Chapter 13 - Ralph

Elegant piano music flowed throughout the entire house, trapping any who would listen into it's beautiful melody. Each ivory key was stroked at the perfect time until the audience was overwhelmed with every emotion. Happiness, deep sorrow, and even irritation.

As the last key punctuated the composer's piece the audience of suits and dresses stood to applaud. The jarring noise brought Ralph back to his senses. Immediately he stood up to applaud with the rest of the crowd. The pianist, now standing at the front of the stage, bowed humbly to his adoring crowd.

Ralph looked up at the artist's face wearily, a smirk played on his lips that could've been mistaken for humble modesty. But it didn't fool Ralph. As the pianist waltzed off the stage followed by the scattered remains of applause, Ralph also exited the theatre. Following the velvet path lit by neon advertisements he approached the backstage door, opening it just as muffled instruments started up back in the theatre. As he entered the backstage area the first thing that caught his attention was a grand piano, polished from top to bottom and situated in the centre of the room. The second was the white-suited pianist from just a minute ago, who leant against the far wall smoking a cigar.

"Hey! Who are you? No secur-" He faltered, face flashing in recognition before settling to a bemused expression. Ralph remained stoic, hands stuffed in his trench-coat pockets and hat pushed low over his blonde hair. "That dark attire doesn't flatter you." The man hummed, trying to sound pleasant but his expression betrayed him.

"At least I don't look like one of Cohen's suited puppets." Ralph answered back gruffly. The man seemed taken aback by his aggressive disposition. He seemed eager to retaliate, no doubt trying to defend his rather… ambitious employer, and mentor, but Ralph didn't come down to Fort Frolic to discuss Sander Cohen or his 'muse'. "Heard you've been pulling in larger crowds lately…" The man took the hint, his eyes widening.

"Ralph-" he tugged at his scarlet bow-tie nervously. "Come on, you- you have to tell Sinclair… I still have time!"

"Roger." Ralph's calloused hand hovered next to his coat opening, "Calm down." Roger ran a shaking hand through his mousy brown hair, breathing deeply before continuing.

"I-I have the money, I just need more time…" He looked up at the burly man with a pleading expression. "You can't make me go back to Mercury Suites! The res— There's people needling all over the place!" Ralph grimaced unpleasantly at the man's desperate blubbering. He knew this would happen, it always did, but that did nothing to ease his conscience. But maybe, he thought with Roger, it would be easier…

It certainly didn't feel any easier.

"You know I'm just doing my job Roger-" Ralph stuffed his hands back into his pockets, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. "Whatever happens to you isn't me, or Sinclair's problem." Roger's face seemed to suddenly darken, and as he made eye-contact with Ralph again it was obvious he had given up grovelling.

"It used to be your problem." He growled, dropping the cigar he'd been clutching this whole time and grinding it under one foot. "But now— you're just Sinclair's stone-hearted block head." He took a step forward and immediately Ralph drew his pistol from the inside of his coat. Roger froze, then slowly began to laugh. "What? You're gonna shoot me?"

"Stand down Roger." Ralph growled through gritted teeth, barrel aimed at Roger's chest. He clicked down the hammer as Roger merely let out another barking laugh.

"Oh, I know you too well Ralph." Another step, causing Ralph to take one backwards. "You can't- you WON'T kill me. You couldn't even kill a pig on that damned island-" He had struck a nerve, and he knew it. "So. You can tell Sincla—"

Thunder cracked through the room, sending Ralph's ears ringing as smoke curled from his barrel. Stowing the gun, he walked over to Roger's body, lying sprawled on the floor. From where he stood he could hear the ragged, wet gasps of breath tearing at Roger's blood-stained throat.

"Mr. Sinclair considers your debts paid." He found no satisfaction, no closure as the words left his lips. Only grim acceptance. What was done, was done.

As Ralph left the room, tugging his hat back over his brow, Roger lay sucking in his final breaths. Final memories playing through his mind, the only sense of peace Roger felt came from the muffled song of fading instruments playing in the distance…