The kid sighed and stretched back in the steel chair, lounging and looking tired and moody, but the officer had little pity for him. The guy might have just lost his best friend, but when it came down to it, the kid was just another trashed up punk (and a homo to boot) and this was just another day's work.
"Come on, man. I've already been over it twice. I wanna go home now."
"One more time, please, Mr. Maxwell," Officer Rooney said in that same bored monotone, looking down at the notes on the pad before him, "Then we'll call it a day. I just want to be sure on some facts."
The kid sighed again, then slumped forward, and began picking at the hole in his jeans over one knee, ripping shreds of fabric loose and letting them float down to the ground. His eyes were wet, red and raw, and his mouth shook a little. When Rooney's partner, a rookie not much older than this kid pushed the can of Pepsi he'd brought earlier closer to the kid, he just got a weary headshake for an answer.
"Told ya… I shoulda known, I mean, with how upset he'd been and maybe for a while, but I just didn't think… I couldn't imagine…" The kid paused shakily, and reached to push a hand through his bangs. The rest of his hair lay in a sloppy braid over his shoulder, looking like a rope of evidence about his preferences, or so the veteran cop thought. Like he was asking someone to grab him by it and take a ride.
A few deep breaths, and Duo began again. "I shoulda watched him more closely. He'd been stressed out. That's why we were taking the damn trip, for a vacation. I didn't know he'd do something like that."
"There was no indication of Mr. Winner's plans as far as you could tell?"
He shook his head, eyes on the floor and one hand rising to rub at his eyes. "Nah. Quatre… He's a… He -was-, a good guy. The kind of guy to take his shirt off if you needed it, or just if you, you know, jokingly asked for it. Suicide wasn't his thing. Or I thought it wasn't."
The cop nodded, glancing to his partner, and a second later had a plain folder handed his way. He flipped through the sheets within, eyes picking off this and that item. "You weren't aware that he revised his Will a few weeks ago then? To rearrange his companies into his sisters hands should he die?"
The kid's head jerked up, then moved side to side slowly. His voice sounded small when it came. "No…"
"Or that he had recently transferred several large funds out of his name, and into those of his sisters and private accounts?"
"No…"
"But you two were close, correct?"
The kid looked at him, seeming to think the question over, than nodding with another worn out sigh. "Yeah. Not like I wanted at be, but yeah. He was my best friend… Had been for years. We told each other everything. Or I guess I thought we did."
Rooney managed not to wince at the boy's answer, and it's obvious undertones. "He never mentioned any business deals he'd done recently, in the names of his siblings?"
"No."
"You mentioned he seemed stressed, and that's why you were on this trip?"
"Yeah."
"Can you recall if it was you, or he that suggested it?"
The redhead frowned, thought, then leaned over the desk to pulled a tissue from the box there with a wisping noise. He blew his nose into it with a honk, balled it up tightly in his hand, and held it there for now. "It was his idea. I wanted to go back to this nice little hotel we visited once in the mountain, but Kitten, well… He said he wanted something new. He sounded so out of it, so… I guess I went along with it. He had it planned already, didn't he, what he was going ta do?"
"We can't say for sure, Mr. Maxwell, but it definitely seems that way."
"Yeah. Quatre was always a planner. Me, I could do things right off the bat, but he liked to have these neat little plans laid out ahead of times. He liked lists."
Rooney frowned. This kid's friend, the late Winner, had liked lists all right. His Will had been arranged into a very nice one, and the note they had found in the kid's cabin was very specific and businesslike. Fag or not, it was kind of sad to see someone that young so anally organized. Not healthy, if you asked him, but it wasn't like it was his kid or anything.
"What had he been upset about recently?"
"Lots of things." The redhead had begun to pluck at the hole in his black jeans again. "Just… Life. He always had a lot to do, and sometimes it wore on him. Running the business… Barely eighteen, and the poor guy had hundred of businesses and thousands of employees to tend to. I know sometimes he wouldn't even sleep once in three or four days. He used to say his father would probably be spinning in his grave if he knew how much coffee he went through in a week, but it was the only way he could make it through the days sometimes. Never did drugs, I can tell ya that. He was just that kind of guy."
That was more than Rooney thought this kid himself could claim. He had a pack of cigarettes in one jacket pocket and the look of someone who'd enjoyed worse from time to time.
"And he loved his sisters, but… Sometimes they could be a real pain. Not that he'd call em them. Not Quatre. He loved them all and positively raved, but… Spend a night at his house, and you'll know what I mean. At least ten of em call on any day, and they've always got letters and questions for him. Quatre used to say he felt bad because until he took over the company, they used to all be self sufficient, like their dad, but then they sort of handed it over to him. He tried to talk them into taking some parts over again, but they just kind of shrugged it off. He tried to act light about it, but I think it really bothered him. 'My sisters weren't meant to be just housewives', that sort of a thing, you know? He had plans to try and make them active again, but I guess none of them worked."
His partner nodded beside him, and Rooney resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Kids and their bleeding hearts. This little heir had been a multi-billionaire, one of the most successful entrepreneurs out there, and then boo hoo, he got too stressed and they were supposed to feel bad for him? But damn it if Mick didn't look like he felt sorry for this kid and the story. That's what he got for being paired up with a newbie.
"And then ya got the Press. They were always hounding him. Quatre used to tell me that you could always tell when you reached the top because you felt like you were drowning in the middle of an open place, and no one around you noticed." Duo let out a rusty and bitter laugh, and one of the tears he'd fought to keep in his eyes trembled free and ran down his cheek. "I guess maybe he was just predicting how he'd go out… Or maybe trying to tell me, but I didn't hear him."
"For the last year, it got hard for him to even go outside without some reporter there and trying to get a juicy shot, or story. I remember we went to this club once, just dancing and having fun, and the next day Quatre nearly died when there ended up being a shot of us together in the paper. They tried to make a huge scandal out of it. It took a lot for him to smooth that all over with his… His public people, ya know? After that, we didn't get to go out much and do those things."
"I missed em… I know he did too. Until that happened, all the stories and stuff, I… I had kinda thought I stood a chance with him. I mean, he was my best friend, don't get me wrong, but… I guess I loved him too. No, I know I did. He was that kind of guy you couldn't help but love. He always had a smile for everyone, and a way to solve any problem. He could make two guys about to start a fight stop and end up laughing about it together. He had a way of turning anything into a success, and turning anything fun. He was just that kind of a guy."
"So I guess I fell hard for him. Told him once too, and then randomly from then on because it was just so true." A dry smile curled the teen's lips up into a miserable expression. "He was flattered, but he couldn't. Told me so too. Said he would have dated me, that he even liked me back the same way and had for a long time, -- and wouldn't his Public Relations folk have had a field day with that? Can't ya just see the headlines? -- but he didn't want anyone else dragged into the type of life he had to live. That it wouldn't be fair to them. I said I didn't care, but…"
He gave a shrug, as if that explained it all, and really Rooney thought it did. 'World's richest man and most eligible bachelor swept off his feet by gay trampy lover!' Then a nice little picture of this trashy kid standing next to the other in his little suit and thousand dollar smile. Rooney didn't follow tabloids, but it was enough of a story he thought it'd have eventually found it's way even into his reading material. It was a good thing some fairy tales didn't come true, if you asked him.
"What about the night in question, Mr. Maxwell, can you please go over that again? The night Mr. Winner went overboard?"
Duo eyed the cop with a scowl on his face, and the older man just looked back neutrally, his pen posed above his pad and ready to edit any details that might become apparent in the now finished story of his friend's life. The kid looked like he wanted to be mad, but in the end, even that emotion couldn't plow through his misery.
"It's just like I told you… It was a good day. The best on the trip so far actually." The redhead closed his eyes and offered another of his bitter smiles. "We woke up and went to breakfast first, right there in the ship dining hall. Quatre made that sort of a scene look good, you know? He could do the whole casual snob act, and still look sweet as a damn cherub. He was wearing this cute little white shirt and faded jeans ensemble, like some little high school prep pretending not to be, and…"
Duo's lips shook a little, and the eyes that had been gently closed scrunched as though fighting back another wave of tears. The voice that came out was strained and tight, soft enough that Rooney had to lean in to hear it. "… He was just so gorgeous. And he didn't even know it."
It was not the sort of information that the cop wanted, but in this kind of case, you had to be patient to sludge through all the extra trash that surrounded the real story. He would just sit back and wait for the boy to recollect himself, but his partner seemed more affected. The rookie again pushed the box of tissues over to Duo, nudging his hand with it until he blindly sought one out and started the honk, twist, and clutching thing all over again.
"Sorry… I just…"
"It's fine, Mr. Maxwell, continue at your leisure."
His leisure turned out to be about two minutes, then that rusty croak started again. "He just looked real nice that morning. Alive… We had a really good breakfast, then went for a walk around the ship's whatchamacallems? The decks, I think? The edge of it, anyway. We walked around that, and we talked about planning another trip. And about my work, and his business, and my new bike. That was a present from him, ya know? Last birthday. Big beautiful thing. He asked about it and how I was liking it…"
"I guess maybe I shoulda caught on that something was bugging him, when we talked about his work. He got this funny little pinched look on his face like he bit a lemon, and just said it was 'fine'. Quatre doesn't really not elaborate on anything. He's a yakker… But he didn't want to talk about that. When I pried, he got a little snappy, and just said sometimes it felt too heavy, and like he was living his life for it and not for his family and friends, or for himself. So I moved off that topic."
"We went swimming after our walk on that deck pool they got on the back of the ship, then just kinda flopped down on the chair nears it and watched the waves, with some of those fancy drinks with the umbrellas. He got a pink one… I remember teasing him about that, and him just kinda pulling down his glasses all seriously annoyed like or like a diva in some movie before sticking his tongue at me." The boy's words cracked again a little, and he gave his tissue another battering use before chucking the two rolled up balls onto the table. "He was -fine-, then. Even getting excited about the other trip we wanted to take. I had convinced him that we ought to go try a private beach and cottage thing somewhere if he was so fond of this scene."
What a lucky guy, to have leeched on to such a rich little friend, Rooney thought dryly. Got the hots for Mr. Big Star, and got a free ride. Now both are over, and we've got reporters swamping all the phone lines for just a smidge of the story of why blondie's now riding the waves.
"We stayed out there on the deck until the sun was setting, and Quatre got up to stand at the back of the ship when it did. He loved the way it turned pink, then red, and finally purple and black. He said he liked the pinks and purple best… I stayed laying down and just watched him, I guess." He sighed softly, staring down at his own slumped lap unhappily. "I used our camera and got a shot of him like that, because he just looked so damned pretty. His hair was practically glowing, and he looked back and smiled at me… And I got a picture of him with that sunset behind him. I got the last picture of him I'll ever see, and… And I think it was the best. He looked sweet, and happy, and he looked like an angel."
Whether it was the best picture or not, Rooney suspected he'd see it for himself soon enough. That was the sort of a picture that the press would have a fit trying to get. The perfect front page kind, with the boy likely looking all kinds of movie star good, and just a few hours before he snapped and did his swan dive. It was the sort of morbid publicity that they would eat up like candy. Probably it would star in a hundred of those silly candle ceremonies all over the place where people sobbed and whined over a guy they'd never known.
"When the sun set, we went in and had an early dinner, so we wouldn't be too stuffed for dancing later. He had those funny little snail things and tried to get me to eat one, but bugs haven't ever been my thing. He really liked them though. And he had a piece of strawberry cheesecake. I remember 'cause he got some of the sauce on his chin and we both laughed like fiends when the waiter tried to tell him, and when he couldn't find it himself, finally wiped Quatre's face for him out of frustration. It was cute…"
"See what I mean? He was happy, then. We had a great day…" The kid shook his head and sat up only to slump forward and rest his elbows on the table, his chin cupped loosely in his hand. "We went dancing after that, in the ship's ballroom. It wasn't ballroom dancing of course, but kind of a Jamaican pop thing, I think. It was pretty and exotic. Not what I usually dance to, or him either I can tell you. We used to go clubbing and that boy could really dance when he wanted to, but… It was real nice. We had a couple of drinks, coconut ones that just tickled him, and we danced until about ten thirty. We only stopped once when the band was taking a break, and Quatre sat down to poke at the piano in there. I say 'poke' but… Hell, he had half the crowd listening to him. He could play almost any instrument you now? Took classes when he was young. Piano, violin, flute, horseback riding, fencing, swimming, scuba, dancing and tons of languages. All that shit. He wasn't big headed about none of them, but he was talented."
"After that he started to get a little bit tipsy and I was feeling pretty beat, so we decided to call it a night. We walked back to our rooms together, and agreed on a time to try to get up. We were supposed to go out scuba diving the next day and then the boat was stopping at an island for a while for a bonfire party on the beach… He said he'd come and wake me, since he was always getting up first, then he leaned up and he kissed me." Duo lifted a hand and touched the side of his mouth with a pair of fingers, looking dazed and mournful at the memory, as if he was trying to remember the feel of that sweet warmth again. "Right here. Then he darted into his room, and I just kinda stood there staring for a bit before going to bed too. I never heard him get up or anything. I slept like a log. And when I got up, he just… Wasn't there. I checked his room, and found the note, and that's when I went to the captain and he started making calls… That was three days ago. I know they found his watch and his celphone and all his pocket stuff on the bench near the back of the ship, but… They haven't found him. Part of me is glad for that, 'cause maybe if they haven't, maybe there's a chance, ya know…?"
Oh, Rooney knew all right, but he didn't think that this guy really needed statistics read to him right now. They might never find Mr. Winner, but if they did… Well, it wouldn't be alive like this kid was hoping. After he wasn't found the first day, his chances were pretty damn slim each hour that had passed and were nonexistent now.
The kid was looking at him tiredly, and nothing in the story had changed, so Rooney managed to give the little would-be punk a smile as he set down his pad. "Thank you, Mr. Maxwell. I'm sorry to have kept you, but I think that's it then. We might be calling you, of course, but… I think this is good. We will have to ask you again not to talk to the press for the first few days, but you understand that."
Duo nodded, moodily sitting back and stretch. "Yeah, I know."
"And we'll be able to reach you at the number you gave us if we need you?"
"Yup. I might not be in the area, cause my boyfriend's been real nice about this whole thing and decided to get us out of here until things aren't so bad, but I'm reachable."
Rooney rolled his eyes just a little, but kept his smile. Got himself another sugar daddy right quick. Or had one already and was just trying to fool around with Winner. Whatever. Damned things are flighty. At least this is over, and in a few weeks, it'll be out of the papers too, aside from the random articles and supposed 'still alive sightings' years down the road..
"Of course, Mr. Maxwell. I'll have Mick here walk you out. I hope you have a good day, and sorry again for the trouble."
"Uh huh. Sorry I couldn't be more help." The teen said as he stood with a stretch and another little sigh.
"Not at all." He managed to keep his smile until the kid and his partner had exited the room, then the old cop sat down to look at his notes again, and mutter his complaints about the young, and the famous, and the people with little morals.
XxXxX
Mick walked the teen down the halls and to the front door, wishing he was better at offering sympathy and too aware he wasn't. The boy beside him wasn't much younger than he was, and he'd lost someone, and even if he knew his partner couldn't, he could understand the pain associated with that.
They emerged out into the sunlight outside the police station together, both blinking mole-ish eyes at the day that hadn't even been hinted at in the darkened and quiet rooms. Out here people hurried along and tipped their faces up, like flowers feeding on happiness and light. It was a whole different world.
"Do you need a ride?" He asked the redhead as the other had taken to rubbing his eyes a little and groaning.
"Nah." He lowered his hand and the kid's violet eyes moved over the street before them. He pointed down a little ways. "Nah, it's okay. My boyfriend's here to pick me up. Thanks, though."
The redhead slipped down the stairs and started moving down the sidewalk to the large black bike that was waiting for him, and Mick had to admire the machine. It twinkled like obsidian in the sun, and the flames painted on it were very fresh. Fitting for the guy they'd spent the last two hours interviewing somehow. The guy waiting for him wasn't too bad either, Mick could admit. He wasn't like his partner in hating them, nor was he exactly into the scene himself, but he was of the belief that beauty deserved recognition in whatever form it came in. The guy who greeted the redhead with arms around his neck and lips pressed gently to the side of lips was more than passing fair. The silky black hair against his pale forehead and soft cheeks was fetching, as was the way the new looking leather jacket that hung from his slight frame like a kid playing dress up. He kind of looked like a little doll, all extreme coloration and delicateness, and with a sweet mouth that formed a smile as he tipped his head up to Duo and whispered his greeting. Mick was glad to see that the guy who had been miserable just moments before was now smiling brightly and sliding his arms around that little waist, picking the other up to kiss his cheeks until the other giggled before setting him back down.
They looked comfortable together, like they'd known each other forever, and Mick was glad to see that after an experience like this guy had been through, he didn't have to be alone. He watched them hug for a moment, the black haired kid taking Duo's hands and squeezing them before flipping each over and kissing the palms, then looked away when the smaller man's face turned in his direction.
There was no accusation in the reflective gaze of the glasses he was wearing, nor in the bright aqua eyes that peered at him from over them once he'd pulled them saucily down, and his mouth was sporting a tiny almost teasing smile, but Mick felt like a voyeur anyway and slipped back into the dim cave of his building, pushing the pair out of his mind. A few minutes later, he heard the bike rev up and pull out, and he was glad. Wherever they were going, probably somewhere warm and far away, they were young and they had a life ahead of them that he could envy.