"How do you look so good in everything, Kim?" you ask.
Kim looks up at you. He's wearing a plain t-shirt and some black jeans. But on him, they look amazing. "Maybe because I buy my clothes from actual stores and adjust them to fit me better, instead of wearing whatever I find."
"I do my best to make it work," you say, a touch defensively.
"And you know, you do always surprise me by how much it does work."
"So, is this okay?" you ask, glancing down at your outfit and holding your arms out. You're wearing slim-cut jeans, a lilac shirt with a regular sized collar and brown boots. "Will I blend in at The Paliseum, Kim?"
"I have no idea, Harry. Do you think I pay attention to what young people are wearing?"
"You mean you don't? But you're always so fashionable."
"I have my own sense of style and I know what suits me. That is not the same thing as being fashionable," Kim says, adjusting his glasses. "You look fine. I'm sure you will blend in more like that than in your disco clothes."
You unfasten two buttons of your shirt, then a third. Kim's eyes follow your fingers. He appears to suppress a smirk, and clears his throat. You fasten one back up again. You shoot finger guns at him, and now he is unable to stop himself smiling. "Ready to paint the town red?" you ask.
"Remember, we are going to look for leads, not to have fun."
"Not even a little bit of fun?"
Kim closes his eyes for a moment. "Okay, maybe a little. But be careful not to get carried away."
The Paliseum is a large, beautiful building with a pink neon sign. From somewhere in your brain, you unearth the fact that it used to be a successful theatre, before new management ran it into the ground.
You step into the main room and instantly recognise the sound of anodic dance music. It's loud. Lights spin and dart around the room, illuminating the dancers. At the far end of the room is a DJ booth on a stage. The DJ beats the air with her fists in time with the music, and periodically she yells out communist slogans and the sorts of things Egghead would say. Above her head hangs a glowing yellow face with X-es for eyes.
Beside you, Kim grumbles. "I really am too old for this," he says.
"You're only as old as you feel, Kim. Come on," you say, pushing him towards the dance floor.
"I am not going to dance."
"We'll blend in better if we do."
Kim looks unconvinced.
You look around at the crowd of people, most of whom are half your age. They all seem to be moving in some way or other, whether they be swaying or nodding their heads, beating the air like the DJ, or doing some crazy acrobatic moves. Some people seem to be dancing to an entirely different beat. You file that information away, it could come in useful later.
Staring at Kim, you wriggle your shoulders. You can see he is trying to keep a straight face. You get your arms involved in the movement, and he cracks a smile.
You and Kim move closer to each other on the dance floor. Impulsively you grab his hand and place your other hand on his back. Kim doesn't resist, he simply regards you, his mouth slightly open, waiting to see what you do next. At one time you don't quite remember, you learned to dance like this, with… someone else. You don't recall the person's face, just the movements. Maybe it was the ex. Don't dwell on it. Whatever you do, do not dwell on it.
You're with Kim now. He smiles at you. He's enjoying himself. Or he he's pretending because he doesn't want to blow your cover. No, he's enjoying himself. At least a little. In sync, you sway and step in time with the music. Nobody else is doing this sort of formal dancing, but the dancing styles are so diverse that you don't stand out too much.
All too soon, the song is starting to fade out, and a sense of urgency overtakes you. You could so easily pull him close, press your body up against his and kiss him under the flashing lights. And blame it on the heat of the moment if he reacts badly. Only you don't think you could take it if he reacted badly. No. It would destroy you.
The beat of a new, fast song begins, and Kim spins you around. He lets go of your hand. Now you are following his dance steps. You tell yourself to enjoy the dance and forget about everything else. Except maybe the case. Don't forget the case.
Kim comes to a stop. "We should split up," he says.
"But I only just got you dancing!" you protest.
Kim clears his throat. "That was not the object of us being here. We have work to do," he says.
"Yeah, of course!" you say, trying not to be hurt that he doesn't want to dance with you any more. "Catch you later." You shoot finger guns at him, and turn around to walk off in a cool way, but immediately bump into someone and have to apologise to them.
Somehow the music is louder at the bar. When the bartender comes over to you, you end up pointing at something in a red bottle. It tastes like tomato soup. Tomato juice? You vaguely remember mixing this with some sort of alcohol, vodka maybe. But not tonight, baby. You've got a case to investigate.
You glance around at the people near you, trying to decide who to talk to first. But before that, you feel the need to look for Kim.
He's still out on the dance floor. Only he's not alone. He's dancing with a young man dressed in black. You're torn between jealously and the novelty of seeing Kim dance from afar. The two of them circle each other, moving closer to each other, then further away again. It's not surprising that Kim is popular. He's totally gorgeous and so, so cool. If he went out for real, and without you, he'd have a boyfriend in no time.
Are you cramping his style? The thought of that makes you want to cry.
Kim in someone else's arms. Kissing him. Kim telling you he no longer needs to stay with you because he's moving in with his cool new Jamrock boyfriend.
A cold chill goes through you. You must stop this.
You have to stop yourself from marching over there and dragging Kim away from the man he's dancing with. Oh! He's dancing with someone else now. You're not sure if that's better or worse.
You'll certainly have a few words for him later about how he didn't want to dance. And you'll also tell him he can't go off with someone else because you love him and that would kill you. Only, maybe not in those exact words.
Reluctantly, you tear your eyes away from Kim, and look at the people around you.
"Hey, nice shades," you say to an androgynous person next to you. They are swaying, but not in time with the music.
"Thanks, man," they say. "What's that?" They point to your drink.
"Tomato juice."
"Tomato juice?" They nod slowly. "I can dig it."
"To be perfectly honest I could go for something stronger. Something a lot stronger, if you get my drift." You wiggle your eyebrows.
Their friend, a girl with long pigtails leans over. "What, like orange juice?"
Her little group of friends laugh.
You join in laughing, and rack your brains for something cool to say. "Maybe. But I wish I'd brought something along to help me understand the music, you know get into the groove? Expand my mind."
The little group of swaying people at the bar feign ignorance a little longer, but after a while you begin to earn their trust. Buying them a couple of rounds of shots helps. You look over at the dance floor after downing your second shot. Kim is talking to a group of people. You wonder what they're talking about, and have to stop yourself from rushing over there. Someone gives you another shot glass filled with something bright yellow and sweet smelling, and you feel a bit guilty. But you never agreed to stay sober tonight, you tell yourself.
You end up following the group you have infiltrated downstairs to one of the smaller rooms. Different music is playing down here, and people are playing darts and pool. Your group meets up with another group who are gathered around a pool table. Introductions are made, and everyone seems to go by a weird nickname, so you tell them your name is Tequila Sunset. That goes down well with everyone.
You watch the game of pool and make idle chit-chat. After a while, someone starts offering round pills. They're acid green, just like the ones you found in The Basement Bar, and those found on the victims of your current case. You force yourself to play it cool for now, and swallow one.
There's more alcohol, and more pills. You want to warn the kids about the pills, but you can't risk blowing your cover. You wish Kim was here. He wouldn't approve, but still, you wish he was here.
"So where'd you get these from?" you ask when the pills are offered round again.
"You a cop? That's a cop question," the guy with pills says.
"Me?" You point at yourself. "Do I look like a cop? Would a cop have these?" You pat your mutton chops.
"He's got a point, man," the girl with pigtails says.
"So, you gonna let me in on who's your secret supplier?"
"Oh yeah, I'm really gonna tell you that, so you can go straight to the source and cut me outta the chain. A man's gotta make a living, yeah?"
"Hey, I'm just asking. This stuff is new. And I should know, I am somewhat of a connoisseur." You grin. This is one part of your cover that isn't a lie.
The supplier tips some more pills into his hand. You take three and swallow them one by one. To show you're cool, and to reduce the amount the others take. A few of the others take one from him.
It's your turn to play pool, and it gets more difficult as your vision starts to spin. You line up a shot, and knock the cue ball off the table. The others laugh. You laugh. Someone sets the cue ball back on the table for you. You knock it into the nearest pocket with your elbow. That makes everyone laugh even harder.
You don't remember much else, until you're leaning on Kim and he's walking you up some steps. "He's my best friend!" you tell someone who is just passing by.
"Did you know that?" you say to Kim as you head back onto the street.
"Know what?"
"That you're my best friend, baby!" you say.
"Okay," Kim says, and it wasn't the sort of response you were hoping for. "You've been drinking."
"No I haven't!"
"You smell of alcohol."
Your tongue feels slightly numb, like it doesn't belong in your mouth. You move it around. There is a taste of alcohol in your mouth. "Maybe I was?"
"Did you get any leads at least?" Kim asks as he helps you into the back of a taxi.
"Those guys had some of those pills! I know because I took some."
Kim sighs. "Did you find out where they got them from?"
"No. They wouldn't tell me!"
Kim shakes his head. "So you're telling me you got drunk and took drugs with some strangers."
"Don't I get points for trying?"
"No," Kim says.
"But how about you? You were screwing around dancing with random men!"
Kim gives you a look, and even in your inebriated state, you know you've fucked up.
"I wish I could do that," you say.
Kim looks away from you, his expression unreadable. You want to apologise, tell him that came out wrong, but you're afraid of something worse coming out of your mouth.
"So, tonight was a total bust," you say.
"Maybe not. I got a name. Sounds like it might be made up. Jim Mack."
"Oh, Jimmy Mack? I know Jimmy."
"You do?"
"Yeah! I know where he hangs out. Let's head over there."
The taxi stops and Kim pays the driver. He gets out and helps you out of the motor carriage.
"This is my place. We're supposed to be going to see Jimmy," you say, pulling his arm back towards the taxi, which is already driving away.
"No, not tonight," Kim says, pulling you towards the door of your apartment building. "You've had enough."
"No, I'm fine, Kim, look-" You stop mid-sentence and throw up in the bushes.
Kim pats you on the back. "Is that all of it?"
You cough and spit out in the bushes. "Think so," you mumble. "Oh no, wait." Kim holds your hair back as you throw up again.
You barely remember getting back to your apartment. All you recall is being grateful that Kim is here with you.
You wake up to the sun shining in through the gap in the curtains. You have a splitting headache and your stomach feels terrible. When you open your eyes the room spins. You're vaguely aware that someone is moving about in your apartment.
"Kim?" you say, reaching out a hand.
"I thought you were never going to wake up," Kim says.
He sits on the bed beside you. He's already dressed. You're scared, scared you've lost him completely. He takes off his glasses and puts them aside. Can he not even face looking at you? "I don't want to be mad at you, Harry. I'm worried for you. I don't want anything to happen to you."
"Don't worry about me Kim. I know my limits," you say, throwing an arm over your face.
"You obviously don't!"
Kim's tone surprises you. You take your arm away from your face and look at him. He looks like he's barely holding it together. He takes in a long, shaky breath. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you," he says quietly, his eyes suddenly glistening with unshed tears.
"I'm not that important," you say.
"You are."
"I'm not the only detective who can solve a case in Jamrock."
"That's not what I meant and you know it!" Kim sounds angry. His eyes are still wet, but he refuses to let the tears fall. And you realise he's mad because he thinks you think he only values you for your work. Do you really believe that? What value do you have outside of your work? Your whole body hurts, you can't even think.
You reach out for Kim, wanting to pull him into a hug, but you're too weak and feel too sick to sit up. He leans sideways, letting his head fall onto your chest. He smells nice. You wrap your arms around him as he lays on you. You feel him sniffle and gasp for breath. You can't acknowledge this, his pride would not be able to take it if you pointed out he was crying.
Kim cares about you. Really cares. You want to tell him that you love him, but this isn't the time. Besides, what use is love from a man who hates himself? You're not good enough for him. Even though you've tried. Maybe you'll never be good enough for him.
You let your hands travel up Kim's back and run your fingers over the shaven part of his head. This is enough for you, you tell yourself. Finally, you're getting the hug you have wanted for so long. But you can't drive Kim to despair just to get affection from him. That hurts too much.