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Simon Says - Chapter 3: The Tone of an Assassination
What a terrible idea.
Simon parked outside the assisted living facility where Diego was currently residing. He was not exactly excited to see it in person. His friend had never been happy there... but then, of course he wasn't. Diego was never happy anywhere. He was an angry, embittered man whose only small pleasures in life were the coffee he was expressly forbidden to drink and flirting with nurses. So why, again, had Simon decided to let Athena meet him?
"All right, finally!" She bounded out of the car and stretched.
Blackquill followed, locking up. "Athena. I know that I have portrayed him in a positive light, but should this person say anything uncouth to you—"
"Jeez, Simon, you're so overprotective! He's basically like your best friend, right? So of course we'll get along!"
"Taka is my best friend." Taka, who hated long car rides up into the mountains even more than Athena, had flown along and was now circling overhead.
"Fine, your best human friend, then! Let's go meet him already!" She took hold of Blackquill's arm and practically dragged him into the building.
Diego looked terrible, but he greeted them with a grin and a, "Look who's flown the coop."
Then again, maybe he looked good, all things considered. With as poorly as he took care of himself, Blackquill supposed it was either a miracle or a curse that kept him alive. But for Simon, who was relearning how to sleep and eat like a normal person and had even cut off his seven-year mane, it felt as though he'd left his old friend behind somehow. If he had flown the coop, then Diego had simply moved from an iron cage to a gilded one.
"Hi!" Athena greeted, not missing a beat. "I'm Athena Cykes, and I'm so glad to meet you, Mr. Armando!"
"The pleasure is all mine." She shook his hand and he turned to Simon. "Am I going to be a best man?"
"Don't be preposterous. Athena is my…" It occurred to him he didn't know how to complete that sentence.
But Athena cut in. "Niece! Sorta. We're like family, anyway."
"As she says. And for another thing, you know very well that should I ever marry, Taka will be the one to receive that honor." He scratched his future best man under the beak.
Athena continued to gush. "It makes me really happy to know that somebody was looking out for Simon when he was in jail. I wanted to thank you for that. I know he must have been a handful."
"More than that. When he wasn't messing around on work duty or getting himself thrown into solitary, he was off starting gang wars."
"Yeah, that sounds like Simo—wait, wait, hold up just a second! Did you say gang wars?"
"What, he never told you about that?"
"I did not start anything," Simon growled.
"Your 'uncle' here managed to get caught in the crossfire of two of the most powerful men behind bars," said Diego, with no small measure of glee. "Why don't you tell her about it?"
"Yeah, Simon! Why don't you tell me about it?" She started up the Mood Matrix.
He sighed. "Very well. Just... put that blasted contraption away."
CHAPTER THREE: THE TONE OF AN ASSASSINATION
Blackquill burned with newfound determination. It fueled him. That foul phantom, the one who had caused so much chaos and destruction, his phantom would meet a complete downfall by Blackquill's very own hands. And now that he had nothing left to lose, there was nothing to keep him from that goal.
Nothing could help him sleep at night, but this helped him wake up in the morning.
There was, however, a snag — all of Blackquill's case files had been confiscated and returned to Interpol. The only thing spared was the voice profile, as no one else had known about it, and it was still hidden away back at the Space Center. If he wanted it back, he would have to speak to Aura… therefore, he would have to do without it for the foreseeable future.
This was a real snag. While he remembered a great number of details, there were simply too many for him to work without having access to the evidence he'd gathered. After he'd written down everything he could remember and combed through the library's newspaper archives for as much information as he could glean, he made a decision: He would speak to Blaise Debeste.
Simon had kept up a friendly demeanor with Debeste, more out of gratitude for his help than any feelings of obligation over the protection he was supposedly receiving. But he had never made any formal requests. No, it took him several weeks before he shrugged off his apprehension about making a deal with the devil and bribed the guard to let him into Debeste's cell to lay out his case.
"Impossible."
The response he received was not exactly the most encouraging.
"You surely still have connections in the prosecutors' office," Blackquill persisted. "With mere minutes in the records room—"
"If it were a normal case, sure. But you said you were working with Interpol on this? And the case is already closed? That's a lot tougher, y'know?"
Debeste had a point, but Blackquill didn't give up — he couldn't give up. "I beg of you. Surely there must be a way. I am fully prepared to pay."
"I can see I'm dealing with a sincere man. I'll do my best, but it's tricky, y'see? It could take a while—"
"I have nothing but time."
"And you'll have to do me a little favor in return. It's only fair, y'know?"
Blackquill's stomach twisted at the ex-prosecutor's toothy grin. "What sort of favor?"
"I hear you're pretty good with a blade."
Anger welled up within Blackquill at the insinuation. "I am not—" He caught himself. He couldn't say, 'a killer.' For all intents and purposes, a killer is exactly what he was. "—for hire," he finished lamely. "My blade is my own."
"Now, I'm not asking you to kill the man," said Debeste, feigning a look of horror at the very notion. "Just send a little message, y'know? He already has a lot of scars on his face. I'm sure he won't even notice one or two more."
"I'm not interested. If you will not take my money, then I shall take my leave."
"Ah… that's a pity, a pity. Well, best of luck with your case. You're going to need it."
Simon's patience snapped, fury and frustration pouring into him."Is that all you have to say? I'd no idea you were such an unreasonable lout!"
"I think you're being a little rude right now. After all the kindness I've shown you since you arrived—"
"You don't know the meaning of the word kindness!" Blackquill slammed a fist against the wall. "You thought you could butter me up in order to use me in such a way? Who are you to add to the weight of my considerable sins!"
"Bullying a poor old man isn't a sin?"Debeste replied, laughing. "Listen, why don't you think about it and come back when you're ready to make a deal?"
Blackquill stood up in a huff. "Or perhaps I'll find someone else to make it with."
———
Blackquill walked through the vault-like door to the special wing, steeling himself for the encounter that was to come. Thus far, everything had gone as it was meant; the guard, a few crisp bills in his pocket, dropped him off in front of the dark cell. Soon he would meet the Supplier, a man who could get anything and would very probably — or so Armando-dono assured him — rather do business with him than slay him on the spot.
It didn't feel right being there. Barely two months in the clink, and he was already prepared to make deals with a smuggler for prison contraband. But these days he was caring less and less about what was "right" by the standards of the outside world. And after all, it was not that he would be making deals for simple, selfish reasons. He needed to pursue the phantom, to keep Taka healthy, and to survive — and he could not accomplish those things entirely on his own.
The guard unlocked the Supplier's door and made a hasty retreat. Simon had not been prompted as to what to do beyond this point, what etiquette was best when facing steel bars with nothing but pitch black between them. It was too late to turn back, however, and he pushed down his apprehension. Asking himself what the Evil Magistrate would say in a situation like this, he opened his mouth to utter a greeting to the deadly assassin within.
Before he could, however, the lights flicked on, blinding him temporarily.
Sirhan Dogen sat on the floor of his cell, a hunk of wood in his lap, a chisel in hand, and a large black dog at his side. That much had been expected. What Simon hadn't expected was a lump in the man's cot, one that grumbled and yanked a blanket over its head. He was not yet used to certain aspects of prison culture, but he could make an educated guess as to why Dogen might have a much younger man in his bed. He opted not to comment.
"So you're the Twisted Samurai," said Dogen with a wicked cackle.
The nickname came from Blackquill's own testimony. If he'd known it would stick with him, he might have put some more thought into it. But as a clink moniker, he supposed it sufficed. "Yes."
"Come in. Sit down."
Simon did as he was told, sitting seiza-style on the floor. As he did not have to worry about maintaining eye contact, he let his gaze wander the room, looking over the various statues and the unique chess set that sat between them. "Did you carve all of this yourself?"
"Most of it. You'd do well to take up a hobby of your own. Something to keep you... occupied, keh heh."
Blackquill had hobbies of his own; plenty of them. The problem was, most of them required access to swords and/or an internet connection. He peered down at the chessboard. "...I've been known to play a game of chess in my time."
"Have you?"
"Why don't you be the judge of that?"
The truth was that no, he hadn't. He had feigned interest to gain the attention of a certain sempai, who — though he had praised Simon's intelligence and improvisation — had trounced him thoroughly on what few games they played. Still, he knew the rules of the game and a few beginner's strategies, and he didn't think that a loss would be detrimental to his mission. Certainly he would be able to play better than most.
The prisoner in the bed was shuffling under his blanket again. A face popped out, accompanied by a mess of long hair, red with black roots.
"Ah you're awake. Blackquill, meet my acolyte, Simon Keyes," Dogen introduced.
'Acolyte.' Now there was a euphemism he'd never heard before.
It did occur to him there was something familiar about that name, "Simon Keyes" — but he couldn't imagine having heard of such a petty-looking criminal in any significant way, and there was one very obvious reason why that name might sound familiar to him, so he wrote off the feeling.
"Hi. Nice to meet you." Keyes shot a sheepish grin at him, and though his features were pleasant enough, the smile on his face was dopey at best and did not betray the slightest sign of intelligence. "Are you two going to play?"
"Perhaps," said Dogen. "Or had you wanted to give it a try?"
"Is that really okay? I'd like to get some practice in, but I don't want to waste Mr. Samurai's time..."
"Nonsense. I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Would you?"
"I shall not turn down an opponent." Blackquill wasn't sure whether he was being taunted or tested, but he felt more confident in his ability to beat a chess aficionado's— ahem— 'acolyte' rather than the man himself.
Keyes crawled out of the bed, fishing around on the floor for a rubber band and pulling his hair into a sloppy ponytail. He then plopped down by the white side of the board, his legs splayed out to either side, the way a child might sit.
"Looks like I'm white. I guess I'll go first, then!"
And thus the battle of wits began, though Simon didn't expect much in the way of battle or wits, as his opponent seemed to be a complete simpleton. Unless Dogen gave him a signal to throw the match, he would destroy Keyes. That, he felt, would give the right impression.
If he'd put only a little more thought into why the name had sounded familiar, he might have known better.
They began their match, announcing the moves verbally so that Dogen could listen in. Keyes was an aggravating opponent, talking incessantly and taking an extremely long time only to make seemingly thoughtless moves.
"I've seen you in the animal therapy group, Mr. Blackquill. Your hawk is really lovely."
"Yes," Simon agreed. "He is." He tried to think if he had seen the other Simon in the group, but there was no helping it; who could remember a man with such little presence?
The game continued. Strangely, Blackquill had not only made no progress in pinning down the white king, but was starting to lose pieces. Keyes asked:
"Do you have a girlfriend on the outside?"
"No."
"On the inside, then?" With just a twitch of the lips, his smile changing from dopey to teasing.
Yes... before Blackquill even knew it, the situation had become dire.
"Hey, Mr. Dogen!" Keyes called. "Do you think I should move my knight?"
"There are no hints in chess," Dogen chided.
"Ah… sorry." He turned back to the board, face scrunched up in concentration. He made a move. In fact, he took Simon's queen. "So! What are you in for, Mr. Blackquill?"
"Murder."
"Oh nooo, that's so scary! Murderers are the worst, aren't they, Mr. Dogen?" There was no doubt about it; Keyes had laughter in his voice as he made his last move. "That's a checkmate, by the way."
Dogen simply chuckled and scratched his dog behind the ear.
Before Blackquill knew what hit him, Keyes' demeanor changed entirely. His eyes were sharp, and his smile feral. "What do you think, Mr. Dogen?"
"He's among the best you've played here."
"I know, right? It's pathetic." Keyes laughed. "Should I take his order?"
"Go ahead. You seem to be having fun." The old man sipped his tea.
"So!" Keyes turned back to Blackquill. "What can we do for you today?"
It took him a moment to process the question. Frankly, he could have used a great deal more time than that. But eventually he answered, "I require some of my old case files."
"Interesting." Keyes leaned back, making an armrest out of the old man's dog. "Tell us more."
"It was a joint case with Interpol, and I suspect it is likely closed at this point. It may be difficult—"
"That's not a problem. Why do you need it?"
His approach was completely different from Debeste's. Debeste exaggerated the difficulty of the task in order to jack up the price; Keyes downplayed it in order to get at something more valuable — information. Simon was not sure how to answer; he had already shown too much weakness. Ultimately, he decided to try and play it cool.
"It was an interesting case. Solving it will help me cope with the doldrums of this place."
"If you're just looking for a hobby, I'm sure you know that it would be simpler to dig you up a pile of cold case files to play around with. But you want one that's closed, meaning you don't agree with the conclusion they came to. Does it have any relation with the case that brought you here? Do note that I can and will read the entire file before I give it to you."
"…There is a coincidence which may appear to the untrained eye to be a relation."
"Understood." Keyes sat up, looking quite pleased. "I'll get you your file within the week. By the way, is it true that most high prosecutors rake in a six-figure salary?"
When Blackquill returned to his own cell, it was with a sense of uneasy hope. Keyes completely gouged him in negotiating the price, but no literal gouging was involved, and it was not as if Blackquill had much else to do with his once-carefully-tended savings account. And if the Supplier could do what everyone said, it would be worth every cent.
-----
"Wait — are you saying Keyes was a redhead?" Diego asked. "You let me call him 'Blondie' for seven years."
"Indeed. We found it most amusing."
"Well-played."
"Who's 'we'?" asked Athena.
"Even lost souls such as ourselves had allies," Blackquill said before his friend could get a word in. "Not everyone in the block was slave to Debeste's whims. At the time, there were a pair of ex-detectives that we used to play cards with."
"'They'll shoot you for that in Texas Hold 'Em," said Diego in the fakest Texas accent he could muster.
"Do I need to teach you a thing or two about playing cards?" replied Simon in the gruffest voice he could manage, and they both laughed.
"They sound like great friends," Athena said, happily oblivious.
"But you know," said Diego, "that reminds me..."
Simon shot him a glare to end all glares. He wouldn't dare bring that up—
"Did you hear that your boyfriend is up for parole again?"
He would.
Simon parked outside the assisted living facility where Diego was currently residing. He was not exactly excited to see it in person. His friend had never been happy there... but then, of course he wasn't. Diego was never happy anywhere. He was an angry, embittered man whose only small pleasures in life were the coffee he was expressly forbidden to drink and flirting with nurses. So why, again, had Simon decided to let Athena meet him?
"All right, finally!" She bounded out of the car and stretched.
Blackquill followed, locking up. "Athena. I know that I have portrayed him in a positive light, but should this person say anything uncouth to you—"
"Jeez, Simon, you're so overprotective! He's basically like your best friend, right? So of course we'll get along!"
"Taka is my best friend." Taka, who hated long car rides up into the mountains even more than Athena, had flown along and was now circling overhead.
"Fine, your best human friend, then! Let's go meet him already!" She took hold of Blackquill's arm and practically dragged him into the building.
Diego looked terrible, but he greeted them with a grin and a, "Look who's flown the coop."
Then again, maybe he looked good, all things considered. With as poorly as he took care of himself, Blackquill supposed it was either a miracle or a curse that kept him alive. But for Simon, who was relearning how to sleep and eat like a normal person and had even cut off his seven-year mane, it felt as though he'd left his old friend behind somehow. If he had flown the coop, then Diego had simply moved from an iron cage to a gilded one.
"Hi!" Athena greeted, not missing a beat. "I'm Athena Cykes, and I'm so glad to meet you, Mr. Armando!"
"The pleasure is all mine." She shook his hand and he turned to Simon. "Am I going to be a best man?"
"Don't be preposterous. Athena is my…" It occurred to him he didn't know how to complete that sentence.
But Athena cut in. "Niece! Sorta. We're like family, anyway."
"As she says. And for another thing, you know very well that should I ever marry, Taka will be the one to receive that honor." He scratched his future best man under the beak.
Athena continued to gush. "It makes me really happy to know that somebody was looking out for Simon when he was in jail. I wanted to thank you for that. I know he must have been a handful."
"More than that. When he wasn't messing around on work duty or getting himself thrown into solitary, he was off starting gang wars."
"Yeah, that sounds like Simo—wait, wait, hold up just a second! Did you say gang wars?"
"What, he never told you about that?"
"I did not start anything," Simon growled.
"Your 'uncle' here managed to get caught in the crossfire of two of the most powerful men behind bars," said Diego, with no small measure of glee. "Why don't you tell her about it?"
"Yeah, Simon! Why don't you tell me about it?" She started up the Mood Matrix.
He sighed. "Very well. Just... put that blasted contraption away."
Blackquill burned with newfound determination. It fueled him. That foul phantom, the one who had caused so much chaos and destruction, his phantom would meet a complete downfall by Blackquill's very own hands. And now that he had nothing left to lose, there was nothing to keep him from that goal.
Nothing could help him sleep at night, but this helped him wake up in the morning.
There was, however, a snag — all of Blackquill's case files had been confiscated and returned to Interpol. The only thing spared was the voice profile, as no one else had known about it, and it was still hidden away back at the Space Center. If he wanted it back, he would have to speak to Aura… therefore, he would have to do without it for the foreseeable future.
This was a real snag. While he remembered a great number of details, there were simply too many for him to work without having access to the evidence he'd gathered. After he'd written down everything he could remember and combed through the library's newspaper archives for as much information as he could glean, he made a decision: He would speak to Blaise Debeste.
Simon had kept up a friendly demeanor with Debeste, more out of gratitude for his help than any feelings of obligation over the protection he was supposedly receiving. But he had never made any formal requests. No, it took him several weeks before he shrugged off his apprehension about making a deal with the devil and bribed the guard to let him into Debeste's cell to lay out his case.
"Impossible."
The response he received was not exactly the most encouraging.
"You surely still have connections in the prosecutors' office," Blackquill persisted. "With mere minutes in the records room—"
"If it were a normal case, sure. But you said you were working with Interpol on this? And the case is already closed? That's a lot tougher, y'know?"
Debeste had a point, but Blackquill didn't give up — he couldn't give up. "I beg of you. Surely there must be a way. I am fully prepared to pay."
"I can see I'm dealing with a sincere man. I'll do my best, but it's tricky, y'see? It could take a while—"
"I have nothing but time."
"And you'll have to do me a little favor in return. It's only fair, y'know?"
Blackquill's stomach twisted at the ex-prosecutor's toothy grin. "What sort of favor?"
"I hear you're pretty good with a blade."
Anger welled up within Blackquill at the insinuation. "I am not—" He caught himself. He couldn't say, 'a killer.' For all intents and purposes, a killer is exactly what he was. "—for hire," he finished lamely. "My blade is my own."
"Now, I'm not asking you to kill the man," said Debeste, feigning a look of horror at the very notion. "Just send a little message, y'know? He already has a lot of scars on his face. I'm sure he won't even notice one or two more."
"I'm not interested. If you will not take my money, then I shall take my leave."
"Ah… that's a pity, a pity. Well, best of luck with your case. You're going to need it."
Simon's patience snapped, fury and frustration pouring into him."Is that all you have to say? I'd no idea you were such an unreasonable lout!"
"I think you're being a little rude right now. After all the kindness I've shown you since you arrived—"
"You don't know the meaning of the word kindness!" Blackquill slammed a fist against the wall. "You thought you could butter me up in order to use me in such a way? Who are you to add to the weight of my considerable sins!"
"Bullying a poor old man isn't a sin?"Debeste replied, laughing. "Listen, why don't you think about it and come back when you're ready to make a deal?"
Blackquill stood up in a huff. "Or perhaps I'll find someone else to make it with."
Blackquill walked through the vault-like door to the special wing, steeling himself for the encounter that was to come. Thus far, everything had gone as it was meant; the guard, a few crisp bills in his pocket, dropped him off in front of the dark cell. Soon he would meet the Supplier, a man who could get anything and would very probably — or so Armando-dono assured him — rather do business with him than slay him on the spot.
It didn't feel right being there. Barely two months in the clink, and he was already prepared to make deals with a smuggler for prison contraband. But these days he was caring less and less about what was "right" by the standards of the outside world. And after all, it was not that he would be making deals for simple, selfish reasons. He needed to pursue the phantom, to keep Taka healthy, and to survive — and he could not accomplish those things entirely on his own.
The guard unlocked the Supplier's door and made a hasty retreat. Simon had not been prompted as to what to do beyond this point, what etiquette was best when facing steel bars with nothing but pitch black between them. It was too late to turn back, however, and he pushed down his apprehension. Asking himself what the Evil Magistrate would say in a situation like this, he opened his mouth to utter a greeting to the deadly assassin within.
Before he could, however, the lights flicked on, blinding him temporarily.
Sirhan Dogen sat on the floor of his cell, a hunk of wood in his lap, a chisel in hand, and a large black dog at his side. That much had been expected. What Simon hadn't expected was a lump in the man's cot, one that grumbled and yanked a blanket over its head. He was not yet used to certain aspects of prison culture, but he could make an educated guess as to why Dogen might have a much younger man in his bed. He opted not to comment.
"So you're the Twisted Samurai," said Dogen with a wicked cackle.
The nickname came from Blackquill's own testimony. If he'd known it would stick with him, he might have put some more thought into it. But as a clink moniker, he supposed it sufficed. "Yes."
"Come in. Sit down."
Simon did as he was told, sitting seiza-style on the floor. As he did not have to worry about maintaining eye contact, he let his gaze wander the room, looking over the various statues and the unique chess set that sat between them. "Did you carve all of this yourself?"
"Most of it. You'd do well to take up a hobby of your own. Something to keep you... occupied, keh heh."
Blackquill had hobbies of his own; plenty of them. The problem was, most of them required access to swords and/or an internet connection. He peered down at the chessboard. "...I've been known to play a game of chess in my time."
"Have you?"
"Why don't you be the judge of that?"
The truth was that no, he hadn't. He had feigned interest to gain the attention of a certain sempai, who — though he had praised Simon's intelligence and improvisation — had trounced him thoroughly on what few games they played. Still, he knew the rules of the game and a few beginner's strategies, and he didn't think that a loss would be detrimental to his mission. Certainly he would be able to play better than most.
The prisoner in the bed was shuffling under his blanket again. A face popped out, accompanied by a mess of long hair, red with black roots.
"Ah you're awake. Blackquill, meet my acolyte, Simon Keyes," Dogen introduced.
'Acolyte.' Now there was a euphemism he'd never heard before.
It did occur to him there was something familiar about that name, "Simon Keyes" — but he couldn't imagine having heard of such a petty-looking criminal in any significant way, and there was one very obvious reason why that name might sound familiar to him, so he wrote off the feeling.
"Hi. Nice to meet you." Keyes shot a sheepish grin at him, and though his features were pleasant enough, the smile on his face was dopey at best and did not betray the slightest sign of intelligence. "Are you two going to play?"
"Perhaps," said Dogen. "Or had you wanted to give it a try?"
"Is that really okay? I'd like to get some practice in, but I don't want to waste Mr. Samurai's time..."
"Nonsense. I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Would you?"
"I shall not turn down an opponent." Blackquill wasn't sure whether he was being taunted or tested, but he felt more confident in his ability to beat a chess aficionado's— ahem— 'acolyte' rather than the man himself.
Keyes crawled out of the bed, fishing around on the floor for a rubber band and pulling his hair into a sloppy ponytail. He then plopped down by the white side of the board, his legs splayed out to either side, the way a child might sit.
"Looks like I'm white. I guess I'll go first, then!"
And thus the battle of wits began, though Simon didn't expect much in the way of battle or wits, as his opponent seemed to be a complete simpleton. Unless Dogen gave him a signal to throw the match, he would destroy Keyes. That, he felt, would give the right impression.
If he'd put only a little more thought into why the name had sounded familiar, he might have known better.
They began their match, announcing the moves verbally so that Dogen could listen in. Keyes was an aggravating opponent, talking incessantly and taking an extremely long time only to make seemingly thoughtless moves.
"I've seen you in the animal therapy group, Mr. Blackquill. Your hawk is really lovely."
"Yes," Simon agreed. "He is." He tried to think if he had seen the other Simon in the group, but there was no helping it; who could remember a man with such little presence?
The game continued. Strangely, Blackquill had not only made no progress in pinning down the white king, but was starting to lose pieces. Keyes asked:
"Do you have a girlfriend on the outside?"
"No."
"On the inside, then?" With just a twitch of the lips, his smile changing from dopey to teasing.
Yes... before Blackquill even knew it, the situation had become dire.
"Hey, Mr. Dogen!" Keyes called. "Do you think I should move my knight?"
"There are no hints in chess," Dogen chided.
"Ah… sorry." He turned back to the board, face scrunched up in concentration. He made a move. In fact, he took Simon's queen. "So! What are you in for, Mr. Blackquill?"
"Murder."
"Oh nooo, that's so scary! Murderers are the worst, aren't they, Mr. Dogen?" There was no doubt about it; Keyes had laughter in his voice as he made his last move. "That's a checkmate, by the way."
Dogen simply chuckled and scratched his dog behind the ear.
Before Blackquill knew what hit him, Keyes' demeanor changed entirely. His eyes were sharp, and his smile feral. "What do you think, Mr. Dogen?"
"He's among the best you've played here."
"I know, right? It's pathetic." Keyes laughed. "Should I take his order?"
"Go ahead. You seem to be having fun." The old man sipped his tea.
"So!" Keyes turned back to Blackquill. "What can we do for you today?"
It took him a moment to process the question. Frankly, he could have used a great deal more time than that. But eventually he answered, "I require some of my old case files."
"Interesting." Keyes leaned back, making an armrest out of the old man's dog. "Tell us more."
"It was a joint case with Interpol, and I suspect it is likely closed at this point. It may be difficult—"
"That's not a problem. Why do you need it?"
His approach was completely different from Debeste's. Debeste exaggerated the difficulty of the task in order to jack up the price; Keyes downplayed it in order to get at something more valuable — information. Simon was not sure how to answer; he had already shown too much weakness. Ultimately, he decided to try and play it cool.
"It was an interesting case. Solving it will help me cope with the doldrums of this place."
"If you're just looking for a hobby, I'm sure you know that it would be simpler to dig you up a pile of cold case files to play around with. But you want one that's closed, meaning you don't agree with the conclusion they came to. Does it have any relation with the case that brought you here? Do note that I can and will read the entire file before I give it to you."
"…There is a coincidence which may appear to the untrained eye to be a relation."
"Understood." Keyes sat up, looking quite pleased. "I'll get you your file within the week. By the way, is it true that most high prosecutors rake in a six-figure salary?"
When Blackquill returned to his own cell, it was with a sense of uneasy hope. Keyes completely gouged him in negotiating the price, but no literal gouging was involved, and it was not as if Blackquill had much else to do with his once-carefully-tended savings account. And if the Supplier could do what everyone said, it would be worth every cent.
"Wait — are you saying Keyes was a redhead?" Diego asked. "You let me call him 'Blondie' for seven years."
"Indeed. We found it most amusing."
"Well-played."
"Who's 'we'?" asked Athena.
"Even lost souls such as ourselves had allies," Blackquill said before his friend could get a word in. "Not everyone in the block was slave to Debeste's whims. At the time, there were a pair of ex-detectives that we used to play cards with."
"'They'll shoot you for that in Texas Hold 'Em," said Diego in the fakest Texas accent he could muster.
"Do I need to teach you a thing or two about playing cards?" replied Simon in the gruffest voice he could manage, and they both laughed.
"They sound like great friends," Athena said, happily oblivious.
"But you know," said Diego, "that reminds me..."
Simon shot him a glare to end all glares. He wouldn't dare bring that up—
"Did you hear that your boyfriend is up for parole again?"
He would.