A Secret Resolution

As with every December thirty-first come nightfall, the roads carving through and around Times Square were emptied of vehicular traffic with all entrances and exits barred off until the next morning. But yet, in its absence, there remained some sense of cacophony.

The restaurants located in the area were working overtime, ensuring that their preparations were ready for those in attendance that had ordered ahead. Hotels were packed with a massive load of business as their reservations checked in throughout the day. The famous billboard screens peppering the buildings and skyscrapers across the well-known landmark blared with advertisements belonging to the corporations sponsoring the upcoming event. Police and security forces installed the pop-up checkpoints to monitor all the people arriving and leaving.

And then of course there were the people themselves. Assigned to the pens they had booked days, weeks or months priorly, thousands upon thousands filed into the sparse roads and pavements, gathering into a single humungous crowd by the time the celebration was in full swing. The many who had come as the sun was setting distantly in the west watched with glowing dedication as the first milestone of the evening made itself apparent.

High atop One Times Square, the iconic ball was raised to the peak of the flagpole at six o'clock, signalling the true beginning of the festivities. For the next half-dozen hours since, everything planned and done to honour the end of the present year and the coming of the new one had generally gone off without a hitch. Food and souvenir stalls were making satisfying profits, as were the restaurants and hotels. The musical presentations on the stage were performed excellently and with gusto. The operations in the control room ran to schedule.

In the arranged pens, the people made do with their own ways of partying. Impromptu selfies were taken between close friends, family and total strangers. Costumes and traditional but silly hats were worn. Face paint was applied. Small suppers, snacks, cans of soda and hot drinks in takeaway mugs either brought to the event in plastic bags or purchased at one of the stalls were nibbled or slurped upon. A mischievous few even managed to smuggle in sparklers, tiny firecrackers, party poppers and other noisemakers.

Before long, the square was filled to the brim with just over one million partygoers. The fact that there was barely any gap at all in the enormous array caused little concern, for the night was meant to be an experience. A thrill for fun. A time for limitless joy. Inexplicable, unexplainable happiness.

At least for those on the ground anyway. For police and security, it was work, work, work. Stationed variously and strategically in the buildings all along the area, with eagle-eyed precision and loyal dedication to see that those they watched over had a safe and joyful night, they monitored the celebrations, on the lookout for any sign of trouble or danger that potentially threatened the innocent. But even they were allowed their times of levity; when a shift was over for each man and woman and their replacement had come to relieve them of duty, they could go down and join in the uplifting camaraderie until it was their turn again to take up a post.

For one Frenchman though, it was entirely different. Standing on the roof of Four Times Square in the winter cold, gazing at the mingling attendance through a pair of ACME-tech binoculars, all he could think about the event was just how horrifying a torment it was to sift through so many people just on the off-chance he would finally catch a glimpse of his target. Once more, the inherent chill from the high altitude and the cold of the night affected the man, biting at his very nerves and causing him to shiver uncontrollably.

Groaning, he put the binoculars down on the ledge he had been resting his elbows on. He tugged off his gloves, cupped his hands together and held back a strong breath in his chest. Exhaling it all out in a blast of hot air, he warmed his palms and pulled the gloves back on. When this brought him no relief, he adjusted the scarf and woollen coat he was wearing. This did nothing for him either.

He glanced down at the thermos of hot French Roast coffee he had brought up with him. Had French Roast coffee, he corrected himself, disgruntled by the bitter reminder he had consumed the last portion of the drink over an hour ago to cope with the freezing temperature. In frustration, he took note of the time on his wristwatch.

Eleven fifty.

As if knowing how close it was to midnight was an alert, he took up the binoculars again and resumed his watch. Carefully, he switched his concentration over to the rooftop of One Times Square to check to see if the ball was still in place on the flagpole.

"Agent Devineaux," someone coughed politely from behind him. "I'm afraid I still do not understand what we are doing here."

Chase Devineaux, formerly an Inspector of Interpol, now an Agent of ACME, lowered the binoculars. Quietly staving off a loud grumble, he turned to his partner. To his irritation, as he looked at her, he was put off by the appearance that she seemed to have a stronger resistance to and had a more prepared defence against the conditions he himself was fighting to endure.

Julia Argent was fully decked out in a black parka with white fake-fur trim lined around the hood, wrists and ankles, along with a red scarf coiled over her neck and shoulders, thick white gloves, dark blue winter trackpants, and a pair of black boots to complete the ensemble. Also further upsetting Devineaux internally was the steaming mug of cocoa held softly between her mitted hands. He took a second to eye her thermos sitting by a raised dais of concrete and saw from its indicator that it was only half depleted, before he answered her question.

"Ms Argent. Our witness reports clearly gave us evidence Carmen SanDiego is currently in this area," he stated formally, and he made to move back to his work before she could point out any holes in his reason.

"But that doesn't make any sense."

There it was, Devineaux thought, rolling his eyes.

"She usually appears where there is at least a rumour of VILE activity," Julia contended.

At this, Devineaux found himself surprising her with a genuinely amused smile rather than his rude and arrogant smirk or his bothered indifference to the validity of her arguments. Clicking his tongue, he said, "Sometimes I forget you haven't been on this case as long as I have. SanDiego isn't here to steal anything or to thwart VILE tonight."

"She isn't?" Julia asked, raising her eyebrows curiously.

"No. She is here for her annual New Year's Eve prank," Devineaux replied in a matter-of-fact way.

"Prank?" Julia said as she put her mug beside her thermos, suddenly intrigued.

"Every year since she began her career as a thief, she has played a prank at a big-time New Years celebration somewhere in the world," Devineaux explained. "The incidents at Disneyland California, the London Eye, Sydney Harbour, Tokyo, Beijing. They're all her work."

"My goodness," Julia gaped, wide-eyed. "I didn't know she had such an openly mischievous streak."

"Oui. To her, this is a little bit of fun," Devineaux nodded. "In a way, it is for me too. I dearly hope this will be the first time I foil her prank." He shifted his eyes eagerly, turning away. "Of course, come the third of January, it's back to old business."

Without another word, he circled back to the ledge and raised the binoculars to the height of his eyes. Huntingly, he peered down into the depths of the spectators who were rising to a second wind now that the number of minutes to midnight had gone from double digits to single.

"Hm. Still no sign of her in the crowd or on the roof of One Times Square. I honestly thought the ball would be her target."

"Perhaps she's inside one of the other buildings," Julia suggested, approaching him to gander and take in the view.

"Maybe to flood the square with more confetti than there's supposed to be," Devineaux muttered as he turned up the focus, subconsciously agreeing with her. "Hmph. Normally, I'd dismiss something like that when it comes to SanDiego but, when comparing them to the annoying brilliance of her thefts and escapes, her pranks are downright childish."

"Everyone's a critic," came the nearby chortling, low laugh of a voice who in spite of the selection of words was entertained by the comment.

Devineaux and Julia both jumped and whirled around.

"La Femme Rouge!" the man cried.

"Carmen," the woman gasped.

Sure enough, the notorious thief renowned for being dressed entirely in a long red coat and fedora with a black jumpsuit underneath and high heels for footwear was standing behind them, facing the two with a bold, assuring look. Catching Julia's attention, she winked slyly at the knowledgable female agent. Julia responded with a shy smile tinged with a crimson blush.

"Here to spoil my fun as usual, Chase?" she turned to address Devineaux, her grey eyes flashing with mischief.

Devineaux pointed his forefinger at her, his lips shaped in a triumphant grin as he took up the supposed gauntlet. "But of course," he exclaimed. "These pranks may not be as criminal as your other endeavours, but they have to be stopped."

"I'm just here to mark the New Year with a special something. I promise, no pranks," Carmen claimed smartly in innocence, lifting her hands.

"A likely story," Devineaux scoffed. "I am keeping my eyes on you until the stroke of twelve."

"By all means. I've got no plans to leave until afterwards."

The game was on. Devineaux narrowed his eyes at Carmen, attempting to judge if she was being proudly sincere or whether she had just challenged him to stop her. Minute by minute slipped on by as the countdown dwindled. From beside him, Julia lowered her hood as she turned away from the battle of wills and glanced over her shoulder on a downward angle. Devineaux nearly gave into temptation and almost mimicked her, but just as rapidly as the emotion appeared, he remembered to keep his eyes fixed on Carmen. The thief returned his attention, though she did not seem to want to give it in as powerful an intensity as he was directing at her. Soon he understood what it was that had Julia captivated.

The Times Square Ball had started to descend. It was eleven fifty-nine.

Panic arose in him fast, actively instigating his mind to deduce the situation in another light. SanDiego said to him she was going to wait until midnight. What if she truly meant that and that his original hunch had been accurate? What if the Ball was the real target? What if this - stareoff - he had gone headlong into with her was all an elaborate ruse to distract him from the prank? What if she had already set things in motion and was using her physical presence as bait to keep him from finding out?

He increased his glare, sharpening it into a piercing scrutiny. While the thief was focused, she was also calm and collected. Standing her ground but not coiled and ready to spring. Again he judged her, determining what her next move could be. In his mind, he gave way to the thought that there wasn't one, that she could not help but reveal herself to him knowing he was looking for her, that she had not even set her plan up yet. If all that was true, then he was about to win. He'd finally beat Carmen SanDiego. Maybe, he thought ecstatically, she would be so stunned with defeat that he might be able to arrest her without trouble.

Just dimly, he heard the crowds in the Square below chorusing out loud the final twelve seconds of the countdown.

Twelve.

Eleven.

Privately, he crowed upon his imagined victory. I'm going to get her.

Nine.

He could taste it. See it become inevitable.

Six.

After so many years.

Four.

He'd finally apprehend Carmen SanDiego.

One.

He'd - - -

BOOM!

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" the masses proclaimed as the first firework shot up from One Times Square exploded high in the air.

All at once, his childhood of witnessing many grand New Years fireworks displays in Paris illuminating the Eiffel Tower in its longstanding glory bidding him to turn, Chase Devineaux forgot all of his training as an adult enforcer of the law and wrenched himself around to watch the vivid showstopper as it unfolded. Red-and-white comets went streaking through the sky. Vibrant blasting hues of blue, green, yellow and purple ballooned their glittering fragments out amidst the darkness. Gold and silver stars cannoned a far distance upwards until they fizzled into nothing.

Standing there, rooted to the spot for ten whole minutes, he watched the dazzling sight play out before him almost as if he were that little boy again, spectating with resplendent patriotic pleasure as he went through the stages of maturity, his undying loyalty to the country of his birth and the strict observance of law and order growing and evolving year after year.

At last, after one final colossal burst of multicoloured fire had lit up the heavens with an almighty roar, accompanied by several other smaller ones, the show drew to a close. The lights faded gradually, leaving only shafts of smoke and steam.

The euphoric feeling in Devineaux's chest abated a little. He wiped away a single tear from underneath his eye, sighing at the sheer beauty of the display he had seen and all those he remembered from his past. No matter the age he was, no matter all the bad stuff he coped with, he had always loved the lights, the colours, to no end. They never failed to bring a glimmering shine to their hue, allowing him to enjoy the gold, the silver and every one of the seven colours of the rainbow from the noble purple to the jovial red.

Wait a minute, he thought as the illusion shattered around him. Red?

A sudden twist in his heart, he spun round in a semi-circle. His mood deflated greatly when he saw the only other person on the roof apart from himself was Julia. Carmen SanDiego was gone, disappeared without a trace.

Or so he initially believed. Something thin flapped mysteriously in a gust of wind against his shoulder. Glancing down, he saw the note of paper taped to the breast of his coat. Triggered by natural curiosity, he pulled it off and read its contents.

"To Mister Devineaux. Heh. I may not be in Interpol anymore but I do have a rank," he remarked haughtily and continued on. "As you can see, I meant what I told you. No pranks. No silly fun to start off the New Year. What I carried out tonight is something I take much more seriously and hold very close to my heart. Oh, and it's tradition."

Puzzled, he looked at the note a second time, scratching his head absentmindedly. Then he read it a third time. And then a fourth time. Eventually he gave up, his lips curling into an annoyed scowl. "Bah," he said. "Another silly riddle. Why on earth does that woman have to be so pretentious?"

He shook his head, crumpling up the note and shoving it inside his coat pocket, and turned again to Julia, acknowledging her as if she had temporarily departed from the scene. Because of this, he did not notice she had inexplicably moved from his side to about a metre towards where Carmen SanDiego had been standing.

"Come on, Ms Argent. We might as well get back to the hotel," he exhaled in quiet defeat. "SanDiego will resurface again in a few days, and then we will catch her."

He stiffened in the moment he actually regarded her and beheld her features. She was unmoving, standing frozen as though she were in a trance. And yet her studious black eyes sparkled with life and joy. For about four seconds, Devineaux wondered if she was still transfixed by the eminent beauty of the fireworks, until it hit him that she was looking in too low a direction for that to be the case. Making him even more uncomfortable was the state of her lips and not just because they were formed in a dazed smile.

"Uhh, you might want to fix up your lipstick," he advised. "It's smudged up in a lot of places."

Finding himself unable to say more without getting embarrassed further that he had been offering beauty tips while on the job, he moved and headed for the door that led back inside the building. He was halfway down the stairs where he could take the elevator the rest of the way when Julia, remaining where she was, finally spoke.

More to herself than anyone else, she quietly whispered, "It's not my lipstick."

Unheard, she stared mesmerisingly across the distance of Broadway and Seventh Avenue towards Three Times Square, recalling the melodic and worldly voice that had murmured sweetly in her ear after the woman it belonged to had kissed her senseless, "Happy New Year, Jules." Her keen passionate eyes caught sight of the silhouette of red hidden in the darkness, having watched the woman it heralded sail with her trusty glider above the raucous audience without ever being seen once by Devineaux, the public or the security positioned throughout the area and make landfall. Even with the wide gap of space now separating them, Julia could see Carmen warmly smiling back at her.

Then, as the thief retreated slowly into the murky gloom of night, an uncharacteristic change came over Julia. Her admiring smile turned wanting and daring while her eyes grew misty with an enticing aura of smoke.

"Next time, it'll be my turn," she said huskily. "So watch out because then, I will be surprising you. Ma dame en écarlate."

: * :

"That was pretty dangerous, Carmen. You know how much they've been beefing up security there in recent years."

Sliding to a stop, Carmen grinned happily. "You can say anything you want to me, Player. It was worth it."

"Julia seems to think so too," the hacker replied with a chuckle. "I managed to get you camera footage and audio of a parting remark she gave you not long after you left. Would you like to see it?"

"Sure. Go right ahead."

A scarce few moments passed.

"Check your phone."

Her eyes and ears alerted, Carmen watched and listened to the video with rapt attention. Interest became pure intrigue as the astounded gaze Julia appeared to be stuck in faded quickly, morphing into that of a hungry lioness readying to pounce upon a hard-to-catch swift and agile gazelle. Then came Julia's pledge, and Carmen felt both her great appetite for a challenge and an awe in her heart rising. After all, she told herself, who was she to deny Julia her own opportunity to surprise her?

"Hey Player. Do you think you can send Jules a return message from me?"

"In my sleep," Player answered confidently. Carmen gave him his time to work his magic. "All set up. You can start speaking - - now."

Smirking, Carmen did. Pacing her words seductively and adding a low purr to her voice, she talked into her speaker and relayed her reply to Julia. When she was finished, Player broke out in splutters two seconds later.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Red. Save that kind of talk for the bedroom. These ears are still innocent and delicate, you know," he cringed audibly.

"Just send the message, Player," Carmen laughed amusingly. "Remind yourself of this when you have romantic interests when you're a little bit older, if you ever get out of that room of yours."

"Not gonna happen, Carmen," she heard him grin. "Never gonna happen."

: * :

Far downstairs on the ground level of Four Times Square, Julia exited the elevator car, her desires cooled and her personality reverted back to her everyday nature. It was a good thing too, as Devineaux was waiting for her by the front doors, tapping his foot impatiently on the smooth hard floor. Mildly irked by his brusqueness, she sighed tinily in exasperation and stepped on over towards him.

From there, their professional relationship carried on as usual; after he ridiculed her on how much time she took in getting down, he complained about the so-called impudence that Carmen used when she escaped him. Julia sought to remind him he was the one who said that Carmen was playing. Devineaux ignored her and she sat back in a huff. Silence followed them as they walked outside of Times Square until they reached a thriving roadway and hailed a cab to take them to the hotel where ACME had reserved a two-room suite for their mission.

Nothing different at all happened once they arrived and when they entered the suite. It was only when he made himself at home, releasing a tired yawn as he flopped down on the couch and announced he'd be watching an action movie using the digital rental system on the television. Obligingly, Julia declined to join him, choosing to go to her room for immediate sleep.

By the time she was ready for bed, her phone vibrated. Curiously, she plucked the device from her purse and noticed there was a new message. Going to sit on the mattress, wondering who would be texting her at this time of night, she accessed the message and examined it. All there was for her to see was an audio file.

Nonplussed, she pressed play. At once, she recognised the voice the file contained and her expression lit up brightly.

"My Lady in Scarlet. Got to say I prefer that a lot better than La Femme Rouge," the recording of Carmen went. "That's right, Jules. I heard that. And I'm really looking forward to what you'll dish out for me the next time we cross paths. But for now, here's something special to tide you over 'til then."

"Good night and sleep well, my favourite crimesolver. It's the beginning of a new and hopefully wonderful year for us. Think of me tonight, for I am already thinking of you."

"De toutes les richesses du monde, tu es ma plus chérie trésor, et je t'aime."

Julia Argent blushed and smiled in total merriment and understanding, feeling her passions reignite. At the instant of completely translating the final sentence of the message into English, she swore her heart leaped and bounded. Knowing her face was positively agleam, she looked to the nearby window and gazed outside, picturing Carmen as if she was there, grinning slyly from her the corner of her mouth and tipping her fedora down to hide her face from view.

"Je t'aime aussi, Carmen SanDiego. Ma dame en écarlate."

Happy New Year, everyone!!!