A/N: Chapter five! Whoo! To all those who reviewed, I thank you. You're an inspiration to our entire organization. What am I even talking about? I'm not sure. Don't judge me, I've had a lot of coffee. Anyway, I started on this chapter the same day I posted the last one, but Writer's Block seized me once again. Now it's past St. Paddy's Day, and seeing as how there was nothing else to do, I decided to park it in front of the computer and get to work on the chapter that frustrated me so. I hope it's easier to read than it was to write. Enjoy!
On a completely unrelated topic, I congratulate my fellow writer and friend March Hare on her absurdly high number of reviews she's gotten for her story, "The Baker Street Three". She truly has a gift, and despite the completely underserved bashing by a certain imbecile who is too cowardly to reveal his email address, she's exceeded far beyond my expectations and can be rightfully called one of the best authors I've met. You done good!
Disclaimer: Even though, technically, I am the sole owner and proprietor of Rhodes and Bridges(Hahahah, you're mine, suckahs!), it would be unfair to take all the credit, since clearly the idea came from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Bow to the master, y'all.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A Perfect World
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche
by Wakizashi
Chapter Five: Worrying About the Rain
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Before I had even finished donning my apron, Ethan Rhodes was already seated at his usual table by the window at the coffee house, periodically glancing from his newspaper to the rainy street. From the vaguely distracted and irritated look on his pale face, he must not have been counting on the sudden shower. I swear, San Francisco gets more annual rainfall than the Amazon.
Since it had obviously become my responsibily to wait on "Mr. Impossible" after the way I had handled him on my first day, I pulled my honey-brown hair back, twisted it into a loose knot with a chopstick, and threaded my way through the tables to meet him. He failed to notice me, since he had turned his head once again to stare at the cascades of water drizzling down the glass pane, so I gave him a little tap on the shoulder.
"What's up, Buttercup?" I asked as he turned around to face me. A raised eyebrow was at first the only response I got in return, but he smiled reluctantly and folded his newspaper on his knee.
"Hello, Bridges," he said, stifling a yawn. "How are you this miserable morning?"
I chuckled in commiseration. "I might ask the same of you. You aren't your serenely indifferent self today. Might I hazard a guess?"
With an amused expression, Rhodes leaned back in his chair and folded his fashionably clad arms, looking up at me expectantly.
"I would say," I began as I pulled the notepad out of my apron pocket to take his order, "that judging from your exceptionally dashing ensemble today, you have an appointment with someone this morning. And since the other day you said something about talking with Martin Chan's widow, I'd say that's probably where you're going." Both eyebrows shot up this time, but I continued. "You seem pretty upset about the rain, so you've most likely arranged to meet her somewhere outside, instead of your condo or her place. But it's just a guess, as I said." I smiled. "Can I take your order, sir?"
Rhodes grinned and shook his head. "I suspect you've been hanging around with me too much," he noted. "Yes, you're right on all accounts. Well," he corrected himself, a long index finger tapping his chin, "except about my morning appointment. It's actually scheduled for this afternoon. That is, unless this blasted rain doesn't let up. Very impressive, Bridges," he added absently.
"Oh, I'm sure it'll stop before your appointment," I assured him. "And if it doesn't, you can always reschedule." He nodded, the perturbed expression still on his face, and I patted his shaggy black hair. "Hey, worrying about the rain isn't going to make it go away, okay?"
The corner of his mouth twitched in a passing smile. "No use beating a dead horse?" he offered. My heart stuttered briefly, and Rhodes instantly realized his mistake. He exploded from his chair and grabbed my free hand, enveloping it in both of his. "Oh, dear God, Bridges, I am so sorry," he said softly, running his fingertips over my knuckles. It took an effort to feel them. "I didn't mean to say that, it just came out. I can't believe how insensitive I am. Can you ever forgive me?"
As much as his remark had caught me off guard, I was even more shocked that he could call himself insensitive. I looked up at him and saw deep remorse in his green eyes. "It's okay, Rhodes," I told him. "We all say things we don't want to before we can stop ourselves. It's really all right."
He swallowed weakly. "You're sure?"
"Yes," I replied, and supported it with a genuine smile. He smiled back, but his smile had none of the unfailing cheeriness it usually had. I freed my hand from his grasp and placed it on his arm. "Grande blackberry mocha?" I suggested.
With a barely perceptible nod, he averted his eyes and reclaimed his seat by the window. I jotted his order down on my notepad and began to make my way to the back counter. Before I was out of audible range, however, I heard a low, refined voice murmur a quiet "Thank you."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dividing up the tip jar, Jenni with an 'I' kept glancing surreptitiously at me as I opened the cash register and gave a customer his change. Or, I guess, what she thought was surreptiously. "Have a nice day, sir," I said politely, smiling as he jammed his hat on his head and left the coffee shop, hesitant to brave the rain and wind. "Pretty nasty weather we've been having, huh?" I asked Jenni.
"Yeah," she said absently. "So what's with you and Mr. Impossible?"
I blinked, surprised by the abrupt change in conversation. "You mean Rhodes?"
"Rhodes, Ethan, Mr. Impossible, Annoying Southern Guy, whatever you want to call him. You two have been all buddy-buddy since your first day working here. And what was all that over at his table?" She unfolded a particularly disreputable dollar bill and set it aside. "I don't get it. First you despise him, now he's the greatest guy in the world?"
I laughed, realizing how strange my sudden friendship with Rhodes might have seemed. "It wasn't exactly like that," I said, although if you want to get all technical, it really was. "Yeah, at first I didn't like him." The words 'for the love of God, leave me alone' echoed through my head, and I cringed regretfully. "But once I got to know him, I saw how sweet and smart and funny and compassionate he is. You can't really judge people from first impressions, Jenni."
"Oh, yeah?" She finished counting all the coins and smiled wryly. "To tell the truth, my *real* first impression of him was '*Man*, that guy has a nice caboose!'"
I looked at her in disbelief, and then we both burst out laughing.
"Hey, Nadia," called a voice, interrupting our idiotic conversation. I twisted around at the cash register and saw one of the other waitresses holding a steaming hot cup of coffee. I couldn't remember her name, but I'm fairly sure that it wasn't what I thought I read on her nametag, which was either Shawanna or Shuwanna. "I made a blackberry mocha with no whipped cream or chocolate shavings like you said, but I'm leaving you to do the cinnamon-dusting." She held the cup out for me.
Squeezing past Jenni, I reached out and took it from her hand, wincing from the heat. "Thanks," I said, slipping a cardboard jacket around it. *Oh, it's just Shanna,* I thought, reading her nametag. *I need to get my eyes checked.* Grabbing the cinnamon shaker off the spice rack, I sprinkled a small amount over the surface of the coffee.
As I fitted a lid over it and left the counter, I heard Jenni cluck her tongue. "You let someone else make Rhodes's coffee? Ooh, His Majesty's gonna be cheesed."
I snickered and quickly shushed her, dodging chairs and customers as I carried my delivery to the raven-haired patron by the window. Setting the cup on the table next to his newspaper, I in turn recieved a warm smile. It seemed he had gotten past his earlier transgression. He picked it up and took a sip. "Hmm." I smothered a grin as his eyebrows drew together. "Did you use skim milk? It tastes different today."
I looked over my shoulder at Jenni, whose satisfied smirk told me she had observed Rhodes's appraisal of the coffee. I cleared my throat and nodded. "Uhh, yeah, that's it. You're a sharp one, you are."
"Not your best work, but satisfactory," he assessed, and I resisted the urge to swat the back of his head as he took another sip. "What time do you get off work?"
"Four," I replied, watching as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop with twitchy energy. He seriously needed to take some yoga classes or something. "Why do you ask?"
Rhodes stood up, rolling up the paper and tucking it inside the spacious folds of his suit. I couldn't help but theorize as to just how much he could fit inside that thing. "I was just wondering if I could persuade you to join me for my appointment with Mae-Lin Chan at four-thirty. It doesn't take long to get to Ghirardelli Square, and I really think you'd be invaluable as a..." He wavered, seaching for the right word. "A female sounding board," he decided upon. I smiled, and apparently he assumed that was my answer. "Then I'll be here to meet you at four?" he asked, hopefulness creeping into his voice.
That boy was really pushing it. As if my studies weren't suffering already - especially two nights ago when I had inexplicably poured my heart out to Rhodes - but now he wanted to drag me along with him on one of his lunatic investigations. Technically, this entire case didn't involve me... however interested I was. Yes, I admit it. Are you happy? But still, I had to face facts, for God's sake: I wasn't his partner, and I wasn't sure I ever wanted to be.
But he was awaiting an answer, and as much as I tried to convince myself that the sidelines was the safest place to be, I just couldn't say no. "Why not?" I finally replied with a sigh of self-denigration.
Our good detective, on the other hand, couldn't be more delighted. "Perfect!" he exclaimed, picking up his coffee with a long, nervous hand. "I'll leave a message with Mrs. Chan explaining that you will be accompanying me." As I reached up to straighten his scarf, which was hung up on the lapels of his overcoat, he glanced out at the rain with a milder irritation than before. "Hopefully it'll let up before our appointment. If not, I suppose I'll just have to stop at home to get my umbrella."
"Hey." He turned from the window to look at me. "Worrying about the rain-"
"-Isn't going to make it go away," he finished, nodding sheepishly. "This you've been decent enough to inform me. Well then, till this afternoon, Bridges." With a last, genuinely contented smile, he strode past me through the coffee house and out the door.
Jenni, who had just finished taking the order of an elderly man who reeked of cigarette smoke, came to a stop and watched Rhodes as he continued down the sidewalk, now blithely imperturbable despite the torrents which quickly soaked both hair and suit. My co-worker put a thoughtful finger to her chin. "You wouldn't happen to know if he has a brother, do you?" she said, grinning.
I shook my head. *Just one dead sister,* I thought, frowning as my eyes followed my tall friend down the street.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You know, Bridges, before I met you, I had no one to accompany me on my appointments," Rhodes commented casually as we made our thoroughly drenched way down the wet sidewalk to Ghirardelli Square. "I've often reflected that most of the women I've interviewed would probably have been more comfortable if I had brought another woman along with me. I never realized how useful a female associate could be," he mused, staring before him thoughtfully.
I quickened my pace to keep up with him, lest I fall behind and lose the protection of his silk umbrella. "I'm flattered, Rhodes," I said dryly; in fact, my tone was the only dry thing about me. "Although I'm not sure 'associate' is the right word. Maybe 'lunatic'?"
Rhodes grinned indulgently as my sarcasm rolled right off his back. He was really enjoying this. "Now now, it can't be all that bad," he countered in his airy southern drawl. "Tell me truthfully: how exciting was your life before you were unfortunate enough to take my order at the coffee house?" He smirked, arching a questioning eyebrow.
On this point I had to agree with him. "Not very," I admitted, wincing as I stepped into an especially deep puddle. "The extent of my adventures was mostly limited to getting suckered into paying for drinks at the bowling alley back in Olympia." Rhodes laughed, and I waved a fist under his nose. "Hey, I could beat your ass," I warned him.
"I don't doubt it," he replied, stifling another smirk. We walked in silence for a while, taking our time: we were getting close to the Square, and we still had fifteen minutes before his appointment with Mrs. Chan. Suddenly my companion spoke up again. "Do you have a lot of friends up in Olympia?"
I blinked, a little surprised that he had picked up our previous topic of conversation. Usually he was content to talk about any number of things in a relatively short time. For being a freelance detective, sometimes he had quite a short attention span.
"Yeah, I have a few," I said, drawing a hand from my coat pocket to reach into my purse. Pulling out my wallet, I snapped it open to reveal my girl-on-the-go photo album. "That's Alma Dominguez," I informed him, pointing to the first picture as he leaned in for a closer look. "We've known each other since third grade. And that," I chuckled, referring to a gangly specimen with an eternal cowlick, "is Will Capshaw. Probably the funniest person I know. He just got married to..." I flipped through the plastic-sheathed photographs. "This girl. Marie Tate. You couldn't find a better suited pair, no matter how long you looked."
Looking intently at the pictures, Rhodes gave an almost inaudible sigh. Feeling a sudden twinge of guilt, I realized that I was probably one of the only friends he had. I didn't understand that.
Attempting to seem nonchalant, I quickly thumbed through to the last photograph. "And this, of course, is my dad," I said, handing my wallet to Rhodes. He scrutinized the picture of the wheelchair-bound man of whom I was so achingly proud. "He can't walk, but he does the best David Letterman impression you'll ever hear," I commented, unable to keep my smile from becoming a sad one.
Rhodes didn't appear to notice, but as he looked at the picture, his own expression became one of profound sorrow. I could understand if he was experiencing empathy toward my father's ill fate, but this was a sadness that seemed to come from a deep inner pain. He caught my worried gaze, and suddenly the haunted look on his pale face vanished. Quickly handing my wallet back to me, he said, "He seems like a great man."
Baffled by his abrupt change in demeanor, I slowly tucked the wallet back into the depths of my purse. "He is," I agreed, feeling awkward. Despite my confusion, the subject of my father reminded me of something he had mentioned during our last conversation. "Hey, Rhodes," I began, still a little hesitant, "would you mind if I used your cell phone to check my messages? I forgot that Dad had said he was going to call me today."
"Of course," he said amiably, as if the entire incident had never occurred. Reaching into the inner pocket of his coat, he pulled out his small silver phone and handed it to me. I flipped it open and dialed my own number, waiting for my answering machine to pick up. On the fourth ring I heard my own voice, which I can't stand hearing.
"Hi, this is Nadia. If I don't pick up, just leave a message after the beep and assume I've finally been buried by my homework. Thanks!" Before the beep could sound, I quickly punched in my personal code. The automated recording informed me I had two messages. The first was indeed from my father, who said that his physical therapist kept recommending old monster movies to him. Yeah, don't ask me.
The second message made me frown. It was my massage instructor, telling me that our class that night was canceled. His voice sounded agitated, and as I listened with perplexity, Rhodes noticed and quirked an eyebrow. After the message ended, I pressed the 'end' button and gave the phone back to him. "Is anything wrong?" he asked, putting it back in his coat.
I shook my head. "Not really, just weird. My massage teacher, Thomas, just canceled tonight's class. He sounded kind of nervous." I shrugged. "Probably family stuff or something. Well, I'm free tonight, if you want to do anything."
"Thomas?" Rhodes echoed. "Thomas who?"
"Actually, you're right," I replied, laughing. "His name's Thomas Hu. H-U." Abruptly he stopped in his tracks, causing me to get my hair caught in his umbrella. "Ow, jeez!" I complained, carefully extracting it as I glared at him. "What was that for?"
Rhodes' face was white - well, whiter than usual - as he stared at me, his green eyes as big as dinner plates. "T-thomas Hu is your massage instructor?" he spluttered in disbelief.
"Yeeaaahh," I said slowly, wondering why this fact was so significant.
My friend's arms flew up, allowing the rain to cascade down on us briefly. "When were you going to tell me?" he demanded exasperatedly.
"I don't know!" I exclaimed, getting defensive for some reason. What difference did it make whether or not he knew my teacher's name? "I guess it never came up, and besides, what's the big deal? Just because he's Asian, it doesn't--"
"Nadia," Rhodes interrupted, startling me into silence by the unexpected use of my given name. My mouth slowly closed, and I merely looked at him expectantly. "Who do you think I was waiting for the other night in the alley?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Hmmm, an unexpected twist, no? Eh, probably not. I'm not that good at throwing exciting plot twists at people. But oh well, I finally got some mystery into this blasted story! That is, besides the whole controversy surrounding the death of Rhodes' sister; or the rest of his family, for that matter. Now why do you think he would get so sad and introspective while looking at a picture of Bridges' father? You can guess, but I'm not going to tell you if you're right. *evil laugh* But anyway, be nice and leave a review. I hope you like it so far!
Wakizashi
tricksparrow@hotmail.com
On a completely unrelated topic, I congratulate my fellow writer and friend March Hare on her absurdly high number of reviews she's gotten for her story, "The Baker Street Three". She truly has a gift, and despite the completely underserved bashing by a certain imbecile who is too cowardly to reveal his email address, she's exceeded far beyond my expectations and can be rightfully called one of the best authors I've met. You done good!
Disclaimer: Even though, technically, I am the sole owner and proprietor of Rhodes and Bridges(Hahahah, you're mine, suckahs!), it would be unfair to take all the credit, since clearly the idea came from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Bow to the master, y'all.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A Perfect World
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche
by Wakizashi
Chapter Five: Worrying About the Rain
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Before I had even finished donning my apron, Ethan Rhodes was already seated at his usual table by the window at the coffee house, periodically glancing from his newspaper to the rainy street. From the vaguely distracted and irritated look on his pale face, he must not have been counting on the sudden shower. I swear, San Francisco gets more annual rainfall than the Amazon.
Since it had obviously become my responsibily to wait on "Mr. Impossible" after the way I had handled him on my first day, I pulled my honey-brown hair back, twisted it into a loose knot with a chopstick, and threaded my way through the tables to meet him. He failed to notice me, since he had turned his head once again to stare at the cascades of water drizzling down the glass pane, so I gave him a little tap on the shoulder.
"What's up, Buttercup?" I asked as he turned around to face me. A raised eyebrow was at first the only response I got in return, but he smiled reluctantly and folded his newspaper on his knee.
"Hello, Bridges," he said, stifling a yawn. "How are you this miserable morning?"
I chuckled in commiseration. "I might ask the same of you. You aren't your serenely indifferent self today. Might I hazard a guess?"
With an amused expression, Rhodes leaned back in his chair and folded his fashionably clad arms, looking up at me expectantly.
"I would say," I began as I pulled the notepad out of my apron pocket to take his order, "that judging from your exceptionally dashing ensemble today, you have an appointment with someone this morning. And since the other day you said something about talking with Martin Chan's widow, I'd say that's probably where you're going." Both eyebrows shot up this time, but I continued. "You seem pretty upset about the rain, so you've most likely arranged to meet her somewhere outside, instead of your condo or her place. But it's just a guess, as I said." I smiled. "Can I take your order, sir?"
Rhodes grinned and shook his head. "I suspect you've been hanging around with me too much," he noted. "Yes, you're right on all accounts. Well," he corrected himself, a long index finger tapping his chin, "except about my morning appointment. It's actually scheduled for this afternoon. That is, unless this blasted rain doesn't let up. Very impressive, Bridges," he added absently.
"Oh, I'm sure it'll stop before your appointment," I assured him. "And if it doesn't, you can always reschedule." He nodded, the perturbed expression still on his face, and I patted his shaggy black hair. "Hey, worrying about the rain isn't going to make it go away, okay?"
The corner of his mouth twitched in a passing smile. "No use beating a dead horse?" he offered. My heart stuttered briefly, and Rhodes instantly realized his mistake. He exploded from his chair and grabbed my free hand, enveloping it in both of his. "Oh, dear God, Bridges, I am so sorry," he said softly, running his fingertips over my knuckles. It took an effort to feel them. "I didn't mean to say that, it just came out. I can't believe how insensitive I am. Can you ever forgive me?"
As much as his remark had caught me off guard, I was even more shocked that he could call himself insensitive. I looked up at him and saw deep remorse in his green eyes. "It's okay, Rhodes," I told him. "We all say things we don't want to before we can stop ourselves. It's really all right."
He swallowed weakly. "You're sure?"
"Yes," I replied, and supported it with a genuine smile. He smiled back, but his smile had none of the unfailing cheeriness it usually had. I freed my hand from his grasp and placed it on his arm. "Grande blackberry mocha?" I suggested.
With a barely perceptible nod, he averted his eyes and reclaimed his seat by the window. I jotted his order down on my notepad and began to make my way to the back counter. Before I was out of audible range, however, I heard a low, refined voice murmur a quiet "Thank you."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dividing up the tip jar, Jenni with an 'I' kept glancing surreptitiously at me as I opened the cash register and gave a customer his change. Or, I guess, what she thought was surreptiously. "Have a nice day, sir," I said politely, smiling as he jammed his hat on his head and left the coffee shop, hesitant to brave the rain and wind. "Pretty nasty weather we've been having, huh?" I asked Jenni.
"Yeah," she said absently. "So what's with you and Mr. Impossible?"
I blinked, surprised by the abrupt change in conversation. "You mean Rhodes?"
"Rhodes, Ethan, Mr. Impossible, Annoying Southern Guy, whatever you want to call him. You two have been all buddy-buddy since your first day working here. And what was all that over at his table?" She unfolded a particularly disreputable dollar bill and set it aside. "I don't get it. First you despise him, now he's the greatest guy in the world?"
I laughed, realizing how strange my sudden friendship with Rhodes might have seemed. "It wasn't exactly like that," I said, although if you want to get all technical, it really was. "Yeah, at first I didn't like him." The words 'for the love of God, leave me alone' echoed through my head, and I cringed regretfully. "But once I got to know him, I saw how sweet and smart and funny and compassionate he is. You can't really judge people from first impressions, Jenni."
"Oh, yeah?" She finished counting all the coins and smiled wryly. "To tell the truth, my *real* first impression of him was '*Man*, that guy has a nice caboose!'"
I looked at her in disbelief, and then we both burst out laughing.
"Hey, Nadia," called a voice, interrupting our idiotic conversation. I twisted around at the cash register and saw one of the other waitresses holding a steaming hot cup of coffee. I couldn't remember her name, but I'm fairly sure that it wasn't what I thought I read on her nametag, which was either Shawanna or Shuwanna. "I made a blackberry mocha with no whipped cream or chocolate shavings like you said, but I'm leaving you to do the cinnamon-dusting." She held the cup out for me.
Squeezing past Jenni, I reached out and took it from her hand, wincing from the heat. "Thanks," I said, slipping a cardboard jacket around it. *Oh, it's just Shanna,* I thought, reading her nametag. *I need to get my eyes checked.* Grabbing the cinnamon shaker off the spice rack, I sprinkled a small amount over the surface of the coffee.
As I fitted a lid over it and left the counter, I heard Jenni cluck her tongue. "You let someone else make Rhodes's coffee? Ooh, His Majesty's gonna be cheesed."
I snickered and quickly shushed her, dodging chairs and customers as I carried my delivery to the raven-haired patron by the window. Setting the cup on the table next to his newspaper, I in turn recieved a warm smile. It seemed he had gotten past his earlier transgression. He picked it up and took a sip. "Hmm." I smothered a grin as his eyebrows drew together. "Did you use skim milk? It tastes different today."
I looked over my shoulder at Jenni, whose satisfied smirk told me she had observed Rhodes's appraisal of the coffee. I cleared my throat and nodded. "Uhh, yeah, that's it. You're a sharp one, you are."
"Not your best work, but satisfactory," he assessed, and I resisted the urge to swat the back of his head as he took another sip. "What time do you get off work?"
"Four," I replied, watching as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop with twitchy energy. He seriously needed to take some yoga classes or something. "Why do you ask?"
Rhodes stood up, rolling up the paper and tucking it inside the spacious folds of his suit. I couldn't help but theorize as to just how much he could fit inside that thing. "I was just wondering if I could persuade you to join me for my appointment with Mae-Lin Chan at four-thirty. It doesn't take long to get to Ghirardelli Square, and I really think you'd be invaluable as a..." He wavered, seaching for the right word. "A female sounding board," he decided upon. I smiled, and apparently he assumed that was my answer. "Then I'll be here to meet you at four?" he asked, hopefulness creeping into his voice.
That boy was really pushing it. As if my studies weren't suffering already - especially two nights ago when I had inexplicably poured my heart out to Rhodes - but now he wanted to drag me along with him on one of his lunatic investigations. Technically, this entire case didn't involve me... however interested I was. Yes, I admit it. Are you happy? But still, I had to face facts, for God's sake: I wasn't his partner, and I wasn't sure I ever wanted to be.
But he was awaiting an answer, and as much as I tried to convince myself that the sidelines was the safest place to be, I just couldn't say no. "Why not?" I finally replied with a sigh of self-denigration.
Our good detective, on the other hand, couldn't be more delighted. "Perfect!" he exclaimed, picking up his coffee with a long, nervous hand. "I'll leave a message with Mrs. Chan explaining that you will be accompanying me." As I reached up to straighten his scarf, which was hung up on the lapels of his overcoat, he glanced out at the rain with a milder irritation than before. "Hopefully it'll let up before our appointment. If not, I suppose I'll just have to stop at home to get my umbrella."
"Hey." He turned from the window to look at me. "Worrying about the rain-"
"-Isn't going to make it go away," he finished, nodding sheepishly. "This you've been decent enough to inform me. Well then, till this afternoon, Bridges." With a last, genuinely contented smile, he strode past me through the coffee house and out the door.
Jenni, who had just finished taking the order of an elderly man who reeked of cigarette smoke, came to a stop and watched Rhodes as he continued down the sidewalk, now blithely imperturbable despite the torrents which quickly soaked both hair and suit. My co-worker put a thoughtful finger to her chin. "You wouldn't happen to know if he has a brother, do you?" she said, grinning.
I shook my head. *Just one dead sister,* I thought, frowning as my eyes followed my tall friend down the street.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You know, Bridges, before I met you, I had no one to accompany me on my appointments," Rhodes commented casually as we made our thoroughly drenched way down the wet sidewalk to Ghirardelli Square. "I've often reflected that most of the women I've interviewed would probably have been more comfortable if I had brought another woman along with me. I never realized how useful a female associate could be," he mused, staring before him thoughtfully.
I quickened my pace to keep up with him, lest I fall behind and lose the protection of his silk umbrella. "I'm flattered, Rhodes," I said dryly; in fact, my tone was the only dry thing about me. "Although I'm not sure 'associate' is the right word. Maybe 'lunatic'?"
Rhodes grinned indulgently as my sarcasm rolled right off his back. He was really enjoying this. "Now now, it can't be all that bad," he countered in his airy southern drawl. "Tell me truthfully: how exciting was your life before you were unfortunate enough to take my order at the coffee house?" He smirked, arching a questioning eyebrow.
On this point I had to agree with him. "Not very," I admitted, wincing as I stepped into an especially deep puddle. "The extent of my adventures was mostly limited to getting suckered into paying for drinks at the bowling alley back in Olympia." Rhodes laughed, and I waved a fist under his nose. "Hey, I could beat your ass," I warned him.
"I don't doubt it," he replied, stifling another smirk. We walked in silence for a while, taking our time: we were getting close to the Square, and we still had fifteen minutes before his appointment with Mrs. Chan. Suddenly my companion spoke up again. "Do you have a lot of friends up in Olympia?"
I blinked, a little surprised that he had picked up our previous topic of conversation. Usually he was content to talk about any number of things in a relatively short time. For being a freelance detective, sometimes he had quite a short attention span.
"Yeah, I have a few," I said, drawing a hand from my coat pocket to reach into my purse. Pulling out my wallet, I snapped it open to reveal my girl-on-the-go photo album. "That's Alma Dominguez," I informed him, pointing to the first picture as he leaned in for a closer look. "We've known each other since third grade. And that," I chuckled, referring to a gangly specimen with an eternal cowlick, "is Will Capshaw. Probably the funniest person I know. He just got married to..." I flipped through the plastic-sheathed photographs. "This girl. Marie Tate. You couldn't find a better suited pair, no matter how long you looked."
Looking intently at the pictures, Rhodes gave an almost inaudible sigh. Feeling a sudden twinge of guilt, I realized that I was probably one of the only friends he had. I didn't understand that.
Attempting to seem nonchalant, I quickly thumbed through to the last photograph. "And this, of course, is my dad," I said, handing my wallet to Rhodes. He scrutinized the picture of the wheelchair-bound man of whom I was so achingly proud. "He can't walk, but he does the best David Letterman impression you'll ever hear," I commented, unable to keep my smile from becoming a sad one.
Rhodes didn't appear to notice, but as he looked at the picture, his own expression became one of profound sorrow. I could understand if he was experiencing empathy toward my father's ill fate, but this was a sadness that seemed to come from a deep inner pain. He caught my worried gaze, and suddenly the haunted look on his pale face vanished. Quickly handing my wallet back to me, he said, "He seems like a great man."
Baffled by his abrupt change in demeanor, I slowly tucked the wallet back into the depths of my purse. "He is," I agreed, feeling awkward. Despite my confusion, the subject of my father reminded me of something he had mentioned during our last conversation. "Hey, Rhodes," I began, still a little hesitant, "would you mind if I used your cell phone to check my messages? I forgot that Dad had said he was going to call me today."
"Of course," he said amiably, as if the entire incident had never occurred. Reaching into the inner pocket of his coat, he pulled out his small silver phone and handed it to me. I flipped it open and dialed my own number, waiting for my answering machine to pick up. On the fourth ring I heard my own voice, which I can't stand hearing.
"Hi, this is Nadia. If I don't pick up, just leave a message after the beep and assume I've finally been buried by my homework. Thanks!" Before the beep could sound, I quickly punched in my personal code. The automated recording informed me I had two messages. The first was indeed from my father, who said that his physical therapist kept recommending old monster movies to him. Yeah, don't ask me.
The second message made me frown. It was my massage instructor, telling me that our class that night was canceled. His voice sounded agitated, and as I listened with perplexity, Rhodes noticed and quirked an eyebrow. After the message ended, I pressed the 'end' button and gave the phone back to him. "Is anything wrong?" he asked, putting it back in his coat.
I shook my head. "Not really, just weird. My massage teacher, Thomas, just canceled tonight's class. He sounded kind of nervous." I shrugged. "Probably family stuff or something. Well, I'm free tonight, if you want to do anything."
"Thomas?" Rhodes echoed. "Thomas who?"
"Actually, you're right," I replied, laughing. "His name's Thomas Hu. H-U." Abruptly he stopped in his tracks, causing me to get my hair caught in his umbrella. "Ow, jeez!" I complained, carefully extracting it as I glared at him. "What was that for?"
Rhodes' face was white - well, whiter than usual - as he stared at me, his green eyes as big as dinner plates. "T-thomas Hu is your massage instructor?" he spluttered in disbelief.
"Yeeaaahh," I said slowly, wondering why this fact was so significant.
My friend's arms flew up, allowing the rain to cascade down on us briefly. "When were you going to tell me?" he demanded exasperatedly.
"I don't know!" I exclaimed, getting defensive for some reason. What difference did it make whether or not he knew my teacher's name? "I guess it never came up, and besides, what's the big deal? Just because he's Asian, it doesn't--"
"Nadia," Rhodes interrupted, startling me into silence by the unexpected use of my given name. My mouth slowly closed, and I merely looked at him expectantly. "Who do you think I was waiting for the other night in the alley?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Hmmm, an unexpected twist, no? Eh, probably not. I'm not that good at throwing exciting plot twists at people. But oh well, I finally got some mystery into this blasted story! That is, besides the whole controversy surrounding the death of Rhodes' sister; or the rest of his family, for that matter. Now why do you think he would get so sad and introspective while looking at a picture of Bridges' father? You can guess, but I'm not going to tell you if you're right. *evil laugh* But anyway, be nice and leave a review. I hope you like it so far!
Wakizashi
tricksparrow@hotmail.com
