Disclaimer: I don't own legal rights to any of the copyrighted Resident Evil stuff in this story.
Excella procured two glasses and set them down beside the bottle she'd selected. Then she removed the cork, waved it beneath her nose, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. A smile crossed her lips and she slowly exhaled, obviously delighted by the bouquet. Then she opened her eyes again, poured some of the wine into one of the glasses, and swirled it around the glass, studying it carefully. Finally, she lowered the glass and looked at Leon.
"Pinot noir?" she offered.
"I am awfully parched," Leon admitted.
Excella poured a second glass and handed it to Leon, then sat down in the chair Claire had been tied to. Leon watched her suspiciously, waiting until she took a drink from her glass before he'd do the same. Only then did Excella take a small sip from the glass, swish it around her mouth, and then swallow.
"You don't trust other people, do you?" Excella asked.
"Not crime bosses that tie me up and threaten to hack off my limbs with a chainsaw," Leon said, taking a sip from his own glass.
"That wasn't my idea," Exella said. "It was Irving's. He's a lunatic, and he'll never get far in this organization. But even lunatics have their uses. How are you enjoying the wine?"
"I prefer whiskey myself."
"And I wasn't just talking about me. I have a feeling you have trouble trusting in general."
"Hard to have faith in people when your job's finding out dirty little secrets. I always thought the head of the Gionne family was a man."
"That's what I want people to think, because it's harder to expect people to respect a family headed by a Donna instead of a Don."
"Well, Donna Gionne, what did you have Irving drag me and the Redfield girl here for?"
For a moment, Excella said nothing. Instead, she stared at Leon, evaluating him in the same slow, interested way she had the wine when she swirled it around in her glass.
"It must be very lonely for you," she said. "Always expecting the worst out of everyone who gets close to you. Living in constant fear of the moment they prove you right. Acting like expecting the betrayal makes it hurt any less."
Leon looked at her stone faced and blinked very slowly.
"Did you bring me here just so I could get my head shrinked?"
"Let me lay my cards out on the table for you, Mr. Kennedy. You know what my outfit does?"
"Racketeering."
Excella responded to Leon's scowl with a more coquettish smile.
"I prefer to think of us as being in the import/export business," she said. "Recently, I made arrangements with a new client who was very interested in two products that my company brings in through the borders. The Sonnentreppe, or Stairway of the Sun, a red flower from Kijuju with a very potent extract. And Las Plagas, a type of insect found in Pueblo that can be dried up and brewed in a tea that is said to make those who drink it highly susceptible to suggestion. The extract of the flower tends to be one of my best-selling products. The dried-up insects not so much. But I agreed to deliver the bulk of my haul of each to this new client, who happens to be very wealthy and was willing to pay at least double the amount of my average customer."
"Let me guess," Leon said. "Spencer, Marcus, Ashford & Ashford?"
Excella raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows.
"Precisely," she said. "I assumed they needed my merchandise for ingredients in their latest cure-all and that, for whatever reason, it was cheaper or easier for me to smuggle it to them than it was to obtain it through more legitimate channels. I thought it was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Then Spencer began requesting larger and larger quantities. It became harder to obtain enough to meet the demand, and, as a result, I had to withhold from more and more of my regular customers so my new partner could take his share. And yet he still hadn't brought a new product to market, and when I asked what exactly he intended to do with my merchandise he insisted that he paid me generously enough to not ask those kinds of questions."
"And now you're starting to wonder if he's not paying you as much for those materials as they're worth to him," Leon said.
Excella nodded.
"It occurred to me that either the end product is going to make a fortune and he doesn't want to give me my fair cut, or, worse, that he's trying to put me out of business."
"Expanding his business from the kinds of drugs people buy over pharmacy counters to the kind dealt in dark alleys?"
"Offering my own product to my neglected customers at a lower rate until their loyalty shifts from me to him. Either way, without knowing exactly what he's doing with my merchandise, it's hard to say whether I should raise my price, stop selling to Spencer altogether, or… take different, drastic steps to protect my own interests."
"I follow, but what does this all have to do with me?"
"It's very simple. Raccoon gossip says you've acquired something that belongs to Spencer, and he's ready to pay you to get it back. I'd like you to sell it to me instead."
Leon finished the glass of wine Excella had given him and tried to smile innocently.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Excella scoffed, rose from her seat, and began pacing around the cellar.
"I've been perfectly transparent with you. The least you could do is offer me the same courtesy. I'm referring to a hand-painted statue of an anthropomorphic raccoon, about a foot tall."
"Spencer said it has real sentimental value to him. What's it to you? Spite?"
Excella sat down again, leaned over, and placed a hand on Leon's leg above the knee.
"That raccoon isn't just some worthless statue. It's a key."
"Key to what?"
Excella's hand moved down to Leon's inner thigh and smoothly slid up it and then down again.
"The key to whatever Spencer's working on with the drugs I've sold him. Instead of giving it back to him, give it to me, and I promise to make it worth your while."
Leon opened his mouth to insist that he didn't have the statue, then bit his tongue.
"Spencer's already made me a very generous offer for it," he said.
"How much is he offering? I'll outbid him, then make the money back once I have that raccoon to use as a bargaining chip."
She took her hand away from Leon's leg and straightened in her seat.
"I'll need some time to think about it," Leon said.
"Don't take too long. I'm a girl that hates to be kept waiting."
She whistled, and suddenly an arm wrapped around Leon and a damp cloth was pushed over his face. It only took a few seconds for him to succumb to the chloroform again.
Leon awoke in darkness, something scratchy against his face, just in time to hear a car door opening before he was pushed out of it, hearing it slam again as the engine roared and then faded into the distance.
He pulled the burlap sack off of his head. He was lying in wet grass, getting pelted with rain.
He climbed to his feet and brushed himself off, finding himself staring at the Saint Michael Clock Tower. Something occurred to him, and he scanned the plaza, trying to pick the likeliest spot for two people to have a clandestine meeting.
His eyes fell on the river and the bridge passing over it. He slowly made his way beneath it, disappearing into the shadows of the support beams. He switched on his flashlight. Tucked into the corner beneath the bridge was a dense mound of trash, hastily discarded by citizens unconcerned with finding a trash can, some obviously used to provide makeshift shelters.
There was a reddish-brown streak crossing the concrete floor to the river, an unmistakable trail of dried blood. And there was a hole carved in to the nearest support column that could very easily have been made by a bullet that had been carefully removed.
As Leon emerged from under the bridge, his eyes went to a restaurant on top of a hill overlooking the bridge. Two men were standing outside in matching white suits, fancy waitstaff uniforms, passing a cigarette and smoking. Leon made his way up the slope towards them. The smell of burning herbs hit his face like a fist.
"Enjoying some tea, fellas?"
The shorter waiter with thinning hair quickly hid the joint behind his back.
"Just having a cigarette," he insisted.
"Relax," Leon said, holding out his hand. "I'm not a cop. None of my business if you want to enjoy a little bit of herbal madness."
The waiter handed Leon the joint and watched him take a drag before he handed it back to the other man.
"It's a good blend," the other waiter said, taking his turn having a drag. "Green, red, even a little bit of yellow. Guaranteed to open up your mind."
"You gentlemen work at the restaurant?" Leon said, jerking his finger towards the building behind them. The other men nodded. "Did you happen to be working last Wednesday night, nine o'clock?"
"Keith and I usually work that shift," the shorter man said. "It's hard to say which nights, though. They all tend to blend together, if you know what I mean."
He held up the joint before taking another puff on it, to make his point clear, and then passed it to Leon again.
"I'm looking for a friend of mine," Leon said. "I was hoping you might have happened to see him out here. Big guy. Built like a tank. Kind of hard to miss. I think he might have been spending some time under that bridge."
He puffed on the herbs and then passed it to Keith.
"Nah," Keith said. "Don't remember anyone like that. Not recently. But, hey! Last Wednesday night. Wasn't that when you met your future wife, Quint?"
The two waiters laughed at a private joke.
"Oh?" Leon said.
"I think it was a little bit after nine," Quint said. "Keith and I were out here, having one of our smoke breaks. The most beautiful broad I've ever seen in my life comes strolling up this hill right for us."
"Chinese broad," Keith said. "Tall, dark, and mysterious, just how Quint likes 'em. She asks for a taste of the herb. Quint here didn't even mind that she got lipstick on the paper."
Quint signed wistfully.
"Never saw that dame again."
"Thanks for the smoke, boys," Leon said, sticking his hands in his pockets and walking away. "And for the conversation."
It sounded like Ada had been here that night. So what if she had? That just proved that she'd come here like she'd said, trying to keep her meeting with Redfield.
But had Redfield? Was the blood leading to the river a coincidence, or had Chris spilled it? These questions had several possible answers, and Leon's gut told him he wouldn't like most of them.
Leon was still contemplating the possibilities when he took his usual booth at Sera's. Luis was eager to welcome him, as always.
"The usual," Leon said. He looked up at the band. "And tell the girl on the bass I'd like to talk to her."
Luis looked from Leon to the girl.
"You know some people might not like seeing you have a drink with a girl of her… shall we say, genre?"
"You think I give a damn?"
"Asian girl one night. Black girl the next. I'm still trying to figure out which is your type, amigo."
"Variety's the spice of life."
"Ashley will be jealous."
"When is she not?"
The girl on the bass was looking right at them while they talked about her.
"Fair point," Luis said. "After the set, I'll ask her how she feels about you buying her a drink."
A moment later, Luis brought Leon his whiskey. Leon sipped it as he watched the band play, the girl on the bass trying, and failing, to avoid eye contact with him. Finally, as the musicians set down their instruments, Leon watched Luis whisper something to her. She appeared nervous as she walked over and took the seat across from Leon.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"I know a cop when I see one," Leon said. "Even an undercover one."
"Turns out people like me can be useful to Chief Irons," the girl said. "Just as long as we can blend in places like this with other people he doesn't trust. Especially a jazz musician. He assumes every shady character at Sera's going to want to talk to me about it. Officer Sheva Alomar."
"Leon S. Kennedy. Private eye."
"I know who you are."
"What were you doing at the Church of the Illuminated this morning?"
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because you and I both want the same thing; to know what happened to Chris Redfield."
Sheva's body language softened at the mention of the name.
Luis came by and set down another glass of whiskey for Leon and one for Sheva. They both stared at him until he walked out of earshot again.
"I liked Chris," Sheva said.
"So did I," Leon replied. "A lot of people did."
"Chris wanted my help," Sheva said. "A friend of mine, Josh, went missing from my neighborhood. Chris thought there might be a connection with some other missing people he was looking for. Turned out they'd all been to that church. Chris thought I'd draw less attention in the crowd there than he would."
Leon took a drink of his whiskey.
"Chris had a talent for making friends and recruiting informants. Particularly beautiful women."
"They weren't all women," Sheva said. "Unless the John and Pete he talked about were..."
"John Clemens and Peter Smith?" Leon interrupted. "From Spencer, Marcus, Ashford & Ashford?"
Sheva's brown eyes widened.
"I think so," she said. "But how did you know that?"
"Sometimes I'm just good at my job."
"Chris wasn't like other cops," Sheva said. "He never expected anyone to respect his authority. He just wanted to help people. Any people, regardless of how much money they had or what color their skin was. If you can find out who disappeared him, I'd like to know about it."
She finished her drink and stood up.
"I've gotta get back up there for the next song," she said. "Thanks for the drink, Mr. Kennedy."
She turned around, startled to find Ashley directly behind her, staring daggers through her to Leon.
"Excuse me, Miss Graham," Sheva mumbled, heading to the bandstand, leaving Ashley standing there and scowling at Leon with her arms crossed.
"What was that about?" Ashley asked.
"Strictly business, angel," Leon said. "Sit down, would you?"
He gestured to the seat Sheva had just vacated. Ashley seemed reluctant, still eyeing him angrily, but she slowly lowered herself to the seat.
"I need you to do me a favor," he said.
Ashley immediately leaned in, the anger in her eyes completely gone.
"Of course, Leon! I'll do anything for you."
"I need you to find a different church."
Ashley slumped back in her seat and looked down in her lap.
"Oh."
"You've got to stay away from the Church of the Illuminated. You've got to promise me. I don't trust anyone there."
"I'm finally doing something good," Ashley said sadly, still talking to her lap. "Giving back to the community. Not just the mayor's screw-up daughter, embarrassing my father..."
Leon gently put his fingers under Ashley's chin and tilted it to look up at his eyes.
"You're not a screw-up," he said. "But I need you to listen to me. You're not safe with those people. I need you to promise me you'll stay away from that church. And especially that shifty evangelist."
Her lip trembled and there were no dimples in her jaw or warmth in her eyes tonight.
"It's not about the church," Ashley said quietly. "It was about the people there who needed me. I was finally doing something for the community. Something good."
"You can do plenty of good, angel. Just not there."
"I can take care of myself, y'know," Ashley said, staring at Leon darkly. "I don't always need you to save me."
"Please, Ashley," Leon said. "I need you to trust me. Have I ever steered you wrong before?" Ashley slowly shook her head. "Can you promise you'll stay away from that church? And that preacher? For me?"
Ashley nodded. Then she went back to the bandstand without another word, staring straight ahead without a single glance at him until she made it to the microphone and turned back to her audience. She and Sheva both made an effort to avoid Leon's gaze the rest of the night.
Leon settled his tab with Luis and made his way out of the club into the night. A cool breeze was blowing on this summer evening. Chilly, even.
He'd only made it a couple blocks from the club in the direction of the nearest pay phone when he stopped to pull his notepad out of his pocket and jot down as much as he could remember of his conversation with Sheva. Then he went back to his first meeting with Ada and read his notes all the way up through his conversation with Keith and Quint, trying to arrange the discordant facts into a harmonious picture.
He was still trying to force the facts into place when the ground began to shake. Heavy footsteps were falling in his direction. The air filled with the odor of decaying flesh.
Leon looked over his shoulder to see Mr. X silhouetted behind him in the moonlight.
The big man hunched forward and started to sprint right at him.
Leon jumped up on his heels and ran.
Something was chasing Leon. Something almost human but not quite. Something huge and terrifying. And Leon had the feeling that if whatever it was caught up to him, there would be no escape for him.