An ax-wielding monk hacks at the door. Toby Peters is on the other side, running as fast as his recently broken leg will allow. Alongside him is Salvador Dalí, dressed in a rabbit suit, emphatically muttering “grasshoppers” as they try to make their escape. Dalí insists on being carried across the lawn, so Peters hobbles along with the surrealist in his arms. They get in the car just as the monk chops down the front door. The car doesn’t start, and the monk charges silently, ax held aloft. And this isn’t even the strangest thing that has happened to Toby Peters this week.
Life has been peculiar ever since the call came from Dalí’s wife. Peters, suffering from post-New Year’s celebration malaise, was happy to look into the theft of three of Dalí’s paintings. He had no idea, however, that the investigation might end with his face being literally turned into something resembling abstract art.