The white slip of paper glared up at Sleuth from his desk, stark black words almost incomprehensible to him. A two week suspension? He didn't need this, not now. He'd already taken out a loan to help pay off his car on top of helping his dear old ma with her quickly accumulating hospital bills. Aside from that he was barely making rent and, awful as he felt about it, his girlfriend payed for most of his food. He knew she felt bad for him and he felt bad that she felt bad. He would make it up to her though just as soon as he recovered from all this terrible luck.
For now though he needed a plan. He could do odd jobs, someone always needed something done and he was pretty okay at doing things. Heavy lifting, body guarding maybe, gardening was okay. He would check the paper and sift through all the ads for "models, no questions asked" on craigslist, there would be work somewhere if he looked hard enough. Yeah okay, he would be okay. He picked up the paper and folded it neatly to shove away in his pockets just as the office door creaked open, hinges ancient and worn and far too expensive to replace. After a moment the Inspector poked his gaunt face in, glancing around the room before finally resting his eyes on Sleuth.
"I ah…," he trailed off for a moment, stepping into the room and quickly shoving his hands into his pockets, "You got the paper then. Sorry, really, it's gonna be tough not having you around."
Sleuth sighed and pulled his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. Comfortable and, with PI, unavoidable silence followed until the Inspector spoke again in his perpetually shaky and just loud enough tone, "I'll take you out for a drink sometime. I mean, I'll make Ace come too… It'll be a… a... "
The lanky man leaned against the door frame and directed his gaze towards the floor, frowning as Sleuth finished the sentence, "A date? We better go somewhere nicer than that hole in the wall from last time then, Ace almost put a fist through the bartender's face."
Inspector let out a quiet laugh before pulling a hand out of his pocket to cover his mouth. When it dropped back to his side he was frowning again, thin lips pressed together in a tight line. He tilted his head to the side, "You'll be okay, right? I mean with your mother and all…"
Sleuth quickly waved a dismissive hand and shrugged, "It's fine, it's fiiine. No worries, things always work out in the end, right? Besides, if I-"
He dropped what he was saying as muffled jazz played from somewhere. A saxophone tooted louder as he pulled an old flip phone from his jacket pocket and raised an eyebrow at it. He was about to finish his sentence but as soon as he looked up Inspector was already gone and the door had closed behind him.
"Jeez," he said to himself as he opened the phone and held it to his ear, "This is Sleuth."
"We need to talk," came over the speaker, Parcel Mistress' voice made more ominous by the electronic distortion only an old phone can manage.
Now "we need to talk" was never good to hear and Sleuth knew that but he tried to remain hopeful that this wasn't going anywhere bad. He slowly sat down in his chair, probably for the last time in a good while, and leaned back in preparation for whatever came next.
"You know I was thinking about running for office, right?" she continued, "I ran into an old friend from highschool, she's done that kind of thing before. Actually she's… Well, that doesn't matter I guess but she really thinks I can do it. And I just," the sound of a car from her end, probably passing by wherever she was, "I want to do this. Sleuth, are you listening?"
"Mm," he grunted as he closed his eyes, "Yeah. I mean you're super good at organizing stuff and you're, like, super responsible so I bet you'd be really good as… what, mayor right? That's what you said the other day."
She laughed and then was cut off as another car passed, "Yeah, for starters. If I can do that then maybe something… bigger, I guess? The mail's important but maybe there's something even more important for me. So I wanted to-"
And another car. Truck probably, by the deafening rush of noise and rattle of at least eight wheels that masked whatever she'd said.
"What?" Sleuth asked.
After a moment she responded, "Sorry, I'm waiting for my ride. I said I want to focus on that, maybe, for a while."
Ah. That was… He knew what that meant. He opened his mouth and for a second he couldn't get the words out. Finally he managed, "I'm sure you'll do great, I'll vote for you."
Awkward silence punctuated only by the hiss of static before the honking of a car carried over to his ear, followed by a quick, "Just for a little while! I'll mail you. My ride's here but… Thanks."
"I-," the click of her hanging up and then dead silence, "...Love you."
He slowly lowered his arm. He hadn't even noticed before but his hands were shaking and his knuckles were white from gripping the phone too tightly. He looked at the glowing screen, checking the black pixels of the clock against his background, a picture of Mistress and himself at the fair. She was holding a stuffed giraffe with an excited look on her face. Seeing that sent a shot of pure, undistilled distress straight from his throat to his chest and he could feel it settle in his stomach. It hurt a bit but mostly it felt heavy, out of place, as if someone had set a bowling ball inside of him and expected him to carry on like normal.
The time read 19:05. He could go out drinking, it was a socially accepted hour for that. Just a few drinks though, enough to get this bowling ball out of his body but not enough to stop him from being able to drive home. He stood, albeit slowly and with less feeling in his legs than he'd like, and stiffly stretched his arms upward. He nearly dropped his phone when it began to ring again and he slowly inhaled, exhaled, and let it ring until the disgustingly upbeat jazz died down. After thirty seconds of silence he glanced at the notification of a missed call and then pressed his thumb over the red button on the right. The phone powered down and he shoved it in his coat. If she had anything else to say to him she could leave a voicemail, he really didn't want to talk right now. He was afraid he might say something he couldn't take back later.
The drive to the cheapest bar he could think of wasn't good at all. His radio had died a few weeks ago and he'd managed before, humming or singing to himself, but he didn't have the energy to do anything besides roll down the window and let the rush of wind and the sounds of the city distract him. By the time he got to the bar and parked his beat up sedan he was in an advanced state of numbness to the entire situation. Not even just the breakup; everything, every bad thing that had rapidly and ceaselessly happened to him in the past few months.
In no time he'd downed two hard drinks and was working on a third. They were even starting to taste like something other than gasoline and he couldn't be more grateful for that. He didn't notice the man in wrinkled black clothing and a fedora sit down next to him and he missed whatever the guy asked him, it only registering after several seconds. He looked over and tilted his head to the side, partially to see if the guy was actually talking to him and partially because he was already getting dizzy. That's how it always went, his balance first and then his ability to make good choices. He didn't like Drunk Sleuth, he wasn't a fan of the choices Drunk Sleuth made. And he always woke up under his bed, usually in a puddle of vomit. He wasn't sure what possessed him to crawl there in his drunken stupor but it happened pretty much every time he drank. And, he knew deep down, that was the end he was bound for tonight.
It seemed the man had indeed said something to him. What, he had no idea. The man wore a black jacket covering a white shirt that appeared to have seen better days, several holes torn in it near the stomach. His eyes were an eerie pale grey highlighted by thick eyelashes, a stark contrast to his dark brown skin. Messy curls of hair hung in his face as he eyed the detective.
"Hey, you dense?" he asked, voice gravelly and harsh, "I asked you a question."
Sleuth blinked and shook his head, "Sorry, bad night. Run that by me again."
The man grinned broadly and Sleuth squinted. Was it just him or were this man's teeth almost… too sharp? He really should stop drinking. He should go home and get in bed and in the morning things would be better.
But he wasn't going to do that, obviously.
"I asked if I could buy you a drink," the man said, "And I'm thinking the answer's yes."
Sleuth nodded. The less he was spending here the better. The man stood up and motioned for Sleuth to follow him, heading towards a booth. Sleuth wobbled a bit, throwing a glance around the room as he walked, and sat down on a plush and probably entirely unclean bench in the corner of the room. It was still pretty early but there were a good number of people around, mostly with friends it looked like. He didn't mind drinking with a stranger if it made him look less like a lonely alcoholic.
The man gave him a firm pat on the shoulder and told him, "You just sit your sweet ass right here and I'll get us something, alrighty?"
And so he did. The man came back with two glasses of something clear and… sweet smelling. Sleuth sipped at it and coughed, the sweet-bitter taste of licorice immediately washing over him. If he weren't three drinks in he might have turned the sugary sludge down but at this point he wasn't sure he'd say no to anything short of literal poison and even then… well, he would probably at least hesitate.
"So you uh," Sleuth began, watching the man sit down across from him, "You come here often?"
The other man downed half his drink in one go and set the glass down with an audible thunk against the grimy wooden table between them, "Nah, I just figured I'd try somewhere new. No one to recognize me here, ya know?"
Should Sleuth recognize this guy? He could be an actor or something, he had a generally very attractive face and he seemed pretty charismatic and Sleuth had the feeling he had seen him somewhere before.
"Name's Jack by the way," the man introduced himself and held out a hand. That was a fake name if Sleuth had ever heard one but he figured the guy had his reasons.
The detective shook his hand, "I'm Sleuth, nice to meet you. Have I seen you around anywhere? You're… you look like someone I've seen somewhere."
Jack shrugged, "My dad's a pretty big deal so probably. I'm here to get away from all that shit though. What about you, huh? You don't really look like the drinking alone in the bad part of town type, your clothes are way too white."
Sleuth glanced down. Right, he came here straight from work so he was still in his mostly clean white trench coat and hat. Actually, besides the colors, him and Jack were dressed pretty similarly. Not that there was a shortage of fedoras in the city, there were a pretty good amount of haberdasheries around. Still, it was good to meet someone else with a good sense of fashion.
"I'm a detective. I was anyway, I just got suspended and it's dumb. Like I stopped a kid from getting murdered and they suspend me for breaking in? That's ridiculous, right?"
"A little B 'n E never hurt anyone," Jack laughed, knocking back the rest of his drink.
"Right?" Sleuth said, still sipping at his glass of whatever, "Two whole weeks! I have no idea what I'm gonna do for money."
"Hold that thought," Jack said, standing up and shaking his now empty glass.
Sleuth watched him walk over to the bar and suddenly felt his body start to lean to one side, his sense of balance apparently entirely out the window already. He managed to catch himself and sit back upright, leaning his elbow against the table and resting his cheek against his hand. Smooth and planned, entirely as intended. When Jack returned he sat down next to the detective and grinned as he set two more glasses of licorice swill in front of them. Sleuth quickly finished off the drink he'd been working on and only just barely held back a grimace as he eyed the fresh one.
"I'm sure someone with a face as cute as yours'll find money somewhere," Jack said casually, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head.
"Aw, you think I'm cute?" Sleuth asked with a wide grin on his face.
Jack looked like he was about to say something but as soon as Sleuth spoke the bar's front door slammed open and they both turned to see what all the noise was. A towering man in a trench coat and a hat with a wide brim took up the entire doorway; water dripped off of him in heavy droplets from the storm that had apparently picked up outside at some point. He slowly turned his head to scan around the room before his heavy-browed eyes landed on Sleuth and Jack's booth and with weighty footsteps he approached.
As he got closer Sleuth could see that the man had to stand at at least seven feet tall and several feet wide. The man was built like a pale, freckled bus and he definitely looked like someone who could handle himself in a fight. As he shook the water from his coat sleeves and crossed his arms the detective could only imagine how immensely ripped this guy had to be under his coat. Wait, no, that wasn't a line of thought Sleuth was going to pursue. Strike that one, the guy was built and Sleuth was leaving the thought there.
He spared Sleuth only a second of acknowledgement before staring down at Jack and gruffly saying, "Boss, your dad wants you home. He's gonna be mad it took me this long to find you, what with the wedding soon and all."
Jack let out an overly dramatic sigh and shrugged, "C'mon, I was just having a little fun. In fact, you didn't even see me here. Wrong guy, there's plenty of guys who wear black and hang around skeevy bars."
"Sorry boss, not this time," the large man shook his head, "Them's the breaks."
There was a moment of silence as Jack seemed to consider what was being said to him and that he might not, in fact, have much choice but to go home to whatever was waiting for him. Sounded like a family thing to Sleuth, probably some broad wanting him back for wedding planning or something.
"Fine," Jack said at last as he stood up, "But we're taking my buddy here home first. Wouldn't want him getting in an accident or anything trying to drive himself."
Sleuth almost opened his mouth to protest but he made the mistake of starting to stand at the same time and the sheer amount of effort it took to stay on both feet and not fall over like a dummy was too much. The next thing he knew he was walking through the rain to a sleek black car with tinted windows parked a ways away. Real fancy, he thought, this Jack guy was definitely someone.
As it turned out, he was someone with a hand firmly groping at Sleuth's chest under his shirt and the other gripping his messy hair in the back of the car as they drove to Sleuth's apartment. The detective sat pressed against the plush leather seating with Jack in his lap, the other man currently straddling him and sucking at his neck while mumbling some very choice words Sleuth hoped he would remember when he sobered up.
They hit a speed bump too fast and Sleuth moaned as Jack bit down only a little too hard on the detective's already tender flesh, purple and red bruises forming over his jugular from Jack's rough attentions.
"This the place?" the brute driving the car grunted as they came to a stop.
Sleuth sighed and pulled himself away from the other man just enough to peer out the dark window. His apartment complex, a dreary old brick building with a cracked wooden sign out front, stood in the rain like a miserable titan awaiting the day it finally topples over.
"Yeah, this is me," he confirmed, wiggling out from beneath Jack as the other man moved aside to allow him to leave.
As he slid out of the warm car and into the cold bite of the autumn rain he felt a hand slap his ass. He turned to glance at Jack who was giving him fingerguns and winking.
"You're gonna be fine," Jack called as he closed the door, "See ya, sweetcheeks!"
Sleuth watched the car drive away until it faded into the black downpour only illuminated in glimmering cones by streetlights. He slowly turned to go inside only to realize he'd lost his hat at some point, probably in the car. Cold water streaked down his face and he ran a hand through his soaked hair, slicking it back and out of his face. Whatever, he had a spare. Every good detective kept at least one backup hat just in case of emergencies.
The inside of the building wasn't any warmer than the outside and he slowly made his way up the stairs to the third floor. The elevator was out as usual, the management being as slow as always to fix anything. This wasn't the kind of place you lived and expected to have things like elevators or working heat. But he made it to his door, 25, and fumbled around in his pockets with his cold hands. Thankfully he'd managed to hang onto his keys at least. He let himself in and flicked on the light, groaned at the brightness, and immediately flicked it off again. He blindly made his way to the bedroom and fell face first into his bed. After a moment of laying face down in the comforting embrace of familiar blankets and pillows he slowly rolled over and emptied his pockets to place the contents on a nearby end table.
He held his phone and stared at it in the darkness, the hours prior coming back to him again in the muted haze only alcohol could provide. The events felt disjointed, like the time at the bar and on the way home were years divorced from Mistress breaking up with him. Like they were separate lifetimes.
He turned the phone back on, met with the white screen and black logo blindingly shining at him as it powered up and then his background of himself and Mistress. He had a missed call and a voicemail that took him a long minute to remember. Right, that's why his phone was off in the first place. He closed his eyes and inhaled, preparing for whatever he was about to hear, and then played it. He set the phone on his chest as the robotic voice of his voicemail told him there was One Unheard Message. This was fine, he was going to be fine. Whatever else Mistress had to say he would take it in stride and he could handle it like the adult he was.
He was instead met by the voice of his mother, her words less quick and biting than they had been in his childhood but still pointed and on the brink of telling him he should be doing better. Her accent came over the phone clearer than it did face to face somehow, her parents' native language of mandarin chinese still heavy in her voice despite her not having spoken a lick of it since her mother passed away when Sleuth was still a young child. She'd never even tried to teach chinese to him and his voice never betrayed anything other than the flat tone of someone who'd spent the first fifteen years of their life in the suburbs just outside a big city.
"I have wonderful news," she began and he relaxed some as she continued, "I've been at church a lot lately and I've met a lovely fellow. I've told you about him before, Mastermind Kingfisher? You remember, right after I started getting sick I just kept running into him. As it turns out he also has a son. Such a nice boy, I've been out to tea with him. And Kingfisher thinks it's time for him to get married, he's at that age where if he doesn't… well then what's the point, really? Have to settle down eventually, you know. I'm sure you'll like him. They're a good family and they have more going for them than that mail girl, as lovely as she is."
Sleuth could feel himself sobering up very quickly as he realized his mother had just set him up to marry someone he'd never met. A reasonable reaction, he thought, as he quickly sat up and sent the phone flying to the floor. Unfortunately the message droned on, his mother detailing just how wonderful whoever Sleuth was marrying is and how much better off he'd be now. He'd already tuned it out though as the dull ache of panic was replaced by an icy cold fear as he tried to think of how he was going to get out of this, what he could do to stop what was absolutely going to be something he didn't want.
But there was nothing. As a jolt of panic slid down his spine he lurched forward and threw up. In the distance the wind howled and rain continued to tap against his windows endlessly.