Through a Glass Darkly
How could one man be so very infuriating? So very aggravating? So very clueless? And yet manage to expend so little effort in the process, as if it came all too naturally to him? Count D wished that he knew, wished that he could solve the enigma that was Leon Orcot, while at the same time cure the man of his very slovenly habits.
Each time he entered the shop, he left it in a state of chaotic disorder - but it wasn't always the inanimate objects that he had an effect upon, it was the owner as well ... whether he was willing to admit to it or not. The mysterious Chinese shopkeeper harumphed at the detective on a regular basis, yelled at him to remove his overly large flat feet from off of the coffee table, warned him not to set the glass he was using upon the lacquered table without setting a coaster there first - an admonition which Leon regularly disregarded, as evidenced by the rings he left behind. And yet he continued to serve the other man the sinfully sweet treats that he craved, and which drew him back into the shop almost every day - well, that and his determination to catch Count D at something patently illegal, or, as Leon so crudely put it, to "get the goods on him." A phrase that made the Count both wince and smile - wincing at the crudeness of the phrase, but smiling at the knowledge that there was nothing that the detective would ever catch him at if he chose not to let him. Which of course, he wouldn't. Would he?
The last time he had been there, the two men had gotten into a terrible argument - over everything and nothing. Leon's little brother, the creatures in the shop, the Chinese mafia - even drug trafficking and murder, for pity's sake. T-chan had done nothing to ameliorate the situation when he had attempted to take a bite out of Leon's hindquarters, either. Leon had stormed out of the shop in a huff, vowing that the devil would be wearing ice skates before his return. D knew better, though, the detective seemed unable to stay away, drawn back to the pet shop almost in spite of himself.
But it had been five days now. Five very long days. And no sign of the man. And no one had seen or heard from him either.
D picked up the glass from the coffee table, the one Leon had last used, last emptied, gold rimmed, amber tinted. It had never been moved from the spot where he had casually laid it before the argument had commenced, never washed. D's long elegant nails scratched silently across the surface, as if by doing so he could pick up a trace of the detective's presence, will him to return. Although why he wished him to do so, when he was undoubtedly the most obnoxious argumentative man, the most annoying, infuriating, obstinate man, D had ever met was certainly beyond him.
He'll be back. Chris' thoughts came to him clearly. He turned to regard the young boy who stood in the doorway to the back of the shop, watching him with penetrating eyes.
"Of course he will," D replied, almost brusquely. "Your brother loves you." He set the glass back upon the table, careful to leave it in the same spot as it had been before, drawing back the veil of his dark hair, with one slender hand. He would never allow Chris to see that his greatest fear was that the detective was gone for good - he would not even admit that to himself. At least not yet.
Chris reached for the glass, as though to take it back and clean it, but D shook his head. "I will attend to it," he murmured. The truth was that he feared that if the glass were cleaned, he would lose his last tie to Leon Orcot, silly as that sounded. Superstitious even. But for now he wished it to remain as it was, a symbol that the detective was just around the next corner - somewhere - and would bound into the shop at any minute, demanding information. Or something to drink.
D smiled to himself at the notion. And continued to hope.