Chapter Twelve: A Favor
Clemson and Dr. Blowhole sat in a dark room, located deep within Blowhole's underground base. It was late at night. Though the two of them had just eaten dinner, they were still seated at the table in what Blowhole had made to be Clemson's temporary quarters. At least, until all the smoke cleared and he could salvage a new identity. Clemson was reading over the newspaper while the police chief sat tensely, staring down at the camera feed. His non-mechanical eye squinted at what he saw. Eventually, Clemson set down the paper and sighed.
"What's the matter? You've been acting uptight all day - and by that I mean, it seems like something's wrong. With you, that is." Clemson questioned him with an intense frown.
Blowhole didn't look up from the security camera they'd planted in Park Zoo, his brow furrowing as he replayed the feed of Julien kissing Skipper over and over for what seemed like no apparent reason. "...I have a feeling that Julien might've outed us to Skipper."
"Skipper - that's the guy who's leading my investigation, right?" Clemson yawned, straightening the paper again so that he could continue reading. "Don't worry too much about it. Julien's thick, but he's not dumb enough to come clean. He knows if he tells anybody the truth, it's a death wish. Shame, really, since he's going to get killed anyway, but you know! Circle of life, gifthorse, all that." He wove a hand flippantly.
"Yes, that's right. I cleared that with Savio this morning. It's amazing that people are willing to kill for their freedom." Blowhole mused, his eyes darting slightly to the corner as he said this. "Start wars, even…"
"Well, it's not like he was a saint to begin with. I mean, really! That guy and I go way back, you know, Hoboken home and whatnot. Great guy, really fun at parties, knows how to cook a mean steak. I'm not surprised he'd snap Julien's neck to get out of prison, though." Clemson's gaze turned slightly wistful, distant from the newspaper's words. "It's kind of a shame, actually. Not Savio, of course - Julien. Killing him, that is. He was such fun while he lasted. A real scream, if you know what I mean."
Clemson finished the sentiment with a sinister chortle and Blowhole politely nodded, though he was slightly disgusted. Thoughts of anything sexual regarding his cohort were unpleasant. He decided it better not to mention the fact that Julien essentially promised Skipper something similar, and with a crowd present (something even more so horrendous for Blowhole to imagine). He knew Park Zoo's employees were filthy, but he could honestly say he expected a bit better of his past colleague and underling.
Regardless, he smiled. "Death does tend to come when one least expects it."
"So, so true." Clemson didn't think anything of the words, once again focused on reading.
More to himself than to his conversational partner, Blowhole spoke again. "I think I'll ask my sister about it anyway… Can't be too sure. Besides, I may as well. I troubled her enough to ask her to get a job at Park Zoo, so why not make some use of her position?"
"That'd make sense." Clemson hummed, before yawning dramatically. "Well! I'm gonna hit the sack. And by sack I mean this wonderful spread of bed-sheets you guys prepared. Really, you are so hospitable. I don't know how I can possibly repay you."
"You don't have to." Blowhole assured him, his tone slightly ominous as the beginnings of a sinister grin pulled at his lips. "Consider it… A favor."
Back at Park Zoo, Skipper, his team, and Maurice had been seated at one of the tables closest to the stage. A song had just ended, the curtain drawing closed. As it did, Skipper could hear the soft chatter amongst the crowd as they waited for Julien's dance. He overheard someone mentioning that because it was his last dance of the night, it was sure to be the best one yet. Skipper felt a tremble run down his spine.
"Oh, Maurice! I didn't… Expect to see you out here!" A cheerful, genuine voice exclaimed above the crowd.
They turned to see a slightly out-of-breath Marlene, who'd just finished her own dance routine, approaching their table. She smiled politely at them, but her focus was primarily on Maurice, who waved back. Rico purred and slicked back his hair, but the bubbly woman didn't take notice.
Maurice looked down at the silverware, fiddling with his napkin. "Yeah, I don't… I don't usually watch Julien dance."
Skipper hadn't thought of that previously. He was sure it was weird for Maurice to witness Julien, the man that was basically a son to him, seductively dancing in front of a large crowd of folks who all wanted a piece of him. He cringed, feeling rather guilty for being one of them.
Marlene nodded in mild sympathy, having come to a similar conclusion. "Well… If it helps, I gotta smoke you can have." She pulled a well-hidden cigar out of her bra, handing it to the man.
"Whutta dame," Rico whispered to Skipper.
Maurice took it gratefully. "Thanks doll. You get some rest tonight, you hear?" His tone became slightly hushed. "We won't be here tomorrow."
Marlene glanced from Maurice to the private investigators sitting around the table, and seemed to grasp at what he was getting at. With a soft smile, she patted Rico on the shoulder, before trailing off into the crowd. Skipper wondered what her life was like, outside of all this. He hoped it was better than Julien and Maurice's. That she danced because she liked to, not because she had some overwhelming debt to pay, or had gotten pulled into crime with no way out.
Suddenly, the jazzy opening to one of the more popular songs soothed it's way from the speakers. As it did so, the curtains drew open, ever so slowly, revealing Julien laying in the center of the stage. He was clad in a loose, black mesh cloth that wrapped around his body, tight around his neck and hips but hanging low over his torso and back. There was a large feathery tail behind him, just as dark as his other clothing, but with sparkles imbedded within. Once again he was wearing an intricate headdress, dark and black, extending outwards in a wider manner than his others. The only thing covering his groin was a leather speedo, the same material as the bands around his wrists and feet. Skipper blanched, before he felt the color return to his face with a vengeance.
Julien sat up in a very delicate, gradual manner, until he reached his feet. As soon as he did, the music picked up, and lights blasted brightly. Julien turned towards the audience and sashayed his hips, doing a cat-walk forward in sync with the sound of the music. He ran his hands above his head and then over the sides of his chest, down over his abdomen and stopping at his hips, before he thrust them to the side and spun around completely. This move arose loud calls from the audience, while Maurice groaned to himself and called Doris over. Kowalski saw her coming and seemed as though he was going to fall from his chair.
"Can I get some scotch?" Maurice mumbled, rubbing his head.
"Of course!" She smiled at him brightly, as if oblivious to his lament and embarrassment. Doris turned to the other men. "Can I get anything for the rest of you?"
"I'll go for some scotch, too." Skipper coughed into his fist, trying to keep his eyes steadily on Doris and not on Julien's tantalizing hip movements.
Rico grinned slyly. "G't abs'nthe?"
Doris seemed to think this last request was funny, laughing to herself as she nodded. Kowalski didn't take too well to that, frowning and mumbling to himself. He personally thought alcohol was disgusting, alongside Private, so the two of them never drank. Skipper was almost convinced Kowalski would get something just to impress their pretty waitress, but she was already leaving by the time he seemed to work up the nerve. Skipper pat his shoulder firmly, and Kowalski only buried his face in his hands.
"What's absinthe?" Private piped up, innocently.
Rico simpered, giving him a wink, and Skipper just shook his head with a sigh. Kowalski seemed to recover himself at that, sending a raised brow in his compadre's direction.
"To give you an idea, it's been illegal for over seventy years." Kowalski explained, punctuating it with a sigh. "I am definitely driving tonight."
Private released a shocked gasp while Rico cackled, but Skipper had stopped focusing on them by then. Instead, he was openly gaping at the stage, where Julien danced in perfect tandem with the sultry, exciting melody and caressing voice. Julien truly was the star of the show, some sort of fleetingly present angel who appeared only when you least expected it. Skipper knew he was only human, like the rest of them, but there was something about him that was just so unreal. Something that ventured past the borders of what was normal, something that made Julien a diamond among stones.
With Julien's lips gently parted in a toothy smile, his smoky eyes shut, water running down his skin sparingly as residue from the sparklers that went off with every spin. He shook his rear end from side to side, and the crowd went wild as he did what Skipper internally accounted to as the most incredible backflip. Impressive, considering his outfit, but such was expected of dancers. Julien made it look like it'd never been done before.
Julien was so gorgeous, in every lighting, and he danced with such utter purpose that Skipper couldn't help but feel moved by his performance. How tragic, his life before then, and yet he retained this ethereal exterior of serenity that Skipper couldn't fathom. He knew he couldn't let the beautiful flower that was Julien get stomped on by Clemson and Blowhole's steel boots. He had to figure out some way to get him to safety and bring the two of those criminals to justice, but how? How could he do so, when Blowhole was the police chief?
He'd tried to keep a low profile after leaving the CIA. In addition to having been involved in many delicate cases that, were his identity known could very well compromise his well-being, he also simply didn't want to associate with the memories of working like that. He wanted to compromise to his brothers, who missed the work (or in Private's case, thought it would be a 'splendid time'), by opening Penguin Eyes. At the same time, the drive escaped him. It was out of respect for Hans, the only person he'd let into his heart in his entire life.
But Hans' time had passed. He'd been Skipper's best friend, his partner, his first love, but he was dead. He was dead, gone from existence, and Skipper had the chance to try again. He had the opportunity to remove himself from the past, to find new friendship, new partnership, new love, and perhaps he could discover it in Julien. Was it really okay, to let Hans go like that? Was it alright to release his lifeless hand, to step away from the endless pool of sadness that collected with every late night tear he shed? Was it okay to let himself be happy again?
Julien's eyes opened, mystifying the crowd with their beauty. They were not objective, as most dancers were trained to be. Instead, he particularly sought out Skipper, and when their eyes met, Julien's gaze seemed to falter into something less trained and more sincere, something soft and flattered and compassionate all at once. It was gone within an instant, back to his face of seductive professionalism, and he brandished a saucy wink before his dance stirred into action once more.
Skipper grasped the glass of scotch Doris had left while he had been mesmerized by Julien's transcendent allure, shakily taking a sip. It was nice and cold against his heating body. With a shaking hand and a firm resolve, Skipper decided he knew exactly what he had to do. The answer was clear before him, and suddenly, he wasn't holding anyone's hand; there were only his own calloused fists, ready to take action.
He would contact Nigel.
