tiaras in the rue de castiglione

carlton dipped the exotic shrimp into one of the small brandied cocktail dishes that encircled the ornate ice sculpture in the main ballroom of the rue de castiglione hotel. the grande marbled hall was filled to capacity with the usual diplomats, generals, dukes and duchesses, and of course every multi-splendered socialite of the elite variety. carlton felt sick. “if there’s a tiara in paris, it’s on one of these dames heads tonight.” he thought to himself as he spit the imported tiger shrimp into a cocktail napkin, stuffing it into his cheap tuxedo pocket. carlton furlough was a gum-shoe detective sent on a top secret mission to find the agent at the gala who was sent by the mexicans to kill the ambassador of france. it seems the mexicans didn’t care much for monsieur laveau’s vote on the tequila import tax, and they planned to take him down, “mexican style.” carlton didn’t know how he would spot the imposter among the guests, but he relied on his street smarts to guide him. “money can’t buy street smarts” he thought with a sarcastic grin as the duchess of monte carlo approached him, extending her white gloved hand. “what a lovely tuxedo you have there.” the woman said examining his couture, “is it lacroix?” “i do believe it is lee brand.” carlton spoke trying to sound regal. “oh i see.” the woman said quickly removing her hand from carlton’s. “might i inquire a question upon you madam?” carlton asked, “do you have any children?” “oh yes, i put the darlings to sleep at seven pm sharp every night, and the little angels go right to sleep.” carlton quickly pulled his revolver from his coat pocket and yelled “everyone get back!” and fired six shots into the woman as the crowd erupted in screams. a general came running up, “what the hell do you think you are doing!” carlton was reloading his pistol, “excuse me sir!” carlton lashed at the general, “but this woman is a mexican agent sent to kill monsieur laveau!” “that is the royal duchess of monte carlo you imbecile!” carlton laughed as he snapped the last bullet into the chamber of the gun. “sir, i have children” carlton said to the general, “and anyone who really has kids knows that the deranged monsters refuse to go to bed at night, much less at seven pm!” just then the dark skinned man with the large moustache in the mariachi outfit and sombrero threw down his shrimp plate and ran out of the back door. carlton placed the revolver back into his coat, “shit.”