“Optimism is earned from a track record of overcoming obstacles. I’m a problem solver, not a problem evader. I’ve been resourceful over and over again in such a way that I know I can handle what life throws me. Whenever I have a tough challenge, I say to myself, ‘When I get through this, it will be a great story.’”
–Dr. Terry Paulson, quoted by Erika Liodice at Beyond the Gray
He sped past the Van Wezel center, a purple bunker that sits on the waterway between Sarasota and the keys, and watched the marquee flash the names of the performers: the Moody Blues, Joffrey Ballet, “Mama Mia!” As he pulled into the Ringling museum complex off Tamiami Trail, he hoped he wasn’t too late. Dukat and the Pelican Boys had a head start. And then there was McGee. A great but volatile detective. Gulls were no match for his powerful hands, even with a splinted finger, and he wanted Dukat alive.
The Asolo Theater was empty, its huge red curtain and gilded crown molding glowing in the dim light. He jogged to the visitors’ center and down to Ca d’Zan, the Venetian palace circus impresario John Ringing and his wife Mabel built in 1925 as their winter home on the intracoastal waterway between Sarasota and the keys. It seemed every surface was covered in ornamentation, a riot of gilded, carved and bejeweled ceilings, walls and floors. Rococo squared. He didn’t know how the couple slept at night.
Tons of tourists but no Dukat.
He ran up the walkway to the Ringling Museum of the American Circus, which housed the Ringling Bros. human canon, bandwagon, calliope and Pullman car John Ringling used to travel the country when booking his shows. No sign of Dukat or McGee, although he did see the patchwork hat and suit of Emmett Kelly, the sad-faced clown who would sweep his spotlight into a dustpan.
There were several other buildings but little time. John Ringling had made a good living by running the Ringling Bros. Circus and selling real estate in the circus’s winter home of Sarasota, Florida. He’d used that money to buy art from around the world, including works by Rubens, Titian and Velazquez. He’d also acquired Cypriot, Greek and Roman antiquities, along with hundreds of pieces of sculpture. That’s where he’d find Dukat.
He dashed in the door of the Ringling Museum of Art and took a hard right into grand hall that was dimly lit. Ahead loomed a series of paintings by Peter Paul Rubens called “The Triumph of the Eucharist.” One in particular caught his eye. At the far end of the hall stood the massive “The Meeting of Abraham and Melchizedek,” 175 by 224 inches, painted around 1625. In it Abraham the returning warrior was offering the priest a tithe in return for bread and wine for his army. The skin on the figures was luminous, the muscles so well-defined they look real.
And then one of the men moved. Carving knife poised, Dukat paused just before slashing through the edge of the painting. But in that second’s distraction, he lunged for the thief and his henchmen.
They scattered, gulls and pelicans flying everywhere. He bounced hard on the floor. By the time he caught his breath, Dukat was gone. Outside he saw a car streak south toward the Van Wezel. He followed, hanging a right into the parking lot and nearly toppling a row of palms. Up the steps and into the lobby, where even the interior of the building was painted in that strange color. No sign of the gull. He ran to the left, through the concession area and around to stage left, leaping onto the boards just in time to see McGee grab the gull by the throat.
“Wait,” he yelled to McGee. “I want him alive.”
McGee was having trouble with the chokehold. With its splinted finger his hand refused to close.
“Don’t do it, McGee. What do you think this is?”
“With due respect to the master,” McGee said, looking heavenward to where the late John D. MacDonald might or might not be resting, “it’s a purple place for dying.”