The Plot Thickens

Leon seemed to be barely aware that his brother had come and gone, back into the recesses of the shop, and well out of the line of fire, unwilling to place himself in harm's way, nor listen to more enigmatic arguments which led nowhere. In fact, Leon was rather confused as to D's attitude, not to mention why he had had the consummate gall to enter his apartment and effect changes which were sure to be anathema to the detective. What would warrant such a move?

"D, what's your problem?" he cried, "I know we got into an argument a couple days ago, but that doesn't mean you have to ruin my goddamn life, does it?"

"Language, detective, language," the Cout automatically admonished, before the detective's words sank fully into his consciousness. "A couple of days? Don't you mean more like two weeks?" he corrected the scatterbrained policeman, wondering how in the world he managed to function with such a poor grasp of time.

"Are you whacked? I was here just two days ago," Leon insisted, frowning at his host, even as he wondered what D might be smoking that would cause him to be so confused. Maybe he should search for some sort of hashish pipe, or erstwhile opium den in the back room?

'No, detective," D shook his head adamantly, "it has actually been over two weeks since you were last here. Since we last arg... had a difference of opinion...." Alarmed, D looked closer at the detective, leaned toward him and with one slender hand reached out toward him.

"Hey!" Leon almost jumped, as D drew back again, examining something in his fingers.

"Rice?" he said aloud, perplexed, glancing at Leon.

"What rice?" Leon repeated, as he swept his blond hair with his hands, and more grains of uncooked rice scattered onto the sofa. "What the hell.....?"

"Detective," D said smoothly, tucking away the trace of panic which attempted to manifest itself in his voice, "just where have you been?"

"Been? Me?" Leon repeated, confused, as he continued to scratch his head, more rice falling from it. But for once, D did not yell about the mess. "I haven't been anywhere, D, you're the one who was gone when I got here, not me."

D made no immediate reply, rubbing his fingers together thoughtfully, considering the situation. "Where were you before you were here? Please, just humor me...." He held up one hand as Leon looked as though he were about to protest the stupidity of the question.

"At the station, of course," Leon replied, standing up to a small shower of rice upon the pet shop floor. "I was working, naturally. That's where the letter came, it was directed to me in care of the station."

"Letter, Mister Detective? What letter?" Sometimes getting a coherent answer from the other man was worse than questioning a billy goat with a toothache.

"The one about the money. You know. The money...." Leon trailed off into silence, concentrating on what he was saying, trying to make sense of his own words.

"You received some money, detective? Who was it from?"

"It was from some guy," was the vague response, "because I did something really good, and he put me in his will, and then I had to go get it....." Something about Leon's own story was not quite jake, even in his own ears.

"Where did you go to get this windfall?" D continued, in an attempt to get to the heart of the matter.

"A lawyer's office. In Chinatown. Over some bar."

Could he be any vaguer? D didn't think so.

Leon was frowning now, as strange flashes of memory began to pelt him. "Maybe I went to a movie after that. Or maybe I stopped for a drink in the bar. That sounds right, a drink in the bar. And then some movie. Something about a wedding, I think, I really don't remember."

"A wedding?" D's voice seemed rather thin, and he seemed a bit paler than usual. Without warning, he lunged for Leon's hand, holding it up for both their inspections.

Their eyes locked together, as they both clearly saw what was entrenched upon Leon's left hand, second finger from the left. A plain gold band.

What the hell had he done?