Entry 22: L’Artiste

Louis tilted a creaky old lamp inside the pantry so it created a spotlight on Samson. Samson gaped as a couple of moths flew towards the lightbulb, muttering “flying trinkets!”

“No, they’re ugly bugs that must be speared!” Kookie corrected.

Louis kicked at a stool, “Enough! Silence, now!”

The others jumped, even Fatty, and stood to attention.

Louis approached Samson with folded wings, “Alright, friend – the mystery ends tonight! Tell us everything you know about yourself.”

Samson blinked through the empty frames of his glasses, “You mean about creamy desserts or… orange/banana blended juice?”

Louis rolled his eyes, “No, I mean about who you really are. And if you gave away Fatty’s location to the Duck.”

“The Duck…” Samson muttered, as if trying to remember who that was.

“Don’t play dumb!”

“Yes. Do not be of such low IQ that IQ test companies no longer profit from marketing to pigeons,” Kookie added, consulting a list of business ideas on his notepad.

“Oh yes,” Samson giggled, “The Duck who is the holder of flames, such a rapturous fire?”

“I guess…” Louis said.

“Ugh this is a total waste of time!” Fatty said, “This pigeon is delusional.”

“Alright, alright,” Louis said. “Let’s start with some basic questions.” He turned back to Samson, “Tell us about your childhood, Samson.”

Samson’s eyes widened at the sight of his own shadow on the pantry floor and he clapped his wings in glee, seemingly too distracted, but then said, “I was a very little pigeon with big dreams – to paint!”

“Interesting,” Louis said, “Very interesting. And what did you want to paint?”

“The greatest landscape painting of helium balloons.”

“Like in Cappadocia? That would be beautiful,” Fatty nodded.

Louis looked at Fatty in surprise.

“What?” Fatty yelled, “So I’m cultured, so what!”

“Not in Cappa-doc-key,” Samson corrected, “Helium balloons floating in a galaxy, floating towards an exploding star.”

Fatty swore, “That’s marvellous.”

“But mumma didn’t like my paintings and preferred I look for food scraps. Preferably delicious food scraps – like red velvet cakes! And that was a fine idea by me. So, I decided I will give up on my dreams, only-”

“Only?” Louis asked, his eyes sharp and keen.

“Only – I would do one last grand painting for the sake of my artistic expressions.”

“Brava!” Kookie said, yawning.

“Go on, Samson,” Fatty urged, “Did you produce this grand painting?”

Samson paused to chew on some hard candy then said, “I made a painting in all colours of reddish hue, with real stains from lollipops. It was the best effort by a pigeon like me.” Then he said as an aside, “It was showcased at the Louvre.”

“What! No! That is so accomplished,” Fatty pressed his paws to the sides of his head in disbelief.

“Come on,” Louis objected, “You can’t be that gullible, I seriously doubt that’s true.”

But it turned out it was true. Later, when Louis searched up paintings at the Louvre while lounging about at an internet café, he found the painting, which was titled ‘Balloons Meet Supernova’. Only Samson never got any credit for it. Instead, it was attributed to an ‘up and coming Gen Z genius artist’.

Early the next morning, Gianno Rajput burst into the pantry and urged Fatty to escape into the wild in the back of a delivery truck.

“There’s wanted posters everywhere! I cannot afford to be busted for hiding a bear inside my Michelin star restaurant’s food pantry.”

“How did the authorities find out?” Louis asked.

“What, are you kidding me? People have spotted Fatty wandering around the city, like too many people to count!”

“Ah, okay.”

Fatty sighed, “That is understandable that I must take my leave. It is time,” He put on a beret that he had found on the street the night before and pulled it low over his head. It matched well with his green scarf. He then put out a paw to shake ‘hands’ with each of the birds.

“Louis,” he began, paw shaking wing, “I will miss all of your failed attempts at private investigation but most importantly, your cynicism and disillusionment, which matched well with my aggressive temperament.”

“Uh thanks,” Louis said, unsure about this feedback.

“Samson,” Fatty swivelled on the spot to face him, “You’re the epitome of ‘high as a kite without the help of drugs’! And I was here for it. But no longer, as I only have so much patience.”

Samson muttered with a smile, “I see how things go, in multi-colour vision.”

Finally, Fatty turned to Kookie, “Kookie – I don’t even know what to say! You are certified cwazy, and I don't need to see a certificate to believe it!”

“Good, because none exists,” Kookie replied shadily.

Then, with a final warning to the trio that the Duck would not give up on his vengeance against their many lucky escapes, Fatty tipped his hat and left.

After Fatty was gone, still in Rome, Louis wondered what to do next. He had decided a long while ago to change career paths to become a writer and chronicle Kookie’s life story. But now that he finally had the time (and a lack of imminent risk to his life, notwithstanding Fatty’s departing warning about the Duck), the size of the task scared him.

Then, one day, as Kookie was scoffing down spaghetti at their new, regular outdoor table at Il Ristorante and expounding on his flawed theory of misleading customers in an ethically sound way, Louis was so annoyed that he finally pulled out a notepad and began writing his first draft.