spur of her toes.
Le Roux grew even more impatient. Time was moving with wicked speed and he had to rescue his proud dream from the rocks.
"Well then, bother it all! Shave my head and be done with it!" he snapped since he couldn't see thru the tips of his hair when they pointed down and no one could tell him if he would be able to see through them if they were stationed up.
Le Roux was so rude they mistook him for a rich man and did what he said. When his head was clean shaven he looked in the mirror and out of habit spit. Then he ran out without paying the bill or leaving a tip.
He repeated this behaviour in various shops up and down the pier until nearly everyone wished they could get their hands on him.
Marcel was the only one who didn't light out after Le Roux. He simply reported the incident to the pier police and allowed them handle it.
"Did the perpetrator have any identifying marks," the officer inquired.
Marcel informed the officer that there was a broken heart tattoo with the name "Vicky" right in the middle of the young man's forehead. Marcel had just finished putting it there at the young man's request.
"That helps," the officer put on his helmet and as he walked toward his bicycle, Marcel called out.
"Officer, you didn't ask me what his name was," Marcel complained.
"You know his name?" the officer squinted.
"Everybody knows Henry Merci, the pier gondalier," Marcel squinted back.
~ To Be Continued ~
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