Below my feet dusk crept from the dark hallway into the cold, desolate, flat. There was no welcome mat here. I swung the door shut and locked in the darkness with me.
Forgetting about the stitches in my shoulder, I slumped onto the couch. The pain reminded me to use the arm that was not in a sling to switch on the TV-set. Hollow, irrelevant pictures flickered on.
Gordon had not gone through with my suspension, or, more likely, he was not able to justify it. Nevertheless, I was still on sick leave. Not that I was looking forward to facing my colleagues, who had doubtlessly made up their minds about what had happened that day, I just did not fancy another ten days of tediousness. Wrapped in my coat I remained seated until the darkness engulfed the room and everything that was in it except for the blue shimmer of the television screen.
A knock on the door startled me out of my trance. Through the fish eye I spotted Oswald. Quite a coincidence that he should come to see me just upon my release from hospital, I pondered. He was holding a bouquet of flowers and, as usual, he was dressed to kill. As I opened up, bright light flooded the living room, making me blink at the silhouette in the hallway.
"Hi," he started, "...is this a bad time?"
What this must have looked like to him, I cursed myself. "No, it's fine. Just didn't get around to..." I finally switched on the lights. "Come in."
"The heating hasn't been repaired yet?" Oswald asked, having stepped inside. Pointlessly I looked across the room, as if the radiator held an answer. Indeed, it had been a heating failure that had led me to spend a night at Oswald's before I got hospitalised.
"I haven't checked," I had to confess. He looked at me, searched for something. I could not maintain the eye contact, my gaze wandered to the flowers he was holding, and that was when I first realised what they were.
"White lilies?"
"Oh, yes," he held them out to me, "I had a feeling you might have a penchant for the grotesque."
A new aspect of Oswald Cobblepot had revealed itself to me: attention.
"I do. Thank you." I took over the bouquet and headed off to the kitchenette in search for a makeshift vase.
"You should have seen the hospital staff," Oz scoffed, "funeral flowers do not go well with them." "You were at the hospital," I stated rather than asked.
"Seems I missed you by a matter of minutes." He leaned onto the counter and watched me fill a tall glass with water. "I'm sorry I did not come to visit earlier."
I could have told him not to worry about it, that I did not mind. It would have been the polite thing to do. But I realised it would have been a lie. I had missed him. What had he been up to, had something kept him away, I wanted to ask, well knowing I could not. We had a silent agreement that we would not discuss anything potentially incriminating, anything that I would have to report. Which, considering Oz' area of operations, limited our topics of conversation significantly.
I set the glass on the counter that now separated Oz and me and, not knowing what to say, started to arrange the lilies therein to stall for time.
"Wanna go some place warmer?"
I nodded.
When we approached the black sedan, an eager youngster, Ignatius, if I was not mistaken, rushed around to let us in. The refined Mister Cobblepot took a liking to a little splendour. I, on the other hand, did not feel comfortable employing a mobster's services.
Just this once, I persuaded myself.
We drove through busy streets of the down town rush hour, I had not asked where to, did not care. On the pavement people were buzzing between the illuminated shop windows on their way home or to the next happy hour. Inside the seclusion of the car silence prevailed. Oswald sat on the other side, lost in his thoughts. Troubled thoughts, it seemed. Light and shade took turns on his face. I wondered if things would have been different if we had taken a cab. If we could have ignored the presence of the driver and were ignored in return. If then I could have reached out into the distance that the other end of the bench seat appeared to be.
When we got stuck in a traffic jam, an opportunity shone a neon light.
"How about sushi?"
Without giving Oz a chance to consent, I motioned to come along and got out onto the lane. Oz followed me to the pavement and upon spotting the restaurant I had in mind took over the lead. He had something about him that made the other pedestrians make way for him. Attitude. Confidence. I tried to follow suit but had to dodge the oncoming walkers and lost him in the crowd.
By a street lamp I stood up on tiptoes to get a better view.
"What are you doing?" Out of thin air Oz had appeared right next to me.
"I lost you."
The eye-roll that ensued told me I was behaving ridiculous. Oz took my hand and led me through the oncoming pedestrian traffic. Everyone around us blurred into a murmuring stream. Oswald moved in slow motion. Flapping coat. Waddling way of walking. Reflections of swirling lights on glossy shoes. Black hair ruffled by the wind. White cuffs peeking out above the hand that reached back and out to me. Cold fingers that gently clasped around mine.
I bumped into Oz when he halted and the stream dissipated. Above us glowed the red lettering of Shibuya Sushi.
I resorted to eating the sushi with my hands, while Oz tried his best making use of the chopsticks. I doubted this was the kind of restaurant he usually frequented, but, as always, he radiated sophistication. That is, until a particular kind of sushi roll that looked like it had been turned inside out refused to stay between the sticks. His clumsiness was adorable to watch, a rare glimpse of a not-quite-composed Oswald Cobblepot.
"Here, let me help you," I grinned at him and reached out for the roll.
"Don't mock me!" Oswald snarled.
From across the bar the chef eyed us.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
Oswald showed an intimidating side at times. A poorly chosen word and you were at risk of making him snap. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him take a gulp of sake.
"Fine. Help me."
But his tone was still harsh and I had lost my courage. "It's okay, I'm sure you can-"
"Oh for crying out loud! Would you just do it?!"
I obeyed. Reached out for the roll, brought it to level with his mouth.
I looked him in the eye. Are you serious?
I could not read his expression. Was he nervous? All at once I felt my own heartbeat, heard the blood rush through my ears. I felt everyone's eyes on me. Then I looked at his lips and the world around us became indistinct again. Oz parted his lips, slightly at first, our eyes met for a last reassurance and he advanced an inch. I placed the roll between his lips, just as far my fingertips would not touch him. But he made yet another move forward and for a brief moment Oswald's lips grazed my fingers.
I could not help but smile. Why did such a trivial thing excite me? This was pathetic. I tried to play it cool and downed my cup of sake, struggling not to look at my hand that held the cup, where I still felt the warm imprint of his lips.
"Shall we leave?" It was getting crowded and it felt like we had been blocking the seats for hours. Oz did not reply immediately. Searched for the right words, it seemed.
"I have a confession to make," he simpered.
"I came to see you for a reason." He leaned towards me and I took it as a signal to do the same. Resting a hand on my knee, he spoke into my ear. Warm breath brushed my skin.
"I need a little piece of information."
I faced him.
"Don't do this," I pleaded. My voice was but a whisper.
He barely smiled and closed in to speak again.
I turned away. "Oz, for your own sake... You know I will have to report it."
"W-what do you mean? You were ready to kill for me!"
"That was defence." I could not look at him. "I'm not going to break the law for you."
"This is where you draw the line? This?" he laughed hysterically. "You have no problem visiting my club, staying at my place- I can assure you, they were not paid with honestly earned money," he hissed.
"You're right." I fought back tears. "I shouldn't have done either."
Oz kept quiet. The sound of clattering dishes and spirited conversations encompassed us.
"I see," he got up at last, his tone was resentful. "Well, then..." The words hung in the air as he donned his coat. I felt his gaze pierce into my back. Eventually he marched out and his reflection in the mirror behind the bar was the last I saw of Oswald Cobblepot until my first kill.