#finally a semi-decent copper~ ...who also very much likes getting into people's faces

[jtownraindancer]

"That your handiwork is it? How- How is that funny?"

Burn Gorman as PC Renwick in Cemetery Junction, 2010.

[azure7539arts]

The International (Part 2)

Rating: General

Premise: Q, a private detective, has received a new case to look into.

► Other parts: (1)

The fact that they’re meeting in a nightclub really just amps the shady level up to a… five if this is supposed to be on a scale from 0 to 10.

Not too bad, Q supposes.

He’s eyeing the entrance to see how best to approach this when a tall, bulky man—most likely a bouncer—comes up to him, asks if he’s Q, then, upon receiving a confirmation, leads him inside, cutting through an entire long line of people queuing to enter the club.

Flashing LED colored lights plunge the place into a strange rhythm that’s off tune compared to the music in the background… not that the mass of people people currently writhing and grinding on the dance floor appear to mind, of course.

Just off to the side are the ‘private’ booths, separated from the outside by curtains (so one can decide on how private that actually depending on one’s own sensibility), and Q finds himself standing in front of the very last one in the row once the bouncer has walked away after apparently completing his mission of leading Q to where he needs to be.

With one inhaled breath and a mental what the hell, Q pushes the curtain out of the way and slips inside.

There are two men occupying the semi-circular plush couch that makes up most of enclosed space, both of whom are blond with remarkably piercing eyes.

It takes Q a bit to realize that he hasn’t moved or said anything for nearly four seconds.

“Good evening,” the one with blue eyes between these strangers begins, an easy smile slipping onto his lips as he leans forward in his seat. “You must be Q.”

Even though the other one—the man with green eyes, longer blond hair, and half a face full of what seem like burn scars—doesn’t say anything, hasn’t even quite reacted yet, Q can still feel an assertive sort of aura oozing from his every pore.

“I am.” Q nods, moving now to sit down at the edge of the sofa, keeping a respectable distance. “Which one of you is Richard Sterling?”

At this, both men seem marginally amused that Q is cutting right to the chase instead of wasting time.

“I am,” Blue Eyes replies, the smirk playing on his lips looking to have every potentials of taking on a cruel twist. “Would you like a drink, Q?”

Q thinks about it for moment and says, “Sure.”

Sterling presses a button at the side of the table which quickly prompts a server to enter and take Q’s order. To his credit, Q’s expression remains unchanged by the time he turns back to the other two men, whose silent presence alone seems already enough to make said poor server slightly nervous.

“You stated in the preliminary questions that you are looking for a missing person?” Q begins, and upon receiving a nod, continues with: “Any reason why you aren’t contacting the proper authority?”

Sterling quirks an eyebrow at him, but before he can say anything, Green Eyes cuts in: “We don’t want any copper here.” He leans forward now, too, and from the slightly exasperated look in Sterling’s face and his general lack of any real desire to rectify the situation, this isn’t the first time he’s done this—taking control of the conversation, that is. “Look, if you don’t want to—...”

“You don’t want the police snooping around because you’re the head of the Amber Gang, aren’t you.” It really isn’t a question, and from the way their eyes go frosty in barely a fraction of a second, despite their unchanging postures, Q can tell that he just hit home run… Or something. He’s never been very good at baseball anyway. “It’s really not that difficult to piece the clues together, you know.”

Amber has been one of the most active gangs in this city. They’re not the most brutal, but they’re smart, efficient, and ruthless if necessary. Of course, not everything attributed to Amber circulating on the news is true (not at any allegation sticks), but Q has heard enough (and has actively searched for it, out of curiosity, enough) to know that the leader of this gang has a description that almost exactly matches Sterling here. And the regularly spotted companion, who is Green Eyes over there, doesn’t really help with all this so-called secrecy, which is pretty lousy, to be honest.

And Q says as much because he knows that between not saying and consequently getting murdered for being mistaken as someone sent by a rival gang, and saying and only possibly getting murdered… he has the obvious choice.

Eve will so lock him up after this should she ever find out.

Once he finishes his analysis, Q sits still, tries to regulate his breathing and any other outward physical projections of his swelling nervousness (ha, you’re only nervous now?), and calculates the ways in which he can maneuver out of here more or less alive if worse comes to worst.

Green Eyes leans closer to ‘Sterling’ and whispers something, the cold gleam of his eyes piercing in the dim light of the booth. Whatever he said, it has ‘Sterling’ chuckling, the sound deep inside his throat, husky and warm, and Q quickly turns back to counting all the possible entry and exit points that he previously spotted when the bouncer was leading him in.

“Come on,” ‘Sterling’ says and stands suddenly, hands already automatically buttoning up his jacket. “We’ll tell you the job on the way.”

Q blinks then elects to show his cards and have his distrust on full display, refusing to stand up yet.

This just, not so surprisingly, makes their smirks grow that bit more shark like.

“Don’t worry,” ‘Sterling’ reassures with what he must think to be his most soothing voice. (Or is it the other way around?) “We won’t bite.”

Q sighs but eventually relents and straightens up as well, smoothing down his parka. “Look, don’t get me wrong,” he begins. “It’s not that I don’t like following clients who don’t even give me their real names to an unknown second location, it’s just that…” He shakes his head slowly, gently. “I don’t like it.”

He smiles wryly, and somehow, this seems to take them aback a little.

But really, if they expect for everyone in their lives to just mindlessly listen them, they have hired the wrong detective.

“For a person who calls himself Q, you sure have a lot of conditions,” Green Eyes finally drawls, exasperated, maybe, but probably not that irritated.

Q shrugs, “It’s just how I do business, I’m afraid. Aside from what you just pointed out, the information you have on me taken from our office, is transparent.” Mostly. They don’t need to know that.

Green Eyes can barely suppress his eye-roll.

‘Sterling’ just sucks in a breath as his eyes flicker to the side, amusement infusing in his smile now. “You can call me James,” he says in the end. “And this is Alec.”

Q concedes a nod. These actually feel like real names. “Nice to meet you James. Alec.”

-

They arrive at a flat block just twenty minutes away from the club, and it’s mostly quiet all around, except for the occasional dog barks and echoing police sirens in the far distance. The streets are wet from all the rain that poured down on them in the afternoon, but that’s pretty much typical London anyway.

“Her name is Nellie. She disappeared from her flat two days ago without a trace… nothing that we can find anyway,” James explains as they climbs the stairs up.

Q says nothing about using the lift because he figures it’s a gangster thing, and also probably because he shouldn’t be pushing it. There’s something they’re not telling him from the looks of things, but if it’s relevant enough to the case, it’ll emerge itself sooner or later.

In a way, Q knows that he’s being reckless, but this is also a trial. As he has explained in the email he sent them prior to their meeting, he always has a trial period of going through the evidences (considering that they refused to come to the office to meet him), and if it’s worth it, then he’ll take the case on. It’s always been how he operates, and he isn’t about to let two gangsters cow him into doing otherwise… even if he imagines that they can be quite convincing should they want to.  

“We’ve left her flat as untouched as possible,” James continues. “And CCTV pulled from the building and hall outside has been doctored, considering they don’t yield much of anything.”

Q hums. He’ll give them credit for being thorough, but then again, they won’t have survived here this long without some brains behind their conducts.

“No sign of forced entry,” Q mumbles as they stop at what must be the door to this missing Nellie, and reaches into his pocket to slip on his gloves.

They go in after Alec unlocks the door, and quickly, Q is already taking in the entire environment, absorbing the details and leaving them aside for later analysis.

“Is she any good at computers? Cybernetworking?”

The place is sparsely decorated with few pieces of clothing strewn around here and there and a few random objects scattered across open surfaces, per usual of any lived in spaces. Besides a seemingly undisturbed bookshelf, the closet appears to have been emptied out, a couple of hangers fallen haphazardly on the floor, and a number of drawers are open as well.

“She is.” James exchanges a glance with Alec. “We did find this.” He leans over to a dresser and pulls out a drawer to retrieve a tablet, and honestly, Q sort of feels like this is part of the reason why these two hire him, other than the fact that he’s a third party to this entire thing, of course.

Q takes the device into his hand and examines it critically. As expected, there’s a password lock, but if Nellie here really is decent at cybernetworking, then she probably has other safety precautions installed along the way beyond this initial locked door, too.

“I can have this analyzed for results,” Q says thoughtfully.

“Does that mean you’re taking the case?” James chimes in, sounding a little too amused, honestly.

“Who would find poor Nellie here if you two refuse to get the police involved anyway?” Q suppresses the urge to roll his eyes—not that he does anything stop the slightly annoyed sigh that tumbles out of his nostrils.

“We’ll pay you handsomely. Don’t worry.” The grin on James’s lips is wolfish, but it’s late, and Q is really a little too interested in finding out the content of this tablet to really make a jabbing remark about it.

“As long as I get to walk away and actually spend the money,” Q mutters under his breath.

“As long as you don’t cross us, then there’s really nothing to be concerned over,” Alec replies, and Q nearly snorts. Nearly.

Because, between the two of them, Alec actually looks like the one who will probably drag Q to a back alley and shoot him down, given half a reason.

Well, whatever it is, Q thinks to himself, taking another look around the small flat, she most probably left of her own accord. But if this is true, then it means that some unsavory figure has infiltrated Amber.

Q’s eyes flickers over to the other two men in the room. And James and Alec know it.

This is not just a simple search for a missing woman in the gang, it’s also them trying to have an internal sweep as well.

“I’ll be sending you a contract in the morning, then,” Q says, starting back toward the door.

“What contract?” James raises an eyebrow.

“Proof of confidence, you can call it.” Q shrugs. “Considering that you two are my clients, it’ll be foolish of me indeed not to have some form of personal insurance.”

Alec looks like he may say something, but James’s grasp stops him. “Fair enough.” He smiles, like a true businessman. “Your deadline for analyzing the tablet should be by 12 PM sharp tomorrow, then.”

Q smirks, knowing a game when he sees one. “Plenty of time.”

-

The call came in bright and chirpy the next morning at 7 AM. Sharp.

“It’s a diary,” was what Q said the second James picked up.

(tbc.)

-

[Prompts: London + Diary]