What a Wonderful Day!

The water jets gushing out of the firemen hoses are sweeping the marble stairs of the Parliament. The police cars sirens are warning.

"Are they shooting, sir?"

"Leave the road!"

"Down with the Government!"

"Shut up, dear, it’s not a strike!"

A bunch of dupes are chewing popcorn, pistachio ice cream and hot sandwiches. A plump police officer elbows his way out. A woman stops him threatening she will complain to the mayor, who’s even her brother. Across the street, in front of the Houses of Parliament, in Ryan Shulds’ café, a Dixieland band rehearses the original version of the famous "Rhapsody in Blue" by G. Gershwin, frenziedly.

On clarinet, the prefect. On ear trumpet, the mayor. On trombone, Miss Agatha, the secretary of FELSON & CO. Somewhere in the rear, on drums, a funny bald guy, whom everybody calls cheerfully "hey, boy, Falco!" A reporter from Channel 7 asks the operator to film Senator Gregorian, being carried on a glass fibres stretcher to the ambulance.

The ear trumpet and the clarinet people are talking in whisper, during the smoking break, whether they should propose her a "ménage a trois" adventure. Leaning on a window screen, Falco watches merrily some kids stealing from a police officer’s pocket the seashells found on the stairs of the Parliament, half an hour ago.

Café. Orange sun. One could hear the police sirens far away. Falco, gets a nap. A seashell on the warm table. Falco examined it with interest, for a couple of minutes. Keeping the rhythm with his feet.

The seashell meant something to him. It reminded him of somebody. Confusedly.

"Your coffee, sir!"

"Oh, thanks, replies Falco. "Don’t you have a light?!"

The waiter is searching for a lighter in his pocket. He takes it out and offers it to Falco. The purple flame reminds him of something. "Thanks." The waiter bended politely.

"Hey, that seashell is mine! "shouted Falco in amusement.

The waiter apologizes. It happens to him sometimes. But Falco watches him doubtfully. He might be a disguised secret agent. They are everywhere. Damn!

"Good after noon! Do you mind?"

"Not at all, take a seat! Falco invites the old man who has just come out of the blue.

"Yeah, it may rain!" babbles the old man. "I heard you saying something a bout a seashell."

"Oh, a family memory", explains Falco. "you know how it is!"

"Yes, sure. I’m surprised you didn’t answer my letter, sir! Complains the old man. Your operetta is an extraordinary experiment and I will do my best to save it from destruction or restrictive interruptions. It has its fans and disciples. Let them enjoy it. For me, it’s a blind alley. But the world is wide and there is enough space for us to be wrong.

"What's that?"

"Look, I read for you a few lines of the letter I sent you on the 23rd of November 1928, in 1928" Oh, yes dear mister James Joyce! In 1928! Ha, ha, ha!"

Falco laughs.

Oval window. Stained glass window. St. George killing the monster. Beyond the stained glass window, a modest desk. Instead of soft carpets, newspapers. A rusty radiator. A telephone, 1936 model.

Falco smokes, meditating. He rolled up his sleeves. He put the gun on the table. And he poured himself a glass of brandy. Like any detective respecting himself. He keeps his eyes open. He receives a set of signals from his cells. One thousand cells that he introduced under the skin of Senator Gregorian.

The sun drops packs of photons through the stained glass window. The phone is ringing. Falco answers almost voicelessly:

"Falco&Co. offers you its services!"