Oliver made another brief appearance downstairs to collect their food, coordinate a statement release with Barbara, and sent the whole building home with the rest of their afternoon paid courtesy of Queen Industries.
Chloe agreed to let her trojan horse work its magic on facial recognition when he mentioned their impromptu picnic included cream-based tiramisu. He didn't really need the result to confirm his gut feeling anyhow. The Cerberus who'd let him inside Evgeni's club twice now rested on a table in Star City Morgue was the same man who'd attacked them a month ago. The knowledge left them with a new batch of questions, which he decided to examine later. For now, he was content to seat on the floor in front of the sofa with Chloe, their Italian feast spread on the coffee table for an impromptu picnic.
In addition to their brushetas and tiramisu, Elena had apparently decided that they needed a bit of everything, from her famous raviolis stuffed with pistachios, leek and parmigiano, to a more classic veal in marsala jus with oyster mushrooms and tarragon, an endive salad and enough pasta to last them until New Year's Eve.
He watched Chloe twirl her tagliatelle around her fork, not really lifting the bite to her mouth.
"Sated?"
She pushed her half-full plate away from her with a relived sigh. Oliver refrained his need to comment. "Yes, thank you. It was really good."
"Well, when you say Italian Cuisine, people automatically think pizza and meatballs. This is just a step up."
"A huge step up, Ollie."
He polished his own plate so he could place it next to hers back and slanted one arm around her. He straightened his legs in front of him the best he could with the table in the way. "So am I forgiven for ruining our date?"
"It wasn't hardly your fault. I just wonder…" She trailed off, lost in thoughts and he regretted bringing the interruption up. Oliver racked his brain to find something to discuss that didn't involve green leather or Queen Industries, only to realize that he was content just sitting here holding her, relaxing and enjoying the quiet. The more he heard about Lois Lane, the less he believed Christmas at the Kents was going to be relaxing, or quiet.
"This is nice…"
He turned his head when Chloe echoed his thoughts, capturing the corner of her mouth as she kissed his cheek before she backed down to her previous position with her head on his shoulder. "Yes, it is. We should make it a weekly occurrence."
"You want the Bratva to send you dead body in the mail every Friday so you can have the police over for a chat?"
He laughed. "Hell no. But a good meal with even better company? Definitely."
"Charmer."
"I try." He pushed the table with one foot to stretch more comfortably. "Can I interest you in dessert?"
Chloe rolled her head from side to side, stifling a yawn. "I'm good for now. Maybe later. I want to know what my program came up with. The ski mask was hiding most of the face so…"
Oliver pouted. "You're a workaholic, you know that?"
"Hello Pot, I'm Kettle." She extended a mocking hand toward him. Oliver took it to press a kiss in the inner side of her wrist. Her fingers cupped his jaw as her smirk softened into a subdue smile. "What do you want to do then?"
Oliver considered as her thumb stroke his cheek. "I…" Spending the rest of the afternoon kissing her was making it to the top of the list, fast. Except it had to climb past his inability to let a mystery unresolved. Oliver closed his eyes in defeat. "… want to know if I'm right about our dead friend. Damned it."
Her brilliant smile accepted his surrender. At least he'd pleased her. "Can you access it with your laptop? Or do we have to go downstairs?"
"What do you think, Arrow?"
He kissed her petulant mouth rather than dig his hole further.
The recognition rate based on brows and eyes shape was less than sixty-four percent. The match from the police mug shot was perfect.
"Piotr Rublev, thirty-seven, three bullets shot point blank directly in the heart," Oliver read above her shoulder. "His rap sheet is not so bad, considering who he was involved with, a couple of aggressions, most dropped because they were logged by people he probably evicted from the club. The ones that stuck are old. I bet they predate his hiring at the Duma."
"Or people didn't dare pressing charges."
"Or that."
Chloe opened her mouth to speak and closed it abruptly, fingers poised over the keyboard. Her pause lasted a millisecond before she started typing again, faster this time. "Chlo?"
"His tattoos."
"Sorry?"
He watched, fascinated, while her fingers flew over the keys, bring up various photographs of Russian tattoos and Bratva symbols. Some he'd seen before, either as body art or painted on walls in the Oktober district. Chloe frowned in concentration, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth. Oliver started to smile when one last window opened on greyish walls and an Asian-American male in scrubs. The man was ticking notes on a pad, circling a stainless mortuary washing table.
Chloe pulled away from the screen, considerably paler, but she continued typing. Oliver placed one hand over hers on the mouse, moving the cursor to close the window. "Chloe, we're not watching the coroner perform the autopsy."
She swallowed hard when the coroner put his notepad down to move toward the body bag to finish opening it. "I just need the preliminary observations to compare—"
"Then we'll check the transcription later. Close it."
Oliver's too full stomach jerked. Without waiting, he clicked on the mouse and closed the feed.
"I… No, you're right. Sorry." The blonde by his side sucked in a shuddering breath. "How high do you think he was on the ladder?"
Oliver went to open the large window leading to the terrace. It was barely five in the afternoon, and it was as dark as an oven. "I don't know. Not very high, I would say. Is that what you are trying to get from the tattoos?"
"Yes."
Cold air gushed in, welcome even if the grizzly spectacle had been only in his head. Patrol promised to be miserable. "Does it matter? The warning's clear enough."
"I believe it does."
On that note, the sky cracked open. Fat drops of rain crashed on the tiles outside. The wind picked up to wet the legs of his trousers. Oliver locked the door before he turned toward the blonde.
Chloe had moved to the couch, her legs tucked under her, her elbow resting on the back and her head in her hand. Her green eyes shone in the soft lightning. She looked so lovely he had trouble focusing on what she was saying.
"Think about it Oliver. If he wanted to warn you, why sacrifice one of his own? He could have grabbed anyone from Queen Industries."
Or anyone, really. His little demonstration had shown Evgeni he cared. Oliver's mood darkened. "I know."
"So why… How did you call it, his Pastan?"
"Patsan. It means soldier." Or cannon fodder. "The guy failed to stop me, maybe Evgeni wanted to set an example for his crew at the same time. This is what happens if you fail."
Chloe shook her head. He joined her on the couch and sat with his elbows on his knees, graze strained on the fractal screensaver of her laptop.
"That would only make sense if the man was high in the hierarchy," Chloe said. "I may be mistaken, but people involved in the Bratva don't need a reminder about how ruthless their boss is. They know already."
She was telling him something. Or she was using him as a sound board while she pieced things together in her head. "An incentive, then… When you're given a chance, make it count."
She stayed silent for a moment, considering the possibility. The seed she'd planted in his own head tried to take roots, but to no avail. The big picture was out of grasp. If she was onto something, he didn't see it.
Lightning marbled the greys outside. Rain battered the windows steadily now. Chloe winced. "Are you going to patrol tonight?"
Oliver sighed. "Yeah. Not long, but at least a couple of hours. I plan to keep a low profile, but make enough noise so that people know the Green Arrow is around."
"Even when he's not…" Oliver grinned back. "Even when he's not. I can't ask Hal to patrol while we're in Smallville. His mother has eyes behind her head, she'll know as soon as he exits the house."
Chloe smirked. "Hum… I heard rumors about how his mother terrorizes you."
"I wouldn't say "she terrorizes" me. I simply have a healthy respect for a formidable woman, that's all."
"Whatever you say, Hero." She patted his knee, as if the twitching of her lips were not enough to betray her amusement. "I should go and finish grading those papers?"
He stood. "Can it wait?"
Chloe took the offered hand. "Yes, I suppose. Why?"
"Yoga."
"Ah, no thank you."
It was Oliver's turn to shake in laughter while he hauled her to her feet. "Come on, Sidekick. You were told to exercise more, and walking won't cut it."
"I don't see why not." She pouted.
"You'll thank me later."
Her sour expression only brightened when he started unbuttoning his shirt. Oliver grinned. All was fair in love and war…
