No one treated him like Arum's Tavern did. Jellal waited to feel an undoubtable satisfaction that came from being waited on with such attention in front of Erza. She didn't seem like the kind of girl to really care about stuff like that, though, unimpressed when the waiters were at his beck and call. She leaned over the table and smiled, however, though it was never about what Jellal expected it to be about. He'd say something unintentionally funny and lips drenched in scarlet colour would twitch and a laugh full of life would ring out, not delicate like other girls, but heartfelt. He knew he had it bad for Erza, he'd had his eye set on her since the first moment he saw her, but just then he thought it could be a little worse than he realized. And he wasn't at all sure how he felt about it.
Her leg brushed his beneath the table and stayed there and he felt stupid for smiling so widely but he did. Erza had left her shyness in the Corvette and brought out the sure-footed dame from months ago, the one that had demanded he race like a bat out of hell through the city. She sipped her water and left lipstick marks on the glass's rim and Jellal wished furiously that he was the glass.
"What is it?" she asked.
Jellal realized he was staring. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and folded it over his finished plate. "Did you want to share a dessert?"
Erza checked the watch on her wrist—a huge contraption that was well enough scratched that he figured that she loved it and wore it almost every day. "It's almost eight-thirty."
"So?"
"So, I'm supposed to start my shift at nine."
Jellal put his elbows on the table and leaned in. "You're out for dinner with the boss."
She said a simple, "So?"
Of course so. "You're right, it's not that impressive," he agreed flippantly. "I do have a sweet tooth, though, Erza, and the owner, Arum, makes sure that Arum's Tavern has the best cakes." He had her hook, line, and sinker as soon as he said cake.
"Maybe we'll be quick."
Jellal put in their order with the tuxedo-wearing waiter and then sat back in his seat and let the quiet noise of Arum's coax him into a state of relaxation. It was full to capacity with people of import, the mayor, some councilmen, judicial officials, but it was never overcrowded. Arum never let it get that way. What he lacked in customers he made up in extravagant prices. It cost a small fortune to eat there but it all added to the atmosphere. Jellal could appreciate the mentality, it was the same way in which he ran Halo.
"It's in a class of its own, isn't it?" Erza asked, looking at their gold-trimmed surroundings like she was reading his mind.
"It's over the top and silly people pay for it," Jellal said.
She quirked her brow. "We're here."
He was plain. "I wanted to impress you." A bit of colour came to her skin and he knew that her calm demeanor was a glamour; she was still a little off balance and that was okay, it made up for the way he felt, too. "Did it work?"
Erza was just as plain. "It's nice, but it doesn't give me a better impression of you."
"Changing your view of me was never the goal, I like the impression you've already drawn."
"Then you're a foolish man." There was laughter in her eyes and teasing in her voice.
Jellal shrugged. "You think I'm a cad. You think I'm the biggest, baddest bad in the city. There are far worse things."
Erza's nose scrunched up. "Are there?"
"Probably not but just think, you won't be flabbergasted when all of your suspicions are confirmed."
"You think I'm of a suspicious nature?" Erza queried.
"I know you are, former Constable Scarlet." The title still made her glow. Jellal catalogued the quirk as he catalogued everything. He rested his leg more completely against hers; Erza still didn't pull away. Jellal swirled his wineglass, looking between the dark red liquid and the fall of Erza's hair over her shoulder. It was curled again and he knew that in the spots where it wasn't sprayed with hairspray, it would feel like silk.
"You're staring again."
He was. Jellal found her eyes. "How is Constable Fullbuster taking to your new position?" He hadn't meant to pry.
She barely faltered. "Gray's opinion doesn't matter."
"No?"
Erza shook her head and her hair gleamed like rubies. "I've decided I'm not going to see him anymore."
Jellal wasn't sure if she was lying or not. "Why's that?"
Her eyes fell to the table. "I just haven't been thinking about him much lately, I suppose."
"Too busy thinking about someone else?"
She wouldn't meet his eyes. "I've been preoccupied."
Jellal was equal parts incredulous and interested. He touched her chin and tipped her face up. Her eyes were like Bambi's and her mouth made him think he'd never wanted to kiss anyone as much as he wanted to kiss her just then. "Will you stay after your shift?"
"Yes," she said and Jellal's mouth wouldn't stay flat. He felt like he won the jackpot, even if he suspected that it was rigged.
Their waiter showed and Jellal reluctantly took his hand away from Erza. Their dessert was dropped between them, the metal lid left on, which was unusual. "Bon appétit," the waiter said before scurrying away. Erza tried to take the lid off. Jellal clapped his hand down on the metal cover and said, "Let me." She backed away so he carefully tipped the lid up his way and was glad for all the secrecy he used. What would Erza do if she were to see the severed head of Sawyer resting on the plate, his congealing blood slowly, slowly leaking toward the ledge? Perhaps she'd waste all the dinner she'd just eaten. She wouldn't have calmly put the lid down and smile.
"This isn't the right thing."
"It's not?"
"On the menu, it said strawberry cake, didn't it? This is the mousse." He rose and took the plate with him. Erza opened her mouth to say something but Jellal was already walking away. He didn't balance very well and some blood leaked over the edge of the plate and made his hands sticky; when it fell on the floor, though, it was hidden by the dark carpet.
People looked at him when he came through the 'Staff Only' entrance into a kitchen bustling with life. Despite that, no one called his name or asked him to return to his table. This was Arum's busiest hour yet the white tiled walls and floors were tidy and free of stains and the chefs were all in pristine white uniforms, save for a few flecks of food here and there. Wait staff that mingled inside waited patiently by the stainless steel hot table for the sous-chef and their cooks to put their plated dinners up. Jellal looked for his waiter but didn't see him in the throng.
"Sir?"
Finally, someone acknowledged that he wasn't where he was supposed to be. Jellal asked the sous-chef, "Where is Arum?"
"Mister Deschamps is busy at the moment—"
Jellal was irritable enough to use the magic he almost never called upon. He held off last-minute. There was no need to cause a mass panic. A small one would do. He freed one of his hands and pulled his revolver out of his pocket so he could aim it at Sous-Chef Malcom. Around the muzzle, he asked again, "Where is Arum?"
Jellal got his answer immediately. "In his office."
"Thank you. Take me."
"Yes, Sir." The man dropped his tongs and left the steak he was working on to lead the way. Jellal followed with the gun at his side, around the hot table, down a corridor lined with large, walk-in freezers and fridges, past a pastry making section and into the owner's office.
Arum sat at a small desk with a cigarette squeezed between his fingers. He looked pale. Green, actually, which really looked guilty. Behind his head were monuments to all of his accomplishments, awards, diplomas, newspaper clippings claiming Magnolia's finest food! And in front of him was a pile of papers.
"Mister Fernandez." Jellal closed the door on a relieved looking Malcom and dropped his plate unceremoniously to Arum's desk. Blood spilled all over important documents and Arum looked at the mess with horror.
Jellal sat himself down in the chair opposite of Arum and crossed his legs. "Look. Go ahead." Arum just stared. Jellal aimed his gun and flicked down the hammer. "Now, please."
Arum pulled up the metal lid and started to hyperventilate. Sawyer stared up at the ceiling, his eyes rolled into the back of his head. The cut on his throat was tidy. "Mister Fernandez—"
"The only thing I want to hear from you is who delivered this head and told you to send it to my table."
Arum was a stupid sort; he begged, "Mister Fernandez, I don't know—"
Jellal stood and pushed the gun into Arum's forehead between his eyes. "You're lying. Someone wanted this brought to my table, now tell me who. If you say you weren't involved, I'm going to use this gun and I'm going to paint your office."
Arum shook violently, his eyes narrowed on the rod of metal before spilling, "I don't know his name. I've never seen him before."
Jellal dug his gun in harder and Arum rushed to say, "But I can describe him."
"Do that."
"He was tall. Long, dark hair. He—he spoke strangely."
Jellal's adrenaline spiked, as did his fury. "That's all I need, Arum."
"It is?"
"Yes, thank you." He brought the gun a few inches away.
Arum blinked dumbly. "I never would have sent it to your table, Mister Fernandez, if he didn't threaten me. It won't happen again. Next time, I'll tell them no."
"You won't."
"Really—"
Jellal pulled the trigger and Arum stopped talking. "Really, you won't," he said. Arum's only answer was to drip red stuff on his pants. "I will miss your desserts. Maybe someone else will pick up the mantle, though?"
He used Arum's tie to clean the back-splash off his pistol and washed his hands in the sink in the pastry area, the water running red before it ran clear. When he looked away from the stainless steel, Malcom was watching from the hallway between Arum's office and the kitchen. Jellal dried his hands with a white towel left on the pastry prep table and dried quickly. He traded that out for a piece of paper and a pencil. He scrawled down a number he knew off by heart and handed the paper to Malcom. "Call this number and tell them there's a bit of a mess to clean up in Arum's, will you?"
The man took the paper stiltedly. Jellal clapped his shoulder on the way by, not doubting for a moment that his wishes would be granted. "Thank you."
Eyes watched him through the kitchen but in the dining room, everything seemed to be business as usual, the concrete walls and the general noise of the restaurant covering all of Jellal's sins. He didn't bother sitting when he reached Erza. "They're out of strawberry cake. Did you want anything else or should we go?"
Erza checked her watch. "Maybe we should just go."
Jellal offered her his hand and after she stood, he wrapped his arm around her waist and led her outside.
As the driver—self-designated because Bacchus kept taking hits off a flask when he thought Gray wasn't looking—Gray didn't have as much time to look around as Bacchus, so he couldn't confirm either way when Bacchus looked in the windows of Arum's Tavern as they rolled past and saw Jellal Fernandez leading Erza out by the hip. He knew, though. He saw the Corvette and that was all the confirmation he needed. He got hot, and then he got cold. He never changed his speed, though, and considered that a victory.
"That's fine, eh?"
"What?" There was more tension than he planned in his voice.
"I was just thinking, if my lady was having dinner with one Mister Fernandez, I wouldn't be telling people it was fine."
"Fuck off, Groh." It was easy to see how he pushed level-headed Jura into violence.
"There's no shame in it. I had a lass once who fucked my brother. Not my real brother," Bacchus said. "But he may as well have been blood."
"Save the allegories," Gray said.
"It's a good story," Bacchus replied. "So I came home early from my beat because some scud I was chasing stopped running and punched me in the face good enough I was seeing stars. I get in my house and hear this weird fucking noise—"
"What street are we going to again?"
"Arabella." He continued without missing a beat; he wouldn't be distracted. "So I get my sidearm, thinking I got an intruder. Great end to a great day. Up the stairs I go—" Gray took a corner too fast. Bacchus held onto the door and the flask in the breast pocket of his coat but was he deterred? "When I opened the bedroom up, my eyes know I don't like what I see before my brain does. I pulled the trigger without even thinking." He cackled.
"You shot him?" Gray squawked despite himself.
Bacchus waved him off. "In the ass. He was fine. Didn't even press charges. Dropped the girl, kept my buddy and here we are."
"You're crazy."
"Maybe. I have no headaches, though."
Gray shook his head and pulled down Arabella. Bacchus said, "It's the little place above the smoke shop; park around back and out of the lights, they don't like it when the heat shows up."
There was a small space between two buildings where Gray could pull the car through. It was tight, only a few inches remained on either side of the mirrors, and he was glad when the ancient black-stained brick widened into a back parking lot. There was a light near its end and a spot up close to the building where its glow didn't reach. Gray nosed the Tudor up there and put it mostly beneath a stretching length of maple branch and into a healthy bundle of wild grapevine. The paint scratched, not that he cared, it was probably better for it.
"Lose the jacket and the gun," Bacchus said quietly.
"Pardon?"
"Take them off, Fullbuster. If you want answers, don't argue." Bacchus unbuttoned his marked police issue coat as he spoke and stripped off his shoulder holster, too. Gray did the same after a moment. He had an extra gun on his ankle, he'd started carrying it all the time after his run-in with the Dragon's Den and all that garbage happened with Lucy, but it would be harder to get to if he needed it, and who was to say that he'd be fast enough? He did want answers, though, and he wanted to keep moving because if he stood still, he'd think about that white Corvette and imagine what Erza was wearing when Jellal brought her to that swank place. And what they were doing now that they were leaving.
His jacket came off in jerky movements. His guns, too. The metal hit together where it wasn't protected by leather and he practically threw them onto the floor on the driver's side. He dumped his jacket over them so no one peeked into the window and thought to break in and take them and then he tucked his white collared shirt into his dark pants. When he was as together as he thought he could possibly be, both he and Bacchus exited through the driver's door because he was parked too close to the wall to get out on the other side.
Bacchus took to the alley with sure steps, passing by windows where men looked out with keen eyes, and mounted a rusted metal set of stairs at the front of the building that arced sharply skyward and whined with every footfall. Gray held the railing tight and watched the ground get smaller and smaller beneath his feet. He didn't have a fear of heights, it was falling that got him, and if he were to fall, he was sure that with the way his night was going, he'd fall off this shitty staircase and break his neck in this dirty, nondescript alley.
The top of the staircase came and none of Gray's feet went through the metal. He waited for Bacchus to rap his knuckles against the thin wooden door. The sound carried many times over again in the narrow alley before escaping toward the nighttime sky.
Moments passed; finally, the door opened and Gray felt a deep sigh well in his chest. He put a cap on it and smiled tightly at Meredy bathed in the glow of a red and black light. Her expression inverted; the smile she'd been cultivating withered as soon as she saw Gray. "Sorry! Full to capacity." She twitched her chin over her shoulder where behind her, a small party waged, two women scantily dressed and two men equally unclothed engaged in a lighthearted conversation around a hand of cards. "Don't come back later." She started to close the door.
"Wait." Gray grabbed the door from her and she looked like she was going to hit him. Bacchus took Gray's shoulder and pulled him back.
"Meredy, baby, I know you got people in there but can we come in for a few?"
"I'm busy," she said again over the sound of a high-pitched laugh. Gray looked toward the table despite himself and saw one of the girls start to undo the back of her white bra. He fixed his eyes back on Meredy and kept them there.
"Come on," Bacchus wheedled. "Won't our favourite girl come through for us? We just need a minute."
"I believe I'm your favourite, Bacchus, but your friend here said some nasty things to me last time we saw each other," Meredy said stubbornly.
Gray couldn't remember exactly what it was he said but he wasn't the least bit sorry and hoped that it was good and offensive. "I need you in my life, Meredy. You give me something to do."
"You mean you need to try to ruin my night?" Meredy asked.
"Prostitution is—"
Bacchus elbowed Gray hard in the ribs. "We're not here about that, right, partner?"
"Right," Gray hesitated in saying.
Meredy was as skeptical as she was when she opened the door. Bacchus said, "Please, Meredy, just bring us in for a minute. We'll talk in private and then we'll get out of here."
Her delicate nose scrunched up but she did step back. "Hurry up, I have guests to entertain."
They seemed to be doing a fine job all on their own. One of the men lost his shirt and his pants. Gray took his eyes off of them and stepped into Meredy's small apartment. It was mostly dark and smelled of incents and cigarette smoke. Paintings hung on the wall, bright and colourful things that caught Gray's eye and made him slow up. One was of particular interest, raven's wing black, sky blue, the colours all swirled together into something almost unrecognizable but it spoke to him in a way he didn't quite understand.
"You like what you see, Constable?" Meredy asked in his ear.
"You're talented," Gray grudgingly admitted.
"Hundred bucks, it's yours."
"That's steep."
She shrugged and he felt her shoulder dig into his back, she was standing so close. "Art doesn't pay the bills."
"I'll think about it."
"You do that." She twitched on down a short and dark hallway to a bedroom. When she threw open the door, the smell of smoke was thicker. There was a dresser, a gilded and blue Chippendale sofa, a bed and underthings on almost every surface. Meredy didn't care as much as Gray did. Bacchus was brazen enough to grab a frilly black bra and swirl it around.
"I haven't seen this one yet."
"And you won't, either, if you show up to my home with this dolt when I have people over." She dropped herself gracefully onto the sofa where she lounged in her pink corset and high-waisted jean shorts, a wasp waiting in a flower. "What do you want?"
Bacchus went to her side and sat on the edge of the sofa. "We've been assigned the dock's case."
"That murder?"
"Those murders," Gray said. "They're all connected. It's the same killer."
"Sure it is." Meredy reached over her head and snagged a piece of gum out of a pack on her dresser. She popped it into her mouth and Gray discovered that she was a loud chewer and a bubble blower. "What about it?"
"Docks are by where you work."
"I work everywhere, Constable," Meredy said. "Including Halo when Mister Buchannan allows it. So what?"
"So, you know something," Gray pressed.
"That's a stretch."
"Anything you've got, Meredy. We have nothing," Bacchus said.
Just a body, no head, and it even looked like the body had been moved from the murder site. The victim was male this time and aside from a watch and an unmarked gun found on the body, Bacchus was right, they had absolutely no clues. They didn't even know which gang he belonged to.
"What do I get for spilling the beans?" Meredy asked, ever the conniver.
"What do you want?" Bacchus said.
"I want immunity," she replied. "Anytime you see me on the street, look the other way. That goes for all your little friends in uniform, too."
"We can't promise you immunity," Gray butted in.
"Then I can't tell you what I know," she said simply.
"Meredy—"
"What, Constable?" she challenged. "What are you going to do?"
"Execute some of those warrants with your name on them," Bacchus threatened. "They're sitting on my desk."
"I'll go to jail for a few months for keeping my mouth shut. There are worse things."
"Please, Meredy."
"No."
Gray took in a breath. "I'll talk to the Chief if you can promise us information."
"Talk to him?" Gray looked at her dryly and Meredy said, "I want to hear you say it, Constable. I've been duped too many times."
"I'll talk to him about your immunity, and I'll make a good case. I swear it. And if he doesn't bite…"
"Then?"
"Then I promise I'll at least look the other way."
"Done." Meredy spat on her palm and held out her hand for shaking.
Gray looked at the outstretched limb and held off. "I need good information, though. Pertinent."
"Pertinent," Meredy confirmed. "You'll know everything I know regarding our headless horseman."
"We have a deal then."
She picked up his hand for him and shook vigorously with a wide and mischievous smile on her mouth. "One of Buchannan's girls said they saw the whole thing. Killer was welding a sword, if you can believe it."
"A sword?"
"That's what I said. The killed was one of Jellal's boys, snatched when they were coming out of Lucky, their favourite bar. Their head was lopped off right there in the alley, or so the story goes."
Gray's mouth tasted sour. "Do you know the guy's name?"
"Nope. I do know that this is the first time Jellal's been hit, though."
"This has been going on for weeks," Gray considered. "Why only attack Jellal now when everyone else has been on the chopping block?"
"I heard that his daddy's back in town. Maybe he's looking to cause some stir up in Halo?" Meredy dropped innocently.
"Things aren't going well for Jellal there?"
She shrugged. "I don't know; it's been a little while since I've gone for a visit but people are whispering that Fernandez Senior is getting called Mister before Jellal."
Interesting. "What would you say to going for out tonight? Ask some questions for us?" Gray knew he was pressing his luck well before he finished speaking. Meredy shook her head.
"Not a chance."
"Not even for a few bills?"
"You don't have the kind of cash I'd need to risk my neck," she said bluntly.
"It was worth a try."
"I suppose. Now. If you don't mind, I really am entertaining." Meredy stood. "You can come by tomorrow with those immunity papers."
"If I can get them," Gray reiterated.
"Try really, really hard, Gray, it'll be good for your shitty karma," she said with a sublime smile and opened the bedroom door.
Things had gotten a little more heated in the living room, it seemed that both women and one man was without clothes and no one seemed put out by it. There was a lot of touching and a lot of laughing that petered away to a lot of kissing. Gray hurried out and down the stairs and got to the Tudor well before Bacchus.
"Shy, Fullbuster?" Bacchus teased as he ambled over.
"Just busy," Gray corrected. "And trying to stay on task." If he had to enter his least favourite place, he wanted it to be with his head in the game. "We should go by that alley, too."
"Unlucky night for you, huh, having to go see the lion at your girl's door?"
"Can it."
"Yes, Sir." Bacchus grinned widely as he opened the driver's side door and climbed into the Tudor. Gray got in after him, armed himself once more, and got underway. It took five minutes to get across town and during that time, Bacchus filled the car with talk. It wasn't anything Gray wanted to hear. Mostly, Bacchus asked him if he saw the yellow underwear on Meredy's bed, and he followed that up with a rank story about them, and the purple bra that was hanging on the back of the chair. He poured into Gray's ears another story that involved too many hands and too many holes and a lot of lube.
"And then there're the things she keeps in her drawers," Bacchus said. "Toys, Fullbuster. Fuck. And she's got this spell. She puts it on you and anything she feels, you feel too. It sounds fucking weird but boy, don't smash it until you've smashed it, you know?"
Gray was glad to pull into Halo's overflowing lot. Seeing the white Corvette made him feel sick but some things couldn't be helped.
The lady at the concierge stand seemed to know before he stepped in through Halo's doors that he was the law. She had the phone picked up and hung up again by the time Gray got to the desk's live edge. She didn't give him a chance to speak. "Mister Fernandez will see you in his office. This way." She left the desk and led Gray and Bacchus through Halo's interior.
Men and women at their tables looked at them. They stood out, and not because of their guns, Gray thought, it was likely these people saw more than their fair share come through here, but because of their garb. Used to be, he thought his uniform looked respectable. Now, he felt like a ragamuffin, self-conscious about his five o'clock shadow and his askew tie amongst other things. Why weren't his shoes polished? Why did his coat have lint on it?
Through a door marked Manager was a humble room with an average-sized desk strewn with papers. Behind that was a door that Gray thought to be a closet but the woman produced a key and inserted it in a lock and the door opened into a stairwell, of all things. She stepped inside; Gray hurried after her before she could get too far out of sight.
Darkness closed around him for a full moment once Bacchus entered and closed the door. Then lights ignited in the floor, small ones that lined a set of stairs. The train started moving again. Gray counted thirteen steps. On flat floor, he counted another five. The woman went left then, through yet another door that she opened with a key, and deposited Gray and Bacchus into a red and gold and black office. There was the desk Gray thought Jellal would have, huge and elaborately carved, and there was the man himself, sitting back in an ornate armchair behind that desk, his feet up on the desk's surface.
"Gentlemen. You're the first badges I've invited into my personal space. Usually, you're here more forcefully."
Gray's sarcasm made another visit. "What an honour."
"I thought so." The concierge left and Jellal sat up. "What can I do for you? I'm rather busy, training a new staff member."
"Looks it."
Jellal's smile didn't reach his eyes. "If you came here just to contradict everything I say then I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Gray tucked away his pride. "We're here because a body showed up by the docks. Someone said it might have been one of your guys."
Jellal's brow went up. "Did they?"
"Yeah. He's not got a head, though, so the ID's been a little tough. Notice anyone not coming in for work?" Gray prodded.
"Now that you mention it, Sawyer hasn't been in and he hasn't rung. You don't think it could be him, do you?"
Jellal's fake concern was grating. "Do you know of anyone that might want to do him harm?"
"Him? No. I imagine if his head was cut off and left somewhere for someone to find, it would be his patriarch that was the target of ill intent. Speaking hypothetically, of course."
"Of course," Gray said. "Should I get a pen for your long list of those that might want to do you harm?"
"I'm king in this town, Constable. Everyone loves me to my face and spits at my back. Jealousy, I suspect."
It was Jellal's smile Gray hated, he decided. "What can you tell me about your father, Mister Fernandez?"
"My father?" Jellal repeated. "That's a strange question."
"Strange times. Entertain me."
"He's a retired businessman."
"And what was his business?"
"Restaurant owning," Jellal said. "Just like me. We Fernandez like to keep it in the family."
Gray held back his scoff. "I'm sure he does just as well as you do, too."
"He was doing better for a while there, but, as I said, he's retired now."
"And here in Magnolia to interfere in your business?" Gray suggested.
"Parents," Jellal said with a dead laugh. "If they're not meddling, they're dead."
"Our source is suggesting that things might not be made in the shade for you, Mister Fernandez," Bacchus pressed. "They say since your father got into town, your men have been treating you a little differently. Less respectfully."
"Is there a question in that statement?"
Gray pulled out his blunt card. "What my partner means to ask is, is your father orchestrating these killings to try to weaken your defences?"
Jellal looked bemused. "Decapitation is rough work for a restaurant owner."
"I've heard the restaurant business is really going down hill lately."
A door opened somewhere down a narrow hall behind Jellal's desk. Jellal sat upright and rolled his eyes. "These are ridiculous accusations. Unless you have some kind of evidence to back up your claims, I must ask that you gentlemen leave."
"We'd like to speak to your father first," Gray said.
"Unfortunately, he's not in. Perhaps when he returns, I'll ask him to take a visit to the Constabulary?"
"Would you?" Bacchus said and got out a notepad to scrawl down his information. He said other things that Gray didn't hear, he was looking at Erza coming out behind Jellal, dressed to impress in a skirt suit, and couldn't focus on anything else. She did look nice. Going out for dinner nice. And she looked guilty. He thought his gut was full of lead before but suspecting that she was out with Fernandez and getting proof on top of that expression on her face, were different things, he quickly learned.
The first feeling that came to him was shame. Though why shame, he didn't know. It wasn't him sneaking around, after all. Next was anger.
"Got any popcorn? This is going to be a show." Bacchus' voice was distant.
Jellal said something. Bacchus replied. Erza said, "Gray," and bit her lip.
All at once, all he could think about was the alcohol he tasted on Erza's breath last night and her wet hair and her wet bathing suit and the hesitant way she'd kissed him, and then the rough way she'd fucked him.
Gray got cold and hot all at once and he thought he was going to be sick. The wave rolled over him and he was okay and would be if he left now. "Excuse me," he wrung out and backed out as gracefully as he could.
The walk back up the stairs and out of the restaurant was done quickly; Gray didn't even remember faces or places whirling past. One minute he was in Jellal's office, the next he was standing at the Tudor, trying to figure out how to open the door.
With a key, because it was locked. He got his keys out. Someone took them from his hand.
"I got this," Bacchus said, and pushed Gray toward the passenger's door. He considered fighting, but honestly, if he drove like he walked, he wasn't sure they'd get to where they were going.
From where Jellal was standing, it looked like Erza was hyperventilating. She worked in shallow breaths. In and out, in and out.
"Do you want to go home?" Jellal asked gently.
Erza took in another shallow breath. "I'm okay."
"You don't look like you're okay." He took her by the arms to get her attention and looked into her eyes. "Erza, it's fine if you want to leave, I'll find someone else—"
"I'm okay," she said more firmly. "I was just surprised. I wasn't expecting to see him here, and I hadn't intended on him accidently finding out that I took the job you offered. I wanted to sit down and talk to him but there's just been no time. He's been on this case, and I've been working and—"
"Did you want to sit?"
She took in another breath. This one got a little bit deeper. The next after that was less constricted as well. "No. No, thank you. I'd like to start my shift now."
"If you're distracted—"
"Not distracted." Erza said. "Please. I'd like shoulder holster you promised."
Right. Jellal released her and pulled the soft leather from the desk drawer he'd dumped it in when Minerva called to tell him he had guests. Erza removed her jacket and revealed the plum button up shirt she wore beneath.
She was too distraught for any of it to be erotic but he still felt flushed when he helped her put the holster on. She lifted her hair and it smelled good; her skin was warm beneath his fingers, a little damp with sweat. He let his hands slide down her back when he was done to prolong their contact and Erza didn't scold him. He did the scolding for her, he was a bad man. A bad man with guns to arm the innocent. He took a pistol from his desk and jammed it nose-down into the holster for her, completing the look.
He took a step back to appreciate her as she put on her jacket and took the liberty of putting her hat on her head for her, too. Erza smiled tightly. It loosened up a little, became more natural when he said, "You look good." He imagined that's how she smiled when she put on her Constable's uniform.
"You think so?"
"A proper Mafioso."
"I'm not trying to be a Mafioso," she rebutted. "I only want to work for one."
"I own a restaurant, that's all."
The last of her sadness got put somewhere, tucked in some tidy box that she'd pull out and mourn over later. For now, she embraced her role. "You're too rich for that's all."
"I bet you're waiting for me to slip."
"Are you very clumsy?"
"Not usually." He twirled one of her locks of hair around his finger. "But if I was?"
"Any dirt I got on you here wouldn't get me my Constable uniform back."
"No, it wouldn't."
"Then why would I make their lives easier?"
"Valor. That insufferable sense of right and wrong you have, to name a few reasons."
"You say that like those are bad things."
Jellal pushed her, needing to know if she was actually going to be okay in the poker room, and got more serious. "I know the MPD like I know the men running it. They would sell you some hopped up bull to get what they want. They might even give you your job back, but only because they think you're only good for one thing and when they got that out of you, they'd cast you aside until the next time they wanted you to do something else none of the men could."
As with the last time they talked about this, he struck a nerve and he struck it hard; her brows dented and her fingers clenched. Jellal waited for a geyser. All he got was, "I'd like to start my shift now," and Erza's back as she went for the door. Upon opening it, Laxus practically fell through, a bloody lump.
"Fuck." Erza grabbed him around the middle and held him with surprising grace, Jellal knew how heavy Laxus was.
"On the couch, please."
Erza looked at him like he was short a few screws. "He needs a hospital."
"Couch," Jellal said again but Erza was already bullying Laxus back out the way he'd stumbled in. "Erza," Jellal said louder just as Laxus grabbed the doorframe and muttered something that would have been, 'No hospitals,' if his face wasn't so torn up.
"You'll thank me." She put her shoulder into his chest and started pushing him out.
"Erza," Jellal said and Laxus echoed his sentiments.
"He needs a doctor!"
"I just need to sit down," Laxus said with more strength.
"Couch, please," Jellal tried one more time.
"You're both stupid." Erza's frustration was palpable but she turned back around and came back his way. Jellal met her halfway and took Laxus' other side and together, they brought him back to the couch. When it was time, Laxus fell to the cushions without grace and sat there, breathing wetly.
Erza asked, "Who did this to you and why?"
Jellal didn't think Laxus would answer any of her questions ever but he said, "Let me worry about it, Erza. You're needed in the poker room."
"How can you say that? One of your own has been attacked, stupid poker can wait."
He smiled and it was the first time it was forced for Erza. "There is a lot of money riding on those stupid poker games. I need you to watch the room for me, Erza. I don't want anyone getting shot in Halo tonight. Cops are bad for business."
"Jellal—"
"Go or I'll have to find someone else to take your place."
"You'd fire me?"
"Yes."
She stood defiantly for another moment and then the weight of his words hit her and realization came over her like a shroud. She got angry, then uncertain, and then the two melded together with resolve and she whirled on her heel. The door slammed behind her. Jellal hoped she took that fury with her to the poker room; bouncers were supposed to be surly.
Laxus took in a noisy breath and brought Jellal's attention back around. "It went well I see?"
Laxus grunted vaguely, the sound thick. Jellal sighed and picked up the phone on his coffee table. He held the gleaming receiver to his ear and dialed in the number upstairs. When it was answered, he didn't waste time on niceties. "Did Gajeel make it back with Wendy?"
"His car just pulled in," Minerva said on the other end.
"Send them down."
Laxus' words were garbled around his fat lip and swollen and broken nose but Jellal understood him well enough. "Zeref's not going to like that you tossed one of his safe houses and then poached Wendy."
"Then he's going to like it even less when I keep her."
"Keep?"
"You heard me."
Laxus laughed without humor. "This is going to cause clap back from Grimoire."
"We were right then? Precht did make the offer?"
"Yeah."
"Perfect."
"People are going to get killed," Laxus said.
"People are already dead," retorted Jellal. "Sawyer made it onto my dessert plate tonight while I was on a date and I'm not fucking okay with that."
"Sawyer's dead?"
"His head was cut off," Jellal said irritably. "It was fine when everyone else's bodies were turning up in the streets but I don't get fucked with."
"That's why Precht thinks you're an easy target. Hubris."
"I know my own faults."
"But you never change them."
Jellal discovered he wanted to hit Laxus. He held off. "Is that what you said to Precht to make yourself seem genuine?"
"No," Laxus said just as blandly, "I told Precht I wanted Fairy Tail back then he told me to shoot Bickslow."
"Did you?"
"He told me Fairy Tail was mine, so what else could I do?"
"He makes promises he can't keep, that land is mine and I'd never give it up."
"Of course he does. He paid me out, though, then got Kane to tune me up. Told me to tell you this was your message of war. And here I am."
Jellal smacked his shoulder. "You did good. We'll get Wendy to fix you up; you'll be right as rain soon enough."
"If she won't do it?"
"Then she's not too useful, is she? You know my philosophy on useless people."
Laxus laid his head back on the couch's backrest so he was looking at the ceiling. "Can we afford to do her in? Healers are hard to come by."
"They're rare," Jellal agreed. "But Chelia's been contracting for whoever pays. I'm sure she won't be hard to track down, if needed." Jellal picked a tumbler off the table and poured Laxus a couple fingers of scotch, then himself.
Laxus took his drink. "Sometimes, I think you're a little fucking kooky."
"Risk-reward, Laxus. Risk-reward."
"You say that but it looks a lot like risk. No reward."
"What kind of attitude is that?"
Laxus said, "A shitty one but I want to know what we're doing, Jellal, what the fuck is the game plan? People are making their moves and we're just sitting here."
"I'm not just sitting here. I'm going to finish my drink, I'm going to wait for Erza to finish her shift, then I'm going to have a very nice, relaxing evening and wait for the shit to hit the fan." Jellal sipped his drink under the weight of Laxus' incredulous and disgusted stare and let the alcohol rest on his tongue for long enough that it burned.