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The Da Vinci Cube (standard:humor, 2860 words)
Author: Ian HobsonAdded: May 22 2006Views/Reads: 2521/1215Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
If you've read The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown, then you might make some sense of this. If not, best read something else.

The Da Vinci Cube 

©2006 Ian Hobson 


Some poor sod gets shot in a French art gallery. 


Rupert Tuckbot was working on his new novel when he was interrupted by
someone knocking on his Paris hotel room door.  As he got up and 
crossed the room, wondering who could be disturbing him at such a late 
hour, he stopped dead in his tracks as he realised that the caller had 
knocked five times.  Five was a most significant number for Rupert, as 
five equilateral triangles arranged to make a five-pointed star also 
contained the shape of a pentagon, which just happened to be the same 
shape as the birthmark on his left buttock, which just happened to be 
an anagram of his surname.  Fearing that this might be an omen, he 
continued to the door and, opening it cautiously, he came face to face 
with Inspector Cludo, the celebrated chief of a special multinational 
law-enforcement unit for Crimes Requiring Advanced Police-work. 

'Yes,' said Rupert, wondering what business a C.R.A.P. police officer
might have with him. 

'Monsieur Tuckbot?'  The Frenchman's English was heavily accented. 


'Inspector Cludo,' said Cludo with a forced smile.  'Would you be so
kind as to come with me to the Tuileries?' 

Rupert looked puzzled.  'Why?  Can't you go on your own?' 

For a moment Cludo looked equally puzzled.  'Ah, forgive my akzent,' he
said as he took out his ID card and waved it in Rupert's face.  'I am 
an officer of du lur, and I wish for you to come wiz me to the 
Tuileries Gardens.  Der is something I would like to show you; in de 
new art gallery.' 


The Loofah, a brand-new modern art gallery situated within the Tuileries
Gardens, was made entirely out of 9,999 squares of glass and shaped 
like a dildo. 'What do you make of it?' Cludo asked.  He and Rupert 
were standing in the center of the art gallery looking at corpse that 
had obviously been arranged to look like a dead body. 

'I think he's dead,' Rupert observed. 

'Not the deceased,' Cludo said, pointing at the wall.  'The blood.' 
Strangely, the victim, who had been fatally shot, had used his own 
blood to paint a forty-foot mural containing a stylised image of the 
Mona Lisa doing a moony, together with the inscription: 




'Beats me,' Rupert said.  'The whole thing's rather odd.' 

'Odd! Cludo exclaimed.  'You don't know the half of it.  The man didn't
even have a cat.' 

'Yes he did,' said a female voice.  Inspector Cludo turned angrily
towards Catherine Dupre, a junior, but utterly brilliant when it comes 
to code breaking and such like, police officer, who was striding down 
the gallery towards them.  Her English was much better than her 
superior's.  'He was my estranged uncle and he was the new caretaker 
here, and he always called me Cat when I was little, and he liked to 
leave me puzzles and treasure hunts, and the numbers are obviously a 
reference to his favourite British television program 'Who Want's to be 

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