A/N: So, back for more punishment, eh? There, there. I'll try not to disappoint you. I have to say, I feel almost giddy to be writing another Sherlock Holmes fic again. And it's mostly because you all make me feel so at home in this here section of FF.net. Every new review I get welcoming me back makes me giggle like an idiot! Before I start, some answers to your reviews. Kenta Divina, snowwolf, HowAreYouToday, and Kerowyn: Thank you, it's good to BE back! QDramaStr: Hey, your name is Megan? So's mine! *high-fives you* Silent Beatnik: I was also waiting for someone to make a version of Holmes that wasn't British, but seeing as how everyone just loves a guy with an English accent, I decided to do it myself! And Anneliese: Be glad that you didn't watch "Case of Evil". Sure, the guy who played Holmes was hot, but that doesn't make up for the overall suckiness. All righty, let's get the next chapter going!
Disclaimer: Even though all the characters in my story are basically mine, (*towers over them and laughs maniacally*) the whole idea of the brilliant detective and his faithful sidekick deservedly goes to Arthur Conan Doyle: the ORIGINAL mystery writer.
A Perfect World
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche
by Wakizashi
Chapter Two: An Enigma
"What about that guy?"
Ethan Rhodes chewed on his lower lip in concentration. "Well, clearly he has just married," he replied in his biscuits-and-buttermilk accent. "He and his girlfriend eloped either in Las Vegas or Reno. It's difficult to tell which, actually," he added, grinning. "They stayed at the Circus Circus, but I'm told there is one in both cities."
"Hmm, impressive," I admitted reluctantly, taking a sip from my bottle of Jones soda. As we walked down Pier 19 on the first weekend since I had started working at the coffee shop, I wondered, not for the first time, what made me seek the company of the very man I had wanted to strangle on the first day of our meeting. Ever since that rainy walk back to my apartment, we had been nearly inseparable. At first I had merely wanted to know more about the wealthy southern man with the abrasive personality, but soon I had to grudgingly admit to myself that I enjoyed being with him. Today, for instance, I could have easily stayed home with my un-translated, original French edition of 'The Count of Monte Cristo', but for some reason I called Rhodes instead. I suppose opinions change.
Nudging me with his expensively-clad elbow, Rhodes asked, "You see that young woman in the denim jacket?"
I followed his gaze to said woman, who was throwing a crust of bread to a lethargic pelican. "Yeah, what about her?"
"Recently divorced, with two young children," he said quietly, so as not to alert the attention of the woman. "Her husband had an affair, but the court granted him custody of the children." He snorted. "Most likely accused her of alienation of affection. That one always seems to work."
"That's horrible," I replied, frowning. "But how did you get all that from looking at her?"
Rhodes smiled enigmatically. "Train your eyes, Bridges."
I looked at the woman more closely, while trying not to freak her out by staring right at her. "Okay, I see the white line where her wedding ring used to be. That tells me she's definitely divorced, because if her husband had died she would still be wearing the ring." I squinted, then added, "She's wearing one of those necklaces that parents wear with their kids' birthstones on them, so yeah, she has two children. A boy and a girl."
"Very good for a first attempt," he said, looking at me with a touch of admiration. Suddenly I felt like a genius for the simple reason that he had praised me.
Looking around eagerly for another victim of Rhodes analysis, I spotted a young girl of roughly fifteen or sixteen years of age walking down the pier with two of her friends, her blonde ponytail bobbing up and down. "That kid over there," I said, using my eyes as a directional aid. "What's her life story?"
As he turned his head to find who I was referring to, Rhodes' entire body suddenly stiffened. His back went rigid, and his bright green gaze quickly moved from the girl down to his black Italian shoes. Alarmed, I put my hand on his arm and looked up at him, taking in his clenched jaw and his drawn eyebrows.
"Rhodes! Rhodes, are you okay?" I asked, growing increasingly worried.
He cleared his throat, blinking as if he was recovering from a dizzy spell. "Yes, I'm all right. Sorry about that." He began walking again, but I could tell from his tense shoulders that he was still in considerable distress. I looked back at the blonde teenager as she continued on her way, oblivious to the episode my friend had just experienced. Abruptly I realized that Rhodes was already far ahead of me, and I ran to catch up with him.
"Hey," I said as soon as I had matched his stride, "what was that back there, with the blonde girl?"
He shook his head, looking directly in front of him with exaggerated focus. "It was nothing, really. She merely looked like someone I used to know."
"Who?"
Now he was beginning to show irritation - something I had not yet witnessed until now. "Your endless questions become bothersome, Bridges. However," he added reluctantly at the slightly hurt look on my face, "if you must know, the girl back there bore a striking resemblance to my sister."
I frowned. Not only did I not know Rhodes even had a sister, but I was also ignorant of why seeing someone who resembled her would cause him such discomfort. That is, unless...
Before I even had the chance to open my mouth, he answered my unspoken qusetion. "She died."
Something tightened in my chest at those two words. I stopped walking, which cause Rhodes to do so as well, and looked up at him. His long black lashes tried to hide those quick, intelligent green eyes, but they couldn't conceal the pain and torture, and something else. It almost looked like guilt.
I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. "I'm so sorry, Rhodes, I didn't even--"
A thin white hand placed itself reassuringly on my shoulder, and he smiled the sweetest, most heartbreaking smile I have ever seen. "Don't be," he said quietly. Giving my shoulder one last pat, he turned and continued walking down the pier. As I struggled to keep up with his long-legged stride, I wondered what else I didn't know about him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Bridges, come here."
I did as I was commanded, and left my position where I had been watching the boats enter and leave the docks to see what was so important. Rhodes sat slouched on a long bench, and it occurred to me that despite his impeccable dress and manner of speaking, he still had that horrible habit of slouching. *Must be hell on his trapezius muscles,* I thought, the masseuse in me coming to the surface.
I stopped in front of him, my fists planted on my hips. "Yes, Your Grace?"
He said nothing, which left me no other option but to stare back at him. On closer observation, I noticed that he was wearing a different pair of shoes - shoes he would *never* wear as long as he was in his right mind. My eyebrows drew together, and suddenly I realized what he had done and burst out laughing.
"Well, mah mama always told me life was like a box o' chocolates," he said, grinning as I sat down next to him on the bench. His polished black shoes were planted inside a painted cast of Forrest Gump's white and red sneakers. He pointed to the sign above the restaurant we were near, which read "Bubba Gump Shrimp Co." That explained the enormous shoes outside the place. Children who passed us giggled at Rhodes as they walked by.
"They have unexpectedly good pasta," he said seriously.
"Do they?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "And I'm sure you're a culinary afficionado. Are you through being infantile?"
Rhodes smiled. "Just about." Starting at a sudden beeping sound, he pulled a small black pager out of his pocket and raised his eyebrows. "Mm, this should be interesting."
Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. "What?"
"One of my more inconsiderate colleagues," he said vaguely, freeing his feet and standing up. "Apparently there's been a new development, and he needs my assistance." From the inside pocket of his jacket, he extracted a cell phone, which he flipped open to dial a number. I watched, feeling oddly like a third wheel, as he held the phone up to his ear and spoke. "Solomon? Yes, it's Rhodes. You paged me?" A pause. "Well, why can't you tell me now? I see." Another pause, in which he became slightly uneasy. "Of course, I understand. Yes, I'll be at my condo in forty-five minutes, if you'll meet me. All right, I'll see you there." Flipping the phone shut, he shoved it back in his coat and looked at me apologetically.
"You have to go?" I asked, quite unnecessarily.
He nodded. "You're certainly welcome to come with me, Bridges. I hate to cut our visit short."
My feeling of being unwelcome abruptly made a U-turn, and in fact I was thrilled that he would invite me. Besides, even though he had been to my apartment(to my everlasting shame), I had not yet seen where he lived. How could I ever pass up the opportunity to lay eyes on Ethan Rhodes' pad? "Sure, I'd be happy to," I said, grinning.
And so we began our walk back up the pier, which soon became more of a brisk hike, then a hurried jog, then finally a desperate sprint to catch the streetcar uptown. His shoes making a terrible racket as he clambered onto the shiny red trolley, Rhodes pulled me up after him seconds before it began its laborous journey uphill. The whistle blew once to signal the trolley's departure, and Rhodes and I collapsed in a fit of helpless laughter.
The street signs went by at a leisurely pace, and when I noticed we were only blocks away from Lombard Street, Rhodes ushered me off the streetcar. We continued our frenzied flight to his condo on foot, and as I was just preparing myself to ask him if he lived in Sacramento, he pointed out his residence.
And introduced me to Paradise.
I skidded to a halt as we arrived at our destination, silently thanking the man for introducing me to the vision before me. The complex was composed of four weathered but lovely two-storey brick buildings that stood in a square on the corner of the street. Ivy trailed lazily up the exterior of the buildings, and though it was far past the blooming season, little white and blue flowers seemed perfectly content in their boxes outside several windows. In the middle of the square of buildings, behind an intricate wrought-iron gate, was a small courtyard paved in cobblestones. Elm trees with leaves of orange and gold protectively enclosed the little area, and a pair of benches sat on either side of a quietly burbling fountain. A few fallen leaves lay scattered about the ground.
"My God," I breathed when I finally recovered my voice. "It's so beautiful."
"It is very picturesque, isn't it?" my companion murmured, and I could tell he appreciated the rare beauty of a place such as this.
He opened the front gate and led me through, and as we walked through the courtyard, I sighed wistfully. "Leave it to you, Rhodes, to live somewhere like this. On a scale of one to ten, my jealousy rates about forty-two million."
He smiled. "Possessions aren't everything, Bridges." Of course, he would say that. He wore Armani suits and Italian loafers, lived in an urban utopia, and probably owned - or at least had time shares in - his own Hawaiian volcano.
Rhodes' condominium was the one that stood in the top-left corner of the square of buildings, and as he threw the deadbolt and held the door open for me, I was blown away by even more surprises. The foyer led directly into the spacious living room, which was nestled comfortably under the staircase leading to the second floor. Every piece of furniture in the room had a distinctly Japanese style to it - from the low coffee table and rice-paper lamps right down to the potted bamboo stalks in the corner. It was all very cool and modern, yet somehow inviting.
Taking my coat off my shoulders like the old-fashioned gentleman he was, Rhodes asked if I would like some coffee, which I politely declined(I brewed the cursed stuff almost every day, after all), and took his leave of me briefly, telling me to make myself at home. I walked past the futon couch in favor of the cozy-looking papasan chair by the window, marvelling at how impossibly comfortable it was. Allowing my eyes to wander about the room, I took in the titles of numerous true crime stories in the bookcase, along with several other books of a morbid subject. I blinked in disbelief, wondering if I was seeing clearly, when I saw a gleaming black electric guitar on its stand near the red-brick fireplace. Somehow, I could never picture Rhodes "jamming on his axe".
There came the clear ringing of a doorbell which jolted me out of my reverie, followed by Rhodes' voice from the other side of the condo. "Bridges, would you be so kind as to answer that?"
I rose from the chair, feeling awkward, and walked to the front door. As soon as I opened it, a stocky bald man in a cheap, ill-fitting suit burst into the foyer, looking around the room and ignoring me completely. "Rhodes, where the hell are you? This case is too important for me to waste my time on your stupid little games." The man turned swiftly around to look at me. "Who are you?"
His exaggerated rudeness and incompetence was almost enough to make me laugh. "I'm Nadia Bridges," I said, holding out my hand and smiling cheerily. "I'm a friend of Mr. Rhodes."
The man looked me shamelessly up and down, unaware that I was barely keeping myself from slapping him, and shook my hand, smiling lasciviously. "Agent Edward Solomon, FBI. Sorry about my discourtesy. Rhodes said he'd be here, but..." He shrugged, the lewd grin still on his face. "I can just wait here until he gets back."
My nose scrunched up against my will, but fortunately I spun around to see Rhodes sauntering down the hall to meet us. "Ah, Solomon. I thought I heard the bell," he said in his pleasant Southern drawl. He turned to me and, to my substantial shock, slipped his hand into mine. "Thank you for getting the door, darling."
I don't think I have to say that I turned bright red, but there you have it. Solomon looked at Rhodes, then at me, then at Rhodes again. My friend smiled genially at the FBI agent, not missing a beat. "I see you've met Nadia. Isn't she a treasure?"
"I, er, of course," stuttered Solomon, taking an unconscious step back. "Rhodes, I wasn't aware that you were," - with a quick, embarrassed glance at me - "seeing anyone."
"Well, you know me. I'm so reserved sometimes, you never know what to expect," he prattled on as I stood incredulously with my hand firmly gripped in his. "But yes, I met Nadia at the coffee house down by the Wharf, the Boule des Nerfs. Perhaps you've been there? No? In any case, I saw her waiting tables and simply couldn't take my eyes off her. Isn't that right, dear?"
A slow smile spread across my face as I realized that Rhodes was protecting me from that lech Solomon. "Oh yes, that's exactly right, honey. And you know, Ethan's such a hopeless romantic, I just couldn't resist him." Four years in my high school's drama class weren't for nothing.
As Solomon continued to squirm in humiliation, I received another shock when Rhodes beamed at me and raised my hand to his lips. Drama class or no, my blush was impossible to hide. But of course, he remained oblivious to my discomfort.
Solomon finally cleared his throat and smiled. "Well, I guess I must congratulate you, Rhodes. You landed quite a catch. In fact, if you hadn't snatched her up, I'd be tempted to do it myself."
*Hooray, I can almost feel the gorge rising in my throat,* I thought in disgust. Rhodes must have sensed my revulsion, because he drew a protective arm around me.
"So, Solomon," he said formally, "what was so important that you had to tell me in person?"
Abruptly the agent straightened his spine, all business. "Your client, Martin Chan, was found dead this morning, dismembered and hidden in a Dumpster."
A/N: And so, finally, here comes the mystery. Who the heck is Martin Chan, who killed him, and why is he connected with Rhodes? And more importantly, isn't Agent Solomon gross? Just kidding, that's not really important. But seriously, I hope you like the story so far. Even before the actual case presented itself, I wanted to add a little mystery to Rhodes' character. Thus, the whole thing about his sister's death. You'll find out more soon, trust me. In the meantime, be content with what you know now. Oh and, before I go, isn't Rhodes' condo the coolest!? Wish I lived there. Anyway, please review and tell me what you think so far! Thank ye kindly!
-Wakizashi
tricksparrow@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Even though all the characters in my story are basically mine, (*towers over them and laughs maniacally*) the whole idea of the brilliant detective and his faithful sidekick deservedly goes to Arthur Conan Doyle: the ORIGINAL mystery writer.
A Perfect World
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche
by Wakizashi
Chapter Two: An Enigma
"What about that guy?"
Ethan Rhodes chewed on his lower lip in concentration. "Well, clearly he has just married," he replied in his biscuits-and-buttermilk accent. "He and his girlfriend eloped either in Las Vegas or Reno. It's difficult to tell which, actually," he added, grinning. "They stayed at the Circus Circus, but I'm told there is one in both cities."
"Hmm, impressive," I admitted reluctantly, taking a sip from my bottle of Jones soda. As we walked down Pier 19 on the first weekend since I had started working at the coffee shop, I wondered, not for the first time, what made me seek the company of the very man I had wanted to strangle on the first day of our meeting. Ever since that rainy walk back to my apartment, we had been nearly inseparable. At first I had merely wanted to know more about the wealthy southern man with the abrasive personality, but soon I had to grudgingly admit to myself that I enjoyed being with him. Today, for instance, I could have easily stayed home with my un-translated, original French edition of 'The Count of Monte Cristo', but for some reason I called Rhodes instead. I suppose opinions change.
Nudging me with his expensively-clad elbow, Rhodes asked, "You see that young woman in the denim jacket?"
I followed his gaze to said woman, who was throwing a crust of bread to a lethargic pelican. "Yeah, what about her?"
"Recently divorced, with two young children," he said quietly, so as not to alert the attention of the woman. "Her husband had an affair, but the court granted him custody of the children." He snorted. "Most likely accused her of alienation of affection. That one always seems to work."
"That's horrible," I replied, frowning. "But how did you get all that from looking at her?"
Rhodes smiled enigmatically. "Train your eyes, Bridges."
I looked at the woman more closely, while trying not to freak her out by staring right at her. "Okay, I see the white line where her wedding ring used to be. That tells me she's definitely divorced, because if her husband had died she would still be wearing the ring." I squinted, then added, "She's wearing one of those necklaces that parents wear with their kids' birthstones on them, so yeah, she has two children. A boy and a girl."
"Very good for a first attempt," he said, looking at me with a touch of admiration. Suddenly I felt like a genius for the simple reason that he had praised me.
Looking around eagerly for another victim of Rhodes analysis, I spotted a young girl of roughly fifteen or sixteen years of age walking down the pier with two of her friends, her blonde ponytail bobbing up and down. "That kid over there," I said, using my eyes as a directional aid. "What's her life story?"
As he turned his head to find who I was referring to, Rhodes' entire body suddenly stiffened. His back went rigid, and his bright green gaze quickly moved from the girl down to his black Italian shoes. Alarmed, I put my hand on his arm and looked up at him, taking in his clenched jaw and his drawn eyebrows.
"Rhodes! Rhodes, are you okay?" I asked, growing increasingly worried.
He cleared his throat, blinking as if he was recovering from a dizzy spell. "Yes, I'm all right. Sorry about that." He began walking again, but I could tell from his tense shoulders that he was still in considerable distress. I looked back at the blonde teenager as she continued on her way, oblivious to the episode my friend had just experienced. Abruptly I realized that Rhodes was already far ahead of me, and I ran to catch up with him.
"Hey," I said as soon as I had matched his stride, "what was that back there, with the blonde girl?"
He shook his head, looking directly in front of him with exaggerated focus. "It was nothing, really. She merely looked like someone I used to know."
"Who?"
Now he was beginning to show irritation - something I had not yet witnessed until now. "Your endless questions become bothersome, Bridges. However," he added reluctantly at the slightly hurt look on my face, "if you must know, the girl back there bore a striking resemblance to my sister."
I frowned. Not only did I not know Rhodes even had a sister, but I was also ignorant of why seeing someone who resembled her would cause him such discomfort. That is, unless...
Before I even had the chance to open my mouth, he answered my unspoken qusetion. "She died."
Something tightened in my chest at those two words. I stopped walking, which cause Rhodes to do so as well, and looked up at him. His long black lashes tried to hide those quick, intelligent green eyes, but they couldn't conceal the pain and torture, and something else. It almost looked like guilt.
I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. "I'm so sorry, Rhodes, I didn't even--"
A thin white hand placed itself reassuringly on my shoulder, and he smiled the sweetest, most heartbreaking smile I have ever seen. "Don't be," he said quietly. Giving my shoulder one last pat, he turned and continued walking down the pier. As I struggled to keep up with his long-legged stride, I wondered what else I didn't know about him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Bridges, come here."
I did as I was commanded, and left my position where I had been watching the boats enter and leave the docks to see what was so important. Rhodes sat slouched on a long bench, and it occurred to me that despite his impeccable dress and manner of speaking, he still had that horrible habit of slouching. *Must be hell on his trapezius muscles,* I thought, the masseuse in me coming to the surface.
I stopped in front of him, my fists planted on my hips. "Yes, Your Grace?"
He said nothing, which left me no other option but to stare back at him. On closer observation, I noticed that he was wearing a different pair of shoes - shoes he would *never* wear as long as he was in his right mind. My eyebrows drew together, and suddenly I realized what he had done and burst out laughing.
"Well, mah mama always told me life was like a box o' chocolates," he said, grinning as I sat down next to him on the bench. His polished black shoes were planted inside a painted cast of Forrest Gump's white and red sneakers. He pointed to the sign above the restaurant we were near, which read "Bubba Gump Shrimp Co." That explained the enormous shoes outside the place. Children who passed us giggled at Rhodes as they walked by.
"They have unexpectedly good pasta," he said seriously.
"Do they?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "And I'm sure you're a culinary afficionado. Are you through being infantile?"
Rhodes smiled. "Just about." Starting at a sudden beeping sound, he pulled a small black pager out of his pocket and raised his eyebrows. "Mm, this should be interesting."
Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. "What?"
"One of my more inconsiderate colleagues," he said vaguely, freeing his feet and standing up. "Apparently there's been a new development, and he needs my assistance." From the inside pocket of his jacket, he extracted a cell phone, which he flipped open to dial a number. I watched, feeling oddly like a third wheel, as he held the phone up to his ear and spoke. "Solomon? Yes, it's Rhodes. You paged me?" A pause. "Well, why can't you tell me now? I see." Another pause, in which he became slightly uneasy. "Of course, I understand. Yes, I'll be at my condo in forty-five minutes, if you'll meet me. All right, I'll see you there." Flipping the phone shut, he shoved it back in his coat and looked at me apologetically.
"You have to go?" I asked, quite unnecessarily.
He nodded. "You're certainly welcome to come with me, Bridges. I hate to cut our visit short."
My feeling of being unwelcome abruptly made a U-turn, and in fact I was thrilled that he would invite me. Besides, even though he had been to my apartment(to my everlasting shame), I had not yet seen where he lived. How could I ever pass up the opportunity to lay eyes on Ethan Rhodes' pad? "Sure, I'd be happy to," I said, grinning.
And so we began our walk back up the pier, which soon became more of a brisk hike, then a hurried jog, then finally a desperate sprint to catch the streetcar uptown. His shoes making a terrible racket as he clambered onto the shiny red trolley, Rhodes pulled me up after him seconds before it began its laborous journey uphill. The whistle blew once to signal the trolley's departure, and Rhodes and I collapsed in a fit of helpless laughter.
The street signs went by at a leisurely pace, and when I noticed we were only blocks away from Lombard Street, Rhodes ushered me off the streetcar. We continued our frenzied flight to his condo on foot, and as I was just preparing myself to ask him if he lived in Sacramento, he pointed out his residence.
And introduced me to Paradise.
I skidded to a halt as we arrived at our destination, silently thanking the man for introducing me to the vision before me. The complex was composed of four weathered but lovely two-storey brick buildings that stood in a square on the corner of the street. Ivy trailed lazily up the exterior of the buildings, and though it was far past the blooming season, little white and blue flowers seemed perfectly content in their boxes outside several windows. In the middle of the square of buildings, behind an intricate wrought-iron gate, was a small courtyard paved in cobblestones. Elm trees with leaves of orange and gold protectively enclosed the little area, and a pair of benches sat on either side of a quietly burbling fountain. A few fallen leaves lay scattered about the ground.
"My God," I breathed when I finally recovered my voice. "It's so beautiful."
"It is very picturesque, isn't it?" my companion murmured, and I could tell he appreciated the rare beauty of a place such as this.
He opened the front gate and led me through, and as we walked through the courtyard, I sighed wistfully. "Leave it to you, Rhodes, to live somewhere like this. On a scale of one to ten, my jealousy rates about forty-two million."
He smiled. "Possessions aren't everything, Bridges." Of course, he would say that. He wore Armani suits and Italian loafers, lived in an urban utopia, and probably owned - or at least had time shares in - his own Hawaiian volcano.
Rhodes' condominium was the one that stood in the top-left corner of the square of buildings, and as he threw the deadbolt and held the door open for me, I was blown away by even more surprises. The foyer led directly into the spacious living room, which was nestled comfortably under the staircase leading to the second floor. Every piece of furniture in the room had a distinctly Japanese style to it - from the low coffee table and rice-paper lamps right down to the potted bamboo stalks in the corner. It was all very cool and modern, yet somehow inviting.
Taking my coat off my shoulders like the old-fashioned gentleman he was, Rhodes asked if I would like some coffee, which I politely declined(I brewed the cursed stuff almost every day, after all), and took his leave of me briefly, telling me to make myself at home. I walked past the futon couch in favor of the cozy-looking papasan chair by the window, marvelling at how impossibly comfortable it was. Allowing my eyes to wander about the room, I took in the titles of numerous true crime stories in the bookcase, along with several other books of a morbid subject. I blinked in disbelief, wondering if I was seeing clearly, when I saw a gleaming black electric guitar on its stand near the red-brick fireplace. Somehow, I could never picture Rhodes "jamming on his axe".
There came the clear ringing of a doorbell which jolted me out of my reverie, followed by Rhodes' voice from the other side of the condo. "Bridges, would you be so kind as to answer that?"
I rose from the chair, feeling awkward, and walked to the front door. As soon as I opened it, a stocky bald man in a cheap, ill-fitting suit burst into the foyer, looking around the room and ignoring me completely. "Rhodes, where the hell are you? This case is too important for me to waste my time on your stupid little games." The man turned swiftly around to look at me. "Who are you?"
His exaggerated rudeness and incompetence was almost enough to make me laugh. "I'm Nadia Bridges," I said, holding out my hand and smiling cheerily. "I'm a friend of Mr. Rhodes."
The man looked me shamelessly up and down, unaware that I was barely keeping myself from slapping him, and shook my hand, smiling lasciviously. "Agent Edward Solomon, FBI. Sorry about my discourtesy. Rhodes said he'd be here, but..." He shrugged, the lewd grin still on his face. "I can just wait here until he gets back."
My nose scrunched up against my will, but fortunately I spun around to see Rhodes sauntering down the hall to meet us. "Ah, Solomon. I thought I heard the bell," he said in his pleasant Southern drawl. He turned to me and, to my substantial shock, slipped his hand into mine. "Thank you for getting the door, darling."
I don't think I have to say that I turned bright red, but there you have it. Solomon looked at Rhodes, then at me, then at Rhodes again. My friend smiled genially at the FBI agent, not missing a beat. "I see you've met Nadia. Isn't she a treasure?"
"I, er, of course," stuttered Solomon, taking an unconscious step back. "Rhodes, I wasn't aware that you were," - with a quick, embarrassed glance at me - "seeing anyone."
"Well, you know me. I'm so reserved sometimes, you never know what to expect," he prattled on as I stood incredulously with my hand firmly gripped in his. "But yes, I met Nadia at the coffee house down by the Wharf, the Boule des Nerfs. Perhaps you've been there? No? In any case, I saw her waiting tables and simply couldn't take my eyes off her. Isn't that right, dear?"
A slow smile spread across my face as I realized that Rhodes was protecting me from that lech Solomon. "Oh yes, that's exactly right, honey. And you know, Ethan's such a hopeless romantic, I just couldn't resist him." Four years in my high school's drama class weren't for nothing.
As Solomon continued to squirm in humiliation, I received another shock when Rhodes beamed at me and raised my hand to his lips. Drama class or no, my blush was impossible to hide. But of course, he remained oblivious to my discomfort.
Solomon finally cleared his throat and smiled. "Well, I guess I must congratulate you, Rhodes. You landed quite a catch. In fact, if you hadn't snatched her up, I'd be tempted to do it myself."
*Hooray, I can almost feel the gorge rising in my throat,* I thought in disgust. Rhodes must have sensed my revulsion, because he drew a protective arm around me.
"So, Solomon," he said formally, "what was so important that you had to tell me in person?"
Abruptly the agent straightened his spine, all business. "Your client, Martin Chan, was found dead this morning, dismembered and hidden in a Dumpster."
A/N: And so, finally, here comes the mystery. Who the heck is Martin Chan, who killed him, and why is he connected with Rhodes? And more importantly, isn't Agent Solomon gross? Just kidding, that's not really important. But seriously, I hope you like the story so far. Even before the actual case presented itself, I wanted to add a little mystery to Rhodes' character. Thus, the whole thing about his sister's death. You'll find out more soon, trust me. In the meantime, be content with what you know now. Oh and, before I go, isn't Rhodes' condo the coolest!? Wish I lived there. Anyway, please review and tell me what you think so far! Thank ye kindly!
-Wakizashi
tricksparrow@hotmail.com
