Chapter Text
Clark closed the passenger-side door behind him as Bian hurriedly got out of the front-seat. A cold burst of October air rushed past the two as there came the faint sound of an owl from afar.
“This almost makes we wish we were working together from the start!” Clark said with an incredulous laugh.
Bian didn’t think to comment. He didn’t really like the idea of working along-side, let alone beside Clark, but he had to agree in this particular case. Two heads were definitely better than one. In this particular case.
“Jones isn’t normally here on Saturdays, is she?” Clark continued to ask, trying to productively move his small-talk forward.
“No. Saturdays and Sunday mornings are her dedicated times off.” Bian was already making his way to the front steps of the Hospital. “
Clark made a complicated face, running after the taller man with his hands tucked dutifully into the warmth of his trench-coat’s deep pockets. “You got another way of talking to our captain, then?”
Bian continued to hurry up the steps and into the lobby. “I do, actually…”
“Mister Joe! Mister Joe, why you runnin’?” Robbie asked, struggling to keep up with the tall, lame man as he began retracing his steps back to the ballroom.
Joe was barely paying attention to his traveling companions. Either of them, really. Sure, he had heard them, but his mind was in a thousand places at once. None of those places were where he actually stood at the time.
Who had Hatred been targeting?
“Professor-” Joe uttered. “I need the names of anyone who’d want Lapadura, Contento, and Mark Reznik dead.”
The professor let out an incredulous scoff, following slowly behind the injured man who was making a steady pace back to the ballroom despite his injuries. The man knew well enough not to get between a man and his mission: especially if he had no clear direction.
“It would be shorter to give you a list of who wouldn’t .”
“Anyone who wanted to move into the West part of town would want Smiley face dead,” Robbie noted. “Contento’s a bit of a bully to his own, unless they’re working with him.”
The professor looked down, stunned at the boy. Actually, he seemed almost horrified to hear it coming from a child’s mouth.
Robbie didn’t smile as the adult looked down at him. “He makes a lot of people cry,” was all he said. “Lots of people who can’t pay protection money. He has an interest of fifteen percent.”
Joe felt himself smiling somewhat. Robbie may have been six, but he had dirt on everyone. Smart kid . “What about Lapadura and Reznik?”
“I ‘unno. Someone who doesn’t like adult drinks… Or maybe rich people? Or egg-heads?”
Joe stopped, looking back to Robbie for just a moment as he considered what the little informant had just brought to light what he hadn’t realized. All of the victims were rich people… SMART rich people… But why? It was one thing to have a grudge against boot-leggers or gangsters, sure, but… This was becoming too strange to be a coincidence.
“Smart… Rich people…” he uttered again. “They have a grudge against smart rich people…”
“Alright,” the professor stammered nearby. “But- but why?”
“Because trickle-down economics don’t work,” Robbie said, deadpan.
“How do you even KNOW what that means?” the professor asked.
“Bad with words, good with numbers.”
Wujiu felt a sudden tug on his stomach. “So they’re doing this because they feel like they’re owed something from these people. Something they haven’t gotten, or they can’t get back.”
He’s been in that position before… Feeling owed something he could never get back was an awful feeling when there couldn’t be any resolution. He ignored the stinging sensation in his right knee and kept on going.
“So you’re going to ask him the questions?” detective White asked detective Clark.
“Well, he’s already met with you,” Clark reminded him as they hurried down the hallways of the hospital. “Unless you can think of a reason why me asking the questions will change anything. He doesn’t know you’re not leading the case anymore.”
There were perks to being with the famous detective on cases. Even in the cases where he wasn’t “in charge of”, his presence did carry a bit of heft to it. Clark, while an alright detective wasn’t exactly one for clout. This little exchange would help them both in the long-run.
Fable looked back at them from where he took point in the hallway. “He will if you two don’t keep quiet…” Fable reminded them as he walked them through one of the hallway doors inside the hospital. As much as Natalie would have loved to let Detectives Eli Clark and Xie “White” Bian through to see a patient- who was likely asleep- she wasn’t a doctor. Fable, on the other hand, technically, counted.
Sort of.
Fable stopped at the end of their hallway, the opposite side from their destination and turned to the both of them.
“I don’t know what you two are getting yourself into, but,” Clark whispered. “You two would be the only morons in the police-department who would care to know, but… Upon further inspection of the bodies; many of them had something powdery on their tongues.”
Clark made a noticeable face. “Powdery? Like…” he rubbed the underside of his nose, across his cupid’s bow. “You mean like snuff ?”
Fable shook his head. “I’ve not determined what it is, exactly, but it’s not cocaine, so we can rule that out. I will keep you informed as I uncover more… It’s rather hard to do when your samples are already half-dissolved and families are beginning to wonder when they can get their bodies back.”
White looked to Clark, then nodded quietly. White turned his attention back to the morbid, but all the while incredibly helpful fellow. “Thank you, Fable. You’re an absolute gem.”
Fable blinked slowly in a manner that suggested he was unimpressed. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere...” he pointed up at White. “You find this killer.”
“We will.”
“Good… Now I have bodies to go prepare.”
From behind Robbie the professor made a noise. “Did the fight with that man knock something into you you didn’t have before, Mister Black?”
“Mister Black?” Robbie questioned.
Wujiu kept quiet and didn’t directly answer them one way or another… Although, he definitely should have. He had no idea who this disguised fellow was and he was bad news, awful news… But he had done one thing Joe hadn’t done himself; put together the questions.
“Mister Haus,” Joe said as he continued to hobble along one of the hallways. “You said the only people who knew what the schedule for the ship would be are the members of the crew, right?” he asked.
The professor didn’t answer. “And maybe a handful others, but… Yes, primarily .”
“Who else?”
“Well, the kitchen staff for one thing,” he admitted. “Custodial and the like would as well… Although they don’t work every day the ship is docked. Emily would also know, but no more than a week or so in advance.”
Wujiu evened his tone. “Jonesy’s right out. She was working the night everyone died on Contento’s ship… Does the custodial work during the day or night?”
“Heavens,” the professor huffed. “During the day. Kitchen staff makes up for the difference.”
So they were straight off, too… But that just left the kitchen staff...
The shared hospital room for Jose Barden was dark save for the light from the hallway, but that light itself was mostly hidden by thick privacy curtains hidden amongst the various sleeping patients. They would still need to keep quiet, but it was not hard to find Jose Barden’s hospital bed.
The man lay in a feverish fit, his head propped up by an expanse of pillows as he blinked numbly up at the ceiling. Bian couldn’t tell if he had disturbed the tortured sailor, or if he had never been asleep to begin with.
“Whatdoyouwan?” the captain moaned.
“Ah- evening…” Bian said in a hushed tone. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Captain. I-”
“Oh…” Jose’s face softened. “The detective. Yes. Please… Come in. Did you need me?”
“Yes, Captain Barden. I’ve brought a fellow detective with me- um. We just. We wanted to ask you something.”
Jose licked his lips and shrugged.
“May-” he paused. “Full disclosure. I know that the poisoning itself took place in international waters…” he started. “But… Well. That will still point us to Hatred. Alright?”
Jose furrowed his brow sleepily, but was too fatigued by his own demons and nightmares to offer a vocal response.
“Could you tell me a little bit about that night?” he asked. “Anything or anyone who maybe… Got into an argument with your boss?”
Jose Barden pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not that I saw… There are plenty of people who want him dead already, too, amigo.”
Bian swallowed and looked back at Clark, who stood in front of the light as a dark silhouette of unidentifiable justice.
“Anything else?” Bian asked, turning back to the ailing captain. “Maybe… Maybe someone you argued with? Or anyone who may have gotten on the ship before you came back?”
Jose smiled and shook his head. “No. No arguments…” he said. “In fact… I… Well, you could say I got along with someone very well that night.”
Oh brother.
“What have you come to, Mister Black?” the professor stopped, his voice held some sort of judgemental steel to it which caused even the impatient and hasty twin to spin around.
“Professor, we really don’t have time for this-” he said. “Hatred is-”
“ Currently an unnamed assailant,” the professor said, crossing his arms. Robbie also came to a stop, but he looked more confused than anything.
Wujiu-- Wujiu didn’t have the time for this. If Hatred was who he thought it was- the three of them had already been gone too long.
“I’m normally plenty fine with cryptic answers. One would even say it’s a necessity to my profession, but the suspense is-”
Joe threw the notebook at the professor and turned around, gritting his teeth as he continued to waste no time.
The professor, more surprised than anything, looked down at the small note-book at his feet and casually flipped through its contents, eventually coming to the last page himself. The professor closed the notebook and looked down to Robbie.
“Young man, I do think it may be wise, oddly enough, if we keep our distance from the ballroom for now. What say you, we stick outside on the deck for safe-keeping?”
“Why?” Robbie asked. “What’s it say?”
“It has some…” the professor paused. “Pretty large bits of evidence that our dear not-detective has used to find out who the killer is.” The professor smiled and held the notebook up. “I only know of one person who can be answered for in every one of these questions…” he said in a soft voice. “If only I had realized sooner…”
“So, what were they like?” Bian asked. Given his particular inclination he didn’t want to judge Jose too critically right off the bat. In general not assuming the gender just tended to work better when you didn’t know to begin with.
The captain smiled and gestured to his hair. “A tan, pretty little thing. Light hair… Not from around here…” Then all at once Jose paused. “Wait… Wait.” He uttered. “Wait. She had-- pants on and…” Jose paused. “We were on… We were on the Yacht but- but she was with me the entire time.”
Bian leaned forward. “Pants? Was she disguised as a man?”
“No no-” Jose blinked. “No. She worked… She worked on the ship we visited.”
Bian furrowed his brow, gazing back to Clark for a split second to make sure he was hearing this correctly. The new lead-detective lifted his chin but shook his head. Evidently, the description the sleep-drunk detective was giving him wasn’t near enough to provide a tip.
“Could you,” detective White began, turning around to Jose. “Perhaps, tell me her name?”
“You don’t think she did it, did you?”
“We can’t be sure…” the detective answered truthfully. “But it wouldn’t hurt just to bring her into talk.”
Jose began to draw his lip up in worry as the sudden realization hit him. The man had been had in more ways than one. The poor man. It seemed just about everyone in that day and age had some moral betrayal of the heart- even if it was just a fling.
“The bartender--” Jose began to sob. “S-she was the bartender.”
White leaned in. “Her. Name.”
“Demi,” Emily said from her bar-stool. “They should have been back by now. You don’t think they… Ran into trouble did they?”
The bartender lifted herself off of the floor behind the bar. Emily and Mike had been the first to return, and that was just the worst . Demi’s plan to get Tracy up on the top deck alone had been pretty much foiled. At this point- her plans had been thwarted thoroughly by the detective and his mirror-like twin.
Demi had been so careful to avoid the police on this. One would say she had done her homework, although that was definitely what she’d rather be doing. It was actually earlier that night when she decided to cut her losses and come get her stash. It was only a matter of time before dumb-ass Mike decided to pop open her bottle and poisoned everyone in the ship… Although, she should have blamed herself for that. She had been the one in charge of teaching him and… Well.
It was probably best she didn’t teach him to be a good bartender. Mike wasn’t a bad guy, neither was Em. If it hadn’t been for the obviousness of the detective and his twin being in the pocket of anyone with a decent fan of cash; she would have suspected the same of them as well…
She didn’t like killing anyone just trying to make a decent living.
Demi reached behind the bar and took the old bottle of “absinthe”. Pernod Fils was a brand of absinthe that had been far too popular for its own good back in Europe. When the ban on the stuff went through the price of the bottles- empty or filled- shot through the roof. Only the richest could afford it.
And that was sort of the point.
From what she had been told by her patrons; the aconite tasted bitter, and numbing. Not different from alcohol in general. But to put it all in a bottle that only the creme-de-la-creme could even hope to ask about kept her kill-count with it surprisingly low… And of course; it was her booze. Of course she’d be defensive of it. She could walk anywhere with it and be none the wiser. Same thing went for the “powdered sugar” which had one part cyanide for every five parts powdered sugar… And even less of that was arsenic.
A perfect little cocktail of death that only the rich could drink… Or share.
“Oh- hey-” Mike said from the end of the bartop. Mike had been idly staring at the bar, while Emily had been looking into the ballroom. No doubt waiting for her new honey-boy… Or at least she thought.
“What?” Demi asked Mike.
“Mister Black saw that bottle-”
Instantly Demi stepped closer to the bar, giving the substitute bar-tender a stare she hadn’t fully intended to. “Did he use any of it?” she demanded.
Mike seemed to be surprised by her snappish attitude. The room went quiet and slowly Demi reeled herself in.
“You, uh,” she smiled. “You have no idea how pricey this is.”
Mike finally shrugged.
Poor Mike was too much of a dumbass for his own good. It took forever for the man to learn anything it seemed, so Demi had done a bang-up job of teaching him that a lot of the booze behind her was insanely expensive. Mike wasn’t particularly hard to impress upon. He knew he needed money to pay the bills and he didn’t want the price of expensive liqueur to come out of his tab.
“No. He just noticed it was there,” he said, not questioning her in the slightest. With that little white lie; why would he? “Actually, I think we should hire him. Man can mix drinks like-” he held up a finger. “He made drinks that were safe for me to drink.”
Oh.
Demi let out a sigh of relief as the immediate danger passed from the room.
“Hah-hah, did he now?” Demi asked, pulling the Pernod Fils bottle free of the bar. “I’m just takin’ this inland. If there is a stow-away I don’t want to risk this getting broken or jipped. Everything else can be replaced, y’know?”
“Seems smart,” Mike agreed. “But seriously, can we hire him?” Mike asked. “He’s the Bee’s Knees!... Sure, a bit of a show-off, but-”
“A bit?” Emily asked, turning around in her bar-stool. “A BIT?” she asked Mike. “Oh, you have no idea.”
Mike shrugged. “The man gave me a full-on lesson on how to bartend!” he protested. “Up to AND INCLUDING telling me to wash my glasses!”
“Oh-” Emily kept her eyes on Mike. “Oh that’s the very base of what he’s capable of.”
Mike snorted. “Of course you’d know that, Em…” he said wryly. “He any good in the sideways tango with that jammed up leg of his?”
Demi couldn’t help but frown slightly at that. Emily, or whatshername, seemed a nice enough broad, but was basically just a paycheck or two away from being a pro skirt. Emily seemed to practically devour men when she wasn’t playing the role of a successful doctor on dry land, and they’d also slip away just as easily. From what Demi had heard: Em’s was a fun lay, but didn’t play nice when people treated her like a kitten. No. She liked to stamp her heels into people’s feet and buck the system. Needless to say this made her a terrible permanent bed-fellow… But she didn’t seem to mind.
“Wouldn’t know,” Emily said. “He just got around to telling me he liked me.”
Oh. Oh well, that was a plot-twist for the century.
Demi lifted her gaze slightly and peered at Emily. “That hasn’t mattered before, has it?”
That was when Emily turned to her and gave off the most… Cloyingly sweet, sappy, suckered-in grin that Demi had ever seen give to anyone. The next words that followed put a pang of sympathy through the bartender.
“None of the men I’ve been with were fine liking a woman like me. They just wanted a good time.”
Mike made an uncomfortable noise, but didn’t jump to defend himself.
“Joe’s…” Emily smiled. “He’s different. He nearly bit my head off when we first met and is such a palooka he hasn’t realized how much he’s made up for it… He’s just…” she smiled. “Constantly trying to make things better. Gives me time. He’s a helluva cook, and…”
“Easy on the eyes?” Demi asked.
“No-” Emily was quick to jump to defend the absent man’s honor. “I mean- yes he certainly is- but he’s fine fighting with me! He’s-” she smiled and leaned onto the counter. “He’s different.”
Demi and Mike exchanged a look of doubt. The words; “Yeah, that’s what they all say” were not spoken, but they clung to everything like thick humidity. Even the singer seemed to understand what the others were thinking.
“I mean…” Emily excused. “What’s the worst that could happen? He winds up not liking me in the end?” she asked.
Mike shrugged, making a thoroughly unimpressed noise. “You gunna settle down for him, then?”
Emily rolled her eyes, set her head down on the bar-top and actively turned away from the disgruntled looking Joker. “No one’s going to want me to settle down. Better to find someone who wants me to keep going.”
“You know you can’t marry him, right?... You’re white. He’s.... Not.”
“Thank you captain obvious.”
Demi had to fight the urge to roll her eyes as the two shared their banter. Mike wasn’t… All bad . Primarily he was just a chauvinist lug who fancied himself a con. She had to admit; he didn’t look like the picture of hired muscle, but the fella could take a surprisingly good licking when it came to physical fists. When it came to emotional ones; not so much. Mike wasn’t particularly interested in Emily, so he shouldn’t have cared. He was acting like a childhood bully who didn’t like people playing with the toys he once did.
But there was more nuance to these two than she cared to admit. Tit for Tat; Mikey was a bit of a dumb-ass, but he knew where he sat on the totem-pole. He, like her, was just another servant for those with pockets deep enough to afford them. Emily was a bit of an odd duck… She was here longer than Demi, but had come to know that Emily’s performances weren’t always a fun little side-project to shake off stress, but once it was one of the only things that kept her working in town.
Above all else; they were both good, hardworking, people. People who weren’t afraid to roll up their sleeves and put in some elbow-grease to get their jobs done. People who saw where they were, where they wanted to be, and actually hoofed it to make it there.
They were good eggs… But sometimes you had to crack a few of them to make an omelette.
Unsure of what the detective’s brother knew, Demi decided then and there that she, ultimately, didn’t need to poison either of them. She did, however, need an out- which thankfully came to her on the sound of rain beginning to hit one of the windows.
The bartender and her two “patrons” turned to watch before the woman tucked the bottle of aconite under her arm. She lifted her chin at the two.
“Well. They should’ve been back by now,” Demi told them. “But I’m not armed, and I gotta move the expensive stuff inland,” she told them. “Let Contento know where I went, okay?” she asked.
Jonesy nodded to Demi. “You have a good time, Demi,” she said in a soft, nearly maternal voice. “See you next week.”
Not on your life, but- “Thanks, Em. You too.”
Demi took a deep sigh and began to walk towards the set of stairs up to the top deck. Her heart was still racing in her chest, feeling discovery of her little “side-gig” just around the corner, but it was nothing if not stressful trying to maintain a peaceful composure.
Just one foot in front of the other. One step at a time until she was free.
Demi stood at the top of the second flight of stairs, up on the top floor of the deck when she peered back down into the impressive stadium-like ship. If she had just been a guest; she would have loved this ship just as much as Emily did, but from where she stood it looked like a slow descent down into hell. Like in Dante’s inferno; one of the books she had been required to read for one of her classes… Professor Kurt had been so eager when she had actually taken the time to pick out narrative elements on her own… Now look at her. Standing down at her own personal hell, working for the literal scum who would have wanted her there… And like Dante; she had climbed down to it’s very bottom, and was rising up again.
Onto purgatory.
Demi turned to begin walking towards the loading bay when the doors out to the top deck opened, Patricia and Tracy coming towards her. Demi felt herself clinch as the two came forward, Tracy frowning.
“We ain’t found diddly!” Tracy said, more frustrated than anything else. “An’ now it’s startin’ to rain!”
Demi felt her shoulders slope as she began to relax. “Maybe the little guy’s already jumped ship?” she asked the two as a… Thought crossed her mind. It was just Patricia, Tracy, and she up here and temptation began to rear its ugly head. Demi felt her free hand reach for the cork of the aconite bottle, trying to twist it just the smallest amount to rub it onto her glove. Tracy wouldn’t know, and-... Well. Patricia would be sad, but she’d be better off.
“Have you had any luck?” the aforementioned woman asked.
What was Demi thinking?! She had to leave! No more killing- not now. Not until she had another plan at least!
Demi’s hand recoiled from the bottle’s cork and she gestured down-stairs. “Actually nah. No one’s gotten back- but I’m not armed, and I’m starting to think staying on here is a bad idea.”
“Aw jeez!” Tracy exclaimed, running past Demi and to the precipice of the stairs. “My dumbass is down there!” she hollered down to the ballroom floor. Demi supposed it was a way to make an entrance…
Patricia gave her an apologetic look, and gestured to the door. “They’re still loading the boats,” she said. “You should hurry if you want to get to shore before it gets too bad… It looks like it’s going to wind up being a real downpour.”
Demi smiled at the fellow bar-tender, smiling softly. “Thanks, Pat… I’ll do that,” she said as she began to make her way outside the door they came from- temptation still lingering on her tongue.
It tasted like hate.
Wujiu burst through the side-door of the ballroom, wind nearly knocked out of him. Now both legs were screaming in protest. It would hurt like a bitch come morning; but a lot more would hurt if he didn’t keep going.
Jonesy stood from the barstool she was sat at as he hobbled forward, leaning on the umbrella the masked stranger had left nearby him.
“What happened?” she asked, her face growing with more and more concern as she realized he had been bloodied, was practically soaked to the bone, and was missing his signature cane, replaced by an umbrella he clearly hadn’t been using for its intended purpose.
But just as before, when she was worrying about him, he found himself worrying more and more about something else.
He didn’t answer her, only gruffly huffing out. “Where’s Demi?”
Jonesy, confused and frightened by his obvious and quite sudden vitriol pointed up to the top-deck. “She left just a few minutes ag-”
Joe didn’t stop to greet her, didn’t stop to explain. If he did; someone could be very dead at that very moment. He merely struggled past her as she spun around to watch him run in broken footsteps.
“Joe? JOE!” she asked… At first in a manner fitting her mood, then slowly growing more and more testy. “JOE-” she huffed. “Oh-... Oh unbelievable-- WUJIU FAN. You tell me what’s going on, right now, mister!”
Joe had already made it to and halfway up the set of the first flight of stairs when he called back. “DEMI. HATRED,” he said, not even bothering to fill in the gaps.
He could hear Jonesy pad up behind him in her heels, the distinct sound of them clicking against the wooden floor, then the stairs. “You can’t be serious!” she said. “It can’t be Demi. She’s been the bartender here since the big 18th!”
Joe felt his gut tighten as he stopped and swiveled on his good leg to look at her, his hands firmly planted on the railing and the umbrella beside him. “She has?” he asked, recalling the earlier realization. “How did she get that honor?”
Jonesy stopped, sputtering. “I don’t- she’s working through college, I know.”
College. College meant tuition, book money, living expenses… Joe wasn’t a moron; there was no way in hell he could have made that sort of cheddar on bartending alone.
“She took out a loan, didn’t she?”
Mike stood and ran to the base of the stairs. “She did, actually. How’d you know?”
Joe swiveled around a little further. “Call it a hunch!” he said as he turned around and began stomping back up the stairs. “Think about it!”
“JOE!” Jonesy hollered at him as he already was kicking up to a run- soon to be eclipsed by Mike’s own yelling as he seemingly fit the puzzle pieces of the jigsaw together.
“BLACK! She took a bottle with her!” Mike yelled.
Wujiu let out an aggravated scream. “OF COURSE SHE FUCKING DID!”
Bian felt his knuckles clench around the steering wheel of his car as he and Clark drove in tense silence to the University. Although he was doing his best not to: he was seeing red. Right there. It was right there in front of them and they hadn’t even had the chance to put two-and-two together!
For a moment he had been happy he hadn’t come with Clark in a police-car, because the distant sounds of Ellis and Alonso in their cop-cars and their sirens blazing made him want to chew them out something fierce.
Clark made a noise as if he had wanted to say something, but Bi’an shot the lead detective a glare that shut him up… At least for the time being.
“We’ll get her,” Clark said sternly. “She’s got nowhere to run.”
“What if she skips town?” White asked. “What if she gets away and tries to cause trouble somewhere else?”
Clark paused, then lifted his chin. “Then the feds will handle it,” he said. “And a new case will fill in the gaps.”
White took a moment to mull over Clark’s last sentence. The other man had taken care to say it in that particular fashion. “You think I’m not going to let it go?” he asked as he turned down a boulevard and made a bee-line for the University, which was slowly coming into view.
Then something strange happened. Something oddly human and observant Bi’an hadn’t expected Clark to observe so keenly. The comparatively private detective leveled his gaze at the university and let out a nervous sigh.
“White,” he said. “You’re a damn good detective,” he said. “Believe me when I say; you don’t need the eyes of the entire city watching you for Knight and the rest of the department to know that.”
Bian felt his knuckles tighten much more on the steering wheels as his walls flew up in defense, but finding it too late to matter. In a multitude of years working around each other, Clark hadn’t jumped the gun on any large cases… Bi’an had always assumed it was because Clark wasn’t very good at his job… But what if Xie Bi’an had just been so eager to prove himself? So eager to have the spotlight on him to spite the world?
And the counter-question… What if he didn’t need that ?
Although the question left Bian sore, it left him feeling a medicinal sort of sore. The discomfort of medicine being administered through a syringe as he questioned everything that happened over the length of these last few days.
“But we’re going to catch her,” Clark quickly pointed out. “She’s going to get tried. She’s going to go to jail.”
In that moment, driving down the road and pulling up to the university Bi’an wasn’t scared for his future. Bian felt like he mattered, and that, maybe, in some way, he was wanted at the station, though he knew not why.
“Like hell we are,” he said, feeling secure, and excited. “Head inside. Check if professor Haus is there.”
Demi stood on the bow of the ship watching as the last yacht drove away with the remaining passengers as the rain began to pick up it’s pace. She sort of stood with a slack to her shoulders. A slack of disappointment and realization as her clean get-away was no longer clean, nor a get-away.
There was a surreal moment to it where Wujiu realized right then and there he was confronting a killer. Not a soldier, or a survivor by circumstances; but a cold-blooded killer. When he blinked he saw nothing more than the bartender of the SS Canada and had to remind himself she was far more than that.
Wujiu wasn’t the most quiet person on the face of the planet. The door down into the Canada clattered open and Demi turned around… But instead of looking shocked or scared that she had been discovered she just looked manic and amused. The same sort of nervous excitement that people got when they stood in front of crowds without anything to say.
“OH!” she jeered. “Oh, HI detective!” she jeered, leaning on one side of her hip- the missing bottle she had taken in her hand. “Fancy seein’ you here.”
Wujiu felt a snarl curl up into his face. “I ain’t a fuckin’ detective,” he said, hobbling closer towards her, but he dare not close that distance. The bottle itself was a dangerous weapon in a pinch; but a poisoned bottle was just an insult to the injury.. “And cut the crap, Demi!”
From behind him he heard the collecting footsteps of those who had, unfortunately, become privy to his little “investigation”. They lingered behind him soaking up the scene of the half-done Demi Burbon coming to terms with her fate; but they all had one question on their mind.
“Why’d you do it, Demi?” he asked. “Nowhere to run! May as well come clean and tell us why you deep-sixed all those people!”
Demi didn’t answer for a second, in fact she looked insulted. “People?” she echoed back. “You call these thugs and whores and manipulators ‘people’ ?!” Her voice cracked, nearly reaching up into a shrill shriek as more and more theories were confirmed.
Demi had it in for gangs. Whether it be just for the gangs in Otleus, or the greater concept of organized crime they didn’t know- but they didn’t need to know. Demi had a motive; Demi had killed… And knowing what he knew; Demi would kill again.
“These ain’t people . They’re fuckin’ anchors, Black! Anchors who drown people less privileged than they are! They wouldn’t know you from Adam if not for how useful you are to them!”
From behind him, Wujiu heard the utterance of disbelief-- but not from the girls. From Mike. “... Demi?” He barely spoke over a whisper, and barely seemed to be breathing to say any more.
“That’s a lie!” Tracy screeched from the entrance behind him. With a few good thrusts of her shoulder the flapper-girl had pushed through Wujiu’s protective wall and taken center-stage. “Why’d you kill my dadd-”
Demi was quick to interrupt.“Yeah. That’s the thing. I didn’t ?” Demi said evenly, watching Tracy’s face morph. Despite the obvious disdain she displayed, though, she didn’t seem to be lying. She kept her eyes squarely on Tracy as she said this, and her excited nature seemed to vanish for a second.
Instead, it was Tracy who was getting hysterical. “You- You’re lying. You killed him.”
Demi, or Hatred, rolled her eyes and made a disgusted grunt. “You see this shit? This is what I’m talkin’ about, Black.” With a quick reassessment of her situation Demi re-addressed Tracy with a smart, condescending tone. “Believe it or not, lovey ; your dad had plenty a’enemies. He probably died gettin’ mugged by someone lookin’ for a dime. Not everythin’s a grand scheme.”
“Why’d you DO it?!” Mike demanded. “Even if you wanted to kill the families, that--” he stopped for a moment. Wujiu didn’t want to look back at Mike coming to grips with his emotions. “You still killed A BUNCH of other people! People who had nothing to do with us!”
Demi’s face twitched. Clearly there was… Something there. It would have been an obvious statement to say Demi didn’t want to get caught as Hatred, but the way she reacted to Mike’s expression made Joe think there was more to this than he thought.
Demi closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as a crack of thunder could be heard from around them. The storm had caught up to them all.
Finally, Hatred lifted her chin and looked back to Mike. “Sometimes… When you want to cut out an infection; you gotta cut off a limb, Mike… Sorry.”
Betrayal permeated through Wujiu’s new vest and shirt as he stood, witnessing the fallout of someone he barely even knew, coming to terms with the fact someone he obviously knew very well: was in fact someone who would have just as easily seen him dead.
“Hey. At least Black’s new enough. He can say he doesn’t know anythin’, but you all?” Demi asked, letting silence drift between everyone. After a few moments she seemingly set her head on straight again and switched which hip she was leaning on. “Ah, whatever…”
Wujiu watched as she lifted the hand with the bottle in it. She kept her grip on the neck, and placed her other hand on the bottom.
“You want this?” she asked the group, a sneer coming off of her face as she lifted the bottle by the neck to her shoulder and instantly Wujiu felt himself scrambling backwards. “HAVE IT!”
That was when the world slowed for Wujiu.
In what could have only been seconds, Wujiu turned around in an attempt to get away from the bottle being hurled in his direction. He distantly heard the familiar sound of a gun being fired from somewhere else, and the distinct feeling of vertigo of slipping on a wet floor.
With the rain water clinging to him everything made Wujiu feel like he was suffocating. The detective’s brother dared not breathe in case the gun had been fired in his way. Joe felt his heart beat faster as subconsciously he realized that every single raindrop could also be a deadly poison he didn’t entirely understand. From where he was tumbling to the ground he caught a glimpse of Jonesy standing in the doorway, gun drawn and Mike running past him- no. Skidding past him.
Past that; he couldn’t really make heads or tails of the next few seconds.
By the time Joe was back on planet earth, he had realized several things. The bottle didn’t break-- Mike had caught it. He sat on the wet deck, clutching it like it was a small crying child in the rain. Jonesy, Tracy, and Patricia had all run to the side of the ship, looking down the side, trying to spot something they couldn’t entirely see. They were looking for Hatred- but past that he couldn’t discern if she had been shot- or if she had just jumped ship. Perhaps it was both…
Wujiu stood shakily and hobbled over to reach for something- anything that kept him on even ground, clutching the umbrella as he limped with unclear purpose to the side of the ship and grabbed the railing near the girls.
For a moment he could hear their idle chatter. “Did she dive?”
“I saw you got her, Em-”
“What way is the current going?”
“Do you think she can make it back to shore?”
“Joe?”
Wujiu blinked and looked down at his hand, watching the reddish, slivers of blood wash away was rain-droplets hit his hand and the railing beneath. Jonesy shot Hatred- and she hit.
“Joe?” the doctor singer asked, a little more frantically this time as she grabbed his arm.
He looked down at the woman- her gun still in her free hand as she looked up at him, dark eyes lined with worry that was not obscured by the makeup sliding down her face as she tried desperately to bring Wujiu back out of shock. He had been here not more than an hour or two, and in that time Jonesy had proven to be a bushel of surprises.
“... You…” he blinked. “You just fuckin’ shot her.”
Jonesy flinched. “She threw poison at you,” she said, nearly apologetically.
Wujiu hadn’t seen a murder. He had never killed anyone, but injuries were commonplace. Death itself wasn’t a foreign concept; but occasionally it popped up in such a personal and strange way it made you look at things different.
“Sh-she was going to hurt us- or worse- get away and hurt other people. I-” Jonesy was beginning to panic. “I still stand by my decision, but w-we should probably set you down and-”
It was hard to explain what he felt, really. On one hand: Jonesy was the no-nonsense, but kind-hearted and good intentioned doctor. On the other hand: she was a goddamned firecracker that could probably kill someone if push came to shove- she certainly had the knowledge to- but here she stood apologizing and trying to brush past that part in her life… Literally since the moment he had stepped on this ship- since he stepped into this town, even- she had been the one protecting his ass. Not the other way around.
He was an asshole for thinking otherwise.
Joe was also VERY happy that between he and Mike; they were all saved.
Wujiu let go of the umbrella and dropped down to embrace her. Yes he was in pain. Yes his knee hurt like a bitch. YES he probably should not have grabbed her without her permission… But fuckit. He had done plenty wrong in these last few days; he was fine with risking being wrong once more as he peppered Joney’s head with kisses and hugged her for all she was worth.
The world came to a crawl again- but this time he was no longer the helpless detective’s brother needing to be saved.
Jonesy didn’t stop for a moment, instead she stood in stunned silence before laughing and pushing Wujiu’s chin. “Jooooe Stoooopp--” she giggled. “You’ll get makeup on your face~”
“Gosh, I hope so!” he said brazenly. He had just had a near run-in with death itself and he had decided, at least for now, life was too short to spend wasting on figuring out if this would really come back to bite him.
Jonesy pushed his chin, laughing. “Oh my god, Joe. Sttttoooopppp!”
“Could you two, maybe, focus?” Patricia asked from beside them. She and Tracy both looked unimpressed by how the two of them were handling the situation.
“What? It’s not like she can get back to shore in this storm!” Joe said triumphantly. “And she got shot. That means it’s going to be even harder for her to get ashore, so-” he kissed Jonesy’s temple again. “Problem solved. Hatred’s gone.”
Tracy turned from the railing and gave Patricia a look. “He’s got a bit of a point.”
“No body-” Patricia started. “Means no confirmation that she’s actually gone. It also means she doesn’t get tried. Haven’t any of you picked up an Agatha Christie Novel? Besides-” Patricia went quiet for a moment before she pointed in a direction behind him. Back to Mike, who was now standing holding the old bottle.
Mike was looking incredibly sour, his face and his eyes in particular blood and water-shot. Joe didn’t know much about the fellow other than the fact he was a terrible bar-keep, and evidently had a “throat thing” which prevented him from enjoying booze all together… But he knew that look. He didn’t like booze-but he certainly seemed to enjoy the bar-maid.
Wujiu let go of Jonesy for a moment and slowly limped his way to Mike. There really wasn’t much he could do, Wujiu got that, but he still wanted to at least be around in case the opportunity presented itself to help him.
“Mike, I-”
“You weren’t going to kill her?” Mike asked quietly. “You were going to take her to your brother?”
Wujiu blinked. This man stood with the poison that killed a great amount of people. A great amount of people he probably knew on a personal basis. Now they were gone, and they were gone by the hands of someone he unknowingly also knew.
“I’m sorry. I-”
Mike clutched the bottle tighter. “Were you? Or were you NOT gunna turn her into the buttons?”
Wujiu stared into the eyes of the Joker who had punched him that morning the message for Miss M was going to be delivered. He blinked and felt his face and fingers tighten. “Yeah. She should have gotten what was coming to her… I’m sorry.”
Mike’s expression remained unchanged for a moment before he extended the bottle to Joe. “... It’s not your fault… Thanks.”
Wujiu went a little slack-jawed at the gesture and took the bottle into his hands. The sound of someone else stepped onto the deck as Contento, the professor and Robbie shortly thereafter came to the scene of the newest crime.
“What the fuck was that?!” Contento asked. “Did you get ‘im?!”
Wujiu felt the bottle in his hands and turned slightly to Contento.
“Yeah. About that… We need to talk.”
It took all of the time till the next yacht came to ferry them back to shore, and that travel time to explain what had apparently happened. They told Contento everything. How Demi was Hatred, and was apparently killing off the rich because of some debt she blamed him for.
When addressed Mike said nothing, in fact he made active efforts to turn away from his boss, whose own emotions ranged in an entire spectrum. Contento was sometimes mad, sometimes he was remorseful… Sometimes he just sat there, staring at his own feet, knowing full well he had brought this about himself.
He didn’t fight the detective’s brother when he kept the bottle. He also didn’t make a move to comfort his henchman. By the time they all pulled to shore Patricia had been happy enough to drive Joe, Tracy, Jonesy, and he home. She offered Robbie a ride, too, but Robbie declined, saying he had to go meet a friend
Wujiu told her to let him go. Out of all of them; Robbie was probably the least likely to be hurt from any of this… So he and Jonesy sat in the back of the car, tiredly leaning on each other as they got to sit down and process the relative laundry-list of everything that had happened in the last six hours.
“Are you going to be okay by yourself for a bit?” Jonesy asked him.
“Well… Bi’an is probably going to be coming back any moment now… I’ll be fine. Hand him the bottle then. I am… Too tired. To do anymore… Not tonight.”
“That’s fair…” she uttered. “You need a new cane.”
Wujiu shrugged. “The umbrella is working fine, Jonesy…” he told her, then watched her face. “... But a new cane would probably be easier to tolerate. Right?”
Jonesy smiled from beside him and sat up a bit straighter to kiss him on the cheek. “Lydia… Call me Lydia, Joe.”
Wujiu smiled softly back and waved to the car as they drove off into the distance. With no sign of Bi’an, Wujiu brought the bottle up to his room and put it on the window-sill before stripping out of his wet clothing and crawling into bed. Still reeling from all that had happened.
Robbie let himself in the normal way, locking the door behind him as he scuttled through the dusty, red-and-browinish striped apartment. To the boy, Robbie had always wondered why this place seemed so sad, always so dirty. He knew it wasn’t- it was just an old building- but it always confused him why they had to stay at this place. He certainly didn’t enjoy it, and he knew that his caretaker definitely did not, either if the photographs were any indication.
Anyway, Robbie set about turning on the heater, and hanging his clothing on the rim of the bath-tub in the dark. He loitered about for a moment before pulling out a large nightshirt a size too big for him and hopped up onto the red, fuzzy-soft couch. It wasn’t a very nice couch aside from the fuzzy outside. It’s springs were hard, and it was too sproingy to be any use as a soft spot- but that’s not where he wanted to be right now. No. Right now he wanted to stay awake and stare at the front door.
Robbie peered his head over the arm of the couch to stare into the entry-way, waiting patiently, nervously, for the door to be unlocked a second time and the person who would inevitably come through it. Robbie desperately wished that he had permission to cook- warm food was definitely going to be a must when his caretaker returned.
Robbie sat there for hours, endeavoring only to move if he really needed to take a tinkle or something. By the time blue morning light was peaking through the blinds he was half-crying, scared his caretaker didn’t make it back-- then presently-- there came a shifting from the door. The sounds specifically of someone messing with the door handle.
Finally, the jingling of keys.
Then, the sound of the door swinging open as the sound of heavy, squelching, footsteps wandered into the entry-way. There came the sound of loud breaths being pushed through a butchered-up mask, and quiet utterances of something as razor-lined gloves scrapped the walls.
“Rmbie…” it sounded like. “Rmbie-”
Robbie perked up instantly. “Mister Jack! I’m here- I’m here!” he said, maybe a bit too loudly, maybe a bit too happily, but Robbie didn’t care for a moment. He bounded off the sofa and ran to his care-taker-- who was covered in sea-salt and smelled like fish.
As the boy hugged at the legs of his secret care-taker, the mask was slowly removed, tossed casually onto a nearby table as the Chief-of-Police de-clawed himself. Once he was; there was no time wasted in returning Robbie’s affection.
“Oh thank God…” Jack uttered, bending down and actually giving the child a hug proper. “Did they hurt you? Did I scare you, sport?”
Robbie shook his head. “You were gone a lotta time…” Then the little informant squinted. “Your lips are blue.”
The Chief let out a shiver. “I’m very cold.”
“Did you swim back?”
The Police-chief didn’t answer. Instead he stood, slowly touching Robbie on the shoulder and turning him around. “You’ve been up too long. Lets get you to bed. I’ll… I’ll take care of myself.”
Robbie let out a displeased hum. “You’re gunna get sick. Gunna get the New-Monias.”
The police chief let out a chuckle that devolved into a thin fit of coughs. “I’ll take the day off. Go to bed, sport… I’ll make breakfast in a bit.”
Robbie turned around and grabbed Jack’s legs. “You sleep! You’re gunna get yourself broken!”
The police-chief let out another chuckle. “After I bathe.”
“Okay…” Robbie conceded, letting the police-chief escort him to the bedroom. Mister Jack had a nice bed that Robbie came to love. Robbie was used to sleeping in the same bed as his family members. Even when he had been given to his relatives he had to share a bed with his cousins-- who would often kick him out. Robbie was well happy enough to split even-stevens with Mister Jack. Besides: Mister Jack was warm! Barring right now, because right now he looked and smelled like a fish man.
Robbie hopped into the bed and smooshed down into the covers, looking for Jack to be pleased with Robbie’s amount of tucked in.
Mister Jack pat the boy on the head and was just about to leave for the wash-room before Robbie sat up.
“Did you get her?”
Mister Jack didn’t answer for a moment. “ No... I couldn’t find her.”
Robbie made a noise. "She's still out there, then."
Robbie looked up to Jack for many a things... His attitude was one of them. The disguised police-chief smiled at the boy as he closed the door to the bedroom. "For now... Get some sleep, Sport. We'll discuss more after some time."
The little informant smiled and turned back into the pillow. "Night mister Jack..."
"Good night, Robbie..." Jack Knight echoed back. "I'll wake you in a little while."