Beta: As usual, much thanks goes to the ever-awesome Barb, Bank1115. She is absolutely indispensable. Seriously. You wouldn't be reading this story without her. Give her a round of applause!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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What Are You, Mick St. John?—Chapter 9

At 8:25pm, Carl walked into Kostan Industries. The redhead was behind the desk again, but to his surprise, she smiled at him and said, "Go right on up, Lieutenant Davis. Top floor."

"Thank you," Carl furrowed his brow in puzzlement and walked on to the elevator.

He watched the digital display as the numbers crept higher and higher the farther up the elevator rose. Finally, at 25, the elevator doors opened rapidly with a ding.

A man stepped quickly aside when Carl exited the elevator. A striking brunette tottered beside him, leaning heavily onto his shoulder.

Carl cocked an eyebrow. "She all right?" he inquired of the man, gesturing to the girl.

The man gave Carl a curt nod. "She's not feeling very well. Mr. Kostan asked me to drive her home."

"Huh," Carl grunted, watching the man as he gently guided the girl onto the elevator. Odd places he may take his car, but I guess you can't say the guy doesn't take care of his employees…

He turned around again only to find himself facing yet another reception desk with yet another attractive woman. He sighed. "I'm Lieutenant—"

"—Carl Davis," a male voice finished.

Carl turned at the sound to see a surprisingly young man in a business suit walking towards him, hand outstretched. His eyes bored into Carl's.

"Josef Kostan. My apologies for not being able to meet with you yesterday evening. I trust it wasn't too much of an inconvenience?"

Carl shook the proffered hand. "No…not too much." He eyed the other man warily. "You're lucky it wasn't urgent." You have some balls, Kostan.

"Yes, well, I assumed you weren't here to arrest me."

"You're correct, at least at this point."

Josef raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he smirked.

Carl ignored him. "Is there some place private where we can talk? I need to ask you a few questions."

"Of course, my office. Right this way." Josef led Carl down the hall and stopped before an ornate door. He gestured for Carl to enter before him, then shut the door behind them. "Please take a seat. Can I offer you a drink?"

"No, thank you. On the clock."

"Right. Of course. You never break the rules."

Carl looked at Josef sharply, but he smiled sunnily as though he hadn't been implying anything by that remark. Carl wasn't sure what to think, so he let it slide and flipped open his notebook to have the pretense of looking at something.

"Mr. Kostan, it's my understanding that you drive a red Ferrari, plate number 3SBJ408?"

"Among other things, yes."

"Your Ferrari was seen parked in the warehouse district four nights ago. Can you explain this?"

"Yes. I was driving my car in the warehouse district four nights ago, when I pulled over, hit the brakes, and put the car in park."

Carl stopped writing. "Smartass punk…" he muttered under his breath, still looking down at his notebook.

Josef grinned. "I'm smart, and, I've been told, a bit of an ass—but I've never been a punk. Get your facts straight…Detective."

Carl looked up sharply. He heard that?! —How?! He was uneasy, but decided to shrug it off and move on. "Why were you in the warehouse district four nights ago?"

"I have property down there."

"What's the address of this property?"

"Why—are you in the market for a nice warehouse? Jails getting too overcrowded?" Josef smirked. He was leaning back in his chair, arms resting behind his head.

Carl threw his notebook down in his lap. "Look, this isn't a game, Kostan."

Suddenly Josef sat forward. His eyes burned into Carl's. "I am well aware of that, Lieutenant—are you?"

Carl started sweating under his collar. This guy's got the same intense stare as St. John. He ran a finger in between his collar and his neck. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Josef sat back. "Just what are you investigating here, Lieutenant? Perhaps I could be of more assistance to you if I knew—did I commit some terrible parking faux pas?"

"Other than parking a very expensive vehicle in a high crime district at night? No."

Josef raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I'm checking out a witness's story. He left his car behind at a crime scene. I want to know how he got home."

"And this involves me how?"

"I thought your car might have been the getaway vehicle."

"For your mysterious witness? I thought only criminals made getaways."

Carl pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you know a Mick St. John?"

"I may have a friend who goes by that name."

Carl cocked a brow.

"Yes," Josef acknowledged.

"Did you meet up with him in the warehouse district four nights ago?"

"Look, what's this really about, Lieutenant? Granted, most of the stuff I know about cops comes from TV shows, but I'm fairly sure they don't investigate witness's modes of transportation unless they don't really believe the witness is innocent—do they?"

"In claims of self-defence, we have to investigate."

"So you don't actually consider Mick a witness then…because self-defence would require participation, not observation."

Carl acknowledged that was true.

"So let me get this straight—a known murderer lures my friend to a dark and creepy warehouse with obvious intent-to-kill, and you come to the conclusion that it must not have been self-defence?"

"Ah, so you do know why I'm here."

Josef smirked slightly. "Poker, Lieutenant. Never tip your hand."

Carl tilted his head in acknowledgement. Just like I'm not tipping mine—yet. Especially since now we're getting somewhere. "Look, I didn't say it wasn't self-defence. I'm sure it probably was. But we still have to have all the ducks in a row before we close the case. If Mick did get shot, it would actually make things easier. I don't understand why he'd deny it if he did."

Josef's face darkened and he slammed his hands on the desk. "Lee Jay Spalding was a danger to my friend and the community. He needed to die. Do you deny that?"

"No. But the state prefers to take care of things themselves. Look, were you there or not?"

"Fine—you got me." Josef held out his wrists. "Spank me, officer."

Carl reined in the urge to roll his eyes and smack the kid upside the head. "For what, exactly?"

"Mick called me, said he was going to go save Julia from Lee Jay. I said, 'Mick, that's incredibly stupid. Let the police do it.' But I knew he'd go anyway. I went down there to see if I could find them and keep my buddy out of trouble, only to find he'd already taken care of everything. But friends don't let friends drive when someone that just tried to kill them is killed. It's rather draining physically and emotionally, you know, and not at all conducive to safe driving. So I took him home and let Beth have the drive of her life in a classic Benz."

"That's all I wanted to know." For now… "Thank you for your time, Mr. Kostan."

"Always glad to assist those who serve and protect—oh, wait…weren't you the ones that let Lee Jay run around trying to kill people?"

Carl scowled at him.

With a smirk, Josef held out his wrists again.

Carl clenched his jaw. "I'll just show myself out."

Josef nodded pleasantly and watched him walk toward the door. "—Oh, Lieutenant Davis?"

Carl turned back with a sigh.

"When you're done chasing imaginary conspiracy theories, Mick would like his glass back."

Carl swallowed. "Pardon me?"

"You know what I'm talking about." Josef casually tossed the file folder he'd been playing with down on his desk and rose. "You're not a stupid man…are you, Lieutenant Davis?"

Carl mumbled a negative.

"You—illegally, I might add—took a drinking glass from my friend's apartment."

"Why would I take a glass from Mick's apartment?" Carl hedged.

"Oh, I don't know…perhaps you developed a little crush on him, and just wanted something to remember him by? —No?— Or maybe it could have had something to do with the unnecessary DNA sample you requested of him and he refused?"

Carl's mouth went dry.

"What are you trying to prove, Lieutenant?" Josef stepped out from behind the desk and took a few steps toward him, his eyes never leaving his.

Carl tried to swallow. "There was blood spatter at the crime scene. An eyewitness saw Mick get shot, but he denied it. The blood could not match anyone else's there."

"And you think DNA from a drinking glass—again, that you illegally obtained, and that Mick didn't necessarily even drink out of—will prove that the blood is Mick's?"

Carl started. "What?"

"Did you see Mick drink out of the glass you took?"

"Well…no…" Carl's brow furrowed. "But it was in his sink."

"Therefore he's the only one whose DNA could be on it? Boy…remind me never to come over to your place for poker night. Evidently you never serve your guests refreshments."

Carl gaped at him.

"Geez, what kind of logic are they teaching at the police academy? Did you take Pig Latin for your language requirement?"

Carl's fingers curled into a fist. If I could arrest stupid punks for talking back to me…this guy'd be in for life.

"In case you're still not picking up what I'm putting down," Josef continued, "testing the DNA on that glass would be a waste of time." Once again, Josef's eyes bored into his. "—Got it?"

Carl nodded and stood, just wanting to get out of there. He could feel Kostan's eyes on the back of his neck as he strode quickly out of the office and down the hall into the elevator.

He also had the vague notion he'd just been threatened.