Glaring yellow tape quartered off the abandoned lot, isolating the square from the chaos of the evening city around it. Center stage, a deceased body, rigorous and pale, laid uncovered against the crumbling pavement. Flashes of light from the crime scene photographers illuminated and singled out the key elements of the crime: a black tarp that had been used to conceal the body, a bag of tools spilled across the ground, a car with its rims missing and paint tarnished, a driver's license laying atop the corpse. Whoever had committed the murder had wanted the man's identity known. So far, the officers had discerned that he was an auto worker at a local factory, whose coworker reported him missing a few days prior.
Since the case appeared low-priority, the responding detectives had delegated the investigation to the nephew of the precinct's commander: Detective Ladd Russo. His renown didn't strike an impressive record, and in fact, his cases tended to go unsolved and mysteriously quiet, but his familial connection and ability to instill fear in everyone he spoke to fueled a rapid promotion through the force. No one quite understood why Ladd stayed on the force, when he spoke vocally about how boring he found the job, only seeming to get a kick out of it when he hunted down a suspect. On the cases that didn't pique his interest, and ones with specialized elements, Ladd often brought in outside consultants to take care of the investigation for him. Considering the automotive-related circumstances of the current case, Ladd had known just the man to call up.
"What do I think of this scene? Let me tell you, I think it tells us a very sad, sad story. Just look at the tragedy of this performance - A mechanic's potential wasted, all those sharp, new, shining tools gone to waste, all the dismantling and destruction possible sucked from their very being. This is indeed an upsetting sight, boss Ladd."
"What? No, you're looking at it all wrong. What's upsetting is how trite it is. Look at how little blood there is, how simple the kill. It's like the killer has no sense of beauty."
"Let me ask you something - when you cut to the center of it, aren't all killings the same? Just objects breaking down before their time. Aesthetically, they are like paintings, some grandiose and surreal with lots of colors and components, like a Dali. And ones like this, which are minimalistic, conveying even more with so little. So I guess that way, they are different after all!"
A burst of laughter. "You're a real nut job, you know that kid? Like a little motor that just keeps sputtering, not even knowing it's out of fuel."
Echoing the cackling. "I'm just so excited to see you again, brother Ladd. The presence of your sheer perfection just revs me up. So really, it's all your fault."
As if utterly unaware of their grim location, the blue-clad mechanic and suited detective locked arms in what could have been either an embrace or a tussle. Wide grins warped both their faces, the distortion stemming from some identical madness that pulsed deep inside each of the two. All of the other people on-scene turned a trained blind eye to the going-on, unwilling to involve themselves with the situation.
All, that is, except for Graham's partner, who leaned against the far wall and pulled his violet hat low over his face, jaw clenched so tightly it had his head throbbing. He deliberately kept from looking at the two, though their boisterous voices shattered his ability to ignore them.
Shaft wasn't overly fond of working with Ladd Russo, despite Graham's hero worship of the man. Involvement with the detective always led to pain for him, and the man's blatant insanity frightened him. One would expect Shaft to be used to such madness, since he lived with the eccentric Graham Specter, but he still could not swallow Ladd's brand of crazy. Any complaints to Graham regarding the matter just led to more pain, though, and his swift silencing. Making matters worse, he and Graham had been out to dinner when Ladd called them up. The excitable Graham had dashed off with barely a word to his partner, sticking Shaft with paying for food they hadn't even gotten yet.
With a sigh, Shaft plucked a cell phone from the pocket of his rumpled jacket, resigning himself to the circumstances. No point in complaining anymore; it only fell on deaf ears. He flipped open the phone and scanned his extensive contact list, before beginning the process of covertly contacting each individual's number.
Shaft and Graham had worked together for a number of years, their partnership working due to how well their skills complemented each other's. They'd first met when Shaft became an assistant at the factory Graham had worked at. Though the two hadn't hit it off at first (a fact that left Shaft aching for days after their first meeting), they'd eventually struck up a rapport and affinity for one another. When Graham left to pursue his own mechanical work, Shaft didn't think twice before quitting to join him. And when the consulting work began, their partnership yielded a successful track record. Graham provided a technical genius and ferocity that lent a unique perspective on problems and cases. Shaft, on the other hand, belonged to an underground intelligence network, the extreme depths of which Graham didn't even know about, and which allowed him to access information on nearly any event occurring within city limits.
With deft fingers and tired eyes, Shaft dug for information on the murder, receiving instantaneous responses from his contacts. In turn, he shot back a couple observations of his own to every reply, adding to the collective wealth of knowledge. He'd gotten just about done with the process when he heard his name called.
" - isn't that right, Shaft?"
"Eh?"
Shaft glanced up, only to see Graham pointing that wretched wrench the mechanic always carried at him. Despite the violence that usually followed the familiar phrase, Graham smiled at his partner, eyes sparkling with naked bliss. At the sight, Shaft's heart wrenched, a shot of adrenaline both painful and pleasant, that strange paradox. He wondered which had caused it: the aesthetic sight of the man, or the knowledge of who had instilled that excitement in him.
Recognizing the danger of the situation, Shaft shrugged, "Whatever you say, boss."
Graham jumped back, arms spread out in a dramatic gesture. Unlike his partner, he was positively glowing at the prospect of taking on the job. An intriguing case, the possibility for destruction, getting to help out his idolized superior? He couldn't contain the enthusiasm he felt, and he possessed no desire to anyway. The concept of self-restraint didn't quite mesh with Graham, no matter how many people had urged him about it during his life.
"You really should be more attentive, Shaft. Distraction is a vice that snares and snaps the unsuspecting, and you don't want to meet that tragic fate, do you?" Graham mused as he walked over and threw an arm around Shaft's shoulders, nearly whacking the man with his wrench in the process.
Shaft flinched at the touch, tensing up in an instant. Graham could not comprehend why this was, since they'd been together for over a year now. Their friendship had evolved into an intimate relationship so naturally that neither man had been aware of the progression until it came to pass. With a frown, Graham cocked his head and studied his partner, who'd been tight-lipped all evening. Graham disliked being unable to figure out puzzles, which he classified Shaft as, but he figured that probably was what prevented him from becoming bored with the man, so he didn't dwell on it often.
"I don't think it counts as tragic, if the life you're living is already a tragedy." Shaft said.
Recognizing the slight, Graham removed his arm from the man and slammed his elbow into his partner's stomach instead, causing the man to keel over. Coughing, Shaft's face blanched. He'd never had a hardy constitution, so combined with Graham's strength, any 'playful' jab could take him out.
"You ought to learn to quit whining, Shaft. Life is so terrific, that to complain is such a waste of precious words." Graham scolded. However, when Shaft picked himself off the floor, Graham lent his hand and helped pull his partner upright.
As usual, Ladd cast a strange look at the saner of the duo, as if he couldn't quite figure out what to make of the partner of his "brother." Since Shaft went out of his way to avoid dealing with the Russo, Ladd was unable to draw any definite conclusion. Shrugging it off, Ladd walked over to join the pair, and he gave Graham a slap on the back.
"You guys think you can handle this? Normally, I wouldn't want to miss out on the action, but let's just say - I have a more exciting case worth my attention." He said.
"We'll take this for you, boss Ladd. Anything you say, you can count on me to bring it to success, to victory in your name." Graham exclaimed.
Shaft inclined his head in agreement, determined to share as few words as possible with the man.
"Well, get it finished quick then, and call me when you do. I have to get out of here." Ladd said, jabbing a finger at Graham to show his seriousness. Graham had a habit of running off-track during his work, leaving the initial task given unfinished.
Without dragging it out, Ladd turned on his heel and walked towards the exit. Graham scrambled after him, chattering reassurances of the pair's abilities and praises about the Russo as he followed him to the exit. Shaft watched his partner, who was practically hanging off of Ladd, and gritted his teeth. As he waited for Graham to return, he began to catalogue all the individual factors of the crime scene, matching them up with the information he'd received.
By the time Graham came back, raw energy pulsating from his body and charging the air around him, Shaft had formulated his hypothesis. However, he kept quiet, arms crossed as he waited for his partner to bother asking his opinion on the situation.
Still hyped up from the encounter with Ladd, and oblivious to Shaft's disgruntlement, Graham threw his arms around his partner's neck, the cold metal of the wrench brushing against Shaft's skin. As the mechanic peered up at the slightly taller man, Shaft felt his nerves shake loose. Those eyes, sparkling with the electricity incited only by madness, seemed to electrocute him just from looking. He swallowed hard and tried to look away.
"Do you know what the most exciting part of a story is, Shaft? Don't answer that - you're probably wrong. It's the beginning, when the tale just starts to unfold like a spring flower, and you don't know what kind of story it'll be. It could be sad, or happy, or bittersweet, or even an utter tragedy."
"Isn't a sad story and a tragedy the same thing, boss?" Shaft pointed out, exhaustion taking over for his initial nervousness.
"No, no, no, it's not. What about a tragedy that goes and changes everyone else in the story for the better? Then, most of the characters would be quite happy. Or a sad story in which the characters emerge successful, but the price they pay is just sad. It's not tragic, because the characters are fine. They're completely different."
"I don't think you understand what a tragedy is." Shaft said with a sigh. "And look, I think we should start discussing the case."
"Oh? Are you saying you are unhappy with my story, Shaft?" Graham said, eyes narrowing, signaling a dangerous situation.
A surge of anxiety prompted Shaft to start his usual complacency, anything to keep Graham happy and nonviolent. He'd racked up quite a few medical issues from Graham's violent strikes throughout the years, not that it bothered the man any. Shaft didn't care much about the pain, seeing it as too integral to Graham's personality to wish away. It fascinated him far more than it hurt him. Still, even as the words to appease Graham formed in his mind, so too did the memory of Graham pushing him aside to consort with Ladd.
For whatever reason, the image caused an adverse reaction in Shaft, who reached up and removed Graham's hands from behind his neck. Graham blinked, confused, as Shaft took a few steps back to distance himself. The confusion deepened when Shaft gave his answer.
"Actually, I am unhappy. Let's just discuss the scene so that we can get home." Shaft said.
Graham didn't understand Shaft's response. He wasn't stupid - Graham knew Shaft complained about him and insulted him all the time. Just usually it was behind his back or in sarcasm or deliberately exaggerated, so he knew it wasn't serious. Struck, like a reprimanded child, Graham made no immediate motion to respond or even punish his partner.
Terrified, and understanding he had to take advantage of the moment before Graham recovered his wits, Shaft decided to start his explanation of the crime scene. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and he had to consciously keep his breathing steady, but he tried to feign confidence anyway.
"Now, I noticed that the car appears to have some recent work done. You can see that the coat of paint is only a couple days old, the tires show little signs of wear, and the mechanical - "
"The tools on the ground are mostly for aesthetic changes, like when you want to beautify a new car, or if someone's scratched it, or if you want to switch out ornaments. Oh! Or if you want to disguise a car obtained through nefarious means." Graham interjected, smiling again.
Shaft nodded. "Sounds right, boss. I, ah, I don't recognize the car model though."
Graham laughed. "Do I have to tell you everything, Shaft? Your incompetence is astounding sometimes. Don't you recognize it? It's the latest model in an amateur line of cars, known for how fast they go on so little gas. But it's only a couple years before they start falling apart, like a beautiful firework, quick for an instant before fading away. Like a commentary on life itself! How amazing it is. Shall we appreciate the brief beauty of life together, Shaft?"
Truth was, Shaft had known that information already. In fact, he'd started off knowing his conclusion, and he'd only picked up the facts to fit it and work around it. He felt guilty sometimes for deceiving Graham, but he was sworn to keep his information network absolutely secret.
"My guess is that this place was used to store stolen cars, by an auto-theft ring that dabbles in street racing. We break apart this ring, we might be able to siphon off some of their goods and cash for ourselves too." Shaft declared, always up for some extra cash.
"How exciting! Can you imagine, being in a car theft operation? Getting to take apart all those cars, breaking them into tiny, tiny, tiny, tiny little pieces and carrying them back to your factory and rebuilding them again. And then they're yours!"
"That's not how it works, boss."
"What do you know, Shaft? Only because no one's been innovative enough, been skilled or as dedicated to the sweet art of destruction as I am, to attempt it. You are so short-sighted. One way or the other, we're going to find out, because this is the perfect opportunity to go undercover." Graham exclaimed.
Shaft froze, not having made that deduction at all. His mind screaming out against the idea, he shook his head vehemently. "Uh, I don't think that's necessary for this case at all."
Graham raised his wrench and pushed it against Shaft's throat, a warning. "How else do you propose we get into the mind of the killer here? The only way to understand a man is to become him, to integrate yourself into the life and wear the skin so snugly that you actually transcend yourself into that existence. Only then can you comprehend a motive. And we do agree that the auto ring men have motive, correct?"
Cursing his trembling body, Shaft raised a hand and held it away from his body, a sign for Graham to halt and calm down.
"C-correct, boss." He said.
"Then we have to go plan! The worst poison for an undercover mission is lack of preparation, and we don't want to fall victim and die at the hands of our own folly. Let's see, we'll need outfits, tools, bags, grease, glasses, a map, cameras..."
As Graham's list went on and on, Shaft's muscles felt wearier and wearier, the full weight of the absurd task he'd taken on crashing down on his shoulders. He knew he could shear the list down by the next day, but talking Graham out of the plan now was out of the question. In all likelihood, they wouldn't even get home until past midnight, if at all. And Shaft had already stayed up all night the day prior, running errands for Graham. He sighed, the worst scenarios to arise from such a mission flashing in his tired mind.
With Graham, there was no way to predict how the job ahead would unfold, or whether or not the end result would be positive. Only one fact rang with certainty in Shaft's mind: This was going to be a most overwhelming case indeed.
Then, he watched Graham continue to blissfully spin his list, dazzling grin widening with each new item, and remembered the other fact that used to lay beneath everything he did: No matter how troublesome Graham's whims were, it would always be worth it.
And Shaft questioned, unable to resolve the schism in his beliefs, whether he still thought that was true.
A/N: Thanks for reading!