Chapter Text
By the time Ronald makes it back home, a storm has rolled in from the west, and heavy rain is just beginning to spatter the pavement. He stumbles inside his apartment cursing and drenched, hair dripping into his eyes and clothes plastered to his skin. He wishes he’d brought an umbrella, but the sun was shining all day; how was he to know? He could have called a cab, then, but that occurs to him too late, when he’s already turning onto his own street.
This is Inference’s fault, he decides with no little malice as he steps inside, strips off his jacket, and hangs it on the coat rack to dry along with his hat and vest. If Inference didn’t keep him so long at the theatre, he would have been home earlier, before any clouds even had a chance to appear. He keeps this thought firmly in mind as he closes himself in the bathroom, pausing on his way to tend the fireplace in the living room, and scrubs his makeup off in front of the slightly musty mirror.
After he’s finished with that, though, he’s run the idea rather dry in his head. Ronald stares at himself dubiously, pulling gently on the eyebags that are usually hidden under layers of concealer. It is better that it’s over with earlier rather than later. Though he wasn’t able to learn much more about Inference, he’s still gotten hold of some good information. The first thing, the most important, is that the detective doesn’t fully doubt him yet, not particularly anyway; at this point, everyone in the theatre is under reasonable suspicion, and Ronald would like to keep it that way as much as possible.
He loosens his necktie and opens up his shirt as he passes back into the living space, unwinding the gauze bandaging wrapped around his chest. His ribs are aching slightly; he winces as he buttons his shirt back up, leaving the top 3 open, and runs a hand through his damp hair. Though he’s not in the mood for music, he sets the record spinning anyway, for background noise if nothing else.
Ronald curls up on the chaise beside the fireplace and reluctantly draws the scrap of paper Inference handed him from his pocket, eyes dragging over each number scrawled on in hasty font. “You may find there’s something you’ve forgotten to tell me,” he said. Ronald ponders the words for a good many moments. Forgotten. A slip of his mind; that’s all, isn’t it! He banishes his own memories of how exactly everything unfolded and tucks it away into an abandoned corner of his mind. It’s something he’s become quite good at with practice, pretending to forget. When he puts it this way, he can easily say he’s forgotten many things. Even the war can become nothing but a blur, blended together and taped down at the edges with a seal of morbidity.
Thinking about it, though, makes it trail over the back of Ronald’s tongue, leaving a bitter aftertaste. He sits up straighter and tosses the scrap into the fire, but the numbers have already ingrained themselves in his mind, and he’s left repeating them to himself in a mindless torrent. He watches the paper crinkle and blacken at the edges until it’s nothing more than a pile of ash.
Ronald dials the number before he can spend five more minutes killing himself over the uncertainty. Uncertainty of what in particular he doesn’t know, couldn’t explain even with a gun to his head. He recites the number to the operator and only has to wait for a few more moments before static sputters over the other end of the line.
“Detective Inference speaking.”
His voice is muffled as if biting back a yawn. Ronald smirks to himself.
“Good evening again, detective.” He tucks the phone closer to his ear, holding it between his chin and the crook of his shoulder. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
“No, it’s alright. Fine.” When Inference speaks again, he sounds more alert. There’s a bit of shuffling and crackling, as if papers are being rearranged; Ronald pulls the phone away from himself slightly. “What can I do for you, Ness?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Ronald sighs loudly into the receiver and shifts over, stretching his legs out over the full length of the couch. “Listen... you were right earlier. There is something that I didn’t tell you, but- you see, the thing is, I’m not sure that I can.”
He can practically see Inference sit up straighter. “I'm not looking for riddles."
"It isn't a riddle. I couldn't make myself clearer if I tried."
"Then perhaps I misunderstand you. What are you trying to say?"
“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.” Ronald toys with the phone cord, a smile playing across his lips. “Nothing, that is, I would be able to tell you over the telephone. You never know who might be listening. All I will say, detective, is that we are surrounded by corruption. Trust nobody, especially not Miss Zelle and the others at the theatre. They each have their reasons to deceive you.”
Inference tries to interrupt, but Ronald clicks his tongue, shushing him. “You’re going to ask why you should trust me, then, I know. That’s the thing. You really shouldn’t.”
He glances out the window and feels a tingle run through his chest. The night is still young, but the skies are black and clouded over with mist; not a star shines through. “Meet me at L'âme Rouge tomorrow. A small café, near the theatre. I’m sure you’ve seen it already. I’ll tell you what I know there.”
Inference sighs into the receiver. “What’s the catch?”
“You know me too well.” Ronald no longer bothers to play coy. “We’ll discuss that tomorrow too. I won’t say anything else tonight. Deal or no?”
“…” Inference hesitates a second too long for Ronald’s comfort. “Deal.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.”
“Wait. Ness?”
“Yes?” Ronald pauses with the phone halfway between his ear and the cradle.
“You’d better not be planning to pull anything funny.” The quiet click of a pen.
“You’ll see to it yourself that I don’t, won’t you? Good night, Subedar.” Ronald hangs up the phone, waits a few moments, and picks it up again.
This time, he dials a different number, one he knows so well that he no longer needs to read it off a slip of paper. It rings for less than two seconds after the operator re-directs it.
“What is it?”
“Hello to you too,” Ronald drawls. “I’ve had an interesting turn of events with the detective.”
“I’m shocked,” Kroto answers dryly. “Well, what happened?”
“Meeting him tomorrow. At L'âme Rouge.” Ronald flips the telephone to his other ear. “You oughta be ready for a lot of questions.”
Kroto mumbles an unladylike swear under her breath. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing! Nothing yet, anyway.” He pauses. Chooses his words carefully. “All I told him was to double down on the whole troupe. As for tomorrow, I’ll feed him more lies. Just enough to keep him satisfied.”
“So you say.”
“Ohh. What, you don’t trust me? I’m wounded.”
“Yeah, sure. I trust you. As far as I could throw you.”
Ronald scoffs. “I think that could be quite far. Don’t underestimate yourself.”
“Flatterer.” Kroto sighs through her teeth. “I don’t have any kind of guarantee, Norton. Who knows what you’re going to say to him? I’m not going to let myself be crossed again, you know; especially by you.”
“And you won’t be.” Not yet. Maybe not ever if he plays his cards with Inference just right. “If you’re really that worried, why don’t you tag along tomorrow?”
“No thanks,” she grunts. “Deny it all you want, but I’ve seen the way you look at him. That isn’t something I want a first-hand seat to.”
“Jealous?”
“You wish. I’m not playing with you, Campbell. I mean it.”
“I know. Look, this is all going to blow over within a couple weeks, maybe less. He’ll be gone in no time, none the wiser. Think of the future. Your name plastered on the posters instead of Bella’s. It’s what you always wanted.”
“Hmm… I’ll be happier about it once I really see it.” He doesn’t miss her wistful tone. “You won’t be at the theatre tomorrow, then?”
“Not for rehearsals. I’ll do my best to drop by and update you after I’m finished with him.”
“Fine… I’m going to- well, count on you, if not trust you.”
“Aren’t they the same?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Margie.”
The line goes dead. Ronald rests his cheek against the cool plastic of the telephone and bites at the inside of his lip until the soft skin peels. He’ll have to be more careful than ever from this point on. Inference is sharp, but so is Kroto. If he slips up, even once, he’s going to be in way over his head.