Leave Nothing To Chance

CHAPTER ONE

Chance's ringtone blasted the refrain from Toto's "Africa," indicating the arrival of an incoming call. "It's gonna take a lot to take me away from youuuuuu. There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever dooooo." Normally, the ringtone would draw derision from the few people in close proximity to Chance's phone. On the rare occasion, perhaps during the second round of cocktail hour, the ringtone would elicit ironic laughter from children of the 80's, who grew up listening to FM radio while riding unbuckled in the middle seat of wood-paneled station wagons. Unfortunately, tonight's call came during a performance of Mozart's "The Marriage of Figaro," at Paris' ornamental Palaise Garnier Opera House, more specifically during the tender, heartfelt aria, "Deh Viene Non Tardar" (Oh Come Don't Delay). Compounding the problem was that Chance's phone was currently in his tuxedo pants with no easy access.

The Opera House

Palais Garnier Opera House, Paris, France. Photo Credit: skeeze

The Aria

The Ringtone

Talk about a showstopper. The glares and hisses were intense as Chance stood up and clambered his way across the row and up the aisle to the lobby. "Excusez-moi, pardon, excusez-moi," Chance said, exhausting about half of his french vocabulary as he climbed over well-heeled Parisians who were all of a sudden giving serious thought to the return of the guillotine. He didn't think the insertion of the remaining words in his limited vocabulary, which included "Champagne" and "Cognac", would help the situation, although he was sure to have some of both to calm his jangled nerves once he was out of this predicament. Trifles were nothing new to Chance; they seemed to present themselves with regularity.

"I bless the rains down in Africa. Gonna take some time to do the things we never haaaaaad." His walk-of-shame complete, Chance did a celebratory jig out the door and into the grand lobby as he fished the phone out of his pocket.

"Chance McDermott speaking."

"We have the Contessa," said a voice with an Italian accent.

"Who is this?"

"Who I am is of no concern. What will be concerning is if you don't bring us the necklace."

"What necklace? What Contessa?"

"Please do not waste any more time," said the Italian. "You've already made a fool of yourself in front of tonight's opera patrons. Don't make yourself an executioner as well."

"An executioner?" Chance half-shouted. "Buddy, you've got the wrong guy. I don't know any Contessas nor do I have any necklace. Wait, how do you know about the opera?"

"Please, how do you say it, don't play cute. The Contessa's well being and beauty remain intact, although her beauty is at risk of fading faster than her natural time on this earth if you don't do as I say. By now, you will notice two of my men positioned at the top of each stairway. There is no going any other way than out the front door to do my bidding."

Chance looked around and indeed saw what can only be described as tree trunks wearing tuxedos. He nodded and gave them both a half-wave. "Jesus, who knew they made tuxedos that big. Are those custom suits?"

"They're not custom," the Italian said casually and with a little pride. "I actually found sizes online."

"Wow, really?"

"Yes, it was quite simple. All you do is...WAIT, do not attempt to distract us from our mission," thundered the Italian. "Now, please walk out the door and do exactly as I say."

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