Thanks to those who have been reading and reviewing! I'm glad some people are enjoying this foray until a SVM noir alternate universe. I'm going to be mixing up canon events to spin my own tale, so if you think you know what's going to happen...you're in for a surprise ;)
Thanks to Cageyspice for cleaning this up and giving me comma lessons. She rocks.
I wasn't surprised; it wasn't like I hadn't expected it. But even though I knew it was coming, I hadn't anticipated Jason being arrested so soon. In a matter of days, rumors had turned to warrants, and he was now confined to a jail cell at the Harbour Police Station.
Lafayette had roused me early with the news by banging on the front door, so I was obliged to pull on my robe and let him in after only a few hours of uneasy sleep. He gave me the news quickly and efficiently, and then promised he'd make me coffee while I got dressed.
"I reckon he'll be glad he's behind bars, as mad as you are," Lafayette said when I appeared in my most business-like ensemble with matching dagger eyes, though I was grateful for the warm cup he handed me.
"If he doesn't hang for this, I'm liable to string him up myself," I said as I blew on the steaming liquid. It was still too hot to drink.
Lafayette fought a smile, but I caught it twitching at the corner of his mouth. Even as entertaining as he found my anger with Jason, decorum dictated that he should suppress his amusement. Despite his love of rouge and lipstick and his low class job, he was most certainly a gentleman. I took a long drink of my coffee, in too much of a hurry to care that I was burning my tongue.
"I'll walk you to the station," he offered as I slid my arms into my coat.
I waited until after I'd pulled on my gloves to respond, carefully weighing the comfort of his company versus the risk. "No, getting me up to give me the news and making me coffee was more than enough help. And Sam will know if you've spent all morning with me instead of chopping vegetables in his kitchen."
"Ah, Sam'd understand. And if it were in your service, he wouldn't mind me neglecting my duties at all. He'd probably even give me a bonus."
"What do you mean?" I asked, catching his arm by his wrist.
He smiled sheepishly, and then shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "You know he's sweet on you, Sookie. Shoulda seen him last night, buzzing around like a horsefly, hoping you'd show up. You know, you could do worse than him. He's a fair, decent man, and watching him unload crates of whiskey is as refreshing as a cold drink of water on a hot summer day," he said, pulling his hand out of my grip and instead linking arms with me to escort me down the stairs. I hastily pulled out of his embrace to escape his thoughts as we stepped onto the sidewalk.
"I've got to be off now," I said, ignoring his pointed look and comment about Sam. Sam was a good man, which was all the more reason for me to stay away. I'd cheated death once; it was only a matter of time before my number was really up. There was no reason to involve Sam in my troubled life.
"Well, come back soon, Sookie. You certainly do help keep things interesting 'round here," Lafayette said, before dropping the corners of his mouth in an exaggerated pout. "I'd miss you if somethin' bad were to happen to you."
It was nice to know at least one person would miss me if I turned up dead. "You're the one who brings the color and the flavor to the Quarter," I said, venturing a smile despite the grim job ahead of me.
I waited all morning to be admitted to visit Jason once I reached the police station, enduring an uncomfortable chair and the mental laments of the secretary who thought it was tragic such a good-looking boy as Jason hadn't had enough sense to marry a good-natured girl like her. I was inclined to agree with the frumpy brunette. Though she was a bit dowdy, I had a feeling she'd have been able to keep Jason out of trouble.
"Oh, Sookie!" Jason said once the officer sat him down in a chair across from me, his hands still cuffed.
"Didn't think I'd just leave you in here to rot, did you?"
"I didn't do it, I promise." Jason's voice was so country, full of twang, his face so innocent and mischievous all at once, it was hard to take anything he said seriously. Though he was three years my senior, he still looked so boyish.
"I thought they were picking me up because I helped some guys down at the docks unload some cargo before I realized it was bricks of reefer. But when they brought me in for questioning, they started asking about these girls, 'did I know them?' I said 'well yeah, I knew 'em,' and they got me to admit I knew 'em quite well, but I kept explainin' that I never once paid for the pleasure of their company. And then they told me that every last one of 'em was dead!"
"Well, I hoped you shut up then!" But it was hardly all Jason's fault. Though I thought he was stupid for getting involved with women of unsavory associations and illegal activities like smuggling, he hadn't killed anyone.
"You can help me, right, Sookie?" Jason said, sounding both contrite and frightened.
"I'm gonna try." I said, reaching over to pat him on the hand. That brief touch was enough to broadcast my brother's confusion, fear, and innocence. "I'll do my best," I added before the guard took him away, since our time limit up.
As I stepped out into the cold a figure stepped out of the shadows to greet me.
"My dear, you look to be in considerable distress," the portly man said. "Trouble with the law?"
"Not my own. A misunderstanding about my brother," I replied vaguely. For one thing, I knew better than to trust strangers; for another, I wasn't picking up a human brain signature from this man, but he wasn't out of tune like Sam or an empty void like a vampire. He was something else. Something supernatural. And something rare, if I'd never met another like him.
"I'm a lawyer." Well, maybe that explained his opaque mind. "And a damn good one at that. I'd like to offer to take up your brother's case. Pro bono." He laid his hands on his rotund belly and quirked one bushy eyebrow at me, as if challenging me to deny his offer.
"Without even knowing what it is?"
"Didn't say I didn't know, did I?" He laughed, warm and round.
I eyed him skeptically. "Why would you do that? Help an accused serial killer for free?" There had to be some kind of catch. In all likelihood the real killer had sent him to sabotage Jason's defense. That scenario was certainly more probable than help from a kindly stranger.
"I'm an old friend of your grandfather's," he explained in an even, matter-of-fact tone.
I couldn't help but scoff at the absurdity of such a claim. "Now I know you're either crazy or a liar. My grandpa was an old farmer who died years ago, before the crash. Hard to believe a man who never went farther than 10 miles from the place he was born knew a fancy city lawyer." I stepped to the side, hurrying up the sidewalk to catch the St. Charles streetcar, but what the lawyer said next stopped me in my tracks.
"It's amazing, the things that one will believe, even in the face of all evidence to the contrary," he said with a jolly laugh. He glided up beside me again, then handed me a small card with his name on it. It was a white rectangle small enough to fit in the palm of my hand and it looked like an old-fashioned gentleman's visiting card I'd read about in a book once. But this seemed to be more of a business introduction. This man, surely, couldn't have any personal designs on me. He was easily twice my age, judging by the faint tips of gray in his sideburns, and his demeanor was more fatherly than predatory.
"Mr. Cataliades, at your service," he said, bowing formally. "Call on me if you change your mind. Or find yourself —" he looked thoughtfully up at the sky, where a lone bird was swooping down from a nearby tree, his eyes following its line of flight until it landed on a nearby roof before meeting mine with a significant look. "—in need of an ally." He tipped his hat toward me, and then turned and walked away.
I ran my fingers over the embossed name, trying to sound out the syllables as he had when he'd given me his name, stumbling over the vowels in my head. The clattering of the approaching streetcar helped shake the worry over my strange encounter with the lawyer and focus on what was important—finding the true killer and clearing Jason's name. There wasn't time to spend analyzing his ludicrous claims about knowing my Grandaddy Earl or the strange chill I'd felt when he'd warned me against having too much faith, something I was rarely accused of anymore.
Night came early in winter, and I didn't have long until I was due to return to Death Warmed Over to continue my investigation. I hoped in addition to identifying Mr. Northman's thief, I'd be able to identify the killer the papers were calling the "Midnight Romeo."
"Well, hello again," Pam the vampire said as she let me into the club. "Don't you look ravishing tonight?" she added with a sultry glance, clearly admiring my business suit. "Where did you get this? The satin is fabulous." She reached up to finger the collar of my blouse.
"Don't touch me again," I said as pleasantly as I could while still remaining firm.
"Or what, you'll stake me?" Pam challenged, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.
"You wouldn't be the first," I said, matching her baleful smile, even as the memory of my hand driving a splinter of wood through the dead flesh of a vampire flickered through my mind. Killing anyone, even someone who had been dead for centuries, isn't something you can forget.
Pam broke into a loud guffaw, her voice ringing against the empty walls of the bar before she took a moment to compose herself. "I knew I was going to like you, Sookie. Now come on. Eric and his bookie are waiting."
In Eric's office there was a plump man with a combover sitting nervously at a small table. Eric stood behind the empty chair across from him.
"Good evening, Sookie," he said, and I nodded in greeting, but didn't speak. "This is Bruce, who helps with the banking for my various businesses. Bruce, Sookie is going to ask you some questions."
"Not with you all standing around," I replied.
"Excuse me?" Eric said, raising an eyebrow, daring me to challenge him.
"Do you remember our agreement, Mr. Northman? I'm to do this my way. I can't work with spectators." Bruce was squirming in his chair and sweat was breaking out on his brow as he wondered why he'd been summoned to meet with some strange blond girl. He figured I must be some kind of sorceress. I was surprised and a little flattered that he found me just as scary as Pam and Eric.
My attention turned from my interrogation subject to Eric. "Pam will leave. I will stay." He crossed his forearms in front of his chest, clearly intending to stand his ground.
Compromise was obviously not something that came naturally to Eric, so I relented. "As long as you're silent."
He just stared back at me, our eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. The only sound in the room was Bruce's irregular wheezing.
After several moments Eric nodded. Pam left without saying a word, and after the door clicked shut, Eric said, "Begin."
"Hi, Bruce. My name's Sookie," I said, giving the paunchy man the warmest smile I could muster. "I'm not going to hurt you, but I want you to lay your arm on the table, and I'm going to put my hand on your wrist."
He looked from me to Eric, who I knew was watching our interaction from behind me even though I tried to ignore his presence. This is why I'd wanted to interrogate him by myself; no one wants to confess to the one they've betrayed, whether it's a cheating spouse or a thieving employee. Plus, it's just much easier to command a person's full attention and pick out his or her thoughts if you're the only other person in the room. That was why I liked to work alone, but I hadn't wanted to waste time fighting Eric.
Though I couldn't see his face now, the look he was giving Bruce must have been intimidating enough, because he immediately complied and extended his hand across the table. His bristly hair was rough and damp under my skin, but I didn't hesitate to grip his arm firmly. Touch has always amplified my ability to read minds, even more than all the training Bill did with me when he'd first learned of my gift.
"Bruce," I said, my voice low, calm, and non-threatening. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you need to answer me honestly. I'll know if you're lying. Do you understand?"
He nodded, and I could feel his pulse quicken underneath my thumb. "Okay. You must know why you're here. You're the one who brought the missing money to Eric's attention, correct?"
"Yes, but I didn't take his money," he wheezed out between shallow breaths. Which is why I can't figure out why he thinks I'm the one who took it! If I were stealing from him, why would I tell him the money's missing!
Clearly Bruce was no criminal mastermind. Being the first to "discover" a crime is one of the oldest tricks in the books thieves use to deflect suspicion. I'd bet even odds he was doing it if I were a betting woman and didn't have the benefit of access to his thoughts. But I wasn't gambler, and I could tell he hadn't been the one to embezzle from Eric. But that didn't mean he didn't know who did.
"It's a lot of money, Bruce. If you aren't the one that's been taking it, how did it take you so long to notice the books didn't exactly add up?"
That's what I can't understand! It's like I can't remember anything! Any time I look at the numbers it makes me dizzy. Any time I try to add them up, I lose count.
He'd eventually been so distraught he'd asked his wife to help him. Lillian was her name, and she had beautiful orange hair and freckles and made the best pancakes he'd ever tasted. Sometimes it's odd, the small details and memories that fire through people's synapses under extreme stress. He'd been so ashamed to admit to her what he was doing, and that he thought he was losing his mind.
Bobby and Heather. No matter what happens to me, just take care of them, Lord, that is all I ask...
So the man had kids. Two. A boy and a girl. 10 and 12, both with his same dull, brown eyes. I could see them in his thoughts. If I hadn't been here to interrogate him, how would Eric have gotten this information out of him? It struck me as odd that he would have sought my assistance without first trying to glamour him.
"I don't know," he whimpered, his voice squeaking like a rat's.
But, as I sat sifting through Bruce's thoughts, it became clear why that method hadn't worked. Bruce had already been glamoured, and quite extensively. Though he couldn't understand why his head started to swim whenever he looked at Eric's balance sheets, it was obvious to me he'd been programmed to think that way. All memories associated with transactions he'd conducted on behalf of his businesses had been tampered with.
"So, Bruce, you're telling me you honestly don't know who took Eric's money, but it definitely wasn't you?"
His hand turned to grasp mine, his eyes meeting my own. He figured I was some sort of witch, something even worse than what Eric was, and he thought he was an agent of Satan. But he knew enough to know I was his only hope of convincing Eric of his innocence, so when he said, "Yes, it's the truth! You've got to believe me." I did.
"Thank you, Bruce," I said, pulling my hand out of his grasp. I stood from the chair, wiping my hand on my tweed skirt to get Bruce's sweat off my palm. I turned to face Eric and said, "He didn't do it, and he doesn't know who did."
Eric's face was stoic, his bright blue eyes betraying no hint of emotion. He looked at me for several moments as if weighing my words. Then Pam entered the office briskly as if she had been summoned, and I understood their relationship, and why Eric knew for certain she hadn't been the one to betray him.
Bill hadn't told me a lot about vampires. Most of what I'd come to know about his kind I'd learned on my own. But if Bill had taught me anything about vampires and their relationship with those that sired them, it was that the maker was unequivocally the master of his or her child. No wonder he didn't suspect Pam of betraying him. She was his.
"Take care of him, then bring in Belinda," Eric said to Pam, who was showing out Bruce, his name now cleared.
Fortunately, we didn't have to call in someone to mop below his seat, but I think it had been a close call.
"She hasn't shown up yet," Pam replied.
A scowl crossed Eric's face, but then he turned to me and smiled slightly. "You must want a break," he said. "I imagine your secret interrogation method must be quite taxing. Have a drink, and I'll work until she arrives. Then we can see what she knows."
Pam led me to a seat at the bar, then walked Bruce outside before she returned to her post near the door. I was certain she'd removed all his memories of Eric and his business for good, and that Eric had an opening for a new personal banker willing to launder money for a man who'd been dead for only God knew how long.
Longshadow wasn't on bar duty tonight, so I took the opportunity to make small talk with the substitute bartender. Even vampires must get a night off. I wondered if his absence had anything to do with Belinda's late arrival but thought it better not to ask Pam.
I idly sipped my water, sifting through the thoughts of the crowd, hoping to pick up a clue about the Midnight Romeo, and paying special attention to girls who fit the profile of those murdered in case they would lead me to him, but I wasn't picking up much other than drunken thoughts about sex or money.
Then one man, who looked like he was trying way too hard to blend in, caught my attention. His only companion was a mug of beer and he didn't seem to be a part of the normal crowd. It was unlikely that someone would stumble into this place for a glass of ale. His thoughts were nervous, as if he were in uneasy state of alertness. Then I caught the reason.
Backup better get here quick. Never volunteering to make an undercover bust again… Damn the promotion the director's holding over my head. That blond at the door scares the shit out of me, even if she is just a woman, and if I have to wait much longer for that big man to come out of the back, I'll call it off and the team can come back another.
A flash of an image flickered through his mind— a badge. Suddenly I realized this man must be a special agent for the Justice Department, one who worked to enforce alcohol tax laws now that Prohibition had ended.
So there was going to be a raid. Any minute.
Though I wasn't sure exactly the nature of Eric's business here, I was sure it wasn't entirely legal. Little though I cared about his livelihood, my work here was the only chance of a lead clearing my brother's name. The Feds descending on Death Warmed Over was the last thing I needed.
As quickly as I could manage in the crowd, I made my way to Pam. "See that man, there?" I discreetly nodded towards the mustachioed man in an ill-fitting suit, drinking his beer, alone.
"Not really my type," she replied, her voice deadly sarcastic.
"As disappointed as I'm sure he'd be to find that out, he's a Federal Agent, and there's about to be a raid. But I'm sure it's all just a misunderstanding. Surely you pay all your taxes and have all the proper licenses to sell liquor?"
Her eyes turned as black as her soul before she replied in a low, urgent voice. "Go tell Eric, and get out the back door. Now."
Thanks for reading! Update next week.