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"Witness Protection"Written By: Snowdragonct Disclaimer: Don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or the characters, more's the pity. This is for fun...no profit involved. Rating: R Warnings: Warnings: AU , yaoi, swearing (lots),
some OOC (probably), violence, drugs, sex, a naughty Duo (i.e. he
has a potty mouth and is a bit, er, slutty)…if you are wedded
to the “pure, chaste” version of Duo, he might be a bit
dark and crude for your taste…ditto for the other characters
in here…hey, Quat’s a lawyer…how much lower could he
get? Pairings: 1X2 eventually, 3X4 also eventually, (past 2X3, 6X2) A/N: I’ll apologize in advance that Zechs is, well, deceased right from the start. I like him a lot, and there’ll be mention of him…but mostly in the form of discussing/investigating his murder. Sorry. Summary: When Zechs Merquise is found murdered,
detectives Heero Yuy and Wufei Chang are tasked with the unenviable
chore of keeping the only witness to the crime alive long enough to
testify against the leader of the Oz syndicate, Treize Khushrenada. "Witness Protection" Chapter Sixty One: Souvenirs It was a couple of days after the funeral, and Chang hadn’t tracked me down to lecture me for ditching him yet, for which I was grateful. He had, however, left a curt message on my machine that he was giving me some space, and expected me to put it to good use. But that was all. And it was vague enough that I didn’t really feel guilty about spending far too much time rattling around my empty apartment and eating takeout food. It wasn’t until I was throwing together a batch of laundry and pulled the note from Duo out of my pocket that I recalled his mention of a key and a safety deposit box. Okay—in my defense, I hadn’t been more than half sober since I left that funeral home. So it’s somewhat understandable that I forgot about the whole “key” thing. But once the note brought it forcibly to my attention again, I had a feeling I might have stumbled onto the reason Treize Khushrenada had wanted my lover alive. Merquise had left something behind; and I suspected it either belonged to Khushrenada, or was in some way a threat to the man. But then Duo’s letter had said no such thing—only that Zechs said it would provide for him. For all I knew, it was a box full of cash and a ticket to Tahiti. I decided to make up an excuse to go in to work, and see if I could find the key in the evidence room with the rest of Merquise’s belongings. I figured that checking with personnel to make sure I had plenty of sick leave and vacation left would be a good enough cover. My poor old clunker of a car did not want to start after sitting in the parking garage for the past several weeks. It took half an hour and a jump start from a neighbor, whose name I hadn’t known after living on the same floor for two years, to get that car going. And as I thanked Mrs. Walters and pulled out of my parking space, I couldn’t help thinking Duo probably would have known her name, her kids’ names, and her favorite flavor of ice cream within an hour of moving in. But then, he was the social one. I was an anti-social cop with a better than average conviction rate and virtually no life outside of work. And that used to be enough. Used to. I made a mental note to pick up some flowers and a thank-you card for Mrs. Walters on my way home. Then I drove down familiar streets, marveling at the fact that everything seemed so—normal. I always thought that “life goes on” saying was lame—but it was also, apparently, accurate. Life was going on, without Duo—and without me. But then, I wasn’t ready to rejoin it anyway. I parked on the street, not wanting to tie up space in the employee lot, and made my way into the police station, nodding to Silvia, the receptionist at the front desk. “Detective Yuy!” She sounded inordinately surprised. “I thought you were out on leave.” “Uh—yes, I guess I am,” I admitted, wondering exactly how long my boss expected me to be out on “stress leave,” and how many people she’d told. It had already been almost a week. Maybe I should call Chang and check on that sometime soon. “I just left a few things at my desk that I need,” I told her. “And I thought I’d look up how much leave time I’ve accrued.” She nodded and smiled. “I can look up the leave for you, if you like, and have the numbers for you when you get back down here.” “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” I headed for the elevator—but instead of taking it to the floor where my office was located, I punched the button for the basement, where the evidence was kept. When I got to the door of the evidence room, I was in for another surprise. Apparently Tom from the mail room had been promoted, and was now working in evidence storage. Yes, Tom—the one Chang had called “Tom the Twink.” I still thought he was a good-looking kid. But not in a class with Duo. Sadly, no one was. “Detective Yuy,” Tom said brightly, a smile spreading across his handsome face. “We’ve missed you and Detective Chang around here.” I mustered up a wry smirk. “C’mon—honestly? Chang and me? I’ll bet the Chief and the Commissioner have been enjoying the break from figuring out new punishments every time I rough up a suspect.” He smiled and ducked his head. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But when word got out that you two were on the Khushrenada case—protecting that witness—.” I stiffened, my mood darkening. “You mean the word that shouldn’t have leaked out?” “Yeah—shouldn’t have,” he agreed. “But it did. Rumor has it the Captain’s secretary was the source.” He shook his head. “She seemed like a nice enough girl—.” “She almost got my partner and me killed—right along with our protected witness,” I told him frankly. “When they catch up with her, I’ll be happy to watch ‘em throw the book at her.” I’d been filling out a request form while we talked, and handed it to Tom, watching as he looked it over. “Merquise’s stuff?” He gave a slight shrug. “All the important stuff is at the courthouse for the trial—anything associated with the murder or DNA samples—. But I’ll see what I’ve got.” He returned in a few moments with a couple of plastic containers and a bag with a very familiar leather jacket in it. Fuck—the goddamned Reapers jacket. I took the stuff he passed over the counter, setting the plastic trays on a table so I could look through the contents. There were quite a few keys in there—some obviously for sports cars or Merquise’s penthouse and clubs. But one slightly smaller key was listed on the inventory as probably belonging to a lockbox. That had to be the one. I was about to take it to Tom and let him record the identification label and log in the fact that I’d signed it out, when a sliver of worry poked at the back of my mind. It was possible that Alexander was one of Khushrenada’s bought and paid for FBI agents—and if that were the case, it was very possible that he was monitoring Merquise’s belongings. If so, he’d know I’d signed out the key in no time. I glanced over my shoulder, catching Tom in the act of staring at my ass, and smiled politely. “Hey, can you check in back to be sure this is it? I thought there’d be more.” “Sure.” He disappeared, and I quickly pulled a key off my keychain that opened a gun case I hadn’t used in years. It was approximately the same size and shape as Merquise’s key, so I hastily rubbed it on my sleeve to erase fingerprints, and then peeled the label from the lockbox key and stuck it on. I’d just finished switching them and slipping Merquise’s key in with my others when Tom returned. “No luck?” He shook his head. “That’s all of it, right there.” “Okay—then I guess what I’m looking for isn’t here,” I shrugged, picking up the containers and carrying them over to him. As I was passing them back, I paused with the leather jacket. “Hey, Tom—we got this out of Merquise’s apartment the first day of the investigation; but it’s not his. You want to put down that it’s being returned to the rightful owner, since it’s not part of the case? I’ll take responsibility, if anyone comes looking for it.” I knew no one would; it had no relevance in the murder case that was still under way, since we knew for a fact it was Duo’s and he’d testified in court that he’d been at the penthouse the night of the murder. On the other hand, it had a lot of relevance for me. Tom hesitated for only an instant, and then nodded, giving me a sort of shy smile. “Sure, detective. I’m sure you’ll get it to where it belongs.” I felt a little bad for having deceived him about the key. Having spent some time around Duo, I’d come to recognize the more subtle (or maybe in Duo’s case not so subtle) forms of flirting, and I realized Tom was either awestruck by my status in the department (yeah, right) or he had a little crush on me. I didn’t want to encourage either—so I took the jacket and gave a curt, but not rude, nod of my head. “Thanks for the help, Tom.” “Any time, detective.” “Call me Heero,” slipped out before I could stop myself, and the man’s smile widened until he was practically beaming. “Okay, Heero,” he said, as if trying it out. Mentally berating myself for giving him even the slightest encouragement, I hurried out of the evidence room and headed back up to the main lobby, wanting nothing more than to get out of the building and back to my solitude. “Yuy—what are you doing here?” I stopped in my tracks, just after stepping off the elevator and nearly bumping into my boss. “I—came in to see how long I’m out on leave, Captain,” I said carefully. “I thought I’d have personnel look up how much time I’ve got available.” She eyed me up and down. “Are you feeling better?” “I’m—decompressing a bit,” I said descriptively. “You were right that the protective detail took a toll on both Chang and me. This time off is probably a good idea.” She nodded, looking pleased. “Guarding a witness is not the usual work of a detective. I had my doubts from the start. But I have to say, you both did an excellent job—in spite of what happened at the courthouse.” Her forehead creased with concern. “You do realize that was a lapse in courthouse security, and not your fault or Chang’s?” No. “Yes ma’am.” Her keen eyes dropped to the jacket folded in my arms, and then came back up to my face. “Is that Maxwell’s coat?” “Uh, yes.” “Did Winner ask for it? Because I’ve also got the key to the storage facility where the rest of Maxwell’s belongings were stored.” She gestured me to join her in the elevator, and pushed the button for the floor where her office was located. “I’d appreciate it if you could collect the boxes and drop them off at Winner’s office, or make arrangements for him to pick them up—.” “That would be fine.” “I know, technically you’re on sick leave—but it’d save me some time. Playing phone tag with lawyers is not high on my list of things to do right now, what with the Khushrenada case resuming tomorrow.” I stiffened at that, wondering for the first time since the attack whether Noventa would be able to salvage the case against Khushrenada. I mean, Une’s tirade in the hall certainly lent credence to Duo’s testimony. But the jury wouldn’t be privy to that, and since Une was mentally unstable, they weren’t likely to hear from her at all. “What did forensics finally come up with to link Khushrenada to the murder?” I asked, genuinely curious. “There was a shoeprint in the Persian rug, in Merquise’s blood, that matched a very exclusive type of shoe Khushrenada was known to wear. There was also bruising on Merquise’s shoulders and wrists—proving he was restrained, and that he put up a bit of a struggle. They can positively say it took two people to hold him on his knees.” I nodded. “Anything else?” “There was a DNA match for Khushrenada on a wine glass on the counter. My guess would be he drank a toast to his fallen enemy?” “That would be his style,” I agreed. “Do you think it’s enough?” “If the jury believed Maxwell, yes. But if they buy into Tsubarov’s theory that Maxwell was angry enough to kill his lover, who knows? It’s still a bit of a tossup.” I scowled, once again remembering how Tsubarov badgered and accused Duo on the stand. “Don’t worry,” Captain Po said evenly. “If anyone can pull this off, it’s Noventa.” “I just want Duo’s sacrifice to matter,” I sighed. “So do I,” she said with a slight frown, looking like she wanted to say more, and then shaking her head and stepping off the elevator as the doors dinged open. “Come—let’s get you the key and the paperwork for the storage facility. Then you can get back to your down time.” I tagged along, still feeling a bit detached from the familiar surroundings, and when we stepped into my boss’ outer office, Agent Alexander was waiting, his cool gaze raking over me rather appraisingly. “Yuy,” he greeted with a polite incline of his head. I almost replied with “dickhead,” which I knew would have made Duo laugh until he hiccupped. But instead I nodded back. “Alexander.” Then I fixed a suspicious look on him. “Why are you still here? Merquise’s murder is not a federal case, and Duo’s not here for you to try to pull into one.” I narrowed my eyes. “If you lied to us back at the hospital—.” A flicker of hope flared once again in my gut. “No one lied to you, Yuy. Maxwell’s gone. Although, if you’d let the professionals take over from the moment you got him to the courthouse, none of this might have—.” “Agent Alexander!” snapped Po, using her flesh-stripping glare on him so hard that he immediately shut up. I had my fists clenched at my sides, but could feel my whole body practically trembling with the urge to beat the shit out of the smug agent. He didn’t need to throw Duo’s death in my face—I’d done enough wallowing in guilt all on my own. “Yuy—my office.” I followed my boss inside, my jaw clenched so tightly it’s a wonder I didn’t break teeth. She fished in her desk and pulled out a key and some paperwork, setting them on the side nearest me. “This is the key to the storage facility, and the paperwork authorizing the release of Maxwell’s things. You can pick them up, put the key and the release form in this envelope, and drop it in their outside box as you leave.” I took the key and shoved it into my pocket. “Captain—.” She looked up expectantly. “Please—tell me this is all an elaborate hoax—that they’ve simply whisked Duo off into hiding—.” She shook her head. “No. I’m afraid not.” “Fuck.” She studied my face for a moment, and then a faint frown creased her forehead. “What was the nature of your relationship with Maxwell?” I looked up quickly, seeing the dawning of suspicion on her face, and all I could wonder was why it took her so goddamned long to catch on. “None of your damn business,” I said curtly, picking up the key and the paperwork, and turning to leave. “I’ll call you when I feel like coming back to work.” “Yuy!” I stopped at the door with my back to her. “Clearly the stress of this assignment got to you in a major way,” she said quietly, her voice very firm. “You’ll remain in leave status until the department psychologist clears you to return. And I’d like you to start seeing her as soon as she can schedule you in.” “Yeah, I’ll check my appointment book,” I muttered, striding quickly out before she could think of anything else for me to do. Alexander hastily stepped aside as I stalked past, apparently knowing I was just looking for an excuse to deck his sorry ass. But I paused and turned back…and did it anyway. I mean, why the Hell not? I was already out on stress leave. What did I have to lose? And I was pretty sure any competent psychologist could come up with a very valid and reasonable explanation for why I did it. As for me, I just hated the man’s attitude. He looked up from the floor where he’d fallen when my fist struck his jaw. “Feel better, detective?” “Much.” And it was true. Belting the arrogant bastard smack in the face did a world of good for my mood. Duo would have been proud of me.
That thought carried me through the rest of the morning, as I drove to the depository on Avenue Royale, only to find it closed on Thursdays. Well that was damned inconvenient. Just when I’d come out of my stupor enough to give a damn about the mysterious contents in the lockbox, I’d have to wait to find out what they were. So I continued on to the storage facility, driving around back to the space the department had rented. When I opened up the storage bay, I was amazed at how few boxes were stacked inside. Hadn’t Duo owned a damned thing in the world? I filled up the back seat of my car with the boxes, dropped the key and paperwork off, and headed back to my apartment, remembering to pick up Mrs. Walters’ flowers on the way. When I got there, I was struck with a sudden case of awkwardness, not quite certain how to present flowers to a woman I’d only actually spoken to once. It took several minutes for me to screw up my courage and ring her doorbell. But the way her face lit up when she opened the door made it all worthwhile. She gushed over the simple flower arrangement, fussed over the card, and repeatedly assured me it had been no bother at all to help me get my car started. Then she ended up forcing a plate of cookies on me before she’d let me go. As I unlocked my door (yes, I’d remembered to lock it since Chang and Catherine’s intrusion the other day) I wondered how this trading of kind gestures worked. Did I now owe the woman a thank-you for the cookies? At this rate, I’d never catch up. My phone was ringing as I stepped inside, and I kicked the door shut, turning to loop the chain through the little slot before jogging into the kitchen to pick up. “Yuy.” “Hi, it’s Quatre. How are you?” I sighed, setting down the plate of cookies and biting back a sarcastic barb. “As well as can be expected,” I replied noncommittally. “I understand. Look—Captain Po called and left me a message. She said you were picking up Duo’s things out of storage.” “Yes. Would you like me to drop them off at your office, or home?” “Actually, I talked to Trowa, and he thought maybe you should keep them. Duo would want—.” “No!” I said sharply. “Do you think I really need constant reminders, Winner? Does Barton? I don’t. I really don’t.” “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered quickly. “You’re his attorney. Isn’t it up to you to handle his belongings?” “Well, yes, but—I’m sort of busy. I agreed to help Noventa with the rest of the Khushrenada case, and it’s taking up a lot of time.” Oh. When he put it that way, I could hardly argue. If he was working to make sure the smug bastard who’d caused Duo’s death got put away for life, I had to help in any way possible. “What do you want me to do with them?” I sighed. “If you could sort through everything,” he suggested. “That would be a big help. Maybe divide it by category. Trowa could take the clothing to the orphanage—.” “Duo’s clothing?” I said in disbelief. “Well, some of it, anyway. The clubbing outfits could go to someone at The Jungle maybe.” “Okay.” “And I’ll sell off anything of value in order to donate the proceeds to Father Maxwell for the kids. Knick-knacks and stuff could even go in a tag sale for the orphanage.” “Fine.” “And of course, if there’s anything you’d like to hang onto, for sentimental reasons, you know you’re welcome to.” I swallowed. “I know.” “I really appreciate this, Heero,” he said quickly. “I know it’s hard for you. But I honestly think you’re the right person to do it.” I didn’t think so. Not at all. I thought Trowa would be much better suited to sift through the remains of Duo’s meager life. After all, he’d shared more of it than I had. It was far more likely there’d be things among Duo’s belongings that held some significance for him, than for me. But if Winner was working on the case, Trowa was probably helping out as much as possible. “I’ll let you know when I’ve got it sorted,” I said wearily. “Thanks,” he said brightly. “I, um, should get back to work. I’m trying to track down some financial data on that Schbeiker girl—.” He gave a low, almost menacing chuckle. “Her slander won’t hold up on cross, I promise.” I felt an actual smile spread across my face. “I think maybe I love you, Winner,” I managed teasingly. “Don’t let Trowa hear you say that.” There was a short pause. “And it’s good to hear you smile.” “How can you hear a smile?” I wondered. “Trust me. You can. Bye for now!” I hung up the phone feeling unaccountably better than I had all day, and dug my keys back out of my pocket, wondering if Mrs. Walters’ teenage son would like to earn a few bucks helping me carry boxes. I ended up doing it myself, still a bit uneasy about the thought of trading favors with the neighbors. It took five trips to my car, back up the elevator, and down the long hallway to my apartment—but eventually I had the boxes stacked neatly in the foyer. Then I made myself a frozen dinner, and turned on the news, dozing off halfway through a boring broadcast about an animal rescue group in Peru. I mean, honestly…with the Khushrenada case all over the papers, you’d think they’d have no space in the evening news for fluff stories. But apparently they did. And it put me right to sleep. I woke up around nine o’clock, knowing instantly that I’d never get back to sleep, so I decided I might as well begin the process of dissecting Duo’s belongings. I grabbed my bottle of Jack Daniels, and set to work. Midnight found me surrounded by open boxes in the middle of my living room floor, beginning to sort things by disposal method. There was an ample box of jeans, tee shirts with rude sayings, sweatshirts and socks. There was also an even bigger box of leather clothing—pants, vests, wrist cuffs and collars. I wasn’t sure whether they were for clubbing or stripping out of, but I was reasonably certain they weren’t suitable for the orphanage. I figured Father Maxwell could sort through the tee shirts and weed out the cruder ones—or use them to polish statues or something. But I didn’t want to cause the man a heart attack by sending the other stuff. As far as valuables went, Duo had owned a couple of very nice watches that I guessed came from Merquise, and an assortment of finely-crafted knives. There were a couple of belts and bracelets that probably contained a fair amount of silver—so I added them to the “valuable” box, along with some leather boots, a jacket, and saddlebags from his motorcycle. When it came to knick-knacks, there were hardly any—a couple of coffee mugs with snide sayings on them, a few books, and some playing cards—shit like that. I wondered if Duo’s life with a gang had taught him not to hang onto objects. I knew his music and his sketchbooks were vitally important to them, since he’d brought them along on our trip. But the rest of his stuff seemed singularly disposable. Then I looked around my apartment and realized that if my own belongings were shoved into a bunch of boxes—minus the furniture or kitchen supplies—they probably wouldn’t take up much more space than Duo’s things. It looked like neither one of us was a packrat. As I absently pulled a black garment out of a box, I blinked in surprise at the sight of the priest’s collar and fringe. Shit—I hadn’t expected to find that among his things—but it brought to mind an image of him sliding that silky fabric off his shoulder, indigo eyes smoldering, and a teasing smirk on those perfect lips. My throat constricted at the thought that I’d never again see that graceful strut of his—or the impish grin—or the half-lidded look of pure lust. Goddamnit! I was a cop. You’d think I could objectively sort through a few leftover belongings without breaking down, wouldn’t you? Right. I hit the jackpot on the final box—there, under some folded sheets and blankets, was a stack of sketch pads, and a shoebox full of pictures. I almost didn’t dare open it, glancing at the nearly-empty bottle on the coffee table. But then I decided to just go for it. The funny thing was that most of the pictures weren’t of Duo, but of people he must have cared about. There were a lot of Trowa, of course, and quite a few of Catherine. There were also a few he’d taken at the orphanage, though not as many as I expected. But Father Maxwell had said he had several sketch books of pictures Duo drew of the kids, so I figured Duo also gave them most of the photos he took. Naturally, there were a number of pictures of Zechs—one with him wearing an apron and looking peeved as hell at the man holding the camera. I actually managed to laugh at that one. Others showed him playing a piano, his expression so intense I doubted he even knew the shots had been taken, and reading a book, wearing glasses that looked very scholarly on his regal face. Damn, the man was gorgeous. And photogenic. Not in a class with Duo, of course, but then who was? Deeper in the box were a couple of very faded and lined pictures—one of them showing Duo with his arm across the shoulders of a sandy-haired boy with a Reapers tattoo that matched my lover’s. Solo? He’d kept a picture of the asshole who broke his heart? Well why not? I already knew Duo hadn’t given his heart lightly. So of course, he couldn’t have just taken it back. Instead, he’d carried a memento of the love that had eluded him. I wondered if the pang I felt in my midsection was the same as his whenever he’d looked at that picture. In the very bottom of the box were a few pictures of Duo by himself. I thought maybe Trowa had taken them, though it was impossible to tell. They were candid shots of Duo laughing…sitting on his bike trying to look tough…hanging upside down on a swing set in what looked like a park of some kind…lying on his stomach sketching… I ended up in bed, a picture of Duo playing in a pile of autumn leaves on my pillow, that stupid Reapers jacket clutched in my arms, and an empty bottle of whiskey dangling from my lax fingers as I finally fell asleep.
The next day, with my hangover firmly entrenched in my skull, I gathered up the boxes I’d sorted, and labeled them for their respective recipients. Then I tried calling Winner’s office to tell him they were ready. “I’m sorry, but Mister Winner won’t be available for some time,” his secretary told me firmly. “But—I have some personal effects from a—deceased client,” I managed, fumbling with my free hand for the bottle of aspirin while I juggled the phone with the other. “Oh. I suppose you could leave them here at the office. He plans to stop in from time to time; but he’s assisting the District Attorney with a case—.” “I know that,” I growled irritably. “He said to let him know when I had the stuff sorted. He didn’t say anything about dropping it off.” “Would you like to leave a message? I can call you tomorrow with his reply.” “Never mind,” I sighed. “I’ll bring the stuff over.” “Oh, I’m sure he’ll appreciate that, Mister—?” “Good bye,” I snapped, hanging up the phone, and wrenching open the bottle of aspirin, shaking three of them out onto my palm and tossing them into my mouth. I washed them down with a bottle of stale beer I’d left on the counter at some point, and stuffed two of Mrs. Walters’ cookies into my mouth as a surrogate breakfast. Then I set about carrying the sorted boxes downstairs to my car. It was almost noon before I was ready to go. But then, considering I’d slept until after nine, that wasn’t half-bad. A steady rain had moved in overnight, and as I pulled out of the garage, I flipped on the headlights and wipers, and headed downtown towards Winner’s high-rise office building. It actually was a good thing I only had one box full of valuable items, since I had to park on the street and dash inside with it clutched in my arms. I half-expected the elevator to be out of order—but it wasn’t, and I soon arrived at the posh suite of offices on the top floor. A young woman with tanned skin looked up at me and smiled as I stepped off the elevator. “Welcome to Winner and Associates—which attorney have you come to—?” I plunked the box onto her desk. “This is for Quatre Winner. Tell him Heero Yuy left it, and that I’ll deliver the rest of the boxes to the recipients we discussed yesterday.” “Uh—okay—,” she began. I turned on my heel and walked back out, rubbing my temples with my fingertips as I rode the elevator back to the lobby. Hangovers are a bitch. Not that I deserved any less, considering the amount of whiskey I’d consumed. Did I ever mention I tend to be an angry drunk? Well, I’m even worse when I’m hung over. The rain had intensified, and my dash to my car left me soaked, which only added to my feeling that the universe was against me. The feeling I’d had ever since losing Duo. When I pulled up outside the Maxwell Church Orphanage, I had to steel myself for the encounter. I didn’t relish seeing the too-knowing priest. I was afraid if he launched into a sermon about God’s grand design, I might be tempted to knock him on his ass harder than I had Agent Alexander. But I lucked out. Sister Helen answered the door, telling me the Father was teaching a class and I could come back later if I needed to see him. When I explained I was just dropping off some clothing, sheets and towels, she sent two brawny boys in their early teens to help me carry them in. Then, before she could invite me to stay for tea or wait for Father Maxwell to finish teaching, I bade her a good afternoon and went on my way. The last couple of boxes in my back seat were slated for Barton, and I realized I had no idea where he lived. So I just drove to The Jungle, figuring that’s where they’d end up anyway. Ms. Noin was working the bar when I walked in, and she gave me a curious look, eyeing my wet, bedraggled appearance. “Raining out?” she teased. I glared flatly at her. “No—I had an unfortunate encounter with the lawn sprinklers on the way in.” She laughed delightedly—there was no lawn, let alone sprinklers. But then she sobered when I didn’t join in. “Uh—can I help you?” “I have a couple of boxes in my car that I’d like to leave for Trowa Barton.” “Oh. He’s—not working right now.” “I know that,” I sighed. “I assume he works nights?” “No, he’s not working at all,” she elaborated. “I see.” Now, why had I thought that while I was suffering from depression over Duo’s death, Trowa wouldn’t be? “Do you have his home address?” She shook her head. “I don’t think you’ll find him there, either. He was pretty interested in the Khushrenada case. It resumed today, and I think he plans to be there as much as he can.” “Ah. Okay then—could I just leave the stuff here with you? It’s some of Duo’s outfits—ones that your—performers might have a use for.” She smiled rather sadly. “Of course you can leave it. I’ll put it aside for whenever Trowa comes back—though I can’t guarantee when that’ll be.” “I understand.” Her forehead creased in a frown. “I think maybe you do,” she said slowly. “You know, the first time I met you, when you came in here looking for Duo, I’d have pegged you for a stone-cold cop interested in nothing but the case. And yet at Duo’s funeral—and now—you seem, different.” “I am different,” I admitted glancing past her to the fully stocked bar and wondering if a couple of shots would do any harm. “Human,” she added, nodding to herself. I snorted wryly. “Unfortunately. Where shall I put the boxes?” “Just haul ‘em in, and I’ll tuck them into my office,” she said with a casual shrug. She was even nice enough to stand and hold the door open for me so I could run from the club to the car and back, twice, with a minimum of time out in the rain. I thanked her brusquely and resisted the urge to consume enough whiskey to numb my emotions again for awhile. Then I headed for the depository on Avenue Royale. When I checked in at the desk, I had only to show them the key and tell them the number of the lockbox. It struck me as odd, since most safety deposit boxes require pre-designated signatories, and make you show identification to get in. But apparently this one catered to people who wanted no one knowing their name or their business. Risky. For all they knew, drugs could be dropped off and picked up with the simple exchange of a key. I wondered if that was how Zechs had conducted his illicit business ventures, and made a mental note to bring it to Captain Po’s attention if I was ever allowed to return to work. Maybe the place should be checked out with a couple of drug-sniffing dogs… When I pulled the lockbox from its compartment, the attendant showed me into a private room, and I waited until I was alone to set it on the table and lift the lid. I wasn’t eager to see what was in it. Well, I was and I wasn’t. On the one hand, there had to be something that Khushrenada would kill for—and on the other, there was probably a personal message from Merquise to Duo. But I had to know. There was an envelope on top, with Duo’s name in bold script. I decided to look at that first, since it was what I dreaded the most. I was careful to lift it by the edges, not wanting to destroy any potential fingerprints, in case the contents of that box ended up in a courtroom. And then I smoothed out the page and read what was essentially Zechs Merquise’s Last Will and Testament. Dear Duo, If you’re reading this letter, it means I’m dead, and that you remembered what I told you about leaving something for you. First let me say how sorry I am that I couldn’t keep my promise. I had every intention of starting a new life with you. When I promised you a new start, I truly meant to carry through on it. And my only regret is my failure to do so. I knew when I chose to leave the syndicate, that the odds were I wouldn’t survive the attempt. But I’d hoped. Oh, how I’d hoped. You made me reevaluate my priorities, love, and want more than the glamour and prestige of being a “high roller.” While you claimed that I taught you about manners and the finer things in life, you taught me about the important things, such as friendship, loyalty, and love. I’d never had a lover who wouldn’t cancel his plans for taking a bunch of orphans to the circus if I offered a weekend flight to Paris. But you did. All of my money and all of my power seemed ineffectual in gaining your regard. So I had to resort to extreme measures; I had to be myself. And amazingly that was enough. I will be forever grateful for the way you brought me back to myself, and reminded me of the idealistic young man I used to be. As unaware as you are of your warmth and charm, you probably will laugh at the very notion that you brought out my youthful ambitions. But you did. Now, since I’m clearly not there to watch over you any more—and I ache for causing you the grief I know you feel—I want to at least ensure your safety and security. In this box you’ll find two more envelopes. One contains a sum of cash sufficient to help you relocate to a safe place. Don’t chide me for paranoia, love. If Treize was behind my death, you will not be truly safe if you stay in this city. I don’t care if you leave temporarily, or permanently—but leave you must! And if you are pursued, the contents of the other envelope will provide you with ammunition to use against Treize. I copied classified files, which I won’t explain in detail. But if you get word to Trieze that you have, among other things, a list of every FBI agent on his payroll, I can guarantee he won’t dare touch you. Simply inform him that in the event of your untimely death, the disks will fall into the hands of the police, and make sure you have a friend you trust with that task. Nanashi comes to mind, as I’m sure he’ll be there for you as he has in the past. Just tell him not to send them to the FBI, as the corruption goes from top to bottom in that organization. Lastly, love, don’t waste time grieving over me for very long. I led a long and rich life, and yet didn’t really understand how to enjoy it until I met you. You enriched my life in ways I can’t even explain. You are vibrant, sensual, bright, and fiery—and I expect you to stay that way. I also expect you to live life to the fullest. Find yourself someone worthy of your love, and never forget that you deserve the best—the very best of everything. Yours, lovingly, Zechs I blinked back tears at the end of the letter, and folded it carefully back up. “He did deserve the best, Zechs. And neither you nor I was up to the challenge. You failed to stay with him, and I failed to protect him. We both fucked up royally.” I opened the next envelope and began counting out the stack of bills. I stopped at around a hundred thousand, knowing there was easily ten times that, or more. There was also a short note stating that the bills were unmarked, untraceable, and legally obtained from Zechs’ legitimate business ventures. Apparently he didn’t want Duo starting a new life with tainted money. And I couldn’t help but respect the effort he made to insure that. The final envelope contained several cds. They had no markings or labels of any kind, but I guessed they were the incriminating evidence against Treize that Zechs had claimed they were. I’d have to check it out when I got back to my laptop. Carefully sliding all three envelopes from the lockbox into the manila envelope the attendant had provided, I closed it back up and then went out and followed the guy over to replace the empty container in its niche in the wall. I wanted to examine the data on the disks, before deciding how to proceed with it; Zechs had hinted that there was a lot more than a list of names, and considering the number of cds, I had to assume there was a lot more. I also guessed there might be some encryption, and hoped the letter to Duo contained a hint at the password. My interest in the project drove away the lingering
hangover—and yet I’d soon find it gave me an all new kind
of headache.
tbc... |
